A couple of hours after the march of the Maoist cadres had moved on, leaving an unsettled feeling in the Thamel (the tourist district), my guide appeared. He confirmed what I had already figured out: the bandh was not going to be lifted for at least a couple of days. I would not be departing for the Annapurna trek on time. Because of the length of the trek, there was a short window during which I could leave and still ensure a return to Kathmandu in time to make my flight out. It was not looking like I would be able to complete the trek I for which I’d come to Nepal.
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To Pashupatinath
Although I knew the city of Kathmandu somewhat well now, and could find most of the things I wanted to see on my own, a few sites were either a greater distance from my guesthouse to undertake on my own or in areas that were generally unsettled under the best of times. Many roads are also not well marked, making navigating via map (which themselves don’t show ever the street) difficult. I asked him if he could accompany me to Pashupatinath, the primary Shiva temple in Kathmandu and, for that matter, Nepal. Pashupati is the form of Shiva as Lord of Beasts; the suffix “nath” indicates “the place of.” Pashupatinath – The Place of Shiva, Lord of Beasts.
It took a little over an hour to reach Pashupatinath by foot. I was left a little amazed by the walk: the only, and rare, cars on the street were UN vehicles and ambulances. For most of the time I was there, the streets of Kathmandu were completely devoid of cars. This left the streets free for pedestrians, and turned the intersections of major roads into demonstration areas. At each major intersection, half the intersection was filled with Maoist demonstrators, mostly in their early twenties, many of whom wielded bamboo canes and clubs. The other half of the intersection was filled with Nepali police and soldiers, some with assault rifles, though some of the younger recruits and police also held bamboo canes and clubs. At many of the intersections it was possible to skirt around one party or the other, and avoid the clearing between them; at other times, one had no choice but to walk between them, their eyes on you as you traversed the intersection that separated them.
Pashupatinath
Pashupatinath is a complex of temples and public buildings. Non-Hindus are not allowed into the temples, and don’t bother trying to pull a “I’m a Shiva-dharma observing yogin.” The temple personnel are pretty clear on this point. If you are a Westerner, you can observe from across the Bagmati River.
I’d been to Pashupatinath twice on my prior visit, and I knew it had to be the first place I visited on this trip. On my first trip, I remember contemplating the ghaats – the funeral pyre platforms along the river. There is a belief that to die and be cremated on the shores of the Bagmati River, a tributary of the Ganges, is to escape the cycle of samskara. There is, for lack of a better, term, a hospice on the grounds of the temple where people go to spend their final days. On the last day of my prior visit, as I visited Pashupatinath, and watched for a half an hour as funeral pyres burned. It marked a shift in my approach to life, as it intensified my desire to live fully, savor experiences, and find a way to make my life be of greater service to others. Understand that this was driven not by a fear of dying – watching the funeral pyre did not inspire a fear of death. Instead, it inspired a greater appreciation, a deeper love, of life, in all its richness and complexity.
When I arrived at the temple, I made my way to the stone bridge that crosses the Bagmati River to the area available for non-Hindus. This area is filled with small white stone pagodas, each housing a lingam and a yoni. Outside of some are stone statues of Nandi, the bull that is Shiva’s mount. The temple was crowded, and at one of the ghaats funeral rites were just beginning.
The deceased’s body had been wrapped in a shroud, and covered in orange-yellow mums used widely in Nepal for garlands. A small canopy of a sheer orange-gold fabric had been erected over the pyre, and about thirty or forty people were in attendance. They anointed and circumambulated the deceased’s body. A musician was beating a drum, adding to the already febrile quality of the moment; it was hot, the sun was scorching even mid-morning. The family picked up the body and began a small procession as they carried the body of the deceased in a circumambulation (pradakshina in Sanskrit) around the funeral pyre. Finally, they rested the body of the deceased back on the pyre and began to douse it in what appeared to be ghee. An older man, presumably the oldest son of the deceased, came forward, with a younger man guiding him by the elbow. He lit a taper, and I found myself involuntarily holding my breath. He performed pradakshina around the funeral pyre once, twice, a third time, and pranammed. Finally, he held the taper to the mass of flowers covering the body of the deceased. As the pyre began to burn, the drumming ceased, and a temple monkey screeched in the silence.
“Om namah shivaya, shivaya namah om,” I whispered.
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On Food and Reading
That first day in Nepal set the pattern for most of my stay: long walks in the morning, often to a temple or historic site, followed by trying to escape the heat of the day by staying at the guesthouse. From 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. shops would open, which was a blessing. After my second day, I was unable to obtain hot meals. Restaurants were closed, and the closures were being enforced by packs of young Maoist youth that would roam the streets, poking their heads into the doors of any business that appeared to be open. Because the café in my guesthouse faced the street, and was clearly visible from the street, it remained closed, too. So, during the evenings I would shop for dry food: granola bars, peanut butter, chips, and crackers. There were a lot of a sugary foods and sweets available, though I couldn’t quite stomach them. I was able to find dried apricots in one store, and able to buy fresh bananas from a street vendor once. There was no other fresh produce to be found and, even if I could, I lacked the iodine solution to make fresh, uncooked vegetables safe to eat.
