Travel. Pashupatinath. Kathmandu. Nepal
Life and Death Along the Ghats of Kathmandu
Pashupatinath -Two Very Different Sides of the same River
Along the sacred Bagmati river in Kathmandu Valley lays Pashupatinath, a Hindu temple complex dedicated to Lord Shiva. It sprawls down all along the riversides. A UNESCO World Heritage site and the largest temple complex in Nepal, it is a must-visit! It attracts thousands of devotees, locals, tourists, and, much to my delight, monkeys!
My playful and fun first visit was full of wildlife and wonder. My second visit was very different, a funeral along the Ghats, a much more poignant experience of this sacred place.
I have never seen so many monkeys in my life! The only way I could describe them would be a swarm or a plague of monkeys. The way they capered about, up and down the various statues, shrines, and temples, joking and play fighting with one another made me feel like I was in the monkey city out of the jungle book. I half expected them to pull out a trumpet or saxophone and start tootling away some Disney style jazz.
Our second trip to Pashupathinath was a far cry from the first fun and playful visit.
A friend of the school where we worked had died, and we attended his funeral at the cremation Ghats. The ceremony was thoughtful and delicate with plenty of prayers, candles, and a design carefully created on the ground. The raw pain of loss hung in the air, every person there intaking deep, palpable breaths of it. I felt a tinge of guilt, I didn’t know this man. I saw other tourists across the river taking photographs. I imagined going to a funeral at home and having tourists take photographs of one of the worst days of your life. It felt cruel, it felt wrong. I hate to think that I had been skipping across on the other side of the river just days before, looking with absent minded curiosity at the burning Ghats.
The men uncovered the body from its orange sheaths. In turn, we all laid flowers upon his body before lifting him onto the funeral pyre. His son then slowly circled his body and lit the first flame. My heart sank as I recognized his son. He was a sweet 13-year-old boy from the school.
Vast pillars of smoke rose into the darkness, fully shrouding the sky. We turned our backs on the smoke and all together walked away.
I have visited Pashupatinath many times since but I will never forget these two occasions and the delicate balance between life and death along the river.
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Georgina Nelson. Traveller. Writer. Photographer. Yoga teacher.
Sh*t Happens — because the things that go wrong make the funniest stories.
