Tag: newar

The Ritual World of the Newar Gubhaju

Written by Pradeep Rai on November 24, 2025. Posted in Newar Culture. No Comments on The Ritual World of the Newar Gubhaju

Much is said of the Newar Gubhaju in the oral sphere, where his name appears sporadically in Newar folklore and in incidental recollections of community elders. In spite of this narrative, there is little sustained scholarship devoted specifically to the Gubhaju. The available material is scattered across short ethnographic observations and fragments of ritual description. Even so, these accounts reveal a practitioner who stands at the center of Newar religious synthesis. The Gubhaju, positioned within the Bajracharya tradition, operates through a repertoire that draws simultaneously from Hinduism, Buddhism, Tantric, and Shamanic practice. This convergence is not incidental to his identity. It is one of the clearest examples of how Newar ritual life brings multiple traditions into a single working system, and it demonstrates a form of religious integration that is rarely encountered in such a comprehensive and coherent expression.

The etymology of the term Gubhaju is unclear. In classical Nepalbhasa (Newari) the term bhaju refers to a respected elder, but the origin of the initial element gu is more difficult to establish. A long-standing explanation links it to the Sanskrit guru, although this connection is not convincing. The title of Gubhaju belongs to an indigenous ritual setting, and it is difficult to account for why a Sanskrit term would be abbreviated and absorbed into a role that developed within Newar religious practice.

A more credible interpretation links gu (गुँ), pronounced with a nasal sound, to the meaning of forest, which appears related to the older Kirata root gum. This interpretation is supported by local traditions in Sankhu, around the Vajrayogini temple area. This was historically known as Gum Bahal, a vihara or sacred Buddhist temple, a site confirmed sacred in Lichhavi inscriptions. The title Gubhaju, therefore, could mean practitioners whose mastery of esoteric mantras and tantric practices were refined within this sacred space.

In the Kathmandu valley today, the Gubhaju holds a distinctive position within the Buddhist domain and the wider ritual life of Newar communities. He is often identified as a Buddhist household priest though his work extends into domains that carry deeper ritual weight. His function includes tantric liturgy, spirit mediation, and a range of curative rites that address affliction and misfortune.

Gubhaju belongs to the Newar Bajracharya or Sakya lineages. These lineages form the bare ‘initiated householder monk’ stratum of Newar Buddhism, a group of ritual specialists who maintain family life while fulfilling priestly responsibilities and who remain distinct from celibate bhikṣu orascetic. The Gubhaju’s initiation ceremony, also known as acha lhuyegu, is a moment of symbolic renunciation and return. This temporary ordination grants ritual authority without the establishment of a permanent monastic vocation.

Within the broader social landscape of the Kathmandu Valley, the Gubhaju occupies a dual position. He is both household priest and mantra specialist. His ritual expertise draws patrons from Buddhist, Hindu, and animist Newar communities alike, which other than the longstanding pattern of religious convergence, also reflects collective Newar cultural identity. Although he remains somewhat peripheral to everyday temple routines and public religious discourse, the Gubhaju remains an important figure is the Newar collective memory as a respected elder and a figure whose presence is augmented through legend, rites, spiritual power, and the moral imagination of the community.

Oral traditions portray him as a master of potent spells capable of summoning rain and immobilizing spirits. His exhibits the power to heal all ailments, and sometimes even bring the dead back to life. In a well-known folk tale, the legendary Jamana Gubhaju subdues a malevolent spirit by commanding it to grind rice until dawn, a task that renders the entity harmless and protects the entire village.

Such narratives preserve emic categories of spiritual mastery, siddha gu, ‘to have attained power’ and demonstrate how charisma, ritual skill, and moral authority converge in the Newar imagination. The story recounts how the Gubhaju attained this mastery:

In the old days, Jaman Gubhaju was in a quest for deeper knowledge when no lineage teacher would reveal the practices he sought. This search led him to the Pode settlement on the city’s edge, near ponds and cremation grounds. There he met an elderly Pode known for managing unseen forces. The old man agreed to teach him, writing mantras on belpatri leaves and instructing him to practice beside a pond, for true mastery required facing the beings that move through such liminal spaces.