Since I had a lot of downtime, I was reading quite a bit, including a copy of Eat, Pray, Love I was able to buy at Pilgrim’s Bookstore. A close friend had gifted me an audio copy of the book for the trip, but because the power sometimes went out at night I was saving the use of my iPod. If you’ve read it, you know that the author spends the first third of the book eating her way across Italy. Reading her descriptions of Roman gelato, Neapolitan pizza, and all manner of amazing pasta is a cruel experience when you are dipping granola bars into cheap peanut butter. To his credit, the friend took me out for a three-course dinner upon my return, but there was a lot of plotting appropriate revenge in the moment.
A note about the reading I did while I was there. Because I knew that on my trek there would be a fair amount of time to read in the evenings, I’d taken along a copy of the Bhagavad Gita as well as Douglas Brooks’ commentary on the text, Poised for Grace . I wanted to give both a close read while in the mountains. I took to reading both, first the chapter in the Gita and then the relevant chapter in the commentary in the mornings and during the heat of the day.
Early in my trip, as I was struggling with hope that bandh would be lifted quickly, worry that I would not be able to leave for my planned trek on time, and dread that I wouldn’t make it out of the capital at all, I came across the following line in Douglas Brooks’ commentary: “No matter what we are doing or where we find ourselves, we can, and indeed we must, create an experience of alignment” (p. 35). I was seated in the abandoned café, and I laughed aloud as I read it, startling one of the guesthouse employees as he walked by on some errand. I’ve been known to miss subtle points in my day, and am always grateful when the universe is clear in its message. So, I’d try to seek alignment during this trip, mindful of Grace, even as I traversed those intersections where I had no choice but to walk between Maoists and armed soldiers. Arjuna was invited to this opportunity, on the battlefield between the opposing forces of the Pandavas and the Kauravas. I could, after all, at least try.
So, alignment. As asana is my primary practice, what about yoga during my trip? I’d not brought a mat, not wanting the extra weight during my trek and figuring I could improvise along the way. My hotel room was carpeted in an industrial carpeting of some sort that allowed for no traction, and the rooftop terrace where I spent a fair amount of time was tiled in something that seemed to contain ground glass for some reason, so that was out, as well. I did what I could with forward folds and standing poses, though I was never able to quite achieve the intensity of practice I usually need. There are a couple of yoga studios in the Thamel but they never opened while the bandha was on, so buying one was out. (By the way: there’s a Bikram studio in Kathmandu. I can only assume they just leave the doors and windows open during the summer?)
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On Ganesha, Hanuman, and Krishna
I had come to Nepal determined to find a statue of Ganesha, one of my ishta devatas, for my puja altar at home. I have a Nataraj and Mahadeva, one sent by my friend while she lived there and the latter purchased during my first trip to the country. Ganesha is a popular deity in Kathmandu, and there are small shrines to Ganesha at almost every corner (this is probably one reason why I love Kathmandu so much). I had hoped to find a Ganesha. I looked in the shops that carried statues, some of which would open during the evenings, after I’d gone to the market for bottled water and to check, yet again, if there was something fresh, even bread, to be had, besides the dry foods I’d already found. None was quite right, though, and I’d about given up. I was in a shop buying a small Tibetan prayer wheel when I spotted, on a high shelf in a corner, not a Ganesha but, rather a Krishna (of course!). Between the reading of the Gita I was doing and my growing love of bhakti, it was the perfect choice.
Hanuman, curiously, does not seem very popular in Nepal. There’s a statue of Hanuman in one of the historic sites (the Hanuman Dhoka), whose symbolism I’ve not been able to decipher and not found a good explanation of in any of the books I’ve read (why is he blindfolded?). There appear to be no roadside shrines to him, nor are there any statues of him in the public areas of Pashupatinath (unlike Ganesha, that has a couple, including his own, smaller temple). This has always seemed disappointing to me, Hanuman being my other ishta devata. Among the stories of Hanuman I most love is the tale of how he once leapt across the whole of India, from Lanka to the Himalayas, in search of an herbal cure for the mortally wounded Lakshmana. I have a postcard with the traditional image of Hanuman carrying Dronagiri Himal as he leaps back to Lanka on my puja altar at home. As I continue to plod along in my seemingly NEVER ENDING series of prerequisites to go into nursing, this image inspires me (Hanuman leapt across all of India, I can get through anatomy and physiology) to continue forward, and is the image I hold when I consider the kind of hospice nurse I want to be.
One morning while out for my walk, I passed by one of the hospitals in central Kathmandu. Because there were so few people out, I was walking more slowly than one usually does, and was able to take in more. There, on the outside of the hospital, was a huge mosaic: Hanuman leaping back to Lanka, carrying Dronagiri Himal.
I wouldn’t be leaving Nepal with the statue of Ganesha I’d hoped for, but I would be leaving with a statue of Krishna, and picture of Hanuman exactly where he is supposed to be: on the outside of the hospital. I carry a copy of that picture in my school binder now.
Hanuman Leaps!
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On Changing Plans…
Although I was finding ways to fill my days with exploring Kathmandu, reading, the study of the Gita, and a bit of asana, I was also restless. I still hoped to see the mountains! Early on the morning of my third day there, my guide appeared. I might be able to get out of Kathmandu, after all.
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To be concluded in Part 3.
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