World traveler and friend of IT Jeff Greenwald sent us this dispatch from a cybercafe during a recent visit to Nepal. Jeff has written for National Geographic Adventure, and is the executive director of Ethical Traveler, a "global community dedicated to exploring the ambassadorial potential of world travel."
Indra Jatra, celebrated during the month of Aswin, is one of the Kathmandu Valley's most treasured holidays. The ten-day celebration commemorates the capture and ransom of the rowdy god Indra, who was caught stealing a bunch of the Valley's famous jasmine. The trussed-up god agreed, in return for his freedom, to provide the morning mists of late autumn, essential to the cultivation of winter wheat.
On a recent Friday afternoon, the city's Newari population was gathering for the climax of the beloved festival. I parked my rented scooter near the Asan market, strolled past the saffron merchants and copper smiths, and took my place with the celebrants flowing into Basanthapur. The square soon filled up in anticipation of the evening's traditional dances and rituals. Hundreds of women, dressed in brilliant saris, covered the temple steps like spilled confetti. Men milled around three worn wooden chariots, lifting their children for a better view. Soon, the ancient vehicles--festooned with flowers and fitted with thrones for Bhairav, Ganesh, and Kumari, the Living Goddess--would be pulled through the streets. Here, the old Newari spirit of Kathmandu was very alive, though the old palace square is now surrounded by cement high-rises.
Every year during the climax of Indra Jatra, dozens are water buffalo are sacrificed in a ritual to honor Kumari, the Living Goddess: a pre-pubescent girl who serves as Kathmandu's protector deity. This year, though, the recently elected Maoist leadership decreed--at the height of the ceremony--that this year would be different. The secular government, citing extreme financial pressure, claimed they would not allocate government funds to buy sacrificial animals.
The reaction morphed instantly from disbelief to violence. Riots erupted. Police posts and tourist ticket booths were burned, and tires set on fire. The usually jubilant festival turned into a melee. The first wave was led by the kusain, the traditional butcher sub-cast. The yearly festivals of Indra Jatra and Dasain (a bigger and far bloodier event, which started October 4th) are their Thanksgiving and Christmas. By Sunday, though, a large part of the Valley's indigenous Newari community had joined in.
Eventually, the government capitulated--but it was too little, too
late. For the first time in living memory, the festival ended
prematurely. There was no blessing from the Kumari to the nation's new president; no procession of god-bearing chariots through the crowded
streets. The government announced shortly after the festival ended that they would not be providing funding for animal sacrifices during Dashain, and later, government ministers brought offerings of ash gourds to the Kamali Temple instead of the traditional animal blood.
What fascinates me most about this debacle is that it has ignited a passionate debate about ritual sacrifice. This occurred last Dashain, as well, though on a much smaller scale. Op-Eds and articles, emboldened or inflamed by government's decision, have filled the local dailies addressing both sides of the argument. Is the ancient tradition of sacrifice--during which the heads of goats and buffalos are severed with a mighty stroke of a long-bladed kukri-- an essential expression of Nepalese identity, or a primitive and barbaric display of animal cruelty?
The discussions that followed were diverse, but all paid homage to the obvious: ancient customs die hard. Even those adamantly opposed to animal cruelty were careful to hedge their views, admitting that such festivals are an indelible part of life in what was, at least until last April, "The World's Only Hindu Kingdom."
Even after 30 years of visiting Nepal, sacrificial rituals make me queasy. But I have to be fair: The meat is brought home for supper, or distributed, and the feasts that follow are a much-anticipated event. Yes, the animals are decapitated in a fearsome, bloodthirsty ceremony. But "barbarity" is a subjective term, and the Nepali method of slaughter (even on a day-to-day basis) is no worse than what you'll find in... well, many Western abattoirs. One might even argue that if you are going to kill an animal for consumption, ritual sacrifice--where there is first-person awareness of the act, and a spiritual motive--is preferable to mindless butchery.
Someday, inevitably, such large-scale animal sacrifices will end, and symbolic gestures will take their place (in Sri Lanka, for example, coconuts are smashed at the foot of holy shrines). But the transition will not occur overnight. For now, Nepal may be the only country in the world where cybercafés and animal sacrifice share the public square, and angry Nepalese text message each other to report that the chariot of the Living Goddess has been stalled by protests.
The Nepalese may be enchanted by iPods, cell phone cameras, and
other modern gadgets. But they cling savagely to tradition. Gods and
goddesses will long remain central characters in the life of Kathmandu--and they like their meat raw.
What do you think? Is animal sacrifice a cultural tradition that should be upheld? Or is it too barbaric for modern times? Share your thoughts in the comments, below, or email us with your opinions.
Photo: Jay Berkley via Intelligent Travel Flickr pool
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That's what's nice about these countries. similar to Asia and other Eastern countries, they cling to tradition that holds character and uniqueness.
Animal sacrifice is barbaric, un human, disgusting, and sad acts. People are foolish to think that animal sacrifice pleases GOD. There is no god so god has not power to punish such nonsense people.