Five pristine white temples stab into the clear blue sky in defiance of Katmandu’s perpetual dust blanket. Although all the structures such as these ones in Nepal have been described as temples, I might be more inclined to translate them as “shrines”, which might suit their (by monumental standards) dainty yet majestic construction.
Pashupatinath is the name of one of Katmandu’s most famous temples, which ironically is closed to the thousands of tourists that flock there every day. Instead, most non-Hindus make due with circling the massive collection of temples surrounding the landmark, and go from one small temple to another just the same (until the tour guide points out the minute differences and imposes a sense of alien importance to them with a long-winded narrative). There are enough of these shrines, and enough complexes for the more adventurous tourist to snoop out – free of the cacophony around the taxi and square area, as well as the competing tour guides shouting over each other at their massive tour groups.
While this particular set is probably only around 10-15 feet in height, the shrines that correspond to the five elements sit on top of a raised square platform. As such, they are the first thing that greet you when you walk through a modestly low, wooden archway of a dusty red brick building off the side of the main road down to the entrance of Pashupatinath. The two-tiered platform is surrounded by a wide walkway that doubles as a courtyard, complete with a well and other sacrificial altars. Facing the courtyard are two levels of doors and windows complete with rooms inside. The shouting and honking from beyond seems to hover above the courtyard without actually encroaching on the silent tranquility that dwells there. It is quiet enough to hear the scrape of soles on the uneven red bricks worn from the seasons.
Perhaps this place is free, or perhaps it is more than simply a set of shrines that keeps the tourists away. Like many religious sites in Nepal not rampaged by tourists, they constitute a nucleus that reflects the centrality of religion for many Nepalese. And just as their physical location reflects their spiritual importance, the function of these shrines is just as telling about the way religion earns its centrality: on the other side of the square courtyard, below them, sitting on the two tiers of platforms are…
… the elderly. This is their shelter, source of food, place of socialization – their social welfare so to speak. The sagging wooden shutters and slightly bent open doorways reveal rooms the size of closets that just fit a bed, and the food plate underneath. People sit inside them, people stroll in the courtyard, chat, wash their clothes, drink water. They sit here now because they are waiting for their lunch.
Most of them smile lots. Some yell at you for taking pictures. If you can speak Nepalese, they would keep you for half a day to chat. In general it seems the idle their days away, passing it with the friends they either met there or went to this elderly home with.
Even in the poorest of countries, societies have ways of caring for their elderly. In Chinese tradition, the (good) children generally take their parents in and take care of them. In the Canadian one, the government finances them with almost an unlimited supply of subsidized medicare (which includes a handsome amount of expensive drugs that help some make fortunes), and provides a retirement fund.