We all enjoy the good night hunting jokes, but know this, morons, that concealed within the funny tales of night hunting are the victims of rape, teenage pregnancy, bastards, single mothers and destroyed dreams. Laugh on now, jerks.

I studied in the East, in a hostel, where I was called names like Jagar and Ngera and for being a Southern Bhutanese. I was also teased for using water to wash my ass. Upon research, I found out that sticks, dry leaves and stones were much-accepted mores of ass wiping. It is here that I learned a great deal about the great night prowlers of the East—the horny Dark Knight.

Let me tell you a heart touching story of a girl who lost her v̶i̶r̶g̶i̶n̶i̶t̶y̶; I mean Jai-Bangla sweatpants. Early in the morning, I heard some noise outside our hostel. It was a fight between a girl and a boy who allegedly deflowered her the night before in her sleep. Apparently, the boy used scissors to cut a hole in her sweatpants, and she was demanding a full compensation for her pants. (Hunny, you just got raped in your sleep, how about we discuss the sweatpants later, eh?) It had me thinking to this day. Was night hunting a socially accepted norm? Did she even realize that she was raped?

Contrary to the story above, many women have become a silent victim to such practices, often keeping it a secret for the fear of the society and losing their precious sweatpants.

I don’t think such practices are even to be called a tradition, let alone condoned or laughed at for that matter. As a society, we have carefully cultivated the art of not Giving a rat’s ass. It is a constant state of nirvana—nothing bothers you because nothing matters to you. We’re much comfortable peeking from behind the curtains to the scene of a man beating his wife while chanting Om Mani Padme Hung. Why not? After all, she is his property, he can harass her in whatever manner it pleases him. Because, screw feminism, our society believes in patriarchy.

But, all said and done, I feel bad for the guys. You see, the only form of entertainment they had back then were playing cockfight, occasional man-wrestling, and masturbation. And one guy, at the height of boredom, must have thought while shitting beside the river bank, “you know what? Bomena! Bomena!” A Bhutanese Archimedes, who apparently discovered a brilliant way to deploy his genital.

It is not just the villagers, the urban folks, the civil servants, the so-called educated folks of town are equally tempted too. Lure her with all your deceptive tales of success (nobody needs to know that you live as a paying guest in some attic apartment); use her and leave without any trace. All under the banner of tradition you can safely thrust your penis into an unwilling vagina and just leave, waving a huge middle finger to humanity.

Now, having said, some night huntings are consensual; but for the fact that Bhutan is covered with 72% of forest, they could just hide behind the bush and do it like most of the decent folks in Thimphu do around Buddha point. Learn some manners from the Capital City people.

Dear ladies, are you feeling unsafe? Are you a rape victim? Oh dear, you have a bad kharam. You must hang a wooden phallus around your neck and doorposts. A real penis might bring dishonour, but a wooden one will surely bring you blessings. Worship the great phallus. Trust me, apa-ama-promise, even Lam Drukpa Kuenley subdued the witches with his gigantic Johnson.

All this so-called ‘feminists’ do under the banner of Feminism is raised stupid questions like Why are women not allowed inside the Gyenkhangs? Why aren’t there many women politicians? I don’t know, do you have cow dung in your head? Why not raise things like this instead, if you care about women empowerment.

Go ahead, give it a fancy name, call it Night Hunting or call it Bomena; but rape is always a rape, no matter under what disguise you might commit it.

There is no particular Law under Bhutanese Penal code that protects women against such practices. Night hunting is still practiced widely.