Uncovering Prachhoetla: The potato festival in Buli

In the village of Buli, in Zhemgang Dzongkhag (district) of South-Central Bhutan, live the Kheng-pa people. They engage in foraging wild edibles, including yams. Every year, they celebrate a unique tradition rooted in this connection: Prachhoetla. Prachhoetla, also known as ‘kyi tshechu’, with kyi referring broadly to both wild and cultivated tubers in Dzongkha, translates to the ‘potato festival’. It would be more precise to call it the yam festival.

On April 7, 2025, which marked the 10th day of the 2nd month in the Bhutanese calendar, Buli came alive with the vibrant rituals and earthy flavours of Prachhoetla. The festival’s offerings and rituals centre on wild yams foraged from nearby forests. While the main festivities took place on the 10th day, preparations began well in advance. Foraging started on the 7th or mainly on the 8th day. On the 9th, homes and kitchens were cleaned first, then the tubers were washed, cooked, and readied for ritual offerings. After setting aside offerings for altars and temples, the remaining yams were shared among family and neighbours. Prachhoetla is, in this way, more than a single day of festivity. It unfolds over at least three days, through forest paths, hearths, and sacred spaces, celebrating the bond between environment, food, and culture.

To explore the tradition’s origins and meaning, research assistant Tshering Tashi and I conversed with several villagers. Though they knew the festival honors Guru Rimpochhe, none could clearly explain why yams are specifically offered. A former monk shared that some locals call it the ‘monkey festival’, perhaps hinting at the wild animals that share the landscape and these wild edibles.

Though Prachhoetla’s origins remain unclear, Tshering Tashi and I were fortunate to witness the three-day celebration recently. What follows is a reflection on those three days, shaped by observation, conversation, and taste of yams, as we joined the activities. Unearthing yams for Prachhoetla — it’s a bit of a ride!

Day I: Yam foraging

On the 8th day of the 2nd Bhutanese month, we joined our host-father at 6 AM as he began his day milking the family cow in fallow paddy fields. After returning home, we had breakfast prepared by our host-mother and got ready to head into the forest. Local red rice, soupy curry of potato and cheese (kewa datshi) with some dry fish chunks, and butter tea were our fuel for the day.

The foraging group consisted of three men: host-father, his neighbor, and a tenant living at the host home, from Panbang in the same Dzongkhag. Around 8:30 AM, we set off on a power tiller as our transport.

For tools, they packed a changar (clover hoe), togtsi (spade), koti (small spade), two patang (long knives), a steel plate, and a few sacks. Neighbor acho (brother) also brought along a Coke bottle filled with water from home. We made a brief stop at the Buli Corner Shop, where Tshering picked up two large bottles of Coke, a Fanta, a few packs of Mimi noodles, and two packs of doma, a traditional snack of areca nut, lime paste, and coconut pieces wrapped in a betel leaf.

As we bounced along the rough path, men voiced their discomfort at every jolt. We all started out sitting on the edges of the power tiller’s carrier, but midway through, they chose to stand. The tenant joked that the ride was so rough, he felt his organs might fall out. After over an hour of adventurous travel, we reached the foraging site in Zhingkhar, identified the day before during their mushroom foraging.

The first spot for foraging was just below the road, on a steep and tricky slope. Around 10 AM, the tenant and the neighbor began working a short distance from a tree where a dried yam vine still hung. There were no leaves or recognizable signs — it all looked the same to me— but their ability to find the spot clearly came from years of experience.

The soil was tough to work with. They had to remove tree roots, rocks, and big boulders, skillfully rolling them down the slope. The men took turns digging, and Tshering tried to help, but I could not dare it yet. While two of them dug, host-father foraged for dye stems nearby, one of the ways the family earns income this season. He joined the digging team later, as they neared the root, when more skill was needed to carefully remove the yam without damaging it too much.

As digging grew harder and more stones appeared, they joked that success depends on the digger’s luck. But once the host-father started, using his years of experience, we finally saw the yam’s head (guto). Then came some broken pieces, about the size of a fist, and finally, a long tail part of the tuber- about 40 cm in length. We had harvested our first yam!

This type of yam is called shormola-kyi. It’s long and often growing quite big in size. They had to dig more than a meter to get it, that’s still below average depth.

After packing the yam into the sack, we headed uphill, crossed the road, and started climbing. Just a few meters up, the host-father quickly spotted two new foraging spots side by side. We paused for a short break with Coke or water, and three chewed doma. As before, they identified a dried, straw-like vine, predicting the tuber would be downhill. The tenant and neighbor began digging, while the host-father went to search for dye stems.

I tried helping at the tenant's spot but gave up soon due to tough rocks and roots. Tshering had already joined the neighbor's team, actively taking turns digging.

