One fine morning of mid-November, I headed to my office at my normal time. Usually, I would reach the office around 10:10 AM and rush to my office room. But to my surprise, there was no traffic jam that day and I reached ahead of the regular time. It should not have been a surprise but it is Kathmandu and everyone knows about its notorious traffic jam not only during rush hours but also at other hours as seen these days.

After parking my bike at one of the narrow spaces between two white-plated bikes, I looked at the time with no idea what to do next. It was only 9:35 AM and I still had around half an hour to spare, so I decided to take a stroll around Durbar Square to kill my time.

I had been working on one of the temple’s rehabilitation projects for two years. My regular presence in the area had up surged my attachment with it. The vibe, the aura and the serenity that Durbar Square offered could never be quenched by any other place. I felt that I understood this place like no one else and I believed that in some way, it understood me back. The affinity was two-sided.

“Didi, chiya khanuna!” a tiny voice rang through my ears. As I looked at the girl aged no more than 10 years, she stood there without any reaction, with a paper cup in one hand and a thermos flask in another. “Khanera?” I replied smiling without slowing down my pace as she was walking along with me now. “Dai, chiya khanuna!” she went to one of the passers-by without even bothering to ask me twice. I looked around and saw number of couples in college uniforms sipping the warm tea. Some were rubbing their palms together to keep themselves warm while some found it better to keep them comfortably in their pockets. The fog was finally clearing up with a bit of peeking from the sun that seemed dim and far away. The winter was coming and the cold mornings were the reminder to it.

I looked around as I continued my stroll. The square looked busy as it had been forever. The recent earthquake had changed the face of Durbar Square along with a number of other places of the valley. However, the square was slowly coming back to its feet with the reconstruction of a number of temples around. After walking for about a minute, I reached Kumari Chhen and a sudden urge to go inside crossed my mind. Two ladies were leaning against the guard lions’ statues on either side of the main entrance, holding a bundle of photos. I stole a quick glance at the photos and it didn’t take me long to realize the photos of the reigning Kumari during the last Indra Jatra.

“Didi, is it possible to go visit Kumari now?” I asked with no hesitance. One of the ladies looked at her watch and gave an affirmative answer. With enthusiastic energy, I went through the galli behind Trailokya Narayan Temple to buy some chocolates for the goddess. As I made my way through the number of people busy reading the newspapers clipped along the net at the galli side, I couldn’t hold my excitement. I quickly bought two chocolate bars in one of the congested shops and made my way back in the same manner.

As I stepped into Kumari Bahal, a cozy courtyard welcomed me. The Kumari Chhen looked a bit crooked with all the wooden supports added after the earthquake. Nevertheless, the place bestowed upon me the same vibe that I had as a kid when I visited Kumari with my hajurbaa. I could feel his warm palm holding mine while the mini-me was busy looking up at the beautifully decorated windows amidst the splendid background of the spring blue sky. There would even be flying kites scattered amidst the square piece of the sky seen from the courtyard, which managed to be an important part of the festooned vibe and my delighted soul. The mind carefully caressed the subconsciously bookmarked memories.

My hajurbaa was my partner to go around places, usually temples. “Syal” was the nickname that he awarded me with and I loved it for no reason.

“Syal, wake up early tomorrow, we will be going to Yala. The newsreader yesterday told that Bungadyo has reached Mangalbazaar. I guess the deity will rest there for a few more days, but why waste time? After all, the deity’s time is much more important than ours, isn’t it?”

“Syal, do you want to go Dakshinkali tomorrow? I have seen the Kalimaa twice in my dreams. I wonder what she is up to...”

“Syal, have you watched Fulpaati? Well, finish your vacation homework and we shall go to Hanumandhoka tomorrow.”

His excitement somehow sparked excitement in me every time and the next day as we went along, he would tell me stories that he knew about with much fervor, adding up the spicy twists, mimicking the sounds whenever any characters of animals got introduced in the story and even acting out few parts. The eager-to-listen me would quicken my pace to match his, sometimes even run a little not to miss out on his single word. In fact, he was the one solely responsible for my exquisite love for listening to stories. The courtyard brought back all those memories and reminded me how severely I missed my hajurbaa even after all those years of his demise.

