Skip to main content

Magar Weddings: Rituals of Kinship and Social Balance

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Magar Culture. No Comments on Magar Weddings: Rituals of Kinship and Social Balance

The Magar marriage system serves as a central institution within Magar society, reflecting both enduring rituals and diachronic transformations shaped by shifting social and cultural contexts. Marital practices such as cross-cousin marriage and clan-based exogamic taboos articulate cultural norms that shape kinship ties and uphold the social boundaries of the Magar community. In traditional Magar culture, marriage is a public, ancestral, and communal institution instead of a mere dyadic romantic union. These practices underscore the collective nature of marriage, positioning it as a mechanism for social reproduction and cultural continuity across generations. In this way, marriage among the Magars operates as both a form of negotiation and reinforcement of identity, integrating individual choice within broader communal imperatives.

Historically, cross-cousin marriage lay at the heart of Magar matrimonial alliances. A preferred pattern involved a man marrying his mamacheli, the daughter of his maternal uncle. This union was a practical arrangement and a culturally sanctioned ideal that reaffirmed long-standing ties between wife-giving (Maiti) and wife-receiving (Kutumba) lineages. If the preferred mamacheli was unavailable, a younger girl from the same maternal line could still be considered. Such relationships were encouraged from a young age, often expressed through playful teasing and familiarity, which functioned as a culturally recognized courtship dynamic. In sharp contrast, marriage with a phupucheli, the daughter of one’s paternal aunt, was strictly prohibited. This distinction underscores a deep moral architecture within Magar kinship, where certain forms of closeness are celebrated and others considered transgressive. Moreover, reciprocal marriage between the same two lineages across generations, where a wife-giving clan becomes a wife-receiving one, is regarded as a violation of social balance, tantamount to incest within Magar ethical reasoning.

As society changed, so too did the forms of marriage. New ideas brought through education, migration, and state influence softened older certainties. Yet even with evolving practices, the underlying principles of lineage continuity and clan exogamy remain central. A marriage in Magar culture and tradition is as much a ritual transaction between families as it is a personal choice. It links households, affirms social responsibilities, and reestablishes relationships between clans. Ritual acts such as offerings, blessings, and assigned roles during ceremonies reflect a worldview in which personal unions are deeply embedded in collective identity.

Traditionally animist and later shaped by Hindu and Buddhist syncretism, Magar society maintains strict rules of clan exogamy. Marriages are prohibited within the same thar (clan), a rule intended to ensure genetic diversity and uphold ancestral boundaries. Kinship is both genealogical and spiritual realities. In the Kham Magar regions of the Atharah Magarat, shamans known as Ramma are regularly consulted before a marriage takes place. Their role is to sense spiritual disturbances, interpret ancestral signs, and ensure that the union aligns with unseen forces. Within this worldview, marriage carries meaning that extends beyond the material or personal. It forms a bridge between generations, links the household to the realm of spirits, and affirms the individual’s place within the larger social and cosmological order.

Among the Magars, marriage functions as more than a personal union between two people; it acts as a reaffirmation of social order, lineage continuity, and ancestral connections. Arranged marriage, known as Lagañya, stands as the most widely accepted and ritually endorsed form. Elders take the lead in these unions, relying on memory, clan ties, and perceived compatibility to negotiate the match. Engagements include exchanging symbolic offerings such as locally brewed alcohol, betel nut, and livestock, followed by rituals that unite two individuals as well as their kin groups. These alliances are carefully crafted, respecting rules of clan exogamy and reinforcing established social boundaries.

Elopement or love marriage (Odañya), represents a shift in generational attitudes. Couples who elope without prior approval often return later to seek ritual recognition and family reconciliation. Although once viewed as transgressive, these unions have gained increasing acceptance, especially in areas influenced by education and urban lifestyles that emphasize autonomy and love. Still, the reconciliation process remains vital. It involves offerings, dialogue, and the construction of a new consensus founded on retrospective acknowledgment of the couple’s decision rather than prearranged negotiations.

Additional forms of union add complexity to the marriage system. Capture marriage, referred to as Jari Biha in Nepali, and levirate marriage, Bhauju Biha, were once part of the social fabric but now mostly survive as remnants of earlier times. Jari involved taking a woman, sometimes with consent, sometimes without, accompanied by ritual compensation to her natal family. Levirate marriage involved a younger brother marrying the widow of his elder sibling, ensuring economic continuity and preserving kinship roles. These practices, though still present in some isolated areas, now occupy marginal positions in Magar ritual life and lack the formal recognition accorded to Lagañya or Odañya.

While native terms exist for arranged and elopement marriages, others often lack indigenous labels. This absence has led some to question whether practices like jari, levirate, or symbolic cohabitation are originally Magar or borrowed from dominant cultures over time. However, such views risk ignoring the realities of cultural change. In oral societies, language loss and assimilation are common, and the absence of specific terms does not mean practices have vanished. Instead, customs are lived through daily habits rather than always being explicitly named.

In areas such as the Barah Magarat, where Nepali has replaced Dhut in everyday speech, many native expressions have faded even as the social structures they described endure. Although Jari Biha is a Nepali term, the practice of restitution in disrupted marriages reflects Magar values of balance, reciprocity, and social healing. Authenticity here depends less on linguistic purity and more on whether the underlying values and relational principles continue to embody a distinctly Magar worldview.

In Magar marriage rituals, symbolic actions and material offerings are central to affirming social relationships, ancestral blessings, and communal legitimacy. Alcohol, particularly Lee (Jaad or Rice Beer) and Mudd (Raksi or Traditional distilled spirit), serves a dual role as both a celebratory drink and a ritual object imbued with cultural significance. During matrimonial negotiations, the exchange and consumption of alcohol carry layered meanings. For example, when a marriage proposal is presented, the groom’s family offers alcohol in a wooden container called Koriya to the bride’s family. The acceptance of this offering signals agreement to the union, while refusal requires the return of any initial gifts (often doubled) in a practice known as Sahi. Certain types of alcohol hold specific ceremonial importance; a three-day fermented rice beer, Jahman, is traditionally given to wedding guests and the groom’s party as a symbolic blessing before their departure. Across many regions, especially in western Nepal, alcohol is the preferred medium for hospitality and ritual purity, at times taking precedence over other customary offerings such as yogurt or curd.

Symbolism in Magar marriage extends beyond material offerings to include spatial arrangements and ritual performances. In the bride’s natal home, she is accorded a position of honor, seated to the right and receiving the Tika, a ritual blessing made with rice grains applied to the forehead, before the groom. This order is deliberately reversed after marriage, signifying her incorporation into her husband’s lineage and the resulting shift in kinship hierarchy. In cases of elopement, reconciliation rituals known as Sodhni require both bride and groom to present jars of alcohol to the bride’s family, affirming mutual consent and restoring family relationships. Collectively, these ritual elements sustain the Magar marriage system’s connection to ancestral cosmology, weaving together domestic life, community values, and spiritual order.

Marriage rituals are elaborate affairs among the Magars, functioning as structured processes of kinship affirmation and social legitimacy. From the outset, the role of the Lami (marriage intermediary) is vital. The Lami, often a maternal uncle (Mama) or a sister’s husband (Jwaaichela), delivers the marriage proposal along with Sagun, a symbolic offering comprising items like Raksi (distilled alcohol), Tarul (yam), honey, and money. Acceptance of the Sagun signifies consent to the union, while refusal halts proceedings. In many regions of Central-West Nepal, only an odd-numbered group of male relatives accompanies the proposal, and the offering is reciprocated by the bride’s family through a second set of Sagun, thus formalizing the engagement in a reciprocal framework.

The ritual of bringing the bride to the groom’s home (behuli bhitraune) is central to the marriage process and is marked by spatial and symbolic rites. Before entering the house, the bride sets down a water-filled Amkhora (brass jug) at the threshold, symbolizing purification and auspicious entry. A rooster is sacrificed near the doorway as an offering to ancestral spirits and for spiritual safeguarding. The bride carries the jug inside and pours a few drops onto her mouth, marking her acceptance into the new household. In some areas, Chamal Tika, made of Dahi (curd) and Chamal (rice grains) is applied to the foreheads of both bride and groom by elder kin, beginning with the bride. This reversal of ritual order before and after marriage signifies the transition from natal to affinal kinship, and the shifting roles and status the bride undergoes. The application of tika, tying of Dubo-Paati (sacred wheatgrass and leaves), and collective feasting all contribute to affirming the union within the wider social and spiritual order.

In cases of elopement (Odañya), reconciliation rituals such as Sodhni serve to reintegrate the couple into normative kinship structures. Within three days of elopement, the groom’s party is expected to bring Raksi (distilled alcohol), Roti (traditional bread), and Jaaḍ (rice beer) to the bride’s family to seek retroactive approval. Failure to do so invites social sanction. The ritual offering signals accountability, respect for lineage, and the mending of relational ruptures. A further ritual, Chorkorya, involves delivering the right foreleg of a previously sacrificed goat or buffalo, kept aside during the behuli bhitraune, as a token of symbolic completion of the marriage process. This act serves as a restitution and also as an embodied communication of ritual closure and reparation.

The final phase, Janti jaane (bridal procession), represents the public legitimization of the marriage and involves exchange, gifting, and symbolic hospitality. On the day appointed by the bride’s family, the groom’s party arrives with ceremonial gifts, called Danda or compensation: a minimum of five containers of raksi, hundreds of Roti, live animals, and women’s traditional garments. These offerings are meant to reduce the economic burden of the bride’s family and to honor reciprocal ties. During this event, relatives perform reciprocal Dhogbheṭ (gestural greetings), and elders introduce the bridegroom to the extended kin. The wedding concludes with a communal feast and singing, often lasting up to three days.

Magar culture considers marriage functions a calibrated system of ritual acts to shape and stabilize shifting kinship ties. These rituals, while diverse across regions and responsive to social change, continue to serve as vital expressions of communal identity, ancestral reverence, and relational ethics. Each gesture carries a symbolic weight that extends far beyond its surface form. These acts do not operate in isolation but are woven into a broader ritual grammar through which households, lineages, and ancestral obligations are continuously aligned.

Even as external influences reshape certain customs, the underlying principles of reciprocity, clan respect, and ritual coherence persist, anchoring marriage as both a cultural continuity and a living tradition. Through this process, the institution of marriage emerges as a dynamic field where memory, belonging, and cosmology are enacted and renewed.

Beyond Silence: Exploring the Mysterious Kusule

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Newar Culture. No Comments on Beyond Silence: Exploring the Mysterious Kusule

In Darjeeling and Sikkim, one can rarely find a person who hasn’t seen a figure cloaked in intricate headgear, adorned with Rudraksha beads, deftly playing the hourglass-shaped drum (Damaru). Emerging from obscurity, he would vanish as mysteriously as he appeared, after having received alms. As children, his presence and attire both fascinated and unnerved us, stirring our imaginations. Known to our parents simply as “Kusule,” he upheld an unwavering vow of silence, shrouding himself in an aura of mystique that left us longing for answers that we never found.

The Kusule, also known as Kusle, Kusulya, Jugi, or Kapaali, are ritual specialists who occupy a unique and often marginal position within the stratified social hierarchy of the Newar community in the Kathmandu Valley. Traditionally ascetic, they follow a path of renunciation that places them at the edges of social life, yet their spiritual role grants them a distinctive authority. This combination of marginality and influence reflects the complex ways in which Newar society negotiates boundaries between the sacred and the social.

Newar social structure is characterized by a finely layered caste system, intensely influenced by both Hindu and Buddhist cosmologies. Within this intricate framework, the Kusule occupy a distinctive niche. They serve as ritual musicians and ceremonial functionaries, particularly in rites associated with death, spirit possession, and purification. Their ritual authority derives in part from their perceived proximity to the liminal: the threshold spaces between life and death, purity and pollution, revered and profane.

