I Can See the World Through You Travel, Eat, Write

I shudder as he maneuvers the reluctant goat into place. Curly wisps of hair fall into his face as he wipes accumulated blood from a machete. In a sawing motion, he severs the goat’s head. Thick blood, contrasting sharply with black fur, pulses out from its neck and pools at the man’s feet. In a quick transaction, the head is placed in the shrine of blood-lust goddess Kali, rupees are slipped into a bloody palm, and the body is dragged away. With a nod, he summons the next pilgrim from the line. It winds through the Dakshinkali temple grounds like ribbon candy.

Nearby, at a butchering station on the edge of a small cliff, headless animals are chopped into pieces. Blood and entrails crawl down the cliff in a steady flow, swallowed by a natural stream. Large crows circle the temple. Their sharp caws interrupt the constant hum of the restive crowd.

A shift in the cool spring wind carries a potent mix of scents up my nose that explode into a thousand little stings. My senses blur and set me off balance. I see only spots of color: vivid turquoise swirls of a sari, lush green from a cluster of leaves, crimson on the white-tiled temple floor. A low murmur rumbles its way into my ears: a Hindu mantra in a deep baritone. The man next to me is praying, eyes closed and hands clasped at his heart. His prayers calm me and sharpen my sight. I begin to see the humanity and love in this Saturday morning ritual in Nepal.

An old woman's stooped shoulders strain to contain her agitated rooster, the Bindi on her forehead wrinkling with effort. A young girl, eyes rimmed black with kohl, looks around solemnly. One hand clings to her mother’s; the other clutches a wriggling chicken as I used to hold my beloved teddy bear. Two little boys giggle as their goat shakes off a string of orange jasmine flowers they have placed around one floppy ear.

Beneath Kali’s gaze, there is a moment of hesitation before the blade descends, a brief prayer honoring the animal. Now, I see devotion.