# Picturesque Nepal/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII
FESTIVALS
The Popularity of the Festivals—The Machendranath Festival—The Procession—The Dassera Festival—The Review—The Dassera Procession blessing the Colours at the Kot—Minor Celebrations, "Kaka boli" and "Swana boli"—The Pilgrimage—The Sacred Lake of Gosainthan.
SHRINE DEDICATED TO GANESH AT PATAN.
There are ten great national festivals specially observed by the Newars, and three others of Hindu origin, not peculiar to Nepal, being also kept in the plains of India, which are celebrated with considerable pomp by the inhabitants of the Valley. Apart from these there are subsidiary ceremonies, besides frequent processions on some pretext or another, such as good or bad fortune, births, marriages, sickness, deaths, etc., so that there are excuses ever present for the workman to leave his tools, or the shopkeeper his goods, and gaze with continuous delight on the carnivals that his spiritual guides have never omitted to provide for his delectation.
Of the purely indigenous festivals the most important of all is that in honour of Machendranath or Matsyendra Nath, who may be regarded as the patron saint of Nepal. There is a long rambling legend with regard to this divinity and his association with the country, but the ceremony of annually exhibiting his present-day embodiment in the form of an ​idol to thousands of his followers is one of the most fascinating events of the Valley, and a function which has been maintained for centuries. The ceremony is in three parts: first, the bathing of the image of the god at a particular shrine; second, the dragging of the image in a triumphal car through the principal streets of Patau; and third, the unrobing of the idol and the display of its garments to the people. The second portion of this programme is particularly striking, and is a festival eminently characteristic of the State. The car is a huge, unwieldy structure, with massive wheels, on the solid spokes of which are painted in distinctive colours the eyes of Bhairab or Shiva. Surmounting this is the chamber containing the deity, built up in the form of a column, somewhat resembling a Maypole, and between 60 and 70 feet high. This construction is only dragged for a distance of about a mile and a half, but this short journey ordinarily occupies at least four days, as certain prescribed halts are made, and neither is the car itself nor are the roads adapted for easy progression. The scene is a ​wild and barbaric one. Through the narrow streets overhung by wooden balconies crammed with excited groups of onlookers, or across the great open square, the platforms of all the picturesque buildings forming vantage grounds on which the crowds congregate, the car, dragged by over a hundred willing devotees, makes its triumphal tour. As these panting individuals become exhausted, so their places are taken by others from the packed mass of spectators, who, grasping one of the many ropes attached to the large under-beams or shafts, joyfully contribute their share to this portion of the ceremony. The superstructure of the car, overlaid with plates of copper-gilt, and surmounted by a metal umbrella with gay streamers and ribbons, sways until it almost overturns as the groaning wheels bump over the uneven pavement of the city, or sink deep into the soft soil of the roadway outside, but willing hands cling manfully to the guide ropes, and this accident is averted. Like a great ship staggering through a heavy sea—its curved prow terminating in a gilt figurehead of Bhairab, and apparently forcing ​its way through the seething mass of humans who like billows surround it in one capacity and another—the great god Matsyendra in his car, with strain and cry makes his annual journey. On a staging somewhat resembling a deck the officiating priests take their stand, and, like sailors, cling valiantly to the oscillating structure. A procession naturally accompanies the car, elephants gaily painted and caparisoned move ponderously along, bearing in their gold and silver howdahs the royalties of the State. Bands make joyful, if somewhat barbaric, music on tambourines, cymbals, trumpets, conches, and drums, while bevies of girls carrying garlands of flowers enliven the proceedings with song and dance. Other attendants bear great bells on poles, golden umbrellas, incense burners, fly-whisks, banners, and all the insignia of the great deity to whom they are doing honour. And so for four days and often longer, moving from place to place, this unique ceremonial is maintained with shout and song, religious enthusiasm, feasting and rejoicing, until the final portion of the complete and complicated ​ritual is accomplished and the god is returned to his temple at Patan, where he remains in state until the following year.
Of the Hindu festivals, the "Dassera" or Durga Puja is the most celebrated, and is a week of many functions in Nepal. It commemorates the victory of the goddess Durga over the demon Mahishasur, who usually takes the form of a buffalo. The scene is a popular one with the Nepali art craftsman, who frequently introduces it in wood or metal in his decorations of the temple. The plate facing p. 105 is a tympanum carved in wood, which adorns a small shrine in Patan, and depicts the artist's conception of this legend. Durga, sixteen-armed representing sixteen different forces, dances in ecstasy on the world's Evil, which is symbolized by a buffalo. The act of crushing this emblem of wickedness gives great joy to the other deities, and the artist has carved Ganesh, Verun, and others of the Hindu Pantheon, playing on musical instruments as an indication of their pleasure. The remainder of the composition is replete with artistic allegory, which is one of the most ​striking characteristics of Nepalese art. But the fact that from the earliest days the buffalo has been regarded as the living representation of evil, has led to the principal feature of this festival being a colossal sacrifice of these animals wherever the believers in this aspect of Hinduism are gathered together.