Their practices and iconography reveal historical affinities with heterodox sects such as the Kapalika and Gorakhnathi, esoteric traditions known for their austere, tantric disciplines that transgress normative religious boundaries. Yet, the Kusule remain firmly situated within the ritual economy of the Newar world. Far from being outsiders, they are an enduring part of a religious system that embraces both conformity and defiance in its ceremonial practices.

The name Kusle derives from Kus grass (Desmostachya bipinnata), a sacred plant regularly used in South Asian ritual traditions. This simple blade of grass carries powerful symbolic weight, linked to creation myths and purification rites. Additionally, Newar folklore traces the Kusule lineage to Kusalnath, one of the twelve disciples of the tantric master Gorakhnath, connecting the name to an ancient yogic tradition. Another story recounts how a Kapaali ascetic earned the title Kusle by being the swiftest to bring Kus grass to King Sthiti Malla, thereby establishing the name as an honorific within ritual circles. Thus, the term Kusule embodies both botanical symbolism and a historical lineage deeply rooted in ascetic and tantric traditions.

Kus grass (Desmostachya bipinnata)

Inscriptions and historical texts from the Kathmandu Valley offer a window into the early presence and ritual importance of the Kusle-Kapaali within Newar society. As early as the 14th century, records point to figures closely aligned with Nath traditions (a Shaiva tantric yogic tradition rooted in asceticism and Hatha Yoga). An inscription from Itum Baha in 1382 mentions a minister devoted to Gorakhnath, while a 1390 record from Pharping documents the installation of Gorakhnath’s footprints by a yogi named Achintyanath, providing evidence of a spiritual landscape shaped by ascetic lineages. By the mid-15th century, inscriptions at the Kasthamandap shrine refer to ritual practitioners called Darsandhari, an early designation for the Kusle, who performed Chakrapuja, a complex tantric offering rite. These accounts suggest that the Kusle were once central figures in the Valley’s religious life, occupying sacred spaces where esoteric knowledge and public ritual converged.

Legal and social classifications in later periods reveal how the Kusle’s status shifted over time. The 1853 Muluki Ain, Nepal’s legal code under the Shah dynasty, lists the Kusalya among castes assigned to ritually impure roles, essential, yet socially marginalized. Earlier references by scholars and travelers, including D.R. Regmi and Francis Hamilton, describe communities known as Kusulay, Darsandhari, or Kasulia, serving as musicians, mendicants, and temple assistants. Their ritual authority, once affirmed through public ceremonies and temple affiliations, gradually diminished as royal patronage favored other ascetic orders, particularly the Kanphata (Kaan Chireko) Jogis. Yet the textual and epigraphic record preserves the imprint of their legacy as a social group rooted in Tantric traditions, once entrusted with navigating the spiritual boundaries of death, impurity, and transformation.

In contemporary practice, the Kusle occupy a pivotal role within the ritual landscape of the Newar community, primarily engaging in rites associated with death, purification, and spirit appeasement. As ritual specialists in mortuary practices, they oversee the preparation of corpses for cremation, conduct transitional ceremonies that facilitate the safe passage of the soul, and enact protective rites aimed at shielding both the deceased and the living from spiritual disturbance. These performances draw upon a repertoire of symbolic gestures and embodied knowledge rooted in Tantric cosmology, particularly those concerned with the containment of liminal energies and the pacification of potentially disruptive forces or ‘energies’. Positioned at the interstices of life and death, purity and danger, the Kusle serve as ritual mediators, navigating thresholds where the social order is most vulnerable to rupture.

A distinctive ritual unique to the Kusle involves a family member who, during the four winter months, from Bala Chaturdasi (mid-Mangsir) to Bikram Samvat New Year’s Eve (Chait), dons the appearance of Shiva. Covered in ashes, adorned with the Tripundra (three horizontal lines) on the forehead, wearing a diadem symbolizing the divine mothers, and necklaces of Rudraksha beads and human bones, a Kusle walks through the city streets at dawn carrying a hour-glass (damaru) drum. This procession is meant to expel harmful forces and purify the community, reinforcing their connection to Shiva and their role as powerful exorcists. Silence during these ceremonies further emphasizes their intimate relationship with the “dark” forces, serving as a ritual bridge that controls malevolent spirits without spoken words.

Kusle Burial Site in Kaldhara, Kathmandu

Among the Kusle, death rituals are shaped by a distinctive Tantric Shaiva worldview. Unlike other Newar castes that practice cremation, the Kusle perform inhumation, placing the deceased in Padmasana (seated meditation posture) facing north, toward Mount Kailasha, the mythic abode of Shiva. The ritual is conducted by a Kusle guru, who recites the mantra of Gorakhnath and performs Mṛitadikṣa, a post-death initiation meant to guide the soul, especially for those who died uninitiated. The burial mound is shaped as a Linga (sacred Shiva symbol), and ritual offerings are placed at four points: Kaagbali (for the crow), Pretbali (for the wandering soul), Svanbali (for the dog), and one for Gorakhnath himself. In the days that follow, the family performs Laapuja, a series of offerings involving water, rice, yogurt, vermillion, sesame, and flowers—first to Gorakhnath and then to the others. Through these rites, the Preta (the restless spirit of the recently deceased) is ritually transformed into a Pitr (an ancestral spirit acknowledged and venerated by the living).

Initiation into the Kusle tradition reflects these same liminal values. The process is led by a guru and includes the transmission of Gorakhnath’s mantra, an anointing with Panchagavya (five cow derivatives) a, and a symbolic Karnavedha: a ritual ear-piercing that gestures toward their ancestral link to the Kaanphata Jogis, though the ear is not actually split. The initiate is marked with ash and the sacred syllable Aum, and then enacts a symbolic journey to Varanasi, walking a path made of flour, cloves, and leaves laid out by the guru. This performance stands in for physical renunciation, signaling inner transformation within a household setting. Daily worship continues through a modest attic shrine to Gorakhnath, where offerings are made and roti (ritual bread) is prepared weekly. The Kusle’s ritual life, deeply embedded in Tantric practice yet adapted to Newar caste society, preserves a vision of sacred duty centered ritual mastery of its boundaries without impeding social perimeters.

Gorakhnath

In their social life, the Kusle occupy a distinctive position within Newar society as ritual musicians, traditionally responsible for playing sacred instruments during death rites and other ceremonies involving ritually impure forces. In the context of funerary practices, their music transcends mere performance; it becomes a medium of spiritual transformation, guiding the soul of the deceased while purifying the environment for the living. Their expertise in navigating the symbolic weight of death through sound marks the Kusle as custodians of a liminal domain where the sacred and the unclean converge.

Yet despite their indispensable ritual function, the Kusle remain socially marginalized. Their constant engagement with death and impurity, while vital to communal order, assigns them a low-caste status within the Newar caste hierarchy, subjecting them to social stigma that restricts both mobility and economic opportunity. In response to these constraints, many have adopted tailoring as a supplementary occupation which has become an adaptive strategy that complements their ritual role while providing a modest livelihood. This quiet fusion of sacred duty and secular labor reflects a resilient navigation of a world that relies on their presence yet offers limited recognition in return.

Many people confuse the Kusle with the Kaanphata Jogis, but the two are markedly different in both lifestyle and social integration. While the Kusle are linked to the Nath tradition and share certain symbolic and ritual features with the “split-eared” Jogis, such as associations with Shivaite tantra and practices around death, their paths diverge in significant ways. The Kaanphata Jogis live lives of strict asceticism, distinguished by physical signs of devotion like their split ears, which hold symbolic earrings of their sect. These ascetics typically renounce household life, travel widely, and position themselves outside the caste-based social systems of settled communities, following a rigorous path of personal spiritual discipline.

The Kusle, by contrast, have localized and adapted Nath traditions into the structure of Newar society. Rather than renouncing worldly life, they maintain family ties and fulfill hereditary ritual duties, including conducting funerary music, exorcisms, and rites surrounding death and impurity. They do not bear the marks of extreme asceticism, nor do they detach from community life. Today, the distinction is even more apparent. Since the Kusle are ethnically Newar, speak Nepal Bhasa (Newari), and embody Newar cultural identity. The Kaanphata Jogies whether celibate ascetics or born into the Jogi caste, are Parbatiya, aligned with the broader Indo-Nepalese Hindu framework and often affiliated with major Shivaite centers like Varanasi, Haridwar, and Kedarnath.

The ritual muteness of the Kusle is deeply symbolic, reflecting their role as intermediaries between the living and the spiritual realms. In Newar death rituals, where they handle potent forces associated with death and the spirit world, silence serves as a protective and purifying measure, allowing them to perform their duties without directly invoking or disturbing malevolent energies. Muteness aligns them with the Preta or wandering spirit, a being in transition and often unsatisfied, symbolizing the dangerous and unresolved aspects of death. By remaining silent, the Kusule embody a restraint that controls these forces, reinforcing their role in “containing” spiritual disturbances within ritual spaces. Silence thus becomes a shield that separates them from direct confrontation with these forces, allowing their presence to perform exorcistic functions subtly and effectively without verbal interaction.

In the shifting landscape of contemporary Himalayan region, the Kusle stand at a fragile crossroads, their ancient role as ritual musicians and death workers steadily dissolving into the margins of memory. Once bearers of sacred sound and mediators between realms, they now face growing irrelevance in a society that increasingly turns to sanitized forms of ritual and forgets the necessity of those who navigate the liminal. Modernity has offered few concessions as tailoring and low-paying labor now supplement their ritual services, but these new roles bring neither dignity nor security. Despite deep cultural lineage and societal importance, the Kusle continue to face caste-based stigma, economic hardship, and a fading recognition of their spiritual authority.

Nonetheless, their presence evokes something more enduring than marginalization. The Kusle embody the living palimpsest of Newar civilization, layered with influences from different traditions and cosmologies. Today, as the valley of Kathmandu modernizes and ritual worlds fragment, the Kusle’s quiet resilience reminds us of an older truth: that those who dwell closest to death often guard the deepest knowledge of life. To listen to their Damaru beat is to hear the echo of a civilization in dialogue with its own spirt.

The Sunuwar Kõits and Their Ancestral Identity

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Koĩts Culture. No Comments on The Sunuwar Kõits and Their Ancestral Identity

For the Sunuwar Koits, history isn’t inscribed on parchment or pressed between the pages of books. It is carried in the breath of elders, held in the echoes of ritual chants, and guarded by shamans who traverse the liminal space between the physical and the unseen. Their myths of origin, their reckonings of lineage, and the cadence of their past flow not through ink but through the living memory of their people. The written word has only ever grazed the surface of this deeper reservoir of knowledge—most notably in People of Nepal (1967), where Dor Bahadur Bista speaks of twelve clans, the Bara Thars, mapping the Sunuwar presence along the watersheds of Likhu Khola and Khimti Khola, within the vast embrace of the Sun Koshi basin.

Yet for the Kõits, identity is neither a matter of cartography nor mere taxonomy. It is embedded in language, in the subtle architecture of words that shape meaning and purpose. Their name, Kõits, is no passive label but a declaration of being, drawn from the verb kõincha (kõitsā), meaning “to guide” or “to show.” It is a title that speaks of responsibility, of leadership not as dominion but as wisdom in motion—an ethos where the bearer is not simply one who commands but one who illuminates the path. Unlike the exonym “Sunuwar,” which outsiders have tethered to the western banks of the Sunkoshi, Kõits rises from within, a self-uttered invocation of identity. In this name, there is no imposed geography, no borrowed frame of reference—only the enduring voice of a people who have always known who they are.

The Kõits identity, however, has long been overshadowed by colonial constructs, with terms like “Sunuwar” and “Mukhiya” reducing a vibrant heritage to geographic or administrative labels. These exonyms, born of Indo-Aryan linguistic frameworks, strip the Kõits of their nuanced self-definition, framing them within external perceptions of land and power rather than their rich, self-constructed ethos. Yet, the endonym Kõits endures as a linguistic and cultural anchor, defying the erasure of their heritage. It reminds the community—and the world—of their deep historical ties to leadership, their indigenous lexicon’s capacity to preserve meaning, and the resilience of their identity against the tides of colonization. In reclaiming the term ‘Kõits’, the community reasserts a sovereignty of meaning, celebrating their role not merely as people of a place but as custodians of ancestral wisdom.