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I let out a quiet sigh as I came back to reality. The courtyard was surprisingly quiet with no one around. I went upstairs through a small door at one of the corners of the courtyard, besides which was a sign ‘Only Hindus and Buddhists’. I reached a room on the second floor and saw two men in their fifties. One of them was reading a newspaper while the other was preparing for puja in the tiny terrace nearby. “Kumari is getting ready. It may take a while before she comes out. Please be seated,” the man said without even taking his eyes away from the newspaper that he was reading. I looked around to find a long sukul and sat down on it. There was a small square sitting space above which hung a red cloth denoting the Aasan of the goddess. Behind the Aasan, there was a door that supposedly opened to a private room. The walls were filled with the goodly photographs of older Kumaris during the Indra Jatra festival. The floors were laid with telia tiles and the room looked extravagant with the carved latticed windows. I had not realized these things back then, but now it seemed like my eyes were soaking up every detail possible.

A young woman came out of the door behind the Aasan. She walked past me hastily and mumbled how late she already was.

How would it feel to share a home with the Living Goddess? How would it feel to have so many public visitors daily to own house?

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp voice from the courtyard.

“Dya Maa! Dya Maa!”

The man paid no attention to the voice and continued with his newspaper. The woman, after saying something to the man, disappeared through the stairs. A few minutes later, an elderly woman came and smiled at me. I smiled back at her unknowingly. “Kumari Maa will be here soon.” She might have guessed for the chocolates that I had in my hands. I nodded though I could see a sense of doubt on her face. Soon, I was joined by two other elderly women who greeted the man and sat beside me after a little formal conversation with him.

I had heard through my hajurbaa that my great-grandmother was one of the ‘Layeku Misa’. Layeku Misa is a group of women who have the responsibility of bringing food for Kumari from Layeku (Hanuman Dhoka). I had never had a chance to meet my great-grandmother but the things I heard about her from my grandfather had always fascinated me. He always told me that I was strong-headed and stubborn just like her. Sitting in the room at Kumari Chhen, I wondered if this place had always been the same when my great granny came every day. The room suddenly felt like a known place touched by my ancestor, a place carrying her memories, a place she had been to for years.

After a few minutes of awkward waiting accompanied by jumbled-up thoughts, Kumari finally entered the room. She instantly captivated the aura of the whole room. Kumari had an innocent face, yet a majestic look. A flawless beauty, I thought. She took no care of the other people present in the room and continued talking with the elderly woman who was now holding her hands. She ran around the room and snatched the newspaper from the man. The man looked at her hesitantly and she giggled. I couldn’t stop the smile on my face.

The woman told Kumari, who was still running around giggling, to sit on the Aasan. With a bored look on her face, she plunked down on the seat. The woman brought tika and some flowers on a puja-thaali, kept it beside Kumari, and gestured me to come forward. I nervously went forward and bowed to the goddess’s feet. Her little feet were rested over a pile of flowers. She put a tika on my forehead and handed me a flower, which was handed over to her by the woman. I offered the chocolates which she received with a smile.

With a final glance at the goddess and the room, I clipped the flower on my hair. As I made my way down the stairs, my heartfelt light. The courtyard was full of tall foreigners now and the presence of so many people somewhat made it seem smaller than earlier. Most of them were busy clicking photographs, some were chatting with mindful nods every now and then, while few were simply enjoying the epitome of the Newah architecture.

“Dya Maa!”

The man, who looked like a guide to the group, called again. And finally, the man looked down from the window and was asked if they could have a glimpse of the goddess, to which he replied to wait for a minute. After the guide told the group what the man has just said, in a language that I couldn’t understand, everyone put away their cameras and fixed their gaze at the Saa:jhya waiting for a glimpse.

As I finally stepped out of the Kumari Chhen, I looked at the time. It was already 10:10 AM. It was my usual late time finally.