The Pode told him the mantras would only gain power once he obtained Mohani, a “black shoot” used by dakinis. Gubhaju was instructed to wait at the Balkumari shrine on the fourteenth night of the dark fortnight. At midnight he hid and watched the dakinis dance around three skulls and a pot of Mohani. At the right moment he seized the pot and fled. The dakinis chased him, but his mother barred the door with an iron chain, which repelled them. They demanded the pot, and Gubhaju returned a small portion, keeping the rest as instructed.

At dawn he applied the Mohani to his forehead and recited the mantras. The legend says this moment granted him siddhi and gave him the power to heal, to see spirits, and to confront forces that disturb the living.

A Gubhaju’s ritual duties extend across the life-cycle ceremonies of the Newar life. From Machaabu byankeyu (birth ritual), Bhusaa Khaayegu (first hair cutting), Ihi (marrige to a bel fruit) or Bara Tayegu (marrige to the Sun), Ghasu (death purification rite), a Gubhaju is the preferred officiant for all such ceremonies. Beyond these foundational responsibilities, he performs pitha puja for mother goddesses, bhuta shanti for spirit appeasement, and la gukegu for the retrieval of a lost life force. This ritual variety reveals a continuous harmony between Buddhist liturgy and animistic healing traditions. When misfortune or illness arises, he diagnoses the disturbance through divination that interprets the behavior of rice grains, oil, or a lamp flame. The subsequent rites involve aagwanegu for the welcoming of deities, bhujinigu for feeding spirits, and naasaaḥ paayegu for the removal of malevolent forces. His mantras, often drawn from the Saptavidhi and Kriyaasaṃgraha, are recited in a melody while ringing the ghaṇṭa and wielding the vajra. These are instruments that symbolize ritual authority and the union of wisdom and method.

Healing rites occupy a central place in his repertoire, especially soul retrieval, in which the Gubhaju locates the displaced spirit through divination and then invokes protective deities (dya) while visualizing a mandala that provides the symbolic ground for reclaiming the life force. The restored soul is reintegrated into the afflicted person through sacred water, incense smoke, or chants, accompanied by the pulse of the bell (ghaṇṭa) and the stabilizing presence of the thunderbolt weapon (vajra), all of which support the subtle trance state that validates the efficacy of the rite.

Taken together, these practices reveal the Gubhaju, other than being a ritual performer, is an embodiment of a synthesis of Vajrayana Buddhism and indigenous traditions. His work sustains household and community stability while combining priestly duties with shamanic mediation. His use of chants, ritual tools, esoteric knowledge, and divination displays specialized knowledge transmitted through lineages, and his cross-sectarian engagement highlights a practice-based understanding of religious efficacy.

Although he performs functions similar to a Shaman (Jhankri), the Gubhaju operates within the moral and textual discipline of Vajrayana though his authority is grounded in lineage and scripture. In doing so, he moves between the institutional and the ecstatic, which may resemble shamanic practices but remains distinctive in its own right.

His healing practice is based on the fusion of sacred sound and sanctified substances. The ritual ground is marked as a mandala with colored powders that symbolize a cosmological boundary. Through mantra, the Gubhaju channelizes the presence of deities such as Vajrapaṇi Dyah, Lokeshvara, and mother goddesses like Ajima, to heal the afflicted. When confronting hostile forces, he may conduct nasaḥ payegu, a rite of expulsion in which the spirit is symbolically confined within a pot (ghata bandhan). These rites form the vajra-kriya, a tantric act that unites spiritual potency with practical healing.

For Newars, this work is neither “magic” nor “religion” but dyaḥgu or divine activity. This comes to be a category that dissolves analytic boundaries between ritual, medicine, and sorcery.