The Kõits stand as inheritors of an ancient Kirati lineage, their lives bound to ancestral devotion, shamanic vision, and an abiding kinship with the land. For them, existence is not a divide between the sacred and the material but a seamless interplay, where every custom, every rite, every rhythm of daily life mirrors a profound attunement to both the natural world and the unseen forces that animate it. Their clans, the Bara Thars, are more than genealogical markers; they are echoes of memory, each name a cipher of origin and purpose. Binicha, Bigyacha, Bujicha, Bramlicha, Darkhacha—these are not mere appellations but storied remnants of an older wisdom, linking families to lost professions, forgotten geographies, and elemental truths. Some, like Phaticha, meaning “to filter,” speak to the ancient crafts of purification and separation, while Gongrocha— “to open noisily”—evokes the sharp report of thresholds crossed, of doors flung wide to new horizons. Embedded in their language, these names do more than recall the past; they embody it, ensuring that identity is not just remembered but continuously lived.

The following are some of the Kõits clan names of Thars

  • Binicha
  • Bigyacha
  • Bujicha
  • Bramlicha
  • Darkhacha
  • Dasucha
  • Debbacha
  • Digarcha
  • Durbicha
  • Phaticha
  • Gaurocha
  • Gongrocha
  • Jespucha
  • Jijicha
  • Jenticha
  • Katicha
  • Khunlicha
  • Kyabacha
  • Khyonpaticha
  • Kyuinticha
  • Kormocha
  • Laspacha
  • Linocha
  • Lonkucha
  • Lunkicha
  • Mulicha
  • Nasocha
  • Ngawocha
  • Nomlicha
  • Pargacha
  • Pretticha
  • Rapicha
  • Rawacha
  • Rudicha
  • Rujicha
  • Rupacha
  • Shyochulcha
  • Susucha
  • Teppacha
  • Thangracha
  • Tholocha
  • Tonkucha
  • Thungucha
  • Tursucha
  • Wangdecha
  • Yatacha

Their language, casually termed Sunuwari, is actually called Kõits Lo. It is a branch of the Tibeto-Burman family, and serves a vessel of memory, a defiant marker of identity in a world that presses upon it, other than being a mere means of communication. Though the tide of Nepali influence and the weight of neighboring Hindu traditions have reshaped the cultural landscape, the Sunuwar remain steadfast, their language a thread binding them to the past, to the voices of their ancestors, and to the land they call home. This deep connection to the land is not just philosophical; it is the foundation of their way of life. Agriculture dictates the rhythm of existence, with terraced fields carved into the hillsides yielding millet, maize, and rice—the sustenance of generations. Ingenious irrigation techniques have long been employed to coax abundance from the earth, yet the land itself is finite, its scarcity an ever-present challenge. Animal husbandry plays a lesser role, a quiet supplement to an economy that has, for centuries, been rooted in the cultivation of grain. In the fields and in the echoes of their language, the Sunuwar inscribe their history, ensuring that neither the soil nor the stories are ever lost.

Socially, the Sunuwar Kõits are organized into patrilineal clans that dictate familial lineage and social roles. Each clan has specific rituals that are performed to honor their ancestors, with a clear distinction between those who carry on the ancestral line and those who perform the rituals. Marriage within the Kõits society follows exogamous rules, ensuring that individuals marry outside their clan, which further reinforces their social cohesion and the interconnectedness of their clans. An interesting aspect of Kõits identity is their understanding of gender roles. In Sunuwar belief, ruysh (bones) are associated with male identity and patrilineal descent, while shey (flesh) represents the maternal lineage and female identity. This dualistic view of gender extends beyond social roles to their material and spiritual lives. For example, men inherit ancestral lands, which are seen as symbols of permanence, while women’s roles, though indispensable, are seen as transient in comparison.

Shamanism among the Kõits is more than a spiritual practice—it is the axis upon which their world turns, a sacred lineage of healers, seers, and intermediaries who walk the threshold between the living and the dead. To be a shaman is to wield Thung, an inherited power that grants the ability to heal, divine, and channel the voices of spirits. Rituals unfold in the flickering light of tradition, where bamboo—alive with its own force—serves as the bridge between realms. No mere material, it is a vessel of communion, a conduit through which ancestral whispers flow, carrying blessings from the unseen world into the present.

Sunuwar spiritual life is a delicate balance, a dual system upheld by the Naso, the priest who offers prayers and sacrifices, and the Puimbo or Ngiami, the shaman who traverses the spectral veil. Their rites are not passive observances but immersive acts—ecstatic trances in which spirits speak, gods descend, and afflictions are torn from the afflicted. The banjhakri, the enigmatic jungle spirit, selects and initiates these figures, dragging them into the unknown, where the true apprenticeship begins. Through trials of endurance and revelations of power, the shaman emerges, armed with sacred mantras, divination rites, and the steady pulse of the dhyangro drum—a sound not just of ceremony, but of transformation, marking the threshold between the human and the divine.

In Sunuwar culture, gender symbolism takes on even more significance within the realm of shamanism. Sunuwar shamans, whether Puimbo (male) or Ngiami (female), transcend traditional gender roles and adopt an androgynous identity. This spiritual flexibility is crucial to their role as intermediaries between the living and the ancestral spirits. Shamans are believed to possess the power to enter trance states and communicate with the divine and the deceased, bridging the gap between the human and spiritual realms. This transcendent ability is facilitated by their unique gender identities, allowing them to embody the balance between masculine and feminine forces, a theme that is also evident in the Sunuwar’s material culture.

The forces of modernity—migration, urban expansion, the pull of mainstream education—have eroded the foundations of Kõits tradition, chipping away at rituals once central to identity, weakening the ties that bind generations. Yet culture is not so easily erased. In villages and diaspora communities alike, a quiet resistance takes shape. Grassroots movements emerge, language revitalization efforts take root, and ancestral knowledge passes from elders to youth, not as relics of the past but as vital currents shaping the present. Festivals become more than celebrations; they are acts of defiance, reaffirmations of a way of life that refuses to fade. Though the tides of change press in, the Sunuwar Kõits continue to hold fast, ensuring that their heritage is not just remembered but lived. Now, it falls upon the younger generation to bear this weight, to carry forward what remains, as a privilege, and also as a birthright.

Chongkha Sakenwa of the Bantawa Rai people

Written by Anmol Samsuhang on . Posted in Khambu Culture. No Comments on Chongkha Sakenwa of the Bantawa Rai people

Bantawa Rai of the Amchoke region have a unique way of celebrating the yearly Ubhauli or Dongwanga (Beginning of monsoon and plantation).

According to legend, Khuirum Hangkhim and Namnu, who were related as son-in-law and father-in-law once chased a wild boar, which was eventually struck by their arrows at Mayung Lake (present-day Bhojpur). After the fatal strike, the boar fell to the ground and transformed into a stone in the shape of a deity, which became attached to a Gagun tree (Saurauia nepalensis). The boar was a forest deity in disguise, which they recognized as a Maang (deity) in the form of Sakenwalung, believed to bring great fortune to their village. This made them gather things for worship like ginger, water and Rice grains. After carrying out necessary rituals for the deity, Namnu requested the deity to come along with them to their village, and so the deity agreed.

They were overwhelmed with happiness and placed the Sakenwalung in their Thumsey (traditional wicker basket), dancing and singing. On their way home, at Chabung Buktang, east of the Bungwa River, Khuirum Hangkhim slipped, and the Sakenwalung fell from the Thumsey, getting impaled into the ground. After multiple attempts to remove it, they were unsuccessful and concluded that the deity had decided to stay there forever. They then placed other necessary items of worship and made it the Chongkha Sakenwa Than, a shrine where the people of the region could come for the annual worship of Mother Nature.

This story reveals the origins of the Chongkha Sakenwa Than. A recent discovery uncovered a giant brass bell dating back 200 years, said to be one of the oldest pieces of evidence that shapes the history of the Chongwa Sakenwa Thetlum (Than or Shrine).

Present day Mabjok region.

Above the Dudh kosi river, present day Dhintang, Chimawa, Bayang, Siddhathan were the areas of Mangpahang Bantawa living in 12 villages and the River Bungwa Hongku presently flowing in the Amchoke region. It covers the borders of Khotang and Bhojpur, runing between them. The Chongkha Sakenwa than is present in the Khotang side above the Bungwa river which borders Bhojpur.

These days Chongkha Sakenwa is specially celebrated by Khambu Rai of Amchoke region like Mangpahang, Hangkhim and Tanglukwa. Their 10 groups of generation are the ones who still carry out the traditional way of performing Chongkha Sakenwa.

10 elders from each 10 lineages who are also the head shamans of their respective branches, are often referred to as the 10 pagari or 10 Kirat who are the leaders of the overall region in both social, economic and spiritual issues.

They are named according to their age and designation like Jetha, Maila, Saila, Kaila1, Kaila 2, Thaila 1, Thaila 2, Thulo Kancha, Sano Kancha and Kancha. They have respective villages where they live with their own family like Namanta, Dambarkha, Chongkha, Dhangkha, Bhopung, Khawa, Makhuwa, Chumarang, Bhir Goan and Wasingthapu.

Chongkha Sakenwa takes place between the months of Jeth and Mangsir, after the monsoon has already begun. People are filled with excitement for their annual celebration, preparing food items, drinks, and roosters for sacrifice in advance.

On the first day:

Yamang tonma: It’s the day when the people ask for water to the deity of Sakenwa than, on Monday of Baishake Purnima. On this day all the 10 pagari or the Nachong(priest) take bath, and take out all the items that were kept safely after the last winter celebration of Udhauli. The entire family collectively moves toward the Sakenwa Than, playing the Dhol (Drum) and Jyamta (Cymbals). All 10 pagari from each family meet along the way to the destination, with some arriving early. Once all 10 pagari Nachong have gathered, the worship begins. After all the rituals the liquor that is brought is served to everyone, which ends the 1st day.

One month later:

Khalappa mang or Bhumi Puja: is carried out in respective Pagari’s land to please the deities before the grand celebration. All the villagers bring Hengmawa/Raksi (traditional alcohol) for offering, which is later distributed in between the people. And money is also collected from everyone for the celebration of Chongkha Sakenwa. All the expenditures are calculated and plans are made on this day.

Day before the celebration:

After Jeth and Mangsirey Purnima, the following Saturday, all the houses in the village is cleansed and Diwa Puja or Ancestral worship is performed. All the Dhol (traditional drums) and Jyamta(cymbals) are taken out by the Nachong and is washed and dipped in water of the nearby stream or creek for one night. Next day the animal skin is replaced by a new one, and all the items are cleansed by the Nachong to be used.

Sohan chakwa or pure water from the main source is used to perform all the cleansing works. The Samkhalung/Teen Chula (Hearth Stones) is worshipped and all the ancestors are remembered. Mundum is chanted for overall improvement with a sacrifice of a Rooster.

After the work in the house the villagers move towards the part of the hill which falls under the land of the Nachong in all the 10 pagari villages. Dewa Puja is the rituals performed in the land of each 10 pagari. Where all the instruments are taken out and Semuna silli or Sakenwa Lakcham of Bantawa Rai is performed. And after the worship all the villagers move to their houses for the preparations for the next day.

Main day:

All the Nachong take ritual bath and all the roosters are also washed which are ready for the sacrifice on the main place. All families in the village pray for overall welfare of the family and society.  In their specific villages the Nachong is congratulated and his Sayachongma (head raising ceremony) is done by the villagers.  Then everyone moves towards the Sakenwa than playing the Dhol and Jyamta dancing along the way. The whole atmosphere of the region becomes very pleasant.

