Human beings have been existing over 200,000 to 300,000 years on this planet and in terms of documented history, we’ve only been keeping records for a tiny fraction of that time. The first forms of writing appeared around 5,000 to 5,500 years ago, which means that only about the last 2-3% of human existence has been documented.
My method of travel has always been via a sense of intuition, whichever rock, temple, or river had a name or background that intrigued me, my feet would naturally wind me towards that direction - Kathmandu in particular is one such space.
Temples don’t fascinate me as much as the people who go to them, there is a strange sense of intense devotion in the eyes and hearts of the locals. I know today we live in a world ruled by superficial logic, reasoning and so-called modern views - yet, we have yet to experience a sense of innocence and sacrifice that the locals of Kathmandu entail.
I would sit by the Bagmati River, watching families and sadhus alike lost in their rituals. The devotion wasn’t performative—it was raw, unfiltered, and almost palpable. I saw people with tears in their eyes, not out of sadness but out of a kind of surrender, an acceptance of something greater than themselves. And while the world outside talks of progress and reason, here was a community that still held onto faith, sacrifice, and innocence with a grip so tight it almost made me envious.
It’s one thing to read about spirituality; it’s another to witness it in the weathered hands clasped in prayer, in the eyes that glisten with hope, and in the silent offerings made at the break of dawn.
In Nepal, the Devi—the divine feminine force—holds a place of profound reverence. The belief in the presence of the goddess is not simply symbolic; it’s felt, lived, and celebrated as if she rules over the very land itself. This is particularly true in the Kathmandu Valley, where the Devi culture has thrived for centuries, almost as if the valley itself were her domain.
One of the most intriguing manifestations of this is the legend of the Kumari, the living goddess of Nepal. A young girl, chosen for her purity and the fulfilment of strict criteria, is believed to be the earthly embodiment of the goddess Taleju Bhawani. It’s said that centuries ago, the goddess herself appeared before King Jay Prakash Malla in human form, helping him defend the valley against his enemies. But when the king’s curiosity and desire became too great, she vanished, leaving behind only a promise: she would return, but only in the form of a young girl. To this day, the Kumari is revered as a deity, her presence is believed to protect the valley and its people.
Call it my fortune or misfortune, I was present on that evening when she silently gazed outside her rustic mansion, along with me was a Spanish group, and it felt strange because while the others were awestruck by the spectacle, snapping photos and whispering excitedly, I found myself captivated by something much quieter. The Kumari—this small girl adorned in rich crimson robes, her eyes lined with black kohl that made them seem almost otherworldly—did not appear as a child would. She was regal, poised as if the weight of centuries was resting lightly on her delicate shoulders.
Her gaze was unfocused, looking somewhere far beyond the throngs of people in front of her. It was as if she were not seeing us at all, but rather looking through us, into a realm only she could perceive. The Spanish group murmured among themselves about how lucky they were to witness this rare event, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were intruding on something sacred, something that our cameras and curious eyes could never fully capture.
The Kumari turned away, her expression unreadable, and slowly retreated into the shadows of her mansion. The air seemed to release a collective sigh as she disappeared, the courtyard returning to its ordinary hum. The spell was broken, and the tourists returned to their chattering and photo-taking, oblivious to the moment that had just passed.
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