Even within a Buddhist framework, the Gubhaju’s ritual behavior displays clear shamanic resonances. Like the Nakchhongs of the Kirati or the Pachyu of the Gurung, he mediates between deities, spirits, and humans, negotiating with unseen beings (nhaḥ lhu gu) to retrieve la (life-force) lost through shock, illness, or ritual transgression. During healing rites, he may enter a light trance known as dyah michaḥ yāyeku (when the deity descends), in which divine presence briefly occupies his voice. His chant becomes a rhythmic dialogue across human and spirit realms. The Gubhaju are also called for the expulsion of wandering spirits or the affliction of malevolent witches (Bokshi), thereby bringing him closer to the category of Shamans.

Gubhajus are often called upon to remove wandering spirits or to counteract the harmful influence of malevolent witches, situating them within a category of ritual specialists comparable to shamans. Their performances follow a carefully structured system that integrates sound and incantations. The ringing of the ritual bell with a measured recitation of sacred words along with the deliberate circulation within the ceremonial space together generate a powerful sensory environment that engages both human participants and unseen spiritual forces.

From an anthropological perspective, these rites enact a form of cosmic realignment, though for the community they are understood more concretely as the restoration of vital life‑energy and communal harmony.

Modernity has reshaped the social position of the Gubhaju. In Kathmandu, many younger Bajracharyas now pursue secular professions, leaving ritual work largely to senior specialists. The spread of biomedical explanations and the rise of reformist Buddhism have further reduced the space for tantrik karmakaṇḍa (Esoteric practices). However, during major festivals and religious events, the Gubhaju remains indispensable for purification and the installation of deities (dyah-micha). In smaller towns and among rural Newars of Kirtipur, Thecho, and Thimi in Kathmandu, Gubhajus continue to perform most rituals and remain influential in Newar social life. Their ongoing presence displays the adaptive resilience of Newar ritual specialists, who reinterpret older practices within contemporary frames of meaning.

As a priest, the Gubhaju exemplifies the continuity of institutional religious practice and as a ritual specialist, he channels ecstatic mediation between the human and spirit worlds. His ceremonies and stories reveal a worldview in which spiritual imbalance and cosmic disorder are addressed through personified performance rather than written doctrine. Even as modernity diminishes his everyday presence, the Gubhaju remains significant through legend and selective revival, and continues to bridge the realms of the sacred and the social. He demonstrates that the spiritual life of the community is not confined to texts or temples but through the skill of those who perform ritual.

Kachhalā Pyākhan : Fusion of Animism and Tradition

Written by Pradeep Rai on November 11, 2024. 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.

Khyah – The Newari Ghost

Written by Pradeep Rai on December 29, 2021. Posted in Newar Culture. No Comments on Khyah – The Newari Ghost

‘Jim baa na macha bale khya khangu ha.’

‘My father saw a ghost when he was a child.’ Told periodically along the labyrinthine alleys of old Newari towns, these ghost stories have transferred from generation to generation. They continue to remain as frightening as ever.

Every culture has a ghost story to tell. The existence of good and bad ghosts is inherent in the collective cognizance of all communities in the Himalayas. Ghosts exist across all religious and mythological traditions. Among the Newar people, however, such archaic supernatural entities are ubiquitous, thereby steering the narratives of individual, collective, ethnic, and religious memories. Although ‘Khyah’ in the Newari language translates to ghost, it is essentially a spirit that actively participates in the set of circumstances that govern the physical world.

Khyak or Khyah, the mythical creature, is one of the central characters in Newari folklore. It is a burly, hairy, ape-like creature, prominent in children’s stories, popular in Newari society. Among the Newars, there are countless accounts of Khyah sightings, legends, tales, and publications. Khyah serves as a meaningful rhetorical character or legend that helps transmit knowledge across generational boundaries and fosters cultural associations. Usually, such terrifying creatures are symbolic of evil, but Khyah represents both good and evil and redefines Newari moral understanding of the causes and consequences of negatively valued behavior.