A special dance form of the Bantawa Rai called Sakenwa Lakcham is done by everyone present and upon reaching the place all the drummers walk inside the Sakenwa than playing the Dhol by which it is believed that the negative spirits residing in that place is scared by the sound and wards off. Then all the 10 pagari according to their age and designation perform all the religious works and offer sacrifices to the deity. Turn wise all the 10 pagari finish the work and the people are then allowed to perform offering rituals.

After all the religious work, everyone dances the Sakenwa Lakcham with great energy and happiness ending the celebration of Sakenwa. Then on that same day, 3 km away from the Sakenwa than a big annual fair is carried out called the Mangsirey Mela, which the locals visit after the celebration till end of the day.

Chasok Tangnam: The Limbu Harvest Festival

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Limbu Culture. 1 Comment on Chasok Tangnam: The Limbu Harvest Festival

Cultural festivals provide one of the few consistently affirming opportunities for indigenous communities in the Himalayas to strengthen and assert a more constructive self-image, both across generations and in the pursuit of their identity as a distinct culture. For the Limbus, the harvest festival of Chasok Tangnam serves a similar purpose, embodying not only a profound connection between nature and spirituality but also acting as a protector of their rich cultural heritage.  Rooted in the Mundhum—the oral scripture and philosophical structure of the Limbu people—Chasok Tangnam is a celebration of gratitude, reciprocity, and ecological reverence.

Chasok Tangnam is celebrated during the Udhauli season, which typically occurs in late autumn, in either November or December. This season marks the time of harvest when crops such as millet, rice, and buckwheat are gathered, aligning with the natural cycle of crop maturity. The festival thus coincides with a time of abundance and gratitude reflecting the agrarian values of the Limbu ancestors. The ritual of seeking permission from ancestors or nature to partake in the newly harvested crops is called ‘Chasok,’ whereas ‘Tangnam‘ translates to festival or celebration.

As an indigenous community of the Eastern Himalayas, the Limbu have long relied on farming as their primary means of livelihood. The Mundhum narrates the shift from a foraging to an agricultural society, facilitated by divine intervention.

In ancient times, during the era of Sawa Yethang, the earliest human ancestors relied on gathering wild fruits, roots, and tubers for survival. This fragile way of life eventually led to health problems, prompting them to seek divine intervention. Tagera Ningwaphuma, the creator of the world, answered their prayers by imparting the knowledge of agriculture. Sibera/Sikera Yakthungma, a wise and visionary woman, became a central figure in this transformative period. She cleared the land with wooden tools, sowed seeds, and guided the community in the practice of farming. The fertile plains along the Tamor River, now known as Nembo Yakwa Tesuma in Taplejung, are celebrated as the birthplace of this agricultural transformation. Following the first harvest, Sikera Yakthungma urged the people to offer a portion of their crops to nature and their ancestral spirits as an expression of gratitude, marking the origin of the Chasok Tangnam tradition.

These narratives are not merely mythological; they reflect the socio-historical development of the Limbu community. The roots of the festival lie in the ancient practice of Nwagi, the ritual of offering newly harvested crops to deities and ancestors before human consumption. Over time, this practice evolved into the collective celebration of Chasok Tangnam, a festival marked by communal joy and respect.  The practices and metaphors that weave the life cycle of crops into cosmic, human, and social dynamics reveal how a community harmonizes applied knowledge, symbols, and rituals into an evolving cycle of meaning. This cycle adapts over time and grounds essential processes within the realms of bodily life, the household, the village, and the Limbu spirit pantheon.

Chasok Tangnam is a multifaceted celebration that integrates spiritual rituals, communal gatherings, and cultural performances. The festival typically coincides with the harvest season, aligning with the natural cycle of crop maturity. The rituals are performed by Devari, Mangdemba, Fedangmas, and Yebas/Yemas (Limbu shamans), who act as intermediaries between the physical and spiritual realms.

Unlike many other communities, the Limbus do not directly embed farming practices into rigid religious symbols. Instead, they root these practices in tangible elements, such as crops, which are central to both practical and symbolic operations. In the context of Chasok Tangnam, this adaptability is evident in how harvested crops serve as offerings to nature and ancestral spirits, symbolizing gratitude and the cyclical harmony of life. Even as cultural and social landscapes shift, the flexible symbolism of plants and natural elements ensures that their relevance endures. Local knowledge about grains and other resources operates subtly behind these rituals, allowing traditions like Chasok Tangnam to continuously evolve while preserving their essence.

When crops like maize, millet, and rice mature, the household’s primary woman meticulously harvests the rice and millet ears. The rice is threshed, roasted, and processed into flattened rice (chura), while the millet is hand-husked, and its husks are combined with chili and water to brew Jaad Saaptok, a ritual millet beer.

A stalk of Malingo (Himalayacalamus asper) is planted in the ground, and a Muthareko Dhungro (hollowed bamboo vessel), approximately 5–6 inches long, is prepared. This vessel is filled with Saaptok and placed at the top of the Malingo. Waso Phungwet/Chindo (dried bottle gourd) or a brass pot is filled with Dawakama Wadumpakwa (pure water) for libations on the shrine. The ritual space is established by leveling the ground and laying out banana leaves to create a long ceremonial area. Altars dedicated to Yuma Sammang and Theba Sammang, the primordial ancestors, are arranged, with offerings placed on plates. A lit lamp serves as the final touch to complete the sacred setup.

The ritual honors several deities and divine spirits from the Limbu pantheon.

Misekpa: The first deity worshiped to ensure that the ritual proceeds without any obstructions or mishaps.
Kuikudap or Taphemba: A hunting divine spirit that ensures no obstacles in the household life.
Thungdangba: The Sun deity, worshiped to ensure favorable weather for crops.
Seebera/Sikera Yakthungma: A maiden who, having helped with the first seed sowing and ensured crop growth, is worshiped for support and life-giving assistance.
Kapobba Him Sammang: A deity who protects the home, often seen as a guardian ancestor.
Kashihangma: A female companion deity of Yuma Sammang.
Yuma Sammang: The supreme goddess of the Yakthung Limbu people, embodying the power of maternal strength, closely linked to the creation deity Tagera Ningwaphuma.
Theba Sammang: The male counterpart deity of Yuma Sammang, representing paternal strength and the ancestral male deity of the Limbu people.

The centerpiece of Chasok Tangnam is the Nwagi ritual, in which newly harvested crops are offered to Tagera Ningwaphuma, the ancestors (Samjik), and nature spirits. The offerings usually include millet, rice, and seasonal produce, symbolizing the community’s gratitude for a bountiful harvest. The rituals are held at sacred sites like Mangkhims (ancestral worship places) and natural landmarks such as rivers, caves, and ridges, believed to be inhabited by the spirits of ancestors and deities. The shamans invoke the spirits using traditional chants and rituals found in the Mundhum. Sacred drums (Tangsing) and other ritual tools are used to establish a spiritual connection.

Traditional Limbu dances, like the Dhan Nach, are an integral part of Chasok Tangnam, accompanied by folk songs that recount ancestral tales and cultural teachings. The festival is also marked by communal feasts, where the harvested crops are shared among community members, reinforcing social unity and collective well-being.

From an anthropological perspective, Chasok Tangnam serves as a crucial cultural institution for the Limbu community. It embodies the anthropological concepts of reciprocity, sacred ecology, and cultural transmission. The festival reflects the principle of reciprocity, a central feature of indigenous worldviews. By offering the first harvest to deities and ancestors, the Limbu people acknowledge the interconnectedness of all beings and the cyclical nature of life. This act reinforces the community’s deep sense of stewardship for the environment.

The rituals of Chasok Tangnam emphasize sacred ecology, a key element of Limbu cosmology. Natural features such as rivers, caves, and mountains are revered as sacred spaces that house ancestral spirits. This sacred respect extends to agriculture, where practices like crop rotation, agroforestry, and the careful management of sacred lands help maintain a harmonious balance with nature. These sustainable methods ensure that the relationship between humans and the environment is regenerative and respectful.

In the modern context, Chasok Tangnam remains a deeply significant cultural and spiritual event for the Limbu community, even as it faces challenges from urbanization and globalization. Efforts to preserve the festival are ongoing, through documentation of the Mundhum, cultural education programs, and community outreach. As the Limbu diaspora grows, Chasok Tangnam has spread beyond its traditional regions, with Limbu communities in urban areas and abroad holding their own celebrations.

gurung_ghatu

Ghatu Tradition of the Gurung People – Part 2

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Gurung Culture. No Comments on Ghatu Tradition of the Gurung People – Part 2

Part 1 of the article introduces Ghatu as a rich narrative song and dance tradition of the Gurung people, primarily performed in rural areas of Western and Central Nepal. It highlights its sociocultural importance, emphasizing its role in fostering social cohesion among the Gurung, Magar, and other communities. The Ghatu performance involves slow, trance-inducing dances that enact scenes from local mythology, particularly the story of Queen Amberwati and King Pashramu, with three main types of Ghatu: Barahmase, Kusunda, and Sati. The article also discusses the performance’s connection to agricultural cycles, particularly the belief that a successful Ghatu performance ensures a good harvest, and the ritualistic invocation of nature spirits during the performance. Read Part 1

Though Ghatu may appear at first glance as a traditional song and dance form celebrated for its elegance, fluidity, and the sustained grace of its physical choreography, it holds far greater significance from a cultural perspective. It serves as a deeply symbolic ritual, forging connections between performers and their history, environment, and spiritual beliefs. Beyond its aesthetic appeal, Ghatu functions as a source of cultural memory, a communal rite of passage, and a powerful expression of the Gurung worldview.

A typical performance can range from a few hours to several days. While the narrative content of Ghatu performances varies depending on the type performed, it usually begins with the invocation of the Ghatu Deuta, or spirits of King Pashramu and Queen Amberwati, key figures in the mythological narrative of Ghatu. The Guru, a figure of immense cultural and spiritual authority, chants mantras to summon these spirits into the bodies of the Ghatuli, the young female dancers. These dancers, chosen for their prepubescent purity, are believed to be uniquely capable of embodying divine energy. The trance state they enter is vital for the performance, signaling their role as intermediaries between the human and the divine. The trembling, closed eyes, and fluid movements of the dancers during the trance are viewed as signs of spirit possession, creating an intensely sacred atmosphere.

Guided by the Gurumas (female spiritual guides), the Ghatuli not only reenact mythological stories but also symbolize the connection between human vulnerability and spiritual transcendence. The dancers selected for these roles represent purity and sacred power, with their uncombed hair and Gurung Cholo (traditional dress) serving as symbols of their divine transformation. This unique interplay of ritual, gender, and spirituality challenges conventional patriarchal norms, portraying women as both protectors and vessels of divine energy. The unadorned simplicity of symbols like the Ghatuli’s loose hair and their rhythmic gestures represents their complete surrender to the divine, while the sacred headgear reinforces their spiritual connection. These symbols not only carry spiritual meaning but also tie the ritual to the natural and cosmological elements of Gurung life.

Every Ghatu performance beautifully embodies the Gurung people’s deep connection to the cyclical nature of time and existence. For the Gurung, time is not a linear progression but a flowing rhythm, deeply intertwined with the natural and agricultural cycles that sustain their lives. This philosophy finds expression in the very arrangement of Ghatu, where the repetition of melodies and the circular grace of the dances mirror the timeless patterns of planting and harvesting rice. Each movement, each refrain, weaves a ritual cadence that resonates with the rhythms of mountain life, drawing performers and audiences alike into harmony with the cosmos.

The Ghatu tradition is meticulously structured, requiring every step to be performed with ritualistic precision, leaving little room for improvisation. It transforms into a sacred ceremony where the Ghatuli become vessels for the Ghatu Deuta, channeling divine spirits through their dance. Ritual objects such as the Birpatta—a sacred offering of fried rice and turmeric—play an essential role, serving as protective shields against malevolent energies. The Mandali, or performance space, is ritually cleansed with cow dung and sacred water to create an environment sanctified for invoking the divine. These practices integrate elements of shamanism and animism, embodying the belief in divine possession and the influence of the spiritual world on human life.

