The Kumari Devi

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 11, 2006

I was lucky enough to spend a week in Kathmandu during the Indra Jatra festival during which the Kumari Devi makes a rare appearance outside her house near Durbar Square and is pulled around the city in a grand temple chariot.

This is a huge deal in Kathmandu as thousands of locals show up in brightly colored traditional dress and even the King and his wife attend in order to get a blessing from the young Kumari.

The Kumari is so imporatant because she is a real living goddess, a peaceful incarnation of the goddess Kali. She is chosen from a certain caste of goldsmiths when she is between the age of 4 and puberty. There are 32 physical conditions such as eye color, teeth shape and hte sound of her voice that indicate who the new Kumari is.

All possible candidates are gathered in a dark temple where priests attempt to frighten the young girls with blood buffalo heads, scary masks and demonic songs and dances. Of course a goddess would not be afraid of these tricks and so the Kumari is the one who stays calm throughout the trials.

She then moves into a house near all the temples of Durbar Square and is worshipped as the goddess until her first period or an accidental loss of blood which transforms her back into a normal girl and the search must start again.

She never leaves the house except on rare occasions, including once in September for a three-day journey around the city on an huge and elaborate chariot pulled by locals, because, as a goddess, her feet cannot touch the ground.

I arrived at Durbar square at 3 in teh afternoon, a couple hours before the start of the festival, but the place was already packed. I had been told earlier that one temple in the square was reserved for foreigners and I made my way across the sea of humanity and leaned against a large statue of a lion in front of the temple.

To my right was a tall temple with large steps on which sat hundreds of brightly dressed women and children. It was an organic pyramid of oranges, blues, purples and greens.

Further down the square, a temple's side was filled with camera-wielding professionals standing beneath a sign simply stating "PRESS." Straight across the square was the Kumari Bahal- the building which houses the living goddess and her family. Lastly, back towards me on my left stood the newly repainted, white, neoclassical building that used to serve as the King's palace.

In a few minutes, military started arriving in a line of trucks and stood, dressed in full ceremonial dress, in neat lines in the center of the square, forcing all onlookers outward and often onto our temple platform. I don't think anyone really minded the increasing crowd of young Nepalese men at the foreigner-designated temple, except for the blue fatigue wearing security force that was actually in charge of the order in the square.

They came through and cleaned out all the locals which left us foreigners with more room, but with less a feeling of taking part and mor a feeling of watching this ceremony as we weren't sharing it with locals all packed together like sardines on the edge of the temple platform all vying for a good view.

This was no problem for me as the average Nepali man stands below my chin. I didn't even mind later when I realized someone had unzipped my back pocket and made off with about 700 rupees in all the pushing and shoving.

We waited a long time and were entertained in the meantime by the exotic sights and sounds. Soon a group of young men yelling and accompanied by a drum and symbols scampered into the square and up to the front of the palace. Men in elaborate costumes with large colorful masks and wigs the size of a large beach ball [think Disney Land characters costumes- same size] colored red and orange danced primitively along with the instruments. I had seen this same group dancing earlier that day in a small street, and then again on my last night in Kathmandu. Apparently the costumed man drinks a lot of alcohol and is transformed into a god when the wig and mask are worn. Then brave souls try, one at a time, to slap the god wit ha small towell while the god attempts to grab his attackers. I believe this is just a show of manliness.

Eventually the King arrived in a large convoy and made his way up to the balcony looking over teh square. Later I overheard one Nepalese man telling a western girl that no one likes the King, and indeed I had expected a more boistrous reception.

Not long after his arrival I heard a commotion at the other end of the square and soon I saw the chariot appear from the other side of the palace. The Kumari was pulled around to the front where I assume she blessed the King- although I could not see her well. She sat in the center of the monstrous golden vehicle and people- who I can only assume were her family and friends- stood around the outside waving and cheering to the crowd.

After a few minutes she was pulled in front of the press temple and then quickly out of the square and out of site, on her tour of the city. After her leave, more youths showed up running, shouting, and dancing with a large cardboard cow costume worn by at least two young men. When they too extied the square a few minutes later, the King made his way back to his official car, drove away, and the whole ceremony ended as suddenly as it began.

I follwed the lines of people pouring out of the square and was back in my hotel room by 5:30. Although the actual ceremony was short, the festival is more complex that I know and lasts for days. The excitement was contagious and the anticipation of seeing the goddess heightened the electricity in the square. I think a culture is understood best in a short time by experience of its festivals. I know I learned a lot about Nepalese culture and religion by the unforgetable sights, sounds and emotions I experienced in my short time standing on that temple in Kathmandu's main square.