Himalayan Mythical Creature, Newari Khyah Ghost

To the Newars, not all Khyahs are bad. Some are the protectors of the house, family, and prosperity. They are also the guardians of good fortune (Saha, in Nepali) that prevails in the house. Khyahs always dwell in the dark as they are afraid of the light. There are two types of Khyahs; white and black. The white ones are the good ones who fill the house with good fortune and happiness, while the black Khyahs are equated with bad luck and hindrances. Household Khyahs are revered in Newari houses and reside in attics or dark storerooms. This is a form of spirit worship that most Himalayan cultures adhere to. Khyahs appear in the bhandar and dhukuti, rooms where grains are stored, and where other valuables like gold and silver ornaments are kept. The resident white Khyah is supposed to bring good luck to the household.

According to Newari legend, the old Gods gave birth to the terrible Khyahs. It is said that a child was born to the old gods, and a tussle began between them to hold the baby. The struggle led to the detachment of the skin, and the child only remained with flesh and bones. Out of the flesh came Khyah, and Kavam emerged as the skeleton. The mythical twins became symbolic of the counterbalancing principles of good and evil. To control the power of the twins, the Gods created the Newari instrument called Dhimay from a tree trunk. During Khyah Pyakhan, the traditional Newari dance, dancers dressed as Khyah, dance to the beat of a Dhimay. Much like the Newari cultural faith in the existence of two halves of the universe that fit together like night and day, the Khyah twins represent the symmetry of the cosmos in motion.

Khyak stories and legends present deep insights into the affective dimension of human learning and socialization in the Newari community and the role of stories in the transfer of cultural knowledge and values. Story and myth still form an integral part of traditional forms of education among the Newari community. As a challenge to the coherent, rational model of a standardized mainstream educational archetype that inclines towards trivializing story and myth as figments of imagination, Khyaks are symbolic of Newari belief in the spirit realm and supernatural entities and play a pivotal role in their cultural narrative.

In Nepali, the words “Deuta Palnu” (Nurturing a Deity) aptly describe this tradition. Such reverence for good Khyahs comes from Newari animism traditions and practices since ancient times. In Kathmandu valley, one can find wall paintings, statues, and carvings of them – testaments to the significance of this mythical creature in Newari culture. Images of Khyaks are also placed at temples as guardians of the shrine. In Newari festivals, dancers display Khyak Pyakhan, which is a dance depicting the powers and struggles of the Khyak creatures.

The cultural, social, and spiritual significance of Khyah is reflected in the cycle of ceremony adhered to by traditions. Khyahs often make significant appearances in the Newari Gufa tradition, a ritual meant for young girls before the beginning of their menstruation. During this ritual, girls remain inside a dark room with a small doll that represents Bahra Khyah. Ever present and continuously infiltrating into the mainstream Newari culture, Khyah reaffirms the notion that physical and spiritual coexist. It endorses the idea that personal welfare in this world is caused by entities beyond the physical sphere, significant for mutual survival.

Therefore the world of spirits or ghosts is not one of wonder but of familiarity. The world of humans is only one of the multiple parallel worlds that work together to continue the process of Khyah and people. To the Newars, if one aspect of the knot is removed, the integrity of societal traditions is threatened, and all other aspects are weakened. To some, Khyahs represent the idea of good and bad in the world. To others, they are an integral part of a rich cultural heritage. Many, however, attach Kyahs to the regular terrifying stories heard and help preserve the memory of the loving grandmother who narrated these stories at night. Amidst the Newars, these stories, legends, and traditions always survive with individuals – much like the omnipresent terrifying Khyahs themselves.

The Burning of Evil – Ghanta Karna Festival

Written by Pradeep Rai on January 7, 2021. Posted in Newar Culture. No Comments on The Burning of Evil – Ghanta Karna Festival

Festivals in the Himalayas have always been a medium through which tribal communities expressed their understanding of the world. It allows them to assert their actions and reactions to social, natural, and environmental circumstances. The idea here is to claim indigenousness and celebrate festivals that have been informed by local sensibilities, practices, and perceptions. For the Newars, this idea is articulated in a way that seems indigenous instantly but where the influence of Hinduism is also largely dominant. Or at least their interpretations are!

