Here She Comes…Miss Kumari
Even funnier than the Kathmandu Marathon is the perpetual human race for the Golden Halo, which also goes through Nepal. Every religion will swear up and down that they have the lifeline that will connect them with the Almighty, without the pesky long distance rates and nickel and diming by the phone companies. To justify the status of a God’s deity, believers will need to show solid evidence of its existence, preferably in human form. This way you won’t have the God, but arguably the next best tangible thing. The Christians have it with Jesus, Islam with the Prophet Mohammed.
But the Hindis have studied history and have come up with one better. Lest any of us out there have noticed: while the words and deeds of Jesus and the Prophet Mohammed are laudable and stand on their own merit, and we attempt our utmost and anything short of shock treatment to revive them so they become comprehensible in our day and age, we can’t ignore the very basic fact that both men are dead and have been dead for a very long time. That words survive in any language can’t hold much water as an argument in a modern civilization rapacious for sound bites.
What to do? If you’re a Christian or a Muslim (oops, forgot Judaism, didn’t I? You must add them to the holy threesome) you fight each other - tragically, the hard currency exacted is often blood - and hope in the end your religion will be ahead by a nose, bloodied though it may be. The Hindis are smarter than any of us. Tired of regurgitating the same parables of dead legends, hoping any of them might stick? How about a living god? That’s right, one who can perform the same bodily functions you have, somebody with a similar corporeal form that will enable you to believe once and for all, or at least as long as the said god hits puberty. Hey, I can confirm Jerusalem is a wonderful place, but to see a living goddess you must come to Kathmandu.
Two days ago, Matani Shakya was one of many impoverished little Nepali girls. Today she is a living goddess. Her father Pratap admitted he was “a bit sad,” but since his daughter was now a living goddess, a kumari as they are called in Nepal, he felt “proud.”
How is the living goddess picked? First you need a panel of judges. The Miss America judges have absolutely nothing on these guys. Besides checking each candidate’s horoscope, the judges go through great pains to ensure that the next living goddess is without any physical blemishes. Hair, eyes, teeth, nose, everything must be perfect, as even the smallest scar on your skin can disqualify the candidate.
Last but not least, the candidate must spend a night alone in a room with the recently slaughtered heads of goats and buffalo without showing any fear. This test is easier than it sounds. One, the room is dark, right? Even if the candidate trips over several of the animals’ heads, you might as well convince the little girl in the morning that it was her little doll or the pail and shovel she‘d left in the sandbox. A not so minor detail that plays in the child’s favor is that the animals are dead. No disrespect here, but where’s the divinity in that?
Now, if somebody were to pull a David Blaine and spend a day in a glass box with live snakes and scorpions and then emerge from the box alive, then the test has just been upgraded from simple arithmetic to trigonometry and you might make a claim. Of course, people here argue that it is the fear of the dark that must be conquered here. Agreed, but if it’s your average three year old and she finds her dress covered in blood the next morning, the living goddess will age more quickly than a member of the Rolling Stones, and the new goddess will be broken goods.
Then you have your critics who will argue about international child rights. Good point, actually. What will she say to her friends? You can’t win.
Friend: Can you play today?
Living Goddess: Nah, I have to play God.
Friend: Again? You never have time anymore.
Living Goddess: I know. Sucks.
Friend: So you think you’re better than me?
It seems to me her fun is out the window, at least until her tenure has expired, in this case with the onset of puberty. Wow. Miss America is considered over the hill when she hits thirty. This goddess is history with her first menstruation. I bet that still won’t keep her from popping off to her friends later.
Then there are the adjustments. You were riding in a chariot one day, now you’re on a donkey. Riches to rags. To exacerbate the problem, legend has it that any man who marries a kumari dies young, which translates to a lot of virgin kumaris. You have to feel for both of them.
Suitor: You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
Former LG: I want you to marry me. There is only one problem…
Suitor: No worries! I will have you in sickness and in health, to love and to…
Former LG: I am a former kumari.
Suitor: Check, please.
I don’t think I would want the job. At least let her skip the menstruation part. Oh well. At least this god is female for a change.
But the Hindis have studied history and have come up with one better. Lest any of us out there have noticed: while the words and deeds of Jesus and the Prophet Mohammed are laudable and stand on their own merit, and we attempt our utmost and anything short of shock treatment to revive them so they become comprehensible in our day and age, we can’t ignore the very basic fact that both men are dead and have been dead for a very long time. That words survive in any language can’t hold much water as an argument in a modern civilization rapacious for sound bites.
What to do? If you’re a Christian or a Muslim (oops, forgot Judaism, didn’t I? You must add them to the holy threesome) you fight each other - tragically, the hard currency exacted is often blood - and hope in the end your religion will be ahead by a nose, bloodied though it may be. The Hindis are smarter than any of us. Tired of regurgitating the same parables of dead legends, hoping any of them might stick? How about a living god? That’s right, one who can perform the same bodily functions you have, somebody with a similar corporeal form that will enable you to believe once and for all, or at least as long as the said god hits puberty. Hey, I can confirm Jerusalem is a wonderful place, but to see a living goddess you must come to Kathmandu.
Two days ago, Matani Shakya was one of many impoverished little Nepali girls. Today she is a living goddess. Her father Pratap admitted he was “a bit sad,” but since his daughter was now a living goddess, a kumari as they are called in Nepal, he felt “proud.”
How is the living goddess picked? First you need a panel of judges. The Miss America judges have absolutely nothing on these guys. Besides checking each candidate’s horoscope, the judges go through great pains to ensure that the next living goddess is without any physical blemishes. Hair, eyes, teeth, nose, everything must be perfect, as even the smallest scar on your skin can disqualify the candidate.
Last but not least, the candidate must spend a night alone in a room with the recently slaughtered heads of goats and buffalo without showing any fear. This test is easier than it sounds. One, the room is dark, right? Even if the candidate trips over several of the animals’ heads, you might as well convince the little girl in the morning that it was her little doll or the pail and shovel she‘d left in the sandbox. A not so minor detail that plays in the child’s favor is that the animals are dead. No disrespect here, but where’s the divinity in that?
Now, if somebody were to pull a David Blaine and spend a day in a glass box with live snakes and scorpions and then emerge from the box alive, then the test has just been upgraded from simple arithmetic to trigonometry and you might make a claim. Of course, people here argue that it is the fear of the dark that must be conquered here. Agreed, but if it’s your average three year old and she finds her dress covered in blood the next morning, the living goddess will age more quickly than a member of the Rolling Stones, and the new goddess will be broken goods.
Then you have your critics who will argue about international child rights. Good point, actually. What will she say to her friends? You can’t win.
Friend: Can you play today?
Living Goddess: Nah, I have to play God.
Friend: Again? You never have time anymore.
Living Goddess: I know. Sucks.
Friend: So you think you’re better than me?
It seems to me her fun is out the window, at least until her tenure has expired, in this case with the onset of puberty. Wow. Miss America is considered over the hill when she hits thirty. This goddess is history with her first menstruation. I bet that still won’t keep her from popping off to her friends later.
Then there are the adjustments. You were riding in a chariot one day, now you’re on a donkey. Riches to rags. To exacerbate the problem, legend has it that any man who marries a kumari dies young, which translates to a lot of virgin kumaris. You have to feel for both of them.
Suitor: You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
Former LG: I want you to marry me. There is only one problem…
Suitor: No worries! I will have you in sickness and in health, to love and to…
Former LG: I am a former kumari.
Suitor: Check, please.
I don’t think I would want the job. At least let her skip the menstruation part. Oh well. At least this god is female for a change.
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