While we were there, two village men stopped by to forage. One came over to ask for the clover. He shared that after digging a full meter, they only found a dried tuber from the previous year. For our team, it also took a while to reach the tuber. The digging was slow, and between digs, there was a quiet frustration — perhaps silent hopes that they’d find something soon.

Meanwhile, the tenant gave a lighthearted yet serious warning: “No passing bad air, or we’ll find an infected tuber!” He also shared stories from his hometown, Panbang, where yams are more abundant and bigger, with at least ten different varieties. “It’s also easier to dig, as the soil is sandy,” he added. However, they don’t celebrate the potato festival there.

The digging grew increasingly tough, with larger rocks and heavier labor. They fueled themselves with occasional sips of Coke and Fanta, plus a few rounds of doma. After digging over a meter, the tenant finally reached his yam. It was a different variety, called dawala — lighter in color, sticky when snapped, and branching out like tree roots.

On the other side, the host-father found a dried tuber from last year, meaning the plant hadn't been harvested. In such cases, the old tuber dries out and a new vine grows, which explained the two dried stems we’d seen earlier. He guessed that the fresh yam might be deeper down, based on the newer vine. For now, he paused and went off to forage dye stems again.

Meanwhile, Tshering and the neighbor began looking for a third plant and started digging at a new spot. I stayed behind with the tenant, who was still working on getting his dawala-kyi out. The harvest came to about 3-4 kilograms. He smiled.

We joined the others at the third site, where the slope made digging easier. Soon, they spotted wild boar damage — the tuber head had been eaten. It’s said that when that happens, the yam hides deeper underground. By then, it was past noon, and everyone was hungry, so they quit the spot.

Back at the second site, we took a snack break with Coke, Fanta, Mimi noodles, doma, Bourbon biscuits, and water. Then work resumed. They continued at the second plant, pulling out more mud and rocks. At one point, the host-father unearthed what looked like a big tuber, about 10 cm long —but oops! it was just a rock. Everyone laughed. Digging further, he finally pulled out a long shormola-kyi, like the one from the first spot. They explained that compared to dawala, shormola differs in color, taste, and growth. Dawala bears flowers, while shormola produces small edible aerial tubers, called kyi-siktum in Khengkha.

We packed the yams, with Tshering and I having fun volunteering as scales in the photos of yam and the cave they made. Host-father bundled his dye stems, Tshering carried the yam sack, and we headed downhill to the road, where we loaded everything into the power tiller. Two nearby foragers joined, disappointed with their small harvest. Our team jokingly teased one of them for his bad luck every year.

Midway through the ride, we stopped to pick up the host-mother and her friend, waiting with big bundles of dye stems. Except for Tshering, the men got off to make space, and we rode home. The men arrived shortly after. Then came a late lunch at 4 PM: local rice, dried pumpkin curry, spicy chili ezhey (salsa) with small dry fish, and milk tea, butter tea, or black tea. After some rest, we had dinner — local rice again, with scrambled eggs and onion-chili soup.

Day II: Cleaning homes, washing yams, and cooking them.

On the 9th day of Bhutanese 2nd month, the host couple followed their usual routine of milking cows, cooking, and chores like chopping and drying dye stems. Breakfast included local red rice, patsha (cane shoots) curry, dal (red lentil soup), and butter tea. Later, the host father and tenant went mushroom foraging with little success. In the afternoon, the elder daughter cleaned the house, sweeping, mopping, and emptying the dustbin. A power outage delayed lunch preparations, but once electricity returned, the host mother cooked red rice, scrambled eggs, and reheated the morning’s curry, lentil soup, and butter tea. We had lunch around 2:30 PM.

Since the yams would be prepared only in the evening, Tshering and I strolled around the village. None of the people we met had foraged the wild yam themselves or knew about the significance of yam offerings.

A first woman waited for yams from a neighbor, though she doubted he would find any, as it’s believed yams must be foraged by the 8th day or else they hide under rocks. Next man showed us girang-kyi (see picture 23 and 24), a cultivated yam, explaining he doesn’t forage due to bad luck. One family had received wild shormola-kyi from a neighbor. The foragers were men. A woman planned to offer keptang, a fried wheat dough. Another woman, unable to forage, said she would offer eggs instead. An elderly couple said they would offer dried pumpkin and red chilies instead, adding that some also use home-grown potatoes (dumrey-kyi). They stressed that eggs and processed foods are avoided, as they’re believed to harm crops and livestock.

Back at home, the tenant began washing the yams. He scraped off some of the skin covered in mud, though not completely. In the partly open shed, where cow feed is cooked, the firewood oven made of three stones was still burning. Over the fire, they placed a large pot half-filled with tubers and water, covered it, and left it to boil.

An hour later, they checked the tubers. Once cooked, they drained the water and returned the pot to the fire to dry any remaining moisture. First, the good-sized tubers were set aside for tomorrow’s offering. The yams were then carried into the kitchen. Served hot, we all peeled some yams and began eating. The tenant warned that eating too much at once can cause gas. We also compared the two yam varieties, noting slight difference in texture but similar taste.