Over the many centuries of its journey, Newari traditions have meandered along with a series of religious practices. While these practices are exclusive only to the Himalayas they still have absorbed influences along the way. Perfect examples are set around the Kathmandu region, like the “Ghanta Karna” festival.

Ghanta Karna, often known as Gathemuga or Gathemangal was a ruthless monster who mercilessly killed his victims and was particularly notorious for picking up children and killing them. Ghanta Karna means “Bell Ears”. On each ear, he wears a bell that jingles as he walks. He does that so he can avoid the chants made in the names of the Gods. His depraved sexual orgies and appalling overindulgences with his innumerable wives horrified the pious people of the Kathmandu valley. This festival is about burning the effigy of the monster Ghanta Karna, a manifestation of evil energies, and burning him cleanses the land and helps rejuvenate the spirit of the living.

In Newari belief systems, men and women being haunted by evil spirits, demons, and witches aren’t unfathomable. These spirits, good or bad, roam the lands and even visit homes. In Newari society, the existence of the evil eye, the practitioners of black magic and spells are not considered irrelevant or sources of mere superstition. The festival of Gathemangal, therefore, is still significant to the Newars. The festival falls on the fourteenth day of the dark lunar fortnight in July or early August, which is traditionally the last day of rice transplanting. This is the Night of the Devil when Nepalese celebrate their victory over the most dreaded of all monsters who terrorized the countryside in ancient times.

It is said that the tormented people held a great meeting and together prayed to the old Gods for help. One God complied, appearing amongst them in the guise of a common frog. The frog approached Ghanta Karna and started to imitate and mimic every move of the monster. Enraged at the creature’s insolence, Ghanta Karna leaped towards it, but the frog jumped beyond his reach and jumped into a well, and the monster, thinking victory was his, plunged in after and met his death. Then in a festive procession, the people dragged the gigantic, corpse of the monster to the river for cremation, throwing his ashes into the water, and there was peace in the land again.

Gathemangal festival is in honor of the frog but also about the defeat of the Ghanta Karna. On the day of this festival, in the morning, little children collect money from different homes and erect simple arches and cross made up of tree twigs at the street intersections. They ask for money from all pedestrians who take this route-funds that are used to create a grand mock funeral of the devil. This is done to recreate the funeral of Ghanta Karna where his wives had to enlist little children to beg for funds to cremate their fiendish husband.

Ghanta Karna effigies, made up of bamboo and rice straw, are erected at crossroads around the city, the bordering villages as well, made from leafy bamboo poles, bound near the top to form a tall structure. A painted, frowning face of a monster is affixed to the body. At dusk, an eager crowd gathers around the bamboo effigy awaiting the untouchable Ghanta Karna. Then it is set on fire and dragged toward the river where a final farewell to the Devil is made. The ashes are thrown in the river.

Many Newars also associate the Gathemangal festival with Shinajya, where folklore narrates the story of ghosts and spirits helping the farmers of Kathmandu but these creatures couldn’t be fed enough and had to be burned or drowned. Some associate Ghanta Karna to the Aju Dyo, an incarnation of Lord Bhairav. Today, not much is known about when this festival began but its stories, approach, and performance are unique to Kathmandu and the Newars. The Ghanta Karna festival indicates beyond all doubt that cultural festivals endorse an experience of social inclusion, positive community engagement, and a way to preserve age-old traditions.

The Ghanta Karna festival is one of the few consistently positive events for indigenous Newars to assert a more positive view of themselves, both traditionally and for recognition as a distinct culture in a global context. It is a festival that is more cultural than a religious one, successfully inherited by today’s Newars from their forefathers which is why it is a significant event. Throughout the ages, such festivals have helped maintain cultural integrity and the transfer of tradition to a whole new generation of people.

