Indra Jatra and the Kumari

I've heard there are more festivals in Nepal than days of the year, and this past Sunday, we went to Durbar Sqaure to see the Kumari, the living goddess of Kathmandu, wheeled around Basantapur. Thousands of people were crowded on the steps of Maju Deval and the surrounding temples, many of the women dressed in red like the Kumari. We spent several hours in a standing room only crowd, watching a procession of cars pull up to the Royal Palace, some with embassy flags, others with Nepali politicians. There was an army contingent facing the palace and saluting the top brass as they arrived, giving the event more of a political than a religious feel. The legend of Kumari originated with 18th-century Malla kings, and perhaps it was more political even then. Men wearing fearsome red and blue masks danced into the square, a strange contrast with the embassy cars. Finally, three huge chariots were pulled into the square, the last and largest reserved for the Kumari, a pre-pubescent girl who will lose her status and be replaced by another living goddess once she has her first period.

Indra Jatra marks the end of the monsoon season, and pays homage both to those who have died in the past year and to the coming harvest. The simultaneously horrifying and comical face of Seto Bhairab is unveiled in Basantapur Square for the three days of the festival, and remains covered for the rest of the year. His monstrous head is grimacing and blue, his red mouth full of fangs. We offered him a banana, and the Nepali attendant put the banana in Bhairab's mouth. I wanted to laugh-- that was the moment when he somehow became benevolent and humorous.

“I think he really wanted a banana,” Melissa said. It's true. He seemed happy somehow.