These yams are eaten either boiled, as we had them, or as a porridge called thuep. The host father offered to make thuep for breakfast the next day, and we gladly accepted. The tenant then began peeling more yam for the thuep. For dinner, we had local red rice and pengpai yurung (wild shitake) curry.

Day III: The Tshechu Day

I woke up just as the host mother was bringing her offerings to the altar room. In the kitchen, host father was blending the cooked rice with an electric hand blender. I had expected today’s thuep to be yam-heavy, but rice remained the main ingredient, as in regular thuep. The yam replaced the usual cheese slices. The simple recipe included local white rice blended with water, sliced yam, salt, chili powder, and butter, with Sichuan pepper (Thingey) on the side.

Host mother had heated some millet-based wine (bangchang), boiled dried red chilies, cooked local red rice, and washed home-grown spring onions. While Tshering and I stood aside in the prayer hall, she cleaned the altar offering area, laid banana leaves there, and began preparing the offering plates on the wooden floor.

There were six plates in total, five regular-sized ones (the kind they usually use for meals), and one smaller plate reserved for daily offerings. She first made generous heaps of the cooked red rice, then added 3 big pieces of yam to each, followed by a few spring onions and some dried chilies. She made sure each plate was full, with the larger portions placed on the five bigger plates.

Out of these, she offered three of the larger plates of tshog (offerings) and three bowls of bangchang (local millet wine) at the altar. The small plate for the regular offering (phueth) was placed alongside. Pheuth is to please the deities with freshly cooked food, first harvests of the season, and unique seasonal items. As every day, she also offered water and incense, and lit a butter lamp—especially because, the 10th day of the Bhutanese month is considered auspicious.

This was the first of the three offerings for the day. The remaining two larger plates were set aside for the nearby lakhang (temples): Pang lakhang, which is just beside their home, and Bar lakhang, located across the highway. The home offerings will be shared later by the family, with the lakhang tshog distributed to villagers attending.

After the morning ritual, we joined for breakfast. Even the tenant couple joined in, and soon we were all going for second and third helpings. It was one of those cozy, quiet meals where no one rushed, and everyone just kept eating until full.

Then, host mother started laying out dye stems and tea leaves for sun drying. We hung around for a while, waiting to visit the lakhang for the next round of offerings. Meanwhile, the neighbor from our yam-foraging team came by to collect thuep for his kids and father-in-law.

Today, the youngest daughter oversaw carrying the offerings to the lakhang, but by the time we headed there, she had already left. The Pang lakhang area was filled with chanting and the sounds of ritual instruments. A small group of locals gathered, monks were chanting in unison, and the organizers moved around, serving tea, biscuits, and Jumpy mango juice packs to the visitors. Special yams and everyday snacks came together in a ceremony that brought a sense of celebration to the air.

The altar was beautifully arranged, filled with a variety of offerings. There was a large wooden bowl heaping with cooked rice, both red and white. To the side, a smaller bowl contained wild yam, cultivated yam, dried pumpkin, spring onions, and a few dried red chilies. Another bowl held fresh fruits, apples, bananas, and sugarcane. There were also fried dough biscuits (keptang or khabzey), along with two large containers filled with packaged snacks and chips. Again, on the upper row, you could spot milk and juice tetra packs, a modern twist on traditional offerings (see the pictures below of food offering bowls roughly arranged by quantity).

As we walked out, we asked the lakhang caretaker why the festival is celebrated. He said, “I’m not very aware, but it’s considered Guru Rimpochhe’s festival. He’s believed to visit Earth with sun rays on the 10th of the Bhutanese month, and offerings are made when the sun’s rays first touch the homes.” He also mentioned that almost half of the Buli households visited the lakhang this year, though not everyone offered yams.

We then headed to the next lakhang, the Bar lakhang. On the way, we met two women and asked them what they had offered. Neither had foraged yam. So, one had offered fried dough biscuits (khabjay), and the other had offered milk. Since it was our first-time visiting Bar lakhang, Tshering bought a packet of palm oil (dalda) and three packets of incense as his offering.

Upon arriving, we could hear chanting and the ritual instruments. Many people gathered inside the lakhang, while others were cooking lunch in the outside kitchen. This lakhang, which had once been a residence of Terton Pema Lingpa (caretaker said), housed statues of local deities Lhatsen Karpo, and Tshomen Kuentu Zangmo among others.

The altar had the usual offerings: khabjay, sugarcane, packaged snacks, juices, and marchhang (local alcohol). On the side, a bench held bowls of offerings. The yam offerings were placed in a separate bowl, alongside a bowl of rice and another filled with alternative offerings of dried red chilies, dried pumpkin, spring onions, and even eggs. The yam varieties included two types of wild yam (gar-kyi), shormola and dawala, and the cultivated yam (girang-kyi).

