Showing posts with label Mallas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mallas. Show all posts

Thursday, 7 February 2013

BHAKTAPUR


LAXMI 

BHAKTAPUR

The ancient Newar city of Bhaktapur lies on the outskirts of Kathmandu at a distance of about 12-kilometers.  Many years ago, I would travel there by trolley bus from Tripureshwar, a silent and ecologically sound way to journey then.  At the bottom of the hill on which the ancient city stands is Surya Vinayak. Thirty years ago there were fields and a few tea shops, the silence broken occasionally by the passing of trucks taking bricks from the factories to the city of Kathmandu or by buses taking travelers further east to trekking routes.

Being one of three capital cities of Nepal, the others being Kathmandu and Kirtipur, Bhaktapur is an open museum.  Mostly built by the Mallas in the 15-century, the quality of the artwork in stone, metal and wood is beyond compare.  In fact, the forms of architecture constitute a poetic statement for visitors to see and appreciate.

The name refers to the city of devotees and there are crafts that are continued with the same methods that were used in ancient times:  basket weaving, pottery, carving and music.


SHIVA LINGA
However, I did live in Bhaktapur for a short time while on the Shree Paach Maharajdhiraj Mahendra Bir Bikram Shah Dev scholarship award for foreign students in the early eighties and enjoyed a stroll around Durbar square where I'd bump into students I taught English to as a supplement to the meagre grant I received from the Nepalese Government.  Now, standing at the gate, a sign said Rs1100 entry fee for foreigners.  I didn't have that amount on me so I went to the desk and told the girl there I lived in Nepal and could a waiver not be made. 

No, she replied. All foreigners have to pay.

I started to walk around the periphery intending to walk through the old town but I was stopped.  You'll have to pay the fee, a man told me.

But I'm not going through the gate, I told him.  I just want to walk through the town.  And then I realised that I should have paid an entrance fee at the bottom of the hill at Surya Vinayak.  

The city still sits there, renovated by the Germans and waiting till the next time I arrive, carrying the entrance fee.


CARVING ON PART OF A DOOR






RANDON THOUGHTS

When our son, Om, was 16 we sent him to NY to stay with his aunt in Queens. He spent 2 months hanging out and playing a guitar. I was info...