The aesthetic and symbolic elements of Ghatu hold great significance, where every movement is infused with meaning. The dancers’ graceful rotations, gentle bows, and synchronized arm gestures embody the Gurung ideal of Sallala pani bagey jastai—”flowing like water.” This imagery not only captures the smooth, fluid nature of the dance but also pays homage to the Gurung reverence for water, a life-giving force that sustains both the body and the spirit. The dance movements themselves mirror the winding patterns of mountain streams, which are as vital to the Gurung people’s daily life as they are to their spiritual worldview. The choreography’s soft, flowing lines, devoid of sharp angles, are harmoniously complemented by the rhythmic pulse of the Maadal (drum), creating an experience that is both visually and sonically attuned to the natural world. This seamless fusion of body and rhythm becomes a living tribute to the harmony between the earth, the water, and the people.

The unique vocal style of Ghatu adds a cultural richness to the performance. Typically, there are two to four primary singers, known as Gurumas (spiritual guides or female singers), each contributing personal variations to the melody, which creates a layered and intricate texture. This deliberate asynchrony—where singers breathe independently and embellish different sections of the melody—reflects the collective spirit of the Gurung people. It requires a deep sense of mutual awareness, embodying the Gurung value of milijuli—working together in unity. The Guru leads the group with subtle cues, ensuring the narrative and musical integrity of the performance, while allowing space for individual creativity within the traditional framework. Linguistically, Ghatu songs employ an archaic language, neither Nepali nor Gurung, which only the Guru can partially interpret. This linguistic mystery enhances the sacredness of the performance, setting it apart from everyday life and emphasizing its ritual nature. It also highlights the Guru’s role as the keeper of cultural knowledge, bridging the mystical and the mundane.

The emotional intensity of Ghatu reaches its peak during the Ghatu Selauni ritual on the final day. In this ceremony, the spirits of the Ghatu Deuta are honored and bid farewell through offerings to the river. This moment, filled with the deep sorrow of the Ghatuli as they emerge from their trance, captures the ritual’s liminal nature. It serves as a powerful reminder of the fleeting connection between the human and divine, and the cyclical renewal that follows.

The spiritual essence of Ghatu is rooted in a belief in unseen powers and divine intervention. Performers see themselves not as dancers, but as divine agents enacting the deeds of gods and goddesses. This belief transforms their perception of the dance, as they enter a trance that alters their sense of being. Ghatu dancers often report vivid visions of deceased ancestors and otherworldly realms, reinforcing the connection between the physical performance and spiritual awakening. These experiences shape both the dancers’ and the community’s belief in the ritual’s healing and protective powers. The adherence to ritual, such as the proper selection of dancers based on age and spiritual possession, is critical. If even a small mistake occurs, such as forgetting verses or allowing ineligible dancers, it is believed that the performance will fail, and the consequences could be severe.

Ghatu can be viewed as a sacred ritual that uses symbolic elements to navigate and express abstract, often contradictory, dimensions of belief. It serves as a reflection of a cosmological framework, exploring the relationship between humans and the divine, as well as the unseen forces that shape their world. However, Ghatu has not been immune to the pressures of modernization. Economic challenges, urban migration, and the influence of formal education and state policies have disrupted the traditional rhythms of Gurung life, leading to shorter performances and a dilution of some ritualistic practices. The roles of the Guru and Ghatuli, once sacred and exclusive, have become more flexible, with older women and less specialized drummers occasionally taking part. These changes highlight both the challenges Ghatu faces and its capacity to adapt to contemporary realities. But for those who value ethnic indigenous cultures, Ghatu offers a rich opportunity to explore the intersections of ritual, traditions, and modernity, standing as a testament to the resilience of indigenous practices and their ability to evolve while preserving their core essence

The Bombo in Tamang Shamanism: An Overview

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Uncategorized, Tamang Culture. No Comments on The Bombo in Tamang Shamanism: An Overview

Shamanism holds significant meaning within the belief system of the Tamang people, whose worldview envisions a complex and unpredictable spiritual realm that deeply impacts the physical world they inhabit. Like many Himalayan communities, the Tamang perceive this liminal space as multifaceted, where the essence of beings and objects often eludes ordinary perception, and cannot always be understood based on their outward appearance. In Tamang cosmology, the universe is populated by a diverse array of spiritual entities—some life-affirming and nurturing, others disruptive or harmful—each embodying a spectrum of qualities that influence the delicate balance between the natural and spiritual worlds.

At the heart of this worldview is the belief in duality, where the material and the ethereal coexist and interact. This dual existence shapes the Tamang understanding of life, death, and the cosmos, guiding them through realms that extend beyond ordinary human perception. By navigating this intricate spiritual framework, Tamang Shamans, known as Bombo, serve as essential mediators between the seen and unseen worlds. For generations, the Tamang have upheld a rich indigenous knowledge system, transmitted through oral traditions and carefully preserved across time. The Bombo stand as the spiritual and cultural anchors of this knowledge, their practices and wisdom intricately woven into the very fabric of Tamang identity and social cohesion.

The journey of a Bombo, or Tamang shaman, begins with a transformative event known as the Lha khoba mayba, or “spiritual calling.” This calling often emerges during an intense crisis, described as a form of possession, when spirits—especially deceased shamans, known as Mukhiya Guru—overwhelm the chosen individual. While some individuals display shamanic predispositions from a young age, for most, the process unfolds gradually as they mature. Over time, the boundary between waking consciousness and dream states becomes increasingly fluid, and the individual begins to manifest unmistakable shamanic signs, signaling their growing receptivity to the shamanic realm and its transcendent forces.

During these early, chaotic experiences, those called by the spirits often seek isolation—sometimes retreating to ‘spiritually impure’ places within forests or in cemeteries, where they encounter terrifying visions of laagu (malevolent spirits). These unsettling experiences, referred to as ta rang gal (unripe visions), are seen as part of the initiation process. Over time, these experiences are interpreted as a person’s readiness to take on the responsibility of guiding others through the invisible, spiritual realm.

The apprenticeship to become a Bombo is a long and difficult process that blends ecstatic spiritual experiences with more grounded, didactic learning. During this training, the Bombo apprentice learns how to distinguish between laagu (harmful spirits) and lha (benevolent spirits). He also learns how to enter trance states, perform sacred rituals like Nawa (purification), and master ancient incantations. Central to this process is the Mukhiya Guru, the spirit of an ancestral shaman, who guides the trainee through dreams and visions, helping to refine his understanding and skills. Through four stages of initiation, the apprentice gains the ability to enter the spiritual world—symbolized by the opening of the ti sal borba (heavenly doors) atop their head, allowing them to fly through the spirit realm and gain clarity of vision.

In Tamang society, shamans are not a homogenous group. There are different types of shamans, each with a specific role to play. The Bompo, for example, are deeply connected to nature and the land. They act as guardians of sacred places, performing rituals that honor spirits of the earth and ensure the fertility of the land. The Dangur are mediums, who become vessels for divine or ancestral spirits during rituals, delivering messages and blessings to those in need. Then there are the Rite Guru, whose practices are more closely tied to Buddhism. They perform rites of passage and help guide the souls of the departed toward their next rebirth, bridging shamanism and Buddhist teachings.

The roles of the Bombo are many, but they all revolve around the core principle of spiritual mediation. As healers, they diagnose ailments that are believed to be caused by spiritual imbalances, such as bla gumne (Saato haraunu/loss of life force). Using rhythmic drumming, chanting, and trance, the Bombo retrieves this lost energy, expelling laagu and restoring balance. They also lead community rituals at sacred sites, reinforcing the relationship between the people and the land. Just as importantly, Bombo are the keepers of the Tamang oral tradition. They are the ones who tell the ancient stories, preserving the myths and genealogies that define the Tamang identity.

The cosmology of Tamang shamanism is rich and complex, filled with heavens, middle realms, and underworlds. The dawa lung gyesar gyolpo (heavens) are home to benevolent gods and spirits, while the underworld jhao is inhabited by malevolent forces associated with death and decay. The Tamang landscape is also imbued with spiritual power. Sacred groves, springs, and mountains are seen as places where the boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds is thin, and where rituals can more easily connect the two. Through their rituals, the Bombo reinforce the idea of sibda neda than, a harmonious relationship between humans and the sacred environment.

Rituals are central to the practice of Tamang shamanism, and they’re not just individual acts but collective experiences. When performing rituals like the Nawa, the Bombo enters a trance, their body trembling as they call upon the Mukhiya Guru for guidance. These rituals, marked by drumming, chanting, and symbolic gestures are actually spiritual negotiations that attempt to appease spirits or warding off of harmful forces in the community. The Damphu, the traditional Tamang drum, plays a central role in these rituals, helping the Bombo enter a trance and bridge the gap between the physical and ethereal worlds. These acts are not just for healing; they are also for the collective renewal of the community’s spiritual strength.

One of the most captivating aspects of Tamang shamanism is pho wang lung (magical flight), where the Bombo journeys into the spirit realm. These flights aren’t chaotic or uncontrolled like the visions of novices; they are deliberate, clear, and purposeful. The Bombo uses incense and spirit invocations to guide their soul through the unseen world, retrieving lost knowledge or souls and bringing blessings to the community. These journeys symbolize the Bombo’s mastery over the spiritual forces that govern their world, and they represent a deep understanding of the interconnectedness of all things.

Tamang mythology tells the story of Dunjur Bon, the first shaman, who fell from the celestial realms after a confrontation with Guru Pema, the first lama. This fall marks the beginning of duality in the world—dividing the pure, primordial time of thungsa from the earthly, cyclical nature of kesa. Dunjur Bon’s descent is seen as the birth of the shaman’s role as a mediator between these two worlds—one ethereal, the other physical. The shaman’s task is to navigate this duality, healing, guiding, and restoring balance to both realms. This myth perfectly encapsulates the Tamang understanding of the world, where everything is interconnected, and the boundaries between realms are fluid.

Yet, it’s impossible to ignore the influence of other religious traditions, especially Buddhism and Hinduism, on Tamang shamanism. Hindu deities like Shiva and Kali have found their place in Tamang rituals, while Buddhist concepts like karma and rebirth shape ceremonies for the departed. Tantric practices have also left their mark, particularly in the use of mantras and the belief in energy centers akin to chakras. This syncretism has enriched Tamang shamanism, but it has also led to shamanism being marginalized as a “primitive” practice.

For modern Tamangs, shamanism is a powerful link to their ancestral roots, providing not only spiritual guidance but also a sense of identity. It continues to address the challenges of rural and semi-urban communities, offering healing and wisdom deeply tied to their worldview. Tamang shamanism, with its rich oral traditions and spiritual practices, ensures that the cultural heritage of the Tamang people will continue to thrive. The Bombo, in collaboration with the Tamba (or Ganba)—the traditional storytellers who preserve clan genealogies and cosmogonic myths—are the guardians of this sacred knowledge. Together, they protect and nurture the Tamang identity, ensuring that the wisdom of their ancestors is passed down for generations to come.

As healers, mediators, and cultural guardians, the Bombo exemplifies the enduring relevance of shamanism, answering humanity’s spiritual and existential needs. Preserving this tradition is not merely about safeguarding the past; it is about ensuring that the richness of the Tamang worldview endures—not only for their community but as an invaluable part of global cultural heritage. In a world of constant change, Tamang shamanism offers not only a vital framework for cultural survival but also a “decolonized perspective”—one that reimagines the world through a lens of spiritual interconnectedness, resilience, and ancestral wisdom.

Kachhalā Pyākhan : Fusion of Animism and Tradition

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Uncategorized, Newar Culture. No Comments on Kachhalā Pyākhan : Fusion of Animism and Tradition

Each year, as autumn deepens and the ancient courtyards of Patan brace for the approach of winter, a timeless tradition comes to life- the Kachhalā Pyākhan, widely known as Kartik Naach. This is a profound cultural and religious ritual that intricately weaves together Newar myth, folklore, and history. Today, this vibrant tradition has blossomed into a powerful symbol of Patan’s timeless cultural identity, its continued vitality serving as a testament to the Newar community’s remarkable ability to preserve age-old customs while adapting to the complexities of modern life.