As we walked out, we were given small bottles of litchi juice and spoonful marchhang (local alcohol offered to the deities). It was almost lunchtime, and the first meal was to be served to the monks. The food consisted of local red rice, gongdo datshi (eggs and cheese fried in oil), kewa datshi (potatoes with cheese curry in soup), and nakay datshi (fiddlehead ferns fried with cheese).

We then walked back to the host home and met our previous host mother and her friend on the way. Whom we asked about their offerings. Both mentioned they only offered at home the local rice, dried red chilies, pumpkin, and regular potatoes from their garden. Since they hadn’t foraged for yams, they hadn’t visited the lakhang.

At home, some guests were enjoying the thuep and beer. So, we excused ourselves and headed to our rooms. I noticed and captured the sun drying of two seasonal veggies- Bashika meto (flower of Justicia adhatoda) and pengpai yurung (wild shitake). Later, for lunch, we had local rice (offered to the deities in the morning) and pengpai yurung (wild shitake) curry with dried red chilies.

For dinner, we were served local white rice, scrambled eggs, and a root from a plant called Cretey in Khengkha. Cretey is most likely Houttuynia cordata (also called fish mint). This was a new thing to try! The root was fried in oil with salt and chilies, and it was my first time trying it. The taste was peppery, with a strong aroma that tingled my taste buds, but I couldn’t enjoy it.

While Tshering and the family enjoyed the meal with the Cretey root, Bella (the cat) and I shared my Norwegian mackerel in tomato sauce, a food I’ve recently developed a taste for. It was an unusual pairing with rice, but Bella seemed to approve!

After tasting the yams: my thoughts.

To me, Prachhoetla is more than a festival. It’s a celebration of the connection of the wild yam harvest to the seasons and the food environments. In Zhemgang, where food security indicators are poorer than most of Bhutan, it links people to forests to endure lean months and sustain livelihoods.

Perhaps, people in Buli have learned foraging as a survival skill. From roots and tubers to mushrooms, ferns, fruits, young shoots, and flowers, their deep knowledge of what grows in the wild goes beyond simply identifying edibles. It’s about knowing how to process these foods, sometimes to reduce bitterness or even toxicity. This skill is passed down through generations, shaped by the harsh realities of food shortages.

As I reflected on Prachhoetla, I couldn’t also help but think of another tradition I’ve witnessed and celebrated myself for years—Maghi, or Maghe Sankranti, celebrated by many Nepali ethnicities, including the Lhotshampa of Southern Bhutan (confirmed by the Lhotshampa lady from Buli Corner shop). Both festivals center around the foraging (or buying) and consumption of yams and tubers, cooked the day before and eaten the next day, with wild yams holding special significance.

In Maghi, yams are prepared on the last day of the 9th Nepali month (Push) and eaten on the first day of the 10th month (Magh) for their auspicious effects, while in Prachhoetla, they are cooked on the 9th and offered on the 10th day of the 2nd Bhutanese month. Though Prachhoetla was delayed by nearly a month this year in the Gregorian calendar, both festivals typically coincide around February to March, aligning with the yam harvesting season. It seems this seasonal tradition is shared across the Himalayas. However, Prachhoetla feels more spiritually significant with its community rituals in lakhangs, whereas Maghi, at least in my experience, is more a family-centered affair.

Notably, people’s engagement with food-related festivals like Prachhoetla is changing, much like the food habits in Buli. The Kheng-pa, like anywhere else in Bhutan, are increasingly turning to the commercial food market. This shift is evident in their daily diets, the offerings made at altars, the foods they carry to work, feed to farm labors, and bring as gifts. Industrial foods are gradually taking up more space in their diets, while wild edibles are becoming less common. This change was clear during Prachhoetla, as only about half of the villagers made lakhang offerings, and many didn’t bring yams—the centerpiece of the festival.

There are likely many underlying reasons behind this shift in food choices, but two factors seem evident: the convenience of industrial foods and the gradual loss of interest/knowledge around foraging. The convenience factor was apparent in differing views on what constituted acceptable offerings for Prachhoetla. While some insisted only dried pumpkin, red chilies, or potatoes could replace yam, others used keptang, eggs, or milk. Alongside, many younger villagers no longer knew how to forage yams—a skill that demands plant knowledge, strength, patience, and practice.

As the host father and tenant conversed over dinner, if alternative offerings are deemed acceptable, Buli may soon lose yam foraging for Prachhoetla—and with it, the celebration’s essence.

While culture evolves, I hope Prachhoetla survives generations, connecting people with nature and the spiritual world while providing seasonal diets. After all, the yams taste yum!

• I thank Tshering Tashi for his translations and for helping connect the dots when I couldn’t.