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A page from Nepal’s history and a lazy day in Basantapur

It’s early morning and I’m at Basantapur Durbar Square, one of the UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the Kathmandu Valley. Flocks of pigeons pick grains and fly nearby, perhaps to feed their chicks. Each showering of grains from visitors generates a general commotion that brings life to this piece of archaeology where kings have ruled and become history.

Perhaps the royals of the yore, martyrs and our migrant brothers and sisters have reincarnated as birds after returning home dead, in coffins. Beside the walls of a temple, I see several lovebirds getting intimate with erotic wood carvings displaying the art of lovemaking making love juice flow.

Rule of love has taken over the rule of law, or has it? It seems so, but law enforcement officials know better.

So is with the birds. With their and their young ones’ basic needs fulfilled, they are ready to mate and multiply. Soon there will be more birds and more hands to feed them, I guess. How happy a world it will be!

The birds remind me of hundreds of youths, who leave the country every day for jobs abroad. How torn and tormented those fragmented souls must be feeling away from home?

2What if the suspects told a lie even in the presence of none other than Kal Bhairav, who appears to be the personification of fear itself?

Beside the pigeon-feeding yard stands the gigantic statue of Kal Bhairav astride his Betal. Unearthed from the Nagarjuna Hill during the reign of King Pratap Malla, this image was installed for a particular purpose – for making criminals confess. It was the idea of his tantric counsel Lambakarna Bhatta. It is said investigating officials of those times would bring the suspects in front of the fearsome god and tell them to speak the truth.

What if the suspects told a lie even in the presence of none other than Kal Bhairav, who appears to be the personification of fear itself? According to popular belief, they would vomit blood and die on the spot. That belief was enough to make the criminals confess. What a ‘scientific way’ to exact confessions and deliver justice! How about replicating this swift system of crime investigation and justice delivery at a time of rising crimes? The government ought to do some serious thinking on this ! Close to the Kal Bhairav lives his own brother, in confinement.

How does it feel, o Swet Bhairav, to be free? How does it feel to be in charge of your own destiny? You know not, or even if you knew, you have long forgotten. Is this thing called destiny so powerful that it can even imprison mighty deities like you for allegedly devouring a human each night in the neighbourhood when you were free?

Mixed perhaps with your own tears, how does the homemade brew, which people offer you during Indra Jatra, taste, o fearsome god? How does the crisp air of freedom taste at that time? Don’t want to break free from all this and start a new life, far from the prying eyes of people, who know you as a divinity?


Is it king Pratap Malla, the Romeo of the yore, looking at the beautiful tourists from the high pillar nearby? I wonder. I wonder if I am hearing long, collective sighs of kings, Kal Bhairav, Swet Bhairav, king Pratap Malla and the likes.


And how does it feel to be unsafe even in confinement, o Bhairav? Who knows better than you, who have lost precious gems studded on your crown when ‘authorities concerned’ were quite unconcerned about your security? Where must those gems have vanished? Who has them now? Why are you silent? Do you fear for your own life? Speak the truth, o god, for the police office is nearby to protect your life and limbs!

Surely you have seen better, safer times, haven’t you?

Time and again, I’m drawn to the pigeon-feeding yard, for that’s where the action is, where the thrill is. When several birds fly, their tiny tummies filled and beaks full of food for the young ones, they offer a beautiful spectacle, waves of pleasure that cameras cannot capture. There’s a belief that vibrations that these birds produce, the waves they create while flying in flocks help people heal. The medical industry would do well to investigate this belief.

If this belief turns true, it should keep quiet. If it does not, it should make the findings public, for many of these patients, who visit the yard daily to offer grains to the birds, will come to your hospitals to give you wads and wads of cash to get rid of diseases plaguing them. What say you, o medical mafia?

basantapur Ever in search of a platform to show his hidden ‘talents’, a drunken, deglamourised comic figure tries to copy the Chinese beauties’ moves, but no one pays attention to him.

And what about the possibility of these birds spreading avian influenza in this ancient city? Being historic birds, they are immune to this modern disease and pose no such hazards to the public, I guess. What’s your take on this issue, health experts?

Forget about health hazards, forget everything, just soak in the beauty of these divine moments, I tell myself. How about forgetting your gadgets and enjoying blissful moments as they unfold, o travellers?