The origins of Kachhalā Pyākhan trace back to the 17th century, during the reign of King Siddhi Narsingha Malla, although some argue that its roots stretch even further into the past. Yet, it is impossible to overlook the undeniable connection between Kachhalā Pyākhan and the cultural sway of the Malla kings, whose patronage of the arts was instrumental in forging the distinct Newar cultural identity we recognize today.

The ritualistic dance performance (Pyākhan) may trace its form to a pre-Hindu, pre-Buddhist shamanic tradition, rooted in a chthonic understanding where members of a particular social cluster (Guthi) invoke ancestral and protective deities. Through honoring their territorial deities (Agam Dya) and tutelary deities (Dugu dya), they seek to consecrate and reaffirm their deep connection to the land. This ritualistic invocation, while aligning with the Hindu concept of Leela and the Buddhist Charya Nritya/Cham, creates a sacred affiliation to their terrain, forming a core element in how they define and relate to their living space. Thus, Kachhalā Pyākhan, can also be viewed a cultural ritual that transforms Patan’s public spaces into sacred arenas. By performing this dance-drama in the heart of Patan, the Newars reinforce a powerful connection to place and community, highlighting the territorial significance embedded in Newar identity.

In broader cultural terms, the Newars of the Kathmandu valley have long preserved this practice of mapping and sanctifying their living spaces through ritual performance. These rituals, covered in myth, animistic practices, and Buddhist and Hindu elements, redefine local spaces into protective, spiritual domains. Therefore, Kachhala Pyakhan isn’t simply a historical or religious tradition but a continuous assertion of cultural and territorial identity that helps define the Newars as distinctly ‘localized’ and ‘territorial.’

The performance was originally a two-day event centered on the religious stories of the Hindu God Vishnu, drawn from the Harivamsa Purana and the Mahabharata. Initially, it’s intention was both educational and devotional but over time, successive rulers of Patan expanded the event, transforming it into a month-long dramatic cycle, which also included sub-events that satirized contemporary social and political issues. Performed during the month of Kartik—the eighth month of the Hindu lunar calendar that usually falls in October or November—the festival coincides with the harvest season, making it a time of celebration, thanksgiving, and spiritual renewal.

The performance takes place on the Kartik Dabali, an elevated platform next to the Krishna Mandir in Patan Durbar Square. Here, participants, mostly from the Newar community, come together to enact the mythological narratives through colorful costumes, rhythmic drumming, and complex dance movements. The performance becomes a ritual of communal participation, bringing together dancers, musicians, and ritual specialists to animate divine stories. This communal aspect of the event not only underscores the collective identity of the Newars but also highlights the deep interconnection between their land, religious devotion and cultural expression.

At the core of Kachhalā Pyākhan lies the mythology of the Vishnu, whose avatars, particularly Narasimha, are brought to life through dramatic dance. This sacred dance, particularly the portrayal of Narasimha’s divine intervention, resonates with a deeper animistic dimension, where the human performers do not merely play roles but become vessels or mediums for divine power. The embodiment of the gods through dance allows for the communication of sacred knowledge, strengthening the bond between the community and the divine. The real-life effects of this sacred invocation are felt in the performance itself as the performers, through their embodiment of the deities, bring the sacred into the realm of the living, ensuring the cosmic order is maintained through the ritual.

In this sense, Kartik Naach can be seen as an intensely animistic ritual, where the boundary between the human and the divine is fluid, and the gods are not mere abstractions but active participants in the lives of the people. The dance, music, and rituals do not simply retell ancient stories—they invite the divine to enter a physical space, allowing the gods to communicate their will through the movements of the performers. This ritual interaction with the divine evokes a shamanic quality, where the performers act as mediators between the human realm and the spiritual world. Their bodies become conduits for the sacred, channeling divine power and infusing the community with blessings and protection.

The symbolic use of dance (pyakhan), mask (khwapa), and sacred ritual is further amplified through what seems to be a tantric practice. These practices associated with the performance introduce layers of mysticism, where specific rituals—such as the symbolic death and revival of Hiranyakashipu (the demon king)—are enacted with profound realism. The enactment of Hiranyakashipu’s unconscious state, followed by his revival through the ritualistic use of water from the Manga Hiti spout, creates a powerful imagery of life, death, and rebirth. This dramatic cycle symbolizes not only the mythological triumph of good over evil but also the community’s belief in the cyclical nature of existence, where death is not an end but a transition back to life.

This animistic and shamanic dimension of Kachhala Pyakhan is further emphasized through its connection to the broader spectrum of Newar rituals, which often include spirits, ghosts, and supernatural forces. Much like shamans who communicate with spirits to maintain harmony in their communities, the performers of Kachhala Pyakhan invite divine forces into the ritual space, ensuring the cosmic balance between the earthly and spiritual realms is maintained. This convergence of myth, ritual, and divine intervention is a central feature of Newar culture, where the spiritual is never separated from the social and cultural fabric of everyday life. The mythological figures, through their dance and dramatic enactment, are not passive representations but actively shape the world around them, guiding the community’s understanding of morality, history, and identity.

Kachhalā Pyākhan carries profound cultural significance, as it embodies the values of the Newar community, particularly in its ability to blend religious devotion with critical social commentary. This component of the dance illustrates the ability to balance reverence with practicality, offering both spiritual and societal lessons in one unified performance. The interactions between these characters often employ humor, satire, and folklore to deliver moral lessons that resonate with contemporary social issues, showcasing the Newar people’s capacity to engage critically with their own traditions while preserving the sacred narratives that form the bedrock of their identity.

Kartik Naach’s continued relevance accentuates the resilience of Newar culture. Despite the modernizing forces of globalization and technological advancements, the ritual’s core—the communal gathering, the sacred space, the embodied myth—remains unchanged. However, this continuity is not static as it reflects a dynamic adaptation of traditional practices to the needs and realities of the present. This adaptation can be seen in the evolving organizational structures of the event, which now rely on community-based organizations rather than royal patronage, yet still maintain the core principles of religious and cultural devotion.

The historical and political aspects of Kachhalā Pyākhan are deeply intertwined with the social dynamics of its time, revealing layers of animistic roots that permeate its performance. Originally, it functioned as a tool for asserting royal power and prestige, with the Malla kings using it not only as entertainment but as a form of political propaganda to reinforce their authority. The performance became an embodiment of the sacred connection between the rulers and the land, invoking deities to protect the kingdom and its people. Over time, it absorbed satirical elements that critiqued the prevailing political and social climate, evolving into a platform for public discourse. While the overt political messages may have faded, the ritual’s animistic underpinnings remain intact, continuing to express the tensions between tradition and modernity—especially as it faces contemporary challenges. The animistic practice of invoking spirits and deities continues to infuse the performance, grounding it in an ongoing conversation between the past and present.

In contemporary society, Kachhalā Pyākhan stands as a living archive of Newar culture, history, and collective memory—its very essence rooted in animism. Each reenactment of the performance is not merely a theatrical retelling but a ritual of transmission, where the physicality of dance, music, and dramatic depiction carries ancestral myths, beliefs, and values from one generation to the next. This sacred act reaffirms the Newars’ spiritual bond with their ancestors, deities, and the land they inhabit. Through the ritual’s animistic lens, every movement, gesture, and song invokes the presence of spirits and ancestral forces, highlighting a territorial connection to the physical space. Thus, Kachhala Pyakhan is not just a performance; it is a vital mechanism through which Newar identity and territoriality are continuously asserted.

As such, it serves as a dynamic medium of cultural expression, where folklore and myth are not stagnant relics of the past, but lively traditions that adapt and evolve according to the needs and concerns of the present. This animistic ritual thrives as a participatory event, shaping the social, cultural, and religious landscape of Patan and the Kathmandu Valley. Through its vivid dance, music, and storytelling, Kachhalā Pyākhan bridges the past and present, reiterating the sacred bond between the Newar people, their ancestors, and the land they live upon. In this way, the performance endorses the enduring relevance of tradition, demonstrating how animistic practices can preserve and adapt cultural heritage for future generations.

The Jirels: Origins and Beliefs

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Jirel Culture. 2 Comments on The Jirels: Origins and Beliefs

The origins of the Jirel people are shrouded in mystery, inviting much speculation and complex theories about their beginnings. These theories often draw on linguistic similarities, genetic markers, and historical records that hint at possible connections with other Himalayan communities. It is therefore unsurprising that Dor Bahadur Bista, in his esteemed work “People of Nepal,” reflects on this obscurity, stating, ” Not much is really known of their origins. Some believe that they are offshoots of the Magars, others that they came from Simraungarh in the eastern Terai.” Today, the Jirels are recognized as the natives of Jiri, and they exemplify the remarkable diversity of the Himalayan region amidst modernization. According to the National population and housing census conducted by the Government of Nepal, the Jirel population numbers 6,031, making up only 0.02% of the country’s total inhabitants.

The Jirels, an Eastern Himalayan tribe, speak a unique Tibeto-Burman language bearing strong resemblances to Sherpa and Sunuwar Koit languages. The term “Jirel” finds its roots in Nepali etymology. The community originally referred to themselves as “Jirwa” or “Jirba” before the term “Jirel” became more prevalent among the Nepali populace. According to Jirel folklore, the name of the place Jiri is derived from the Jirels who settled there. The name Jiri originates from “Jie-eri,” which translates to “scary dense forest.”

Jirel oral traditions offer several conflicting accounts of their ethnogenesis. One tradition suggests that the Jirels originated from Simraungarh in the eastern Terai (Bista 1980:69). In the 14th century, Muslim invaders destroyed Simraungarh, forcing its Hindu ruling families and other survivors to become refugees (Miller 1997). After enduring many hardships in the Terai, they eventually fled to Dolakha. This narrative is particularly significant because several Jirel clans worship deities believed to reside in Simraungarh. During religious ceremonies, the Jirel priest, or Shaman known as the Phombo, summons the clan god and the spirits of clan ancestors from their original homeland, Simraungarh, to manifest in the shrine.

Another account claims that the Kirati ancestors migrated to Jiri from Simraungarh in the Terai. However, Tahal Bahadur Jirel completely rejects this idea due to linguistic evidence. While the Jirel language belongs to the Tibeto-Burmese family, it shares about 65% similarity with Sherpa and Tibetan. In fact, it shows greater similarity to the languages of the Solukhumbu and Helambu Sherpas, as well as Tibetan and Tamang languages.

A third narrative posits that the Jirels are descendants of an ancestor born from the union of a Sunuwar (Koit) man and a Sherpa woman, approximately 8 to 10 generations ago. Additionally, the blending of Jirel heritage is evident in their cultural and linguistic characteristics. They speak a distinct language called Jirel, which belongs to the Tibeto-Burman language group and shares numerous similarities with the Sherpa language. Genetic studies conducted by Sarah Williams-Blangero at Case Western Reserve University, Ohio, confirm this theory.

The Jirels are organized into 23 distinct clans, consisting of 12 major clans and 11 subclans. Mirroring the Kirati system of clan hierarchy, these subclans emerged as a result of breaches in exogamy rules. They main clans are Thungba, Deulinga, Thabo, Deppa, Sherba, Palpali, Thurbido, Chyaba, Meyokpa, Jupule, and Gara Samba. The sub-clans are Chawe Thungba, Chawe Sherpa, Chawe Jupule/Jupude, Thurbido, Chawe Thurbido, Kyambole, Tumpule, Phalbo, Garchiga, Rarenge, Jaisi, Khulal, Gharti, Rai, Chawe Thabo, Mukhiya, and Thapa.

