Strikes, trunks, snakes, stupas and thrilling games

“No, no buses, no taxis, no nothing. You have to walk.”
It is dead quiet again on the Ring Road. We ask a passer by what is the matter this time and the law of cause and result is doing its thing today. The law works as follows: a Maoist shoots a Madhesi-activist during a protest demonstration, after which a group of infuriated Madhesis torches fourteen busses and trucks. The bus companies and owners of the truck hereafter get enraged and express their anger by announcing a chakka-jam, a traffic strike. All traffic, schools, the economy, the country, everything has come to a standstill once again. We will encounter our most interesting chakka-jam a couple of weeks later: a traffic strike organised by duped businesspersons protesting all the chakka-jams…
Our planned outing to Pashupatinath is off, as an alternative we take Peter’s parents for a long walk to the Jal Binayak Temple and Chobar. In the meantime, we have said goodbye to Aranka and Rob, they have left for India to spend the winter there and will return after two months.

After a couple of hours of walking on narrow dirt paths and stone stepping over the Bagmati-river we reach the temple which is dedicated to Ganesh. Inside the temple, built in 1602 and topped with a three-tier roof, a stone image of the lovers Shiva and Parvati is standing, dating from the eleventh century. Ganesh, the son of the divine couple, with elephant head and trunk is the God of Wisdom and Prosperity. He is very popular amongst devotees, also because of the sad story behind his appearance. Returning from a long journey, the hot-blooded Shiva discovers a young man in his wife’s bed. In his fury he forgets that his son might have grown during his absence and cuts off his head. Parvati explains what terrible deed he has done and forces him to bring their son back to life. Shiva can only do so by using the head of the first living being he sees, which is an elephant. Therefore, history took its course.
On our way home we walk via Chobar, which is located high on a hill and houses the very special Adinath Lokeshwar Temple. Entering the temple, it turns out that the most interesting feature has disappeared: the pots, pans, bowls and other kitchen utensils that completely covered all walls of the courtyard only two weeks ago. All offerings, made by newly-weds to secure a happy marriage life, are gone, probably to give the courtyard a decent paintjob. At night, we show Peter’s parents the pictures we took on other occasions, a meagre consolation.

Without any strikes, we reach Swayambunath, also known as the monkey temple, the next day. It is a large Buddhist stupa in the western part of town with Hindu-temples and Buddha-images. Today is a special day, called Basanta Panchami, the first day of spring that people celebrate by paying homage to Saraswati, the Goddess of Learning, Knowledge and Wisdom. Literally thousands of students throng the place to do puja: receive blessings from a saddhu, burn incense and oil and write their names on the walls with chalk, uttering the wish to have success in their studies.

The unmistakable highlight of Swayambunath is the stupa on the top of the hill, in the midst of souvenir shops, grabbing monkeys, a monastery and a museum. Vigilantly the Buddha-eyes look in four directions over the valley from the gold-coloured, square cube on top of the white dome. Depicted between those eyes is the third eye, the Buddhist symbol of awareness. Under the eyes the nose has the shape of a question mark, the same shape as the Nepali number 1 (ek), the symbol of unity. The round stupa is equipped with hundreds of prayer wheels; in the course of the afternoon more and more Buddhist monks and day-trippers walk their rounds, mumbling, turning the wheels to spread their prayers, everyone with his own thoughts and wishes.

We do a lot of sightseeing these days. Twenty-four hours later, we reschedule the postponed trip to Pashupatinath. Pashupatinath is Nepal’s most important Hindu-temple and one of the most prominent Shiva-temples of the sub-continent. The temple with its dozens of annexes and stupas is located at the holy Bagmati River. Just like Varanasi at the Ganges of India, Pashupatinath is a popular place to be cremated. Every single day dozens of cremations take place on the especially built ‘ghats’. Right in front of the main temple on the northwest bank of the Bagmati, one finds the royal ghats; these are for use of the royal family only. A cremation here, with real sandalwood and precious rituals costs about 25.000 rupees (270 euro, the annual salary for the average Nepali). The somewhat cheaper version next to the royal burning place still costs 10.000 rupees. The average person has to make do with the multiple ghats on the southwest bank of the river, where a cremation only costs 5000 rupees. At Pashupatinath, you can witness cremations day and night. When we arrive, six cremations are taking place simultaneously. During many ceremonies surviving relatives lay flower garlands, jewellery and offerings of fruit on the body, draped in several layers of fabric, after which the family places the earthly remains on a woodpile. One of the many resident monkeys quickly manages to steal two oranges, before the oldest son - who is completely dressed in white - lights the pyre under his father. The family retreats in mourning, to watch the burning from a short distance for some time. Everything happens in the open, the family tragedy takes place only metres from dozens of bystanders and strangers.

On the eastern bank, between the steep stairs that lead to two smaller temples, orange-clad and contented saddhus are smoking a joint, under while amusing the public with their painted faces and bodies rubbed with ashes. A group of snake charmers immediately picks Peter (being white = rich) from the audience. Before he knows it, the leader of the group wraps three metres-long pythons and cobras around his neck and places a turban on his head. The exciting music and enticing way the players move their instruments make the snakes dance and get into some kind of trance. Peter’s parents suspiciously easy get rid of their fear of losing their son and cheerfully start taking pictures instead of coming to his rescue.

At night, Peter takes revenge on his father. During dinner, his father, like always, saves the tastiest bit to the last: this time a piece of sausage. Triumphantly he readies himself to stick it on his fork, in order to provoke our envy, when Peter snitches it off his plate. A wrestling match follows and his father falls backwards, his head hitting the wall. He pretends to be dead; we suspect to give us a fright, but you never know of course. Stoically Peter finishes his meal, whilst his mother anxiously walks up to her husband. Slowly his father returns to the land of the living, when he finally is sitting at the table again Peter showy sticks the sausage at his fork, puts it in his mouth, chews a couple of times and swallows the victory.
So, that is in the pocket.