Monthly Archives: April 2012

Waking comfortably at the crack of dawn on our first full day in Nepal, Tessa and I quickly swung into action and headed towards the breakfast hall of the Shankar Hotel.

Across what would be the first of many platefuls of curried potatoes and eggs, I threw a quick greeting to Graham James Lydiatt, who I knew from the pre-expedition briefing day in January. Graham happily informed Tessa and I that he, David Dancey-Wood, and young Jack Evans had seen out the Nepalese New Year the evening before. Perhaps their cheers were among those I heard as I had lain in bed listening in the dark.

Following Graham’s description of the ‘good time had by all’, none of us were hugely surprised to see Jack looking rather the worse for wear when he finally surfaced. And, as we all boarded a bus bound for the Pashaputinath Temple and crematorium, we didn’t wait around for long when David didn’t appear at all.

Pashaputinath Temple and crematorium

Nepal’s oldest temple, the 5th century Pashupatinath shrine is revered by Hindus worldwide. Located on the banks of the Bagmati River in the eastern part of Kathmandu, Pashupatinath is one of the world’s most significant Hindu temples dedicated to Lord Shiva. The temple serves as the seat of the national deity, Lord Pashupatinath and is listed in UNESCO World Heritage Sites list.

The priests of Pashaputinath are called Bhattas and the chief priest is called Mool Bhatt or Raval. Only Hindus are allowed to enter the temple premises. Non-Hindu visitors are allowed to have a look at the temple from the other bank of Bagmati river… unless you’re Graham or Jack, who simply strode across the bridge and took a tour along the West bank without a care in the world. No one seemed to mind in the slightest.

Pashupatinath Temple’s existence dates back to 400 A.D. The richly-ornamented pagoda houses the sacred linga or holy symbol of Lord Shiva and is also known as ‘The Temple of Living Beings’. This pseudonym is well served by the holy cows that stride through the crowds with casual grace and the myriad of monkeys suspended from the cliff-hung branches and dancing to and fro across the river on their own private set of stones just upstream from the human congregations.

The beautiful Pashupatinath Temple also serves as a backdrop for the public, open-air Hindu cremations that take place on the Ghats of the Bagmati River. The river is considered sacred because it eventually flows into the Ganges River in India, ultimately reaching the holy city of Varanasi. A bridge divides the royal site upriver, where the bodies are first blessed, from the cremation pyres downriver.

My first corpse

It seems odd that, at the ripe old age of 43 I was able to claim that I’d never seen a human corpse. British attitudes towards death are rather closed. My family had always chosen cremation, but had stuck with closed casket ceremonies. So, death I had dealt with. Dead human bodies I had not.

On 13 April 2012 I encountered not just one, but two human corpses. The first of these I found myself confronting somewhat accidentally through the lens of my camcorder. I was both fascinated and overcome by voyeuristic shame. But I kept recording. I don’t know how I should feel about this at all. After all, the Nepalese carrying out the ceremony had no concerns whatsoever about the public nature of their grief. They simply accept the tourists gawping at them and taking photographs from across the river as part of the scenery. So, I forgive myself in the knowledge that I filmed this event with the greatest of respect and with no other intention than to honour the departed, her family, and the entire Nepalese outlook on death. The ceremony struck me as a mentally healthy, cleansing process.

A graceful Nepali exit

The Nepalese believe that a single soul lives 84 million times, improving with each cycle. Therefore, death is not considered a sad thing.

Traditionally, the dead are wrapped in yellow or white cloth and special care is taken to ensure the deceased will be a suitable offering to the fire god. A piece of iron or a weapon is kept with the corpse to repel evil spirits and no impure objects, animals or people may come in contact. The family do not eat, drink or work until the corpse is burned but this takes place as soon as possible to ensure ghosts do not enter the dead body.

The funeral procession must have an odd number of participants who dress simply and are bareheaded. The deceased is carried with head backwards symbolizing the south – the abode of the ancestors. Women do not process traditionally but they return before the body is burned.

The body is placed by the riverbank upstream in front of the temple and the Shaddha or Pinda dan is carried out. The eldest son, bare-chested but dressed in a dhoti, takes a purifying bath in the river. He reveals the face of the corpse to the sun. The ancestors are then invoked and water released from his hand before a food offering is given. Usually cooked in silver or copper vessels and placed on a banana leaf or in cups made of dried leaves, the food includes kheer (a type of sweet rice and milk) , lapsi (a sweet porridge made of wheat grains), rice, dal (lentils), the vegetable of spring bean (guar) and a yellow gourd (pumpkin).

The men then carry the body across the bridge downstream to the cremation site.

The cremation pyre is first purified with river water and cow dung. The eldest son or chief mourner walks around the pyre three times keeping the body to his left. While walking he sprinkles purifying water and ghee onto the pyre from a vessel. The corpse is then laid with its feet facing southwards, so that the dead person can walk towards the ancestors. The body is then set alight to allow the soul to be set free and the ashes thrown into the river so they might begin their journey to the sacred Ganges, back to the gods.