Though the Jirels embrace Buddhism today, complete with their own monks and a sacred Gumba (monastery), they steadfastly preserve their ancient shamanic traditions. The heart of their spiritual life beats in the hands of a Phombo, a revered Jirel shaman, who performs all healing rituals and clan worship. This Phombo is believed to have the extraordinary ability to incarnate the spirits of ancestors and divine entities. Central to the Jirel worldview are the potent forces of spirit possession, ancestral veneration, and the influence of spirit forces. Alongside these practices, the Jirels honor a select pantheon of deities, with each clan venerating its own unique God (Kuldevta). Clan worship is still performed by the Phombo whereas birth rituals and rites of passage are observed according to Buddhist traditions.

The Jirels practice a polytheistic belief system, venerating multiple deities alongside their specific clan-based tutelary gods. Each clan maintains distinct ritual relationships with various deities, such as Lha, Chen, Chyomu, and Kalincho (Nangy Lha), which are worshipped independently by different clans. This reflects the intricate interconnection between Jirel cosmology and their kinship structures, where religious practices are closely tied to clan identity and ancestral veneration.

Certain Jirel clans maintain dedicated altars for the veneration of Naya, a local clan deity. These altars house a sacred box where offerings such as coins, cloth, rice, and chicken eggs are deposited. At harvest time, ritual offerings are made to Naya, with prayers for prosperity, the well-being of children, and the health of livestock. In addition to Naya worship, the Jirels also venerate Loo, a snake deity regarded as the protector of crops. As snakes naturally deter rodents, offerings are made to Loo during the harvest, symbolizing the deity’s protective role over agricultural abundance. Anthropologist H. Sidky highlights the syncretic nature of Jirel religious practices, noting their “remarkable heterodoxy” in adopting elements from Buddhism, Hinduism, and local traditions. This blending of beliefs demonstrates the Jirels’ pragmatic approach, seamlessly incorporating diverse religious concepts without emphasizing contradictions between them

Jirel traditional ceremonial ways are ancient. They may have evolved and will continue to adapt and change to new realities. While core meanings remain relatively intact, methodologies are fluid and personal. Jirel people embody a dynamic synthesis of cultural and religious practices, reflecting their complex history and diverse origins. Through their clan-based deities, shamanic traditions, and syncretic religious practices, the Jirels have retained a distinctive cultural and spiritual landscape. As they continue to navigate modernization, their rituals, belief systems, and community structure illustrate the ongoing interplay between tradition and adaptation, ensuring their heritage remains both resilient and fluid.

Exploring the World of Thangmi people

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Thami Culture. No Comments on Exploring the World of Thangmi people

Comprehensive understanding of the social history and culture of the Thami people remains sparse and fragmented. For generations, the Thami have primarily preserved and transmitted their cultural heritage through oral traditions, passing down stories, myths, and knowledge from one generation to the next. This reliance on oral discourse has meant that much of their historical and cultural narrative is embedded in the spoken word, requiring a meticulous and critical approach to studying these oral traditions. At a glance, Thami culture may seem complex and unconceivable. However, despite the challenges, a wealth of knowledge can be gleaned from their rich culture, intricate traditions, and unique language.

The Thangmi, also known as Thami, represent a unique ethnic group within the Tibetan-Burmese linguistic family. In their everyday interactions, the Thangmi refer to their language as Thangmi Kham or Thangmi Wakhe, and themselves as Thangmi. However, in elevated ritual contexts, some shamans use the term Thani. The name Thangmi has two potential etymologies in the Tibetan language. One interpretation is “than-mi,” signifying “people of the pasture lands,” while the other is “mthah-mi,” meaning “barbarians of the borders.” Anthropologists, such as J. Casper Miller and Alexander MacDonald, regard the latter explanation as more plausible. The Nepali designation for this group is ‘Thami’, an external ethnolinguistic perspective that has become prevalent today.

Two primary oral traditions elucidate the origins and migratory history of the Thangmi. The first posits that the Thangmi are descendants of the Kirati rulers who once held sway over Kathmandu until their displacement by the Lichhavi rulers. Following the fall of the Kirati, a faction journeyed through Sanga, and Benighat, ultimately settling in Kira Chhap around the Dolakha region. This narrative, however, is less substantiated by other oral traditions.

A more widely accepted narrative among the Thangmi traces their lineage to Yappati Chhuku/Ya’apa and Sunari Aama/Aaji. According to this myth, the Thangmi migrated along the Tamakoshi River from Simangadh and Kumangadh in the Sindhuli and Bara districts, eventually settling near Nagdah in Dolakha. After the decline of Kirati rule in Nepal, they dispersed, following various rivers towards eastern Nepal. The migration patterns of different Kirati groups led to the formation of distinct ethnic identities: those following the Tamor River became Limbus, those along the Arun became Rai/Khambu, the Dudhkoshi travelers became Sunuwar, the Sunkoshi followers became Hayu, and those tracing the Tamakoshi became Thangmi. This particular narrative details seven primary male and female clans, as well as five additional clans who were the descendants of Ya’apa and Sunari Ama.

Beyond Nepal’s borders, they also reside in Sikkim and Darjeeling, India, indicating a transnational presence influenced by historical migration patterns and contemporary socio-economic dynamics.

Each facet of Thami life, from their ceremonial practices to their everyday customs, holds clues that, when pieced together, form a montage of their historical and social evolution. Thangmi marriage practices are distinctive and complex, involving bride purchase, bride service, and dowry. Traditionally, marriages are arranged through mutual agreement between the parents of prospective brides and grooms, though bride capture and elopement were also common in the past. When a boy reaches adolescence, his father and two marriage brokers (Lamis) visit the girl’s family with a vessel of rice beer to propose marriage. If accepted, the girl’s relatives consume the beer and request a liter of wine from the boy’s family, solidifying the agreement and preventing either party from marrying elsewhere. Formal ceremonies may follow later, based on mutual agreement and auspicious timing.

The Thangmi strictly prohibit cross-cousin marriages, a practice common among other ethnic groups like the Gurung. Clan exogamy is mandated, requiring individuals to marry outside their own clan but within the Thangmi group, thereby maintaining internal social cohesion and external marital alliances. This highlights the importance of clan affiliation in Thami society. Initially, a child’s clan affiliation is based on descent from either the mother or father, depending on the child’s gender, and becomes socially significant at the time of marriage. Traditionally, individuals inherit their clan name from their same-sex parent. However, this practice has evolved, and many women now adopt their husband’s or father’s clan names.

The Thangmi social structure is organized into clans, moieties, and lineages, reflecting a complex kinship system. The male clan names are Akal Akyangmi, Kyangpole Akyangmi, Areng Akyangmi, Dumla Akyangmi, Danguri Akyangmi, Mosanthali Akyangmi, and Jaidhane Akyangmi. The female clan names include Budati, Yante Siri Siri, Calta Siri, Alta Siri, Khasa Siri, Bampa Siri, and Khatu Siri.

The Thangmi follow a syncretic form of shamanism influenced by Hinduism. Their spiritual practices are deeply rooted in animism and the worship of natural deities, with shamans playing a central role in mediating between the physical and spiritual realms. Thangmi rituals, which are primarily centered around life cycle events rather than a more defined system of deity worship, employ the services of the shaman, known as the ‘Guru.’ The Guru does not necessarily assume the role of a “Jhankri” (faith healer). Thangmi Gurus, who are the primary officiants during rituals, do not typically act as healers. Many Thangmi villages do have a mainstream faith-healing shaman, but the Guru who performs various rituals, including marriages and rites of passage, holds a separate, higher-status category.

The Thangmi’s religious life is characterized by a rich tapestry of rituals and ceremonies that blend shamanic traditions with Hindu elements. This syncretism is evident in their festivals, healing practices, and life-cycle rituals, reflecting a dynamic interplay between indigenous beliefs and external religious influences such as the ritual of Bhume. Bhume is an animistic earth worshipping practice, and Thangmi people maintain a Bhume shrine close to their settlements. They are usually placed around rocks or below large trees. Such shrines also have a large number of bells and Tridents around them, which hint at the influence of Hinduism over their ancient traditions. But these are usually open-air structures whose sacred status derives from the land upon which they stand, rather than any structural features of the temple itself.

The Thangmi community presents a fascinating study of cultural resilience and adaptation. Their unique language, intricate social structure, and syncretic religious practices highlight the richness of their cultural heritage. Despite external pressures and internal transformations, the Thangmi have maintained a distinct identity, rooted in their historical narratives, oral traditions, folklore, and sustained through their enduring traditions.

kirat rai culture

Cham – Ritualistic songs of the Kirati Khambu Rai people

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Khambu Culture. No Comments on Cham – Ritualistic songs of the Kirati Khambu Rai people

Within the social fabric of the Kirati Khambu Rai people, music has metamorphosed into a space for cultural discourse. It engages both performers and audiences, facilitating discussions about their heritage and personal encounters. It is also a part of their elaborate rituals. In addition to language, musical and religious behaviors exhibit a notable universality among modern humans. It is no different among the Khambu Rai people, where ritual songs seem to function as a catalyst for molding social landscapes, with the power to harmonize emotions, define social ties, conduct rites, and cultivate collective identities. As a result, it has emerged not just as an integral part of Kirat Khambu Rai culture and rituals but as a platform for recognizing and reconciling identities, driven by its multifarious nature.

A song is called Cham, which is an indispensable component of the Mundhum (traditions, rituals, and oral narrative of the Kirati Khambu Rai people), deeply intertwined with the Khambu way of life. Khambus actively engage in musical pursuits within their households, at marketplaces, and particularly during social gatherings, with a heightened presence during various rituals. Beyond mere entertainment, music assumes a central role in their social, religious, and ceremonial spheres. It serves several purposes, encompassing the realms of healing, assisting in daily chores, bolstering agricultural endeavors, accompanying essential life events such as weddings and funerals, and infusing vibrancy into festivals. For the Khambu Rai community, music isn’t merely an artistic medium but a profound means of conveying love and emotions. Consequently, ritual songs, deeply rooted in the Mundhum, constitute an integral facet of the Kirat Rai cultural narrative.

At the forefront of ritual songs is the Khambu Shamanic incantation. Also referred to as Rungpu Rishiwa or Rishiwa Bagbuipa, this segment of the Mundhum text is sung by various categories of Shamans, including Mangpa, Nakchhong, Nachhong, and Nokso. Typically, they recite the Mundhum while accompanied by the sounds of drums, cymbals, or the resonant tones of the clanging of brass plates. During this ritual, they may also enter into a trance-like state, establishing a profound connection with divine spirits on a spiritual plane. Although the Mundhum includes Boptomi Selemi, a sequence of ritual oratory recited by a Dowa or the family’s leader during ceremonies, it typically lacks any musical tune or melody. Rishiwa, however, resonates with a captivating tune, characterized by a distinct melodic quality while maintaining consistent rhythmic stability.

Pitch and intonation play essential roles in Khambu Rai ceremonial Shamanic chants. The music inherent to the Mundum language possesses a unique and uncommon essence. Diverging sharply from contemporary musical genres, it is a form of traditional tribal music exclusively employed within the context of Mundum rituals. While Shamanic songs inherently contain melody, it is the ritual language utilized in Mundhum songs that emphasizes particular melodic patterns. One can notice that the Mundum ritual language exhibits innate rhythmic, melodious, and poetic attributes, predominantly attributed to its inherent structural characteristics and the organization of rhyming binomials within it. Furthermore, the Khambu ritual speech is itself phonetically melodic in nature. For instance,

“Dongwanga, dongdawa, dongwanga dongdawa khida,
Sayachoksa, Wayaloksa banthen yetsa,
Nammang, Naamang, Chhinmang, Chhinmang lisa..”

“As the seasons change from winter to spring, spring to winter,
It is these changing seasons that give,
So all sentient beings continuously live..”

