Innocence Lost - The Kumari Goddess of Nepal

An image doesn’t always have to be perfect to be meaningful. But contrary to cliche, a picture does not always speak with the power of one thousand words. Take for example this shot, one of obvious exotic allure. There’s clearly more to this image than a girl in heavy paint.

This, is a scene that breaks my heart every time I see it, which by my last count—is too many. With my exclusive contacts in Nepal I am often granted unprecedented access to things like Nepal’s tiny living goddesses. It’s not an encounter I relish or revere.

The Kumari is a curious mix of Hindu and Buddhist tradition spanning more than three centuries. This young girl, with cookie still clinging to her face, is believed to be the 41st incarnate of a Hindu goddess. That’s not the troubling part.

Like all those believed to exist as itinerant spirits, the young girl is considered only a vessel, but a significant one at that. Finding her, is no small feat. To locate a young Kumari, priests and scholars first consult thousands of birth charts seeking a young girl born at just the right time. She is then compared to annotations of past Kumari to ensure she is free of distinguishing body marks, has a neck like a deer, and her features developed just so. She is then placed in a dark room at the age of three where a host of horrors await. For 24 hours she is confronted with masked demons, bugs, loud noises, and other frights. If she cries, she is rejected and sent back to her family. If she is chosen, that is perhaps the worst fate for those of us non-believers.

As the Kumari, this young girl is sequestered to a small house on the edge of an ancient palace. There she is largely parted from family, tended to only by handlers, and asked to receive fawning guests for daily blessings. She receives her audiences all day long, sat in her iconic chair. Her feet are never allowed to touch the ground and she is only allowed to leave her residence a few times a year, always carried, shielded from the sun and onlookers. Her dwelling, not worthy of a goddess, is dingy and small. But that too, is not the troubling part.

When the Kumari is sat in her chair, she is the living incarnate of a Hindu goddess. That is until puberty. That’s when the goddess seeks another vessel. This young girl, when she is of age, will be exited from her service, her home, the only life she has ever known. Discarded. Dismissed. Abandoned.

The government will pay her a livable pension for her service, in perpetuity, but how many rupees can one exchange for youth lost.

I have taken her photo, and that of her predecessor, many times. It never brings me joy and the images always bear the weight of my heavy heart. Faith is a cruel mistress.