An animal sacrifice reunion

There isn't much time for small talk during animal sacrifices. So when I spotted a familiar face in the crowd, there was just enough time to say a quick 'hello' and for me to explain that it looked as if a goat was about to meet its end. Stalled by this news, my acquaintance grappled with the same dilemma I had faced moments before: to watch or not to watch? In his case, as with mine, curiosity overcame conscience, and he joined the ranks of onlookers.

Having last seen each other hundreds of miles away on an icy Himalayan mountainside, the Hindu ceremony provided an uncanny backdrop to our reunion. Perturbed but intrigued, we observed small offerings of food and flowers being burned, thrown, and stamped on. The proceedings centred around a row of clay pots covered in white linen, over which incense was waved and paint splattered, madly yet methodically. An egg was placed in front of them, along with a flower resting on the blade of a curved sword.

Despite the theatrics, one spectator remained unimpressed. Gazing at the mass of people encircling it, the goat chewed on some petals that had, until then, escaped destruction. Its meal was brought to an end, however, when the priest overseeing the ceremony called for the animal to be brought forward.

Blessings were said, the egg was smashed, and the sword raised. Then, the blade swung down, bringing the ceremony to a mercifully swift end for the goat. For the rest of us, the spectacle continued as its body was dragged around the pots, marking a ring of blood on the ground.

When it was all over, the crowd dispersed and the goat and pots were removed. Some tourists could be heard muttering 'barbaric', for whom such public, unclinical slaughter was a step too far. Perhaps, like me, they had never seen an animal being killed. Yet, if it seemed out of place to our Western eyes, in the Nepali town of Bhaktapur it was as ordinary as an old lady in church. A medieval enclave, the area is watched over by gargoyles and mythical beasts; still witnessing, as they have for hundreds of years, the blackening and warping of wood under the heavy loads of incense and time.

Still bemused by the circumstances of our chance meeting, we decided to head for a bar just outside the old quarter. With its leather sofas, cocktail menu, and satellite TV, it was a million miles away from the goat, the sword, and the ring of blood. It's amazing how far you can go, I thought sipping a cold beer, crossing these ancient city walls.