I found myself marvelling at the simple efficiency of it all. Sad only that, due to excessive pollution, the holy river upon which these departing souls rely is now little more than a shallow trickle of dirty green gloop.

Lesson no. 4: to keep recording or not?

After all my worries getting there, transit through terminal three of Delhi airport turned out to be entirely uneventful. Soon, the flight from Delhi to Kathmandu transported me safely into my brave new world of heat, dust and happy chaos…

…a mere 57 years into the future.

Happy 2069!

According to the Bikram Sambat (Nepali calendar), founded by the emperor Vikramaditya of Ujjain following his victory over the Sakas in 56 BCE, 12 April 2012 of our Gregorian calendar coincides with the last day of 2068 in Nepal. So, having collected my luggage, I strolled out of the airport terminal and into the budding prospect of Nepalese New Year celebrations. But first, I had to brace the taxi ride from the airport to the great colonial, wedding cake pile of the Shankar Hotel where our expedition party were gathering.

To get from Kathmandu airport to the Shankar Hotel – or pretty much anywhere else in the city for that matter – requires taking a route that will cross the choked up Bagmati river. My taxi driver stuck with main roads until he appeared to randomly swing into a side alley. As it turned out, future trips to and from the airport to the hotel were to confirm that this ‘side alley’ was in fact the main route. However, when I first encountered it, I assumed – due to its narrow, clapped out nature, that it was a taxi driver’s secret single-tracked, one-way short cut. At least until I realised that there was streams of traffic coming at us in the opposite direction! Life then turned into a scene from Harry Potter.

Have you ever seen a saloon car squeeze itself between a six-foot wall and a people-laden bus coming in the opposite direction up a five foot wide road while managing to somehow preserve the life of the three cyclists zipping between the two? Well I now have.

Of course, this experience soon paled into insignificance when the road surface became as rocky as a river gully, tipped to an angle of around 50 degrees and my transport slid forward towards five angry mopeds all bidding for a spot in front of the bicycle laden with rusty iron rods precariously tied on with a piece of string. On the plus side, the rusty rods were keeping us from going headlong over the cliff and into the rubbish-gorged Bagmati.

Luckily my taxi driver was an expert and I immediately had total faith in him. Why was this you might ask? Well. Easy. His car was several years old, yet didn’t have a single scratch on it.

Lesson no. 2: Always choose the bus or car with fewer cracks in its windshield

Meeting Tessa

Upon my arrival at the Shankar, I was dutifully saluted by the uniformed doorman and led to reception where I was given a room key and informed that I was sharing with Dr Tessa Donovan-Beerman who had already checked in. This pleased me as Tessa and I had shared a few brief emails in an attempt to arrange DNA sampling equipment prior to the trip. I knew she lived in Germany and I knew she was efficient. I was therefore well prepared when I met her.

“Hello,” I said as I walked through the door. “Sorry about the strange outfit.”

“Mmmmmm….” she said.

This affirmative murmur was to turn out to be a trade mark. As I write this, only three days since we parted in reality, I can’t help smiling when I remember it. Even for someone with such verbal precision, Tessa’s murmur somehow conveyed more than any other word she ever uttered.

“What are you wearing?” she asked frankly. “It is rather hideous. You really should take it off.”

The top I had somehow managed to squeeze into was too small and white. And, in squeezing into it, I had turned it almost transparent. Although it had originally been worn somewhat more discretely under a thicker top, the heat of Kathmandu had made me throw all care to the wind and reveal all. Tessa was therefore entirely correct.

This encounter marked the beginning of a wonderfully direct relationship.

A ‘life editor’

Employed by the European Patent Office in Munich, Dr Tessa Donovan-Beerman is well placed. She speaks beautifully and, so unlike myself, is highly capable when it comes to riding that slippery slope from brain to mouth. Her diction is glorious and her vocabulary superb – and that is in English. She also commands several other languages, including German of course, and has a wide knowledge of science. In addition to all this, she is also a wife to Alexander, and mother to three beautiful daughters. Tessa is therefore, someone who is rather easy to admire. She also has the added comfort of reminding me of my best friend from childhood. Someone with whom I lost contact and miss dearly.

Tessa is as blunt as a dulled knife and never hesitates to correct inaccuracies. I have no doubt whatsoever that she is incredibly good at her job. From the moment I met her, she became my ‘life editor’ and, rather than fight against these corrections, I made a conscious choice to appreciate them from the outset. As a copywriter these past four years I have learned to accept edits to my written work. Now, I have learned to accept edits to my far-too-regular verbal inaccuracies. Tessa became my walking red pen.

Following our first briefing with the JBS and the rest of the expedition team members, Tessa and I shared a delicious Nepalese dinner together that evening. We stayed close to the hotel and found ourselves agreeing that an early night – despite the New Year’s celebrations – was the most sensible option.

I lay in the dark contentedly listening to a storm and the midnight cheers from the Irish pub down the road as Tessa slept silently in the bed next to mine. I had arrived in Kathmandu and already made one firm friend. My adventure had truly begun.

Lesson no. 3: Accept it! Tessa is always right.