Last night, we were walking back from Sanepa (more on that later) when we saw some bustling around the Nakbahi shrine. We stopped to watch and saw a group of men in coloured silks and jewellery being tended to, and a great air of excitement in the crowd. We stopped to watch, of course, and eventually the men sat down on chair, legs akimbo, and wrapped bandages over their shaved heads. Large wooden masks went on – some animals, some serene women’s faces, one demonic face. As each mask went on, the legs started vibrating, tap tap tap, causing the ankle bells to ring, the spirits had, perhaps, taken possession. Then the processants went into a line, each sagging on the shoulders of young men, but feet still thrumming. Trumpets blared, drums and cymbals rolled, and the goddesses took out their swords and began to dance forward in a line. it was a simple dance, of hand gestures and sweeping movements and the music took their forward movement to a graceful swaying run, and then they stopped in place and the music also stopped. When they ran the crowd also ran and, with it, we ran too, all the way to Durbar Square where hundreds of people squeezed into the courtyard of what is now the Patan Museum. Here the goddesses and animals stood in a circle and the demonic looking one – Kali it must have been – stepped into the centre to dance. Then, attendants came to quietly untie the masks and each goddess and spirit held onto the mask with both hands. The music went to several crescendoes and at each peak the spirits and goddesses leapt in the air and the third and last time, when they returned to the earth the masks were gone and the music was silenced.
Our afternoon had been in Sanepa where we went for a second visit to the home of a man who deals in very high quality thangkas and loves them very much indeed. Aside from those we purchased, he also showed us some of his own collection, including one stunning Newari mandala with truly celestial colours. Thangkas are very beautiful, and as the GF said, with the good ones one either falls into them or falls out of them, there is no stasis if one is paying attention.
In the morning we went south and east from Durbar Square, first a breakfast of alu wo, which is basically alu pakora, in a small but very famous and nameless shop. Then we went to the Rudra Varna Mahavir, a Buddhist monastery in the metal workers area. Fittingly, it was populated with beautiful statuary and we were the only non-Nepalis there. As we looked around, a small group came in, led by a man in saffron with a shaved head and bare chest, except for the sacred thread. It was very strange, he had a profound energy to him, as though he contained something that was bigger than his body, or like the rishis in Hindu stories who meditate and generate so much tapas that they could burn up the universe. He was here because, on this day, his parents had died in a horrific car accident and since then he came to make offerings in their names. I have rarely seen such a striking man, even before I eavesdropped on his story.
We didn’t find the statue maker we were hoping to find, as perhaps he was closed for Dasain, but it was a good day.