The general programme of the "Durga Puja" as observed in Nepal consists in a review of the troops, a procession, and the ceremony of "blessing the colours." At least ten days are reserved for the whole function, and there are other supplementary items in the Dassera ritual, but these are the main events. The review is a very popular affair with the Gurkhas, as the martial spirit burns keenly within them, and upwards of ten thousand troops line up in a hollow square on the great maidan or parade ground on the outskirts of the city of Katmandu. The Prime Minister, the Commander-in-Chief, and all the officers of the State arrive mounted, and await the approach of the King, under the shade of a large and conspicuous tree in the centre of the field. His Majesty motors from ​his palace on to the scene, and is greeted with great acclamation, several bands playing the Nepalese National Anthem. A perfunctory inspection follows, and then a feu-de-joie, very creditably performed, ripples up and down the ranks. The bands situated in various positions again break into music, being followed by volleys, more music, and then fifteen rounds of "independent," in which the artillery joins. The air is impregnated with much noise, smoke, and music, and a wholesome martial ardour thrills all concerned.
The Back of the Durbar at Katmandu.
Elaborate woodwork in the main street of Katmandu.
The Newars often paint their carving with brilliant colours—emerald, vermilion, blue and orange.
One of the last events of the Dassera festival is that which has been alluded to as "Blessing the Colours," and is conducted in an historic enclosure in Katmandu known as the "Kot." A commonplace-looking courtyard in itself, ​it has been the site of some of the most epoch-making events in the modern annals of the State. Here in 1846 took place a series of indiscriminate murders and massacres, the truth regarding which will never be known, but the best blood of the country seems to have been wantonly spilt to satisfy the ambitions of the various political parties striving for sole power. Dr. Oldfield, who came to Nepal some four years after this "Reign of Terror," and lived for many years in the State, has left lurid accounts of the slaughters in the "Kot," and with his description in hand the tragedies can be realized. It is a story of unarmed men hunted from room to room only to be cut down at last, or others herded like sheep in the open courtyard, and picked off with rifles by marksmen stationed in the balconies. There is the window also, in the uppermost story, where the chronicler relates the Queen stood, a calm and unmoved witness of the horrors being perpetrated below, and only leaning forward now and again to urge on her blood-thirsty supporters, and calling out, "Kill and ​destroy my enemies." The bodies of the slain were heaped up together, without reference to rank, and nearly filled the quadrangle surrounding the Kot. But many years have elapsed sinee these days of gloom, and it is a different scene that is being enacted on this same site to-day, although still a bloody and barbaric one. For it is the custom with the Nepalis to devote the ninth day of the Durga Puja to the worship of the armaments of war, and this is performed by sacrificing to the goddess an enormous number of buffaloes. Every regimental officer is expected to present a victim (the higher officers giving two or three) as an offering to the colours of his own corps, so that at some of the army headquarters, notably at the Kot, these animals are slaughtered by the thousand.
Entrance to a temple in Katmandu.
Among the minor celebrations of this festival, two curious customs are observed which occupy two consecutive days. The first of these is called the "Kaka boli," and on this occasion it is the practice of all the people to show kindness to the common crow. These birds in almost all parts of India are a great pest, and their persistent thieving makes them the enemies of all. It must, therefore, be a puzzling matter for the crow tribe to find their predations unchecked, and even large quantities of food placed in prominent positions, which they are permitted to devour unmolested. San Vicente and his Crow may have some remote association with this custom, which also strangely reflects the old ballad—
A Copper-gilt Shrine at the Temple of Shambu-Nāth.
"My good worthy masters, a pittance bestow, Some oatmeal, or barley, or wheat for the crow, A loaf, or a penny, or e'en what you will. From a poor man, a grain of his salt may suffice, For your crow swallows all, and is not overnice."
The day succeeding the "Kaka boli" is known as the "Swana boh," and this is observed by every dog in the streets being not only fed, but decorated with garlands and parts painted with vermilion. Every kindness and attention is shown to the wandering pariah dog, unfortunately for this one day only, the "dog day" of Nepal. The origin of this performance may be traced to the Hindu epic, the "Mahabharata," containing the account of Draupadi and his dog. This animal is supposed to have been an incarnation of Dharma raja, the divine judge, and this seems to suggest "the faithful hound" of Odysseus, with whose story "the poetry of the world begins."