Khwapa – Newari tradition of Masks

Written by Pradeep Rai on July 10, 2020. Posted in Newar Culture. No Comments on Khwapa – Newari tradition of Masks

Newari culture would be a tad bit different, were it not for the masked dances. The complexity, richness, and multi-layered aspects of Newari culture are revealed not only through its bright festivals or its exuberant art, but also from its grand masked dances called “Pyakha”. In the Newari/Newa language, the term “Pyakha” could denote either a Drama or Dance. Masks form the obligatory central portion during any Pyakha performance. The mask, which covers the face of the performer is called the Khwapa, which, interestingly, in the Newari language, is also the word for “face”. In the old days, Masks were usually made by members of the local Chitrakar, painter caste. Although in many areas of Lalitpur, the Sakya Newars used to make and paint their own masks and in Bhaktapur, the “Jyapu” Newars of the Potter class made the Masks.

If we look at the majority of masks in Newari traditions, we discover a complexity of structure with vivid, garish, multi-colored designs that often appear decorative. Most masks are made up of clay mixed with paper-mache and Jute. Clay molds are used to shape them. Masks that portray the various characters and their temperaments are given their shapes accordingly. The masks are then varnished and colored with great precision and care. There has also been a tradition of making metal Masks in Patan, a place that is still renowned for its metalwork. We can ascertain that the greater number of Himalayan cultural masks are but of simple construction. Yet, its design, details, and the expressiveness of these elements only reflect or correspond to the straightforward and fundamental religious concept of animism.

Newari masks provide a tangible form for invisible spirits and deities, who are personified as human beings, animals, or fantastic composites of the masculine and the feminine. There will be Ganesh, Varaha, and their Vahanas. The entire Pyakha performance will have animal characters, demons, and spirits. There will also be human characters or men and women, priests and merchants. These theatricalities form the major attraction of any festival that happens in the Kathmandu valley and while the stories are often based on mythology and folklore, some of the Pyakha performances can also be comical. The fool, jester, or clowns have their own masks, which are worn during a comic performance. The masks that these comedians wear are half masks that are known as “Ba Khawapah” where the mouth is left uncovered because the performance could involve a dialogue between the characters or a soliloquy could ensue.

During a performance, masked dancers imitate the actions of deities. Their behaviors are supposed to serve as models for positive human behavior. However, much of the performance isn’t altogether based on upholding morality in society. Instead, Pyakha is more about upholding traditions. From the creation of the masks to the preparation and the ultimate performance, the entire extravaganza is built up of traditions that have last for many centuries. Even the color of a particular mask doesn’t seem to have changed over the many years that Pyakha and the Khwapa have both existed. While the color of the masks differ according to a character or a deity that it’s supposed to embody, Black is used to depicting demons while blood-red would denote anger, greed, or even power. Green is associated with nobility and blue to depict the Gods of the Hindu pantheon.

While the origin of the masked dances in Newari culture may have been to propagate religious precepts, that is not the only thing that happens during these performances. Masked dances narrate dramas, which are derived from conventional Hindu literature, with plots and characters that people are familiar with. Newar masked dances are also based on local folklore and traditions that are conventionally local in nature and idea. There is a considerable amount of comedy that provides some sort of relief to the onlookers amidst heavy action and dancing.

It is likely that Newari artisans in the medieval ages were inspired to create masks that would appear mysterious yet magnanimous, frightening but captivating. This is exemplified by the famous Lakhey Mask. Lakhey is one of few dancers who take turns donning the 15-kilogram headgear complete with red mask and hair. The Lakhey ritual is tied to the annual chariot ride of the Kumari, the living goddess of Nepal, which is the highlight of the Indra Jatra festival. Because of his fearful demeanor and captivating aggressive dancing, Lakhey is perhaps the most famous one among all masked dances.

These Newar masks are distinct from either Tibetan or Indian. Their details in the shapes, the materials used, the specificity of the paintings, and decorations are all absolutely different from anything ever seen in other parts of the Himalayas. Both the Pyakha and Khwapa are quintessential living traditions that have been transmitted orally from generation to generation. These are a few of the hallmarks of rich Newari culture and traditions.