The comprehensive essence of Rishiwa, the potent vocals of the Shaman, and the resonating clangs are believed to possess the ability to embrace the energies of the unseen realm within the spiritual domain. In fact, the distinction between individuals and their environment, particularly among those engaged in the ceremony, seems to dissolve during rituals. These songs become defining features of a ritual. It becomes evident that Khambu ritual music serves to fulfill several crucial purposes: it orchestrates the ceremony, facilitates the reunion of family members, and revitalizes the essential life force (Saya) and physical aspects of reality.

Undoubtedly, the Kirat Khambu Rai community possesses unique indigenous frameworks to navigate metaphysical and epistemological facets of their culture and religion. Despite the encroachment of modernity, these systems have endured, primarily transmitted through oral traditions. These systems are embedded within the 29 Rai languages, encompassing both specialized and everyday dialects. In addition to ritualistic songs found in specialized linguistic forms, there are other genres designed to preserve the cultural narrative of indigenous knowledge systems, such as the Hopmacham.

Hopmacham is not classified as a shamanic genre, yet it holds a divine significance and is performed during specific rituals. The term “Hopmacham” is derived from “Hopma,” which translates to “to drink,” and “Cham,” which means “song.” However, it’s important to note that it doesn’t imply that it’s sung when someone is inebriated. While the consumption of Millet Beer (Charima Wasim) is a fundamental aspect of Khambu rituals, Hopmacham is a song that has the ability to evoke a sense of intoxication through its inherent power.

Anthropologist Martin Gaenszle writes, “The Hopmacham is not a shamanic genre, and it is not sung for the purpose of healing. Yet it is regarded as possessing a special kind of efficacy, a kind of magic. It is commonly explained, for example, that it can bring rain in the case of drought, it can bring life to dead trees, it can charm animals and trees, it can even light fire, and above all, it can evoke intense emotions, both sadness, and happiness, in the listeners. But at the same time, it is seen as dangerous for the performer because, if not sung properly, with adequate competence, the singer can become ill – or even die.”

Hopmacham is sung during events that evoke a profound connection with deceased ancestors. It means that in various Khambu Rai rituals where the ancestral spirits are invoked, this song serves as a medium that links ordinary individuals without any shamanic abilities to their ancestors. Traditionally, Hopmacham is performed after Sakela festivities and also at wedding ceremonies.  Hopmacham is fundamentally the melody of nature, resonating in harmony with the natural frequencies of the universe. It is believed to be comprehensible to all living creatures, including plants and flowers.

 In Kirati Rai culture, music serves as the vital link between the spirit realm and the community. The primary purpose of musical performances is typically rooted in spirituality. Shamans employ music as a method of conveying guidance for healing or addressing collective crises, benefiting both individuals and the community. However, music also plays a significant role in expressing the emotions and, most significantly, the beliefs of the Kirati Khambu Rai people. It strongly influences their cultural customs. Beyond its customary ritualistic function, music holds an essential place in Khambu Rai social life. The following are some of the various musical genres that are an integral part of the Khambu community.

Hiya Cham: Festive Singing
This particular song, known as “Hiya Cham,” is typically performed during wedding ceremonies. Those accompanying the bride and groom sing this song, symbolically representing the couple.

Saima Cham: Joyous Duet
“Saima Cham” features a male and a female taking turns singing. The lyrics may revolve around themes of love, and the overall tone can carry flirtatious undertones. This song is commonly sung during festive occasions, especially during the spring and fall festivals of Sakela.

Bukundi Cham: Forest Resonance
“Bukundi Cham” differs from traditional Cham songs, as it involves shouting in a musical manner. When Khambus are out collecting firewood or cutting grass in the forest, they may wander off, leaving their friends behind. After a while, as one takes a break, they may realize they are alone. To ensure their friends are nearby and to alleviate any fear, they shout out a specific song. If a friend hears the call, they continue with the song, setting off a relay that serves to confirm their presence and dispel any sense of isolation.

Musical Instruments (Kane)
The following are the everyday instruments that the Khambus use for the accompaniment of songs or a worship ritual:

Chhamchong Kane – Large Drum beaten by sticks
Sumni Kane – Cymbals
Chhenbi Kane – Tossing of Coins for Percussion
Samba Kane (Yalambar Baaja) – Bamboo Drum
Dong Kane (Binayo) – Slit Bamboo Mouth Instrument
Karu Kane (Murchunga) – Jew’s Harp
Bibilima Kane – Flute
Phoppi Kane – Slit Bamboo Blow Instrument
Sili Kane – Percussion Instrument used during Sili Dance
Sumbak Kane –Leaf
Suipasang Kane –Whistle
Pung Kane – Buffalo Horn
Chhowa Kane – Pan Flute

Hopmacham of the Kirati Puma Rai sub-tribe

Bheja –Social Cluster of the Magars

Written by Pradeep Rai on . Posted in Magar Culture. No Comments on Bheja –Social Cluster of the Magars

Social cluster, based on tribal affinity or kinship or, occasionally, on geographical contiguity, ensures the continued observance of social and religious customs and ceremonies within the community. Through the passage of countless centuries, the Himalayan tribes have weathered the ages, weaving intricate social clusters that exist in harmony with the tapestry of their cultural traditions. These clusters, like the Bheja system of the Magars, have played a significant role in the preservation of the tangible and intangible aspects of Magar culture. Bheja, a communal congregational group, holds the responsibility of overseeing various functions within the tribe. Despite being of independently Magar origin, it assumes the religious operations of the Guthi of the Newars, the economic functions of Dhikuri of the Thakalis, and the Kipat communal land tenure system of the Kiratis. The origin of the word Bheja comes from ‘bhai’ and ‘jaa’, meaning ‘brother’ and ‘descendant’ in the Magar language, and is a significant facet of traditional Magar culture.

Much like the norm within traditional scenarios, social clusters inherently involve a temporary relinquishment of personal rights to the collective, standing in stark contrast to the established norms of ordinary times. This encompasses economic behaviors, ritualistic choices, communal resource sharing, and even the inversion of societal roles. Such social clusters are vital in rural areas in keeping with social, economic, and cultural traditions. In the case of Bheja, while it is considered neither voluntary nor forced, it exists as a reminder of the connection between indigenous peoples to their lands and the traditions attached to it. It is a part of the customs of communal bonding that have existed for hundreds of years, preceding the creation of proper tribal groups, taking advantage of different climates, and harvesting periods, and allowing communities to perform cultural rites and participate in social interactions with other groups. A single community cluster can contain multiple Bhejas, and each Bheja may span across multiple clusters. The size of a Bheja can vary depending on the size of the cluster and any geographical or other differences. Every household within the cluster is expected to be a member of the Bheja, without any specific criteria.

Originally, Bheja was a camp or settlement of related families under a headman/chief and functioned in the past as a social and political unit. A strong sense of family that functions horizontally as well as vertically is a characteristic of the Magar community. Today, an elderly and respected male member of the community serves as the chief or Mukhiya. In its most general sense, Bheja consists of all those relatively stable features of a social system, which an acting unit would be prudent to take into account if it wishes to make rational decisions regarding the community as a single entity.  Even though the Mukhiya assumes the role of chairing meetings and holds a vital position in decision-making, their authority does not vary significantly from that of other members. It is expected that a Mukhiya chair all meetings, contribute suggestions, and occasionally delegate specific tasks to fellow members. However, he does not enjoy exceptional privileges.

Certain Bhejas have the power to include individuals who are not Magars within the same or neighbouring cluster. However, their participation within the Bheja is considerably restricted compared to that of the Magars. Consequently, invited members are unable to hold positions such as Mukhiya or Wappa/Bhusal (ritual priest of officiant). While social stratification typically implies the establishment of hierarchical positions within a society, distinguishing between superior and inferior ranks, the Magar culture places greater emphasis on Magar kinship while also embracing inclusivity within a contemporary multicultural context.

Bheja as a religious gathering

Bheja also arranges group worship ceremonies to venerate indigenous gods and ancestral spirits, encompassing an annual schedule of five distinct worship rituals.

During the final month of each year, a special event known as Susupak Bheja takes place, resembling a collective gathering for the entire community. Every household considers this occasion highly significant. It is during this period that new rules and regulations are formulated, modified, or reviewed. Within the economic framework of the community, decisions are reached concerning wages, the prices of essential goods like vegetables and meat, as well as other fundamental necessities. Vital matters are deliberated upon and settled for the upcoming year, including the potential selection of a new Mukhiya if needed. As a result, this event is referred to as “riti-thiti basalne Bheja,” signifying the establishment of norms. In certain regions, it is also known as Chandi Bheja. This particular period serves as an extensive discussion platform for village responsibilities, aspirations, and guidelines. A central focus of this event involves discarding obsolete customs and traditions in favor of embracing new ones.
Nwagi Bheja is observed prior to the commencement of the sowing season. During this period, the deities believed to influence a prosperous harvest are venerated. Collective worship ceremonies take place, and the community comes together to seek a favorable season, free from adversities and unforeseen natural events. Mangsire Bheja takes place in the month of Mangsir (November-December). This ritualistic observance, known as Bheja worship, is a way of honoring Thekani Mai, a revered female deity. The local community believes that Thekani Mai safeguards the villagers from illnesses. Similarly, Jethebheja involves the reverence of Firante Mai, a peripatetic divine feminine spirit. This ceremony occurs in the month of Jestha (May-June). On the other hand, Chaitebheja is a ritual performed to avert natural disasters connected to the earth, specifically focusing on soil-related calamities.

Social Functions of Bheja

Bheja consists of a wide variety of family groups, village houses, and institutional organizations that reflect community life. All decisions related to the benefit of a social group regarding religious activities, social, and agricultural celebrations are taken at the Bheja meetings.

Interestingly, these ceremonies do not necessitate designated temples or specific shrines for deities. The location for the rituals is determined by the Bheja itself. Typically, they choose hilltops in proximity to forests where activities such as timber cutting and livestock grazing are prohibited. This practice stems from the belief that naturally sacred and undisturbed places should be chosen. Consequently, the areas surrounding these sites retain their lush greenery. This aspect of their belief system has taken on a somewhat “conservationist hue,” representing a form of ecological adaptation. As part of appeasing the spirits, offerings of pigs, male buffaloes, goats, and jungle fowls are considered essential and are sacrificed during these ceremonies.

Agriculture and Bheja

Another culturally noteworthy practice within the Magar community involves a specific day when individuals abstain from engaging in activities beyond their homes. The exact date of this day varies across locations and groups, contingent on the guidance of Bheja. In the past, this day carried restrictions on the entry of outsiders into the village and the departure of villagers from it. Those who transgressed this custom would be subject to penalties. During this day, the Mukhiya offers a prayer to Bhume (the earth) through a ceremony known as Main Dhare.

While agriculture constitutes the primary occupation of the Magar people, Bheja encourages the practice of Parima, a system based on the reciprocal exchange of labor. Additionally, temporary labor collectives known as Bhaijeri come into play at times. Bheja oversees these transient labor groups, and instead of wages, they receive recompense in the form of two meals and beverages.

Bheja holds a crucial role in determining the schedule of fieldwork, guaranteeing that all households have the opportunity to efficiently accomplish their tasks in accordance with their requirements. Although Bheja’s initial purpose did not pertain to agricultural labor, it has now acquired the authority to establish and even modify labor wages. This strategy mitigates labor shortages among the Magars, especially during the most demanding phases of the farming seasons.

Across the various tribes inhabiting the Himalayan region, the social structure exhibits diversity influenced by group dynamics, objectives, and geographical placement. Tribal communities encompass a broad spectrum of family units, rural arrangements, and institutional structures that manifest in the fabric of community life. Consequently, the notion of social clusters, such as Bheja, serves as an analytical construct that amalgamates diverse forms of individual and collective conduct. Its purpose lies in uniting either an individual with a group or linking various members within a group. While contemporary society champions personal independence, within a clan system, greater emphasis is placed on shared accountability. Traditional teachings emphasize the pursuit of coexisting harmoniously with oneself, one’s family, the broader community, and even the natural world. Thus, within the framework of the Magar Bheja system, individuals are tasked with perpetuating these cultural teachings through their way of life.