From the Festival it is not a far cry to the Pilgrimage—
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of truth to walk upon, My scrip of joy immortal diet: My bottle of salvation.
​My gown of glory, Hope's true gage And thus I'll take my pilgrimage— Whilst my soul, like a quiet Palmer, Travelleth towards the land of Heaven."
Rayleigh.
The pilgrimage is a characteristic feature of most religions of the Orient, and was a common event until recent years with the devout people of the West, but since the time of the Crusades it has declined in Europe. Nepal, like many another Eastern country, can boast of one spot within its confines more holy than any other, for far in the bosom of "the encircling mountains" lies the Sacred Lake of Gosainthan. Due north of the Valley of Nepal, and, where the eternal snows hang highest in the ethereal space, one bold bluff peak stands out whose precipitous sides appear inaccessible to every living thing except the vulture floating in the blue. Yet every year hundreds of devotees painfully scale this great mountain in order to worship a rock which is thought by the pious to represent the deity Nila-kenta, or to bathe in the holy pool in which that massive boulder is sunk. No European has yet been permitted ​to gaze on this transcendental scene, but it has been described by Oldfield as a "large, tawny-coloured rock, of an oval shape, the rounded top of which can be seen sunk a foot or more beneath the surface of the tranquil and transparent water. The pious worshippers of Shiva, as they stand on the edge of the sacred lake, look on this unhewn rock as divinely carved representation of Mahadeo, and fancy they can trace out in it the figure of the deity reclining full length upon a bed of serpents. This rock must have been deposited in its present position when the lake was filled by an ancient glacier, and sunk as it is in the centre of the ice-cold waters, it can never have been touched by mortal hands." And to gaze on this natural wonder, the small shopkeeper will leave his place in the city bazaar where he has spent all the years of his life without a change, toil for eight days up the narrow dangerous tracks, and eventually, if he has not perished from the severe cold or is buried beneath avalanches, has the supreme joy of reaching the long-looked-for goal. Only those who have accompanied one of these ​Eastern pilgrimages, be it across the burning desert, packed in the pilgrim ship, or over the glaciers of the Himalayas, can understand the intense religious feeling which throbs within every one of the poor souls who is undertaking this self-imposed task. Whether it is due to a sudden impulse which causes the workman to cast down his tools, hurriedly wrap a few necessities in a cloth, and join a party of wanderers already on the road, or whether it is the result of a lifetime of thought and saving for this one great penance, the spirit which permeates each individual is the same—one earnest, profound desire to reach the sacred spot or joyfully perish in the effort to do so. Follow in the wake of one of these great expeditions, strung out for miles along the mountain passes, and the lessons taught will supply much food for reflection. Of all the thousands who annually undertake these adventurous journeys, men, women, and children, old and young, the halt, the lame, the sick, aged, and even the dying, not one turns back, but, ever pressing forward with bright, expectant eyes gazing from their ​haggard faces, they are sustained with but one thought, one aim, and one hope, to absorb in the prescribed manner some of the sanctity which enshrouds the mystical place they are determined to attain. One sees old women attempting to scale the heights, dragging their aged limbs a few yards, and then sinking down exhausted from the unusual exercise, gasping and palpitating from the rarefied atmosphere, shivering from the intense cold, but buoyed up with that "loadstone to hearts and loadstar to all eyes" which signals to them from the distant snows. Or mothers struggling on with children at their breasts, sometimes even born at some stage of the pilgrimage, but neither births nor deaths affect this slowly moving throng which daily draws nearer its goal. And then the cold grey light dawns on the last morning, the foremost pilgrims are seen running like black specks across the final field of snow, and, as one draws closer, a shrill, weird chorus of cries can be heard, like a flock of seagulls around a wreck. As the last intervening crag is scaled a strange wild scene comes into view. Naked, the devotees are ​rushing into the ice-cold waters of the lake; others, as if transfigured, stand fixed and dumb, seemingly overcome with religious fervour, while some, repeatedly leaping in the air, give vent to their joy in delirious shouts. And in one form or another these fanatical performances are enacted at certain dates or seasons in every year at one or other of the various Hindu shrines which lie concealed in the ice-bound fastnesses of the Himalayas, whether around the great pillar of ice at Amarnath in Kashmir, the fountain of fire at Jawala-mukhi (flame mouth) in Kangra, or the sacred lake of Gosainthan in Nepal; and Gosainthan is the cruellest penance of them all. Those who return, ever after live in a religious plane placed high above their associates, and the glamour of their pilgrimage brightens their narrow lives as they have never known before. But there are also the others, those absent ones whose bones lie under the snows, beneath the rocks, among the boulders, or amid the ice of the long and tortuous path to Gosainthan, and one wonders if those are not more blessed than all.