In search of Nepal's living goddesses

[Guest guest]

In search of Nepal's living goddesses

 

By Jerry Guo

The Christian Science Monitor

June 26, 2008

 

Patan, Nepal

Like any typical schoolgirl, 13-year-old Chanira

Bajracharya struggles to finish hours of homework each

day. That doesn't stop her from stealing away to watch TV

(she enjoys HBO; her younger brothers often change it to

Nickelodeon) or use the computer. She even has Barbies,

but now that she's older, painting has replaced organizing

tea parties as her favorite pastime.

 

The similarities end there. To start, no one - including her

family - may scold her. Chanira eats whatever she desires,

though she's yet to abuse this power by demanding an

endless supply of ice cream. And don't even mention chores.

 

It may seem like she's hit the jackpot, but in exchange for

this life of relative luxury, she's forbidden to leave her five-

story home, save for religious holidays. She must also

endure a constant stream of Hindu followers who come

seeking her healing powers or to snap a photo of her.

 

You see, she's no mere mortal: Chanira is one of three main

kumaris, or " living goddesses, " here in the fabled

Kathmandu Valley. The practice of worshiping young girls

- and then casting them aside once they reach puberty - is

unique to this Himalayan nation.

 

Indeed, kumaris - Buddhists that are worshiped by both

Buddhists and Hindus - symbolize " an amazing political

accommodation " here where Asia meets the Indian

subcontinent, says Nick Gier, former professor of

philosophy and Eastern religions at the University of Idaho.

" I stand in awe of how the Nepali have put religion and

politics together creatively to get the Buddhists and Hindus

to live peacefully together. "

 

But this is no happily ever after princess tale. With the end

of Nepal's 240-year-old monarchy last month, there is talk

in the newly established constituent assembly of abolishing

the whole religious tradition.

 

" The kumari is not an essential institution for the new

Nepal, " Maoist lawmaker Janardan Sharm, declared while

another reportedly called the kumari an " evil symbol. "

 

And Nepal's Supreme Court is expected to issue a decision

July 1 in a lawsuit by human rights lawyers contending that

the strict cossetting of kumaris is a form of child abuse.

 

I've come here to the land of Everest to meet the three main

living goddesses before they go the way of former King

Gyanendra. But getting past those pearly gates of heaven

proved quite the challenge for a Western mortal, especially

one carrying a reporter's notepad.

 

---

 

I begin in the capital, Kathmandu, where cows, considered

sacred to the vast Hindu majority, have as much right to the

road as the overflowing public buses that ply the labyrinth

of rutted streets. In the center of this chaos is the three-story

royal kumari palace, its wooden walls and windows full of

centuries-old intricate carvings.

 

It's 4:15 p.m., and a couple of dozen tourists and locals are

milling about the garden courtyard, waiting to catch a

glimpse of the most famous living goddess of all, the royal

kumari. She's 15 minutes late.

 

Four Nepalese college students cluster in a corner. They've

traveled seven hours by bus from Pokhara to see Preeti

Shakya, the fickle 10-year-old. " We have been learning

about the kumari since childhood, " says Neha Surung,

dressed up for the occasion. " It's a long tradition so we just

believe. "

 

But it turns out that even devout worshipers, like Ms.

Surung, have trouble untangling the mysteries and myths

behind these living goddesses. Many believe that marrying a

former kumari is fatal - a real hurdle in a yong woman's

return to society. And the kumari selection process - by

Buddhist priests - is a bit enigmatic, too. Rashmila Shakya,

a former royal kumari who I meet later (and is not relation

to Preeti), explains the selection process this way: When the

current kumari starts menstruating, young girls from a

specific caste of goldsmith families are brought to the king's

priest. Whoever fits a list of 32 physical " perfections " -

including having the voice of a duck and the body of a

Banyan tree - becomes accepted as the reincarnation of the

Hindu Goddess Taleju.

 

On this blistering May day, the royal kumari, Preeti, doesn't

bother to show up at the third-story window. And why

should she? Last year, the independent girl refused to give

tika - a blessing in the form of a red mark on the forehead -

to the prime minister, who was attempting to take over from

the unpopular king the annual ceremonial duty of receiving

a blessing for the nation.

 

While any Hindu or Buddhist believer may enter to receive

a blessing from the kumari each morning, Westerners of

uncertain faith are strictly prohibited from even entering the

inner palace. My mere request for an interview greatly

offends the palace caretaker, who angrily shooes my

translator away.

 

So I head to nearby Bhaktapur, the seat of a once powerful

kingdom in the valley and home to a kumari reported to be

the most progressive - and accessible - in Nepal. The city

has escaped Kathmandu's building boom and is relatively

unchanged, with cobblestone streets and charming squares

packed with temples. I eventually find the kumari's home

tucked away in one of the myriad back alleyways.

 

Unlike Preeti or Chanira, 11-year-old Sajai Shakya is known

to lead an almost normal life - a living goddess who goes to

school, plays outside, and even visits the US (her

unprecedented trip last June almost led to the removal of her

title). Her parents, a marketing agent and a housewife,

defend the middle path between protecting a girl's

adolescence and fulfilling a religious obligation.

 

" The kumaris should be allowed to go out, " says her mother,

Rukmini Shakya. " If they are confined to their homes for as

long as eight years, how can they interact with the world

after this part of their lives? "

 

And I discover, to my dismay, that the Shakya family walks

its talk. I've come all this way for an interview with a

kumari, only to discover that Sajai had resigned earlier this

year to enroll in a prestigious boarding school in

Kathmandu.

 

---

 

It's at Patan, the third major city in the valley, that I come

face to face with Chanira Bajracharya the HBO-loving

living goddess. Chanira is already in her throne room,

decked in full kumari regalia: elegant red garb (she cannot

wear any other color), flowery headdress, thick silver

necklaces, and a painted third eye that Hindus believe can

see for miles - and into the future.

 

She's forbidden to smile, though to show any negative

emotions would be a deadly omen to the guest. But the 13-

year-old seems amused, invoking all her godly powers not

to smile at the sight of a Westerner attempting to navigate

the protocol for greeting a goddess.

 

Alas, her mother, Champa Bajracharya, steps in and informs

me that outsiders must not corrupt Chanira's purity by

attempting conversation. That's why she has no friends,

explains Mrs. Bajracharya, " she's not allowed outside. "

 

Her mother says she always knew her daughter was

different. Standing in Chanira's presence, I sense a sort of

dignity and sensitivity you don't normally see in a ninth

grader. .

 

---

 

Right before leaving Nepal, I meet 25-year-old Rashmila

Shakya, a former goddess who who seems like the girl next

door. She is the first kumari to graduate from college,

earning a degree in computer science last year. When

Rashmila left the Kathmandu palace in 1991 as a 12-year-

old, she knew only enough to be placed in second grade.

 

The two royal kumaris since Rashmila have received better

private tutors, though they're still not allowed to attend

school or live with their families.

 

She regrets not receiving a proper education, but staunchly

defends the institution: " If the kumaris started to go to

school, then what would be the difference between a kumari

and any other girl? The tradition must be modernized with

time, but that doesn't mean the whole system should be

changed. "

 

In a wistful tone, she recalls her former position as a source

of spiritual healing. She fondly talks about the 6-year-old

mute boy, who was able to speak shortly after drinking

water that had been poured over her feet.

 

But for Rashmila, now dressed in stylish jeans and sporting

pink nail polish, that is a past life.

 

In a noticeably relieved tone, she declares, " My life now is

completely normal. "

 

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