Shiva party

As we come to the end of our second winter in Kathmandu, the arrival of pleasant weather is accompanied by an intense wave of religious and spiritual activity.

The great Hindu festival marking the end of winter in Nepal is Maha Shivaratri. It holds particular significance here as it is celebrated notably at the Pashupatinath temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site (voir https://www.nepalimpressions.com/post/vishnu-ganesh-shiva-budha-et-moi-et-moi).

This year is especially eventful, as on the other side of the border, along the banks of the Ganges, the Kumbh Mela is taking place (an event that happens only once every 12 years). Over the course of a month, it is expected to draw between 200 and 400 million people—approximately half of the entire European population. Shivaratri in Kathmandu will only see about 2 million participants over two or three days—a grand Hindu family reunion of sorts, albeit a slightly crowded one. Devout Nepalis and a large number of Indians gather to pay homage to Shiva the Auspicious, the creator and destroyer, and guardian of the cycle of life.

Being a local (we live 3 km from the temple), I naturally decided to visit the site early in the day to avoid the crowds. The access roads were already being blocked by the police, who had been preparing the logistics for months. It was a futile effort, as an immense crowd still formed. One doesn't truly comprehend the density of a South Asian gathering until being engulfed into it. The stream of people was unceasing, adorned by the colorful saris of women, punctuated by the cries of families searching for each other, yet surprisingly calm and almost orderly.

Changing direction was out of the question, as an irreversible trample would ensue. I let me be carried with the flow, which led me to the family entrance (there are two separate ones for men and women), and entered the temple's first courtyard.

The first surprise was a fair-like atmosphere with vendors selling children's toys, trinkets of all kinds, Buddha statues (as Buddhism and Hinduism are deeply intertwined here), incense, small pastries, and countless other edible and non-edible knickknacks. The closest analogy would be a joyful blend of Lourdes and a carnival.

Just before entering the second courtyard, I was directed to a series of tents set up for the occasion, displaying strange Shiva-related exhibits. There was an endless series of Lingams, each with a different meaning (beyond my grasp, of course), esoteric panels featuring gurus—including one where I recognized Jesus (perhaps owing to the legend that Jesus visited northern India). More curiously, there was a nativity-like scene featuring twenty goddess dolls, followed by a live tableau of Shiva adorned with a tiger skin and trident, keeping devilish representations of sins at bay. All of this was accompanied by traditional music played by an onstage orchestra. The strange merged with the bizarre.

Suddenly, the mystical atmosphere returned. A half-naked sadhu perched on a wall sprinkled the crowd with holy water (likely drawn from the nearby filthy river, which claims to be sacred) using a cow tail. The crowd reached a state of ecstatic fervor, chanting incantations whose meanings seemed lost on everyone. .

I, of course, received a tikka (the red mark on the forehead) applied by a holy man. Unsure of how Shiva identifies his devotees, I opted to adorn myself with as many blessings as possible

The crowd continued to carry me forward, diverging into two directions: one towards the old part of the temple with its ghats where cremation pyres operated at full capacity (a great honor for the deceased to pass away such an auspicious day), and the other towards the hilltop. There, amidst the pushing and shouting, sadhus placidly rolled their holy cigarettes—because Shivaratri is the one day when the consumption and sale of ganja (local marijuana) are permitted: to better connect with Shiva of course. These turbaned hermits, who gather from across the Hindu world by the hundreds for this day, partake with all the religiosity their status allows, naturally for a noble cause.

Upon reaching the hilltop, the crowd thinned slightly among the stupas. Some families sat on the ground for a picnic, others took selfies with divine statues, while a few smoked their joints peacefully perched on a wall. The atmosphere was a cacophony of temple bells, gongs, and music blaring from loudspeakers.

Sadly, even at this sacred and protected site, the less divine aspect became glaringly obvious: open trash heaps are scattered everywhere. Impossible to move around the templs complex without crossing garbage dumps. Shiva must be fuming: drastic and urgent action is badly needed to address this dramatic pollution problem in Nepal. It’s perplexing that despite such conditions, UNESCO has not yet revoked the temple's World Heritage status.

And there was Shiva himself, surrounded by "influencers" capturing selfies, among enormous, placid bulls grazing on the sparse grass. These bulls, after all, are Shiva's vehicles!

As I approached a crowd between two large stupas, I incredulously discovered a live Nepali rap concert drawing an ecstatic audience! The electrifying, mystical atmosphere burst eardrums.

I descended the sacred hill, weaving through the crowd, and passed several sadhu camps where devotees religiously rolled in cow (or more likely bull) dung ashes—yet another mystical element resurfacing amidst this improbable chaos.

Improbable Nepal, impenetrable Hinduism—complex, bewildering: drawing some of the largest crowds on Earth for colossal pilgrimages, yet an extraordinary blend of spirituality and secularism, of sacred ancient order and modern plagues.

I was given another opportunity to observe this from another perspective a few days later. We were invited to Pokhara by a Nepali friend to celebrate both his birthday and mine, which fall on the same day (his, was on that date this year due to the Newar lunar calendar, which varies...but let’s keep it simple). For the occasion, he arranged a birthday Puja for both of us: a Hindu blessing ceremony to usher in a new year under good auspices. Two Brahmin priests were summoned to the hotel where the celebration took place: a master and his young disciple.

I was invited to sit down, barefoot and divested of my belt and any other leather objects (perhaps made of cowhide, which is sacred), in front of a small altar set up for the occasion.

Ritual candles were lit, each of us adorned with a vibrant red tikka on our foreheads, followed by an endless sequence of offerings to be placed in a large dish at the altar’s center. My Nepali friend simply told me to follow his gestures. I complied with concentration.

The two priests chanted mantras, reading from a booklet, occasionally prompting us for a new series of offerings: grains of rice, powdered spices, sacred herbs, lighting another oil lamp, burning additional sacred herbs, scattering flower petals, and inevitably—since even holy men do not live solely on spirituality and thin air—slipping a few banknotes into a dish. Every single bit helps.

Then came the incantations, sung aloud.

Véronique was invited to energetically ring a small bell in rhythm, which she did with such enthusiasm that an assistant had to tell her to stop after a solid five minutes. The ritual and its rhythm could easily invite a trance-like state, but I was so focused on following the liturgy, and didn’t give trance a chance. The priest tied up a sacred thread around our wrists which we are told can either be kept until it wears out or tied around the tail of a cow (I still have mine; I couldn't find any consenting cow).

Around us, a lively and joyful commotion unfolded: friends and family chatting on their phones, snapping selfies, or blatantly ignoring the entire ceremony. Once again, it was a reminder that while religion is omnipresent in Nepali daily life, solemn spirituality is not a particularly striking feature of Hindu religious practice here.

The ceremony, which lasted nearly an hour (though this was apparently the short version), concluded when each of us ate, in one bite, the five auspicious foods of the occasion (representing the five elements): a hard-boiled egg fried in batter, a dried fish swallowed headfirst, a fritter, and a couple of other dishes of choice that certainly wouldn’t grace any gourmet tables.

Fortunately, with pragmatic flair, each bite was washed down with a glass of vodka (sacred, of course, as it was served by the Brahmin himself). We both emerged comforted and ready for a new year full of surprises!