But the two Chinese women want to catch the fleeting, beautiful moments and so do other visitors. The Chinese are busy in a photo session with birds flying and landing in the background, of course. One of them is wearing a sari, which suits her lean and lanky body perfectly. She tries several poses, keeping her friend engaged. This draws several visitors, who train their cameras towards the Chinese.

Is it king Pratap Malla, the Romeo of the yore, looking at the beautiful tourists from the high pillar nearby? I wonder. I wonder if I am hearing long, collective sighs of kings, Kal Bhairav, Swet Bhairav, king Pratap Malla and the likes.

How does it feel to be neglected in your own turf, o characters of the yore? You have seen better times, haven’t you? Not that I want to fester old wounds, but feel free to air your sufferings, for it will do you guys no harm….. In fact, letting it out will be good for your health in these sick times.

It’s not only birds and tourists that bring at the pigeon-feeding yard. It’s a public stage where everyone is free to perform as he wishes. Ever in search of a platform to show his hidden ‘talents’, a drunken, deglamourised comic figure tries to copy the Chinese beauties’ moves, but no one pays attention to him, nobody bothers to give him a dollar or two. Clearly, this is not his day. He knows that and shuffles out, disgracefully. Better luck next time.

Then come children of lesser gods. They try their antics to get some money, perhaps for their glue and dendrite doses, but the Chinese angels are unyielding and so are other tourists. Frustrated, they leave the platform. They have their own luck to curse.

After what seems like eternity, the Chinese leave after feeding the birds, other giving hands leave and tourists thin out. Shutterbugs and others leave and so do dendrite-sniffing children, now that there’s no hope of getting some money for another dose.

Calm returns to the square. For a while, the divinities won’t have to pose for cameras and throw that cosmetic smile for each click, with anger boiling inside their empty stomachs. I distinctly hear a collective sigh of relief from divinities and the mortals, who are no more: They know this moment is temporary and they want to make the most of it. They know meditative silence is ephemeral in this part of old Kathmandu, where they have to listen to high-decibel modern music and songs, thanks to frequent concerts at Basantapur Dabali that threaten to bring the houses down, apart from suffering other abuses. Clearly, there’s no such thing called divine rights in times of human rights and democracy.

While leaving, I exchange a quick glance with Shiva-Parvati looking out the window at the Shiva-Parvati Temple. The divine couple is savouring every moment in Basantapur, looking curiously at the human Shiva-Parvati couple.

I see no hippies around the Hippie Temple. Where have the flower children of the yore gone, in busloads? Have they found another Shangri-la, a promised land where hashish, marijuana and free sex are not hard to find?

The flower children may have vanished, but from the contemporary pages have emerged glue and dendrite-sniffing children. It will be no wonder if these children make it their paradise.


As the night approaches, the ragtag Shiva and Parvati disappear, to nurse their material wounds. The glue-sniffing children vanish, in search of their daily doses.


The human Shiva-Parvati let out a sigh as their divine counterparts look on. This human couple would look more real with the entire contingent of Nandi the Bull, Bhringi, Chausathhi Yogini, Kali, Kumar and Ganesh by its side. But who has the resources to feed such a huge contingent, in these distressing times in this country’s life?

It has been quite a long morning for human Shiva and Parvati, I guess. And I’m right. I look closer at their begging bowls and see that they are not even half full. Divine Shiva and Parvati see the empty bowls. They let out a sigh, so do I. I recall a line from a popular soap where a character goes: Dui rupiya chhaina, tanabai tanab chha (I don’t even have two rupees. Tension is all I have).

As the night approaches, the ragtag Shiva and Parvati disappear, to nurse their material wounds. The glue-sniffing children vanish, in search of their daily doses. As I leave, royals of the yore and divinities, including Goddess Taleju, Goddess Kumari, Shiva-Parvati and their brigades, descend on the stage to enact their roles.

As calm returns, history comes to life at the centre of the ancient kingdom, again.

PS: These are some of the thoughts and sights that registered on my mind while I was taking a walk around the Basantapur Durbar Square on a lazy day. On the April 25 quake and aftershocks, many of the heritages located in the square and other parts of the country turned into rubble. Fond memories and hope remain now. Someone has rightly said, “When everything’s over, future still remains.” And everything’s not over for us. Together, we shall rise from the ashes of destruction and recreate historical wonders of archaeological importance, with our characteristic never-say-die spirit. And we will….

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