Natural Fire

Since the lengthy excursion through Kathmandu a few days ago, decimated by the pollution, I have been staying close to home. Spring is in full bloom and Losar festivities continue around the great stupa and all of Bodhnath. March 10th, the 52nd anniversary of Tibetan uprising, found the streets uneasy and filled with militia and soldiers. Although no major incidents happened, it was uncomfortable to venture near the stupa entrance and beyond the triple lines of blue camouflaged police with guns, sticks and shields.
However, in keeping with the military flavour of the day, and spurred on by tireless Marcia, I ventured with her into town to attend a book launch by photographer Kevin Bubriski whose recently published book about Maoist soldiers in Nepal shows ordinary life of today’s cantonments and the ex-Maobadi, now mostly in their mid early to mid twenties (which would make them all teenagers during the years of brutalities!) The photographs were direct and haunting, as were Bubriski’s archives documenting thirty years of extreme poverty in remote areas of Nepal – the very villages where Maoist soldiers came from. It was oddly poignant – this gathering of ex-pats and Nepali intellectuals, in a quaint courtyard of an almost Santa Fe style gallery, complete with hors d’ouvres and cocktails juxtaposed against large scale portraits of human suffering.
Meanwhile, back at the monastery, the preparations for a drupchen begin. It is the end of “vacation” for the monks and the courtyard is decorated with laundry – large sheets of maroon and yellow draped over bushes and gates. The days are progressively more sunny and warm, the birds are louder and there are two brand new bunnies on the lawn – hopping about under the watchful eye of a young monk….they must be here in honour of the beginning of the year of the golden rabbit – this one promising to be a gentler and more soothing than that of the exiting tiger. The quiet of the afternoons is broken only by small groups huddled around computers or TVs looking for news from the devastation in Japan – one last twitch of the tiger’s tail, everyone is saying. Many OM MANE PADME HUNGs are murmured softly for the people of Japan.
On these sunny, quiet days, one can almost envision the Bodhnath of thirty years ago, surrounded by rice fields and meadows, quiet and clear, gentle flute music floating through the perfumed air and its inhabitants jumping on a bike to go into town, instead of bumping away in the suffocating back of a Kathmandu taxi. Thankfully and perhaps sometime soon, the inevitable force of impermanence will bring an end to the careless stampede of progress and bring about a more aware and gentle human existence in the Kathmandu valley.
Meanwhile the neighbourhood provides plenty of interesting sites – from young monks frolicking about in the alley behind our house to the humourous signage around the narrow streets of Bodhanath.

In Croatia this day was Mother’s Day –small bouquets of violets and gifts hand made in class were given to our Moms. Today, in Kathmandu, large, red flag waving throngs of people gather in what looks like several football fields in the center of town. Kailash and I chose today to make our way to the New Road in search of a USB internet stick. Our drive took us through many neighbourhoods in the center of Kathmandu. What a mess! Cars and motorcycles battling their way with tiny three wheeled buses – tuk-tuks. Those of you who have been to Italy would recognize this kind of vehicle as an “ape” with a large cab (I don’t think anyone in Europe would have ever thought to use it as public transport)!
These tiny buses were filled to the brim with brightly clad women, sleeping children and bespectacled students. It seems like the driving here would be done on the British side of the road if it weren’t for the fact that motorists simply choose whatever side works best for them, creating a bubbling, cheerful chaos on the streets. Life has a certain thrill this way and you frequently find yourself careening head on toward a bus or truck barreling its way in your direction or a cyclist swerving in front of your car to avoid a bigger one. Small, tough looking children cross the road in impossible places; there are dogs, goats and cows sprinkled throughout and if your senses are even a tiny bit open, you are in for a ride that surpasses the scariest roller coaster at Six Flags! After an eternity of fumes and horns we arrive to our destination. Our search yields only the knowledge that, while the treasured stick is available in most electronics stores, it does not work in Boudhanath where I reside. Kailash was upset that we had spent several hours on the fruitless endeavor but all was not lost. Along the way we walked through the famous Durbar Square – a fantastic collection of mostly 16th and 17th century temples and shrines. The intricate Newari architecture is fascinating as are the sadhus and pilgrims posing about in the square. There is a Shiva Parvati temple, a temple to Taleju – protectress of Kathamandu Valley, a giant tree grown out of a small shrine, largest bell in the country and the House of the Living Goddess – Kumari Ghar.
In Nepal, where there is never one simple answer to any question, there are many legends about the living goddess but my favourite (and the least gross) is the one that tells of a young girl possessed by the goddess Durga and banished from the kingdom. When the furious queen heard of this she ordered her husband to bring the girl back and keep her as a real goddess. Whatever the real background, there are a number of living goddesses in the Kathmandu Valley but the most important one is the Kumari Devi, or Royal Kumari of Kathmandu. The Kumari is selected from a particular caste of Newari gold and silver- smiths; she is somewhere between age four and puberty and must meet 32 strict physical requirements. Once suitable candidates have been discovered, they are gathered together in a darkened room where terrifying noises are made and men dance in horrible masks and 108 gruesome buffalo heads are displayed. These goings-on are unlikely to frighten an incarnation of Durgha, so the one who remains calm throughout this ordeal is the clearly the new Kumari. Much like in the selection of a tulku she finally must choose among objects the ones belonging to her predecessor. Once chosen, the Kumari moves into the Kumari Ghar with her family and only makes six or so outings per year into the world. The most spectacular of these is in September when she travels throughout the city for three days on a huge temple chariot. Kumari’s reign ends with her first period when she reverts to the status of a mortal and the search for new Kumari begins. It is said that it is unlucky to marry an ex-Kumari, but it is believed more likely that being married to a spoiled ex-goddess might simply be too much work!