September 8 is a national holiday in Nepal. And it’s a holiday that we think is quite important. But it’s a new holiday — new as in it just started this year. So nobody seems quite sure how to commemorate it yet. And that includes AI. Being in Kathmandu for the first iteration of this brand new occasion, we were hoping to catch a glimpse of some kind of historic celebration.

On the day before (which was the day we learned about the fledgling holiday from our host family, who mentioned that schools would be closed in observance) we decided to investigate Ason Bazaar, the most famous marketplace in the city. And to get there we had to stroll again through Thamel, the most popular sector of town, at least with tourists.

Passing all the shops, we came to a bookstore that had some promising depth — both in terms of its physical space and its merchandise. Dennis can’t pass up an enticing bookstore, so he sauntered in. He’s always particularly on the alert for low-priced paperback editions of Haruki Murakami (in English, of course). And one requirement of a prospective acquisition is that it must fit into a pocket of his cargo pants. Well, this particular outlet was a goldmine, and he had a hard time narrowing down the options. Ultimately he settled on First Person Singular, priced at a mere 960 rupees ($6.29). It’s always a good day when you find such a find.

Ason Bazaar

Then it was on to where the natives prefer to shop: Ason Bazaar, the most prominent marketplace in the city, and one that has been in operation since ancient times. (A stone marks the spot where a fish supposedly once fell from the sky, inspiring the birth of the marketplace.) At the spot where six streets converge, it literally forms a hub; and it’s a location not only popular for local shoppers, but for festival events. And it’s where you can buy items made from yak hair, if that’s what you just have to take home for a gift.

Gen Z Martyrs Day

Then the next day came the momentous new holiday. It’s known as Gen Z Martyrs Day and it honors the 45 Nepalis (many of them college students or college age) who were killed by authorities one year earlier protesting government corruption and repression. As a result, several government officials resigned (in some countries there are government officials, even corrupt ones, who have a smidgen of shame), which prompted new elections and a new government that is today pretty high on the democracy scale. And hey, the new Prime Minister, the youngest in the nation’s history, is a former rapper!

We’re glad to see these courageous young (and not so young) folks honored, and we wanted to be able to observe any festivities honoring them. But when we asked our hosts, they didn’t know about anything happening. And we couldn’t find anything online either — except when we put it to AI, which told us there would be a special ceremony in the morning at a place called Shahid Gate.

So we began hoofing it toward Shahid Gate, a distance of a couple of miles. As we approached, we saw throngs of people coming from that direction; but the major street we were on was a transportation center where buses and other forms of transport gather to pick up and discharge passengers. So maybe the crowds were nothing unusual. It became clear, however, that if anything special had occurred, we likely had already missed it. And when we arrived, there was indeed a conspicuous absence of activity and people.

Shahid Gate would have been an unsuitable place for such a gathering, because it’s in the middle of a busy street, and there’s really nowhere for people to stand. On the other hand, it would be appropriate in that the name Shahid means “martyr”; it was named in honor of some revolutionaries who stood up to an authoritarian regime more than a century ago. And we wonder if that simply got the AI elves confused — or if they were extrapolating from events that were held last year after the smoke cleared. (We posed the question to Co-Pilot later about special events that day, and it only mentioned a sunset run.)

Kumari

But the day was certainly not a loss; while we were disappointed not to find one thing we’d anticipated, we ended up finding something else we had not anticipated. This happened when we returned to Durbar Square, having extended our passes. One of the buildings we walked by — in fact perhaps the first one — was Kumari Bahal; and unlike on our previous visit, it was open. So we ventured inside when invited.

The first thing we noticed was that the building was doing its best to implode. There was a heavy network of steel braces in place to support the walls and prevent them from smashing us to a pulp. So it was kind of interesting to see the inside of such an ancient and decrepit structure, but otherwise there didn’t seem to be much of note. And yet… more people kept arriving and gathering, as if in anticipation of something.

And then we noticed a sign that mentioned the “living goddess” appearing here. Living goddess? That certainly sounds like something worth assembling to see. Sure enough, an attendant sitting over on the side informed us that the Kumari would indeed be showing her face at noon, which was only 10 minutes away. So we did what curious explorers have done since time immemorial when confronted with a new word or concept. We consulted Google.

The Kumari, or living goddess, is supposed to be the embodiment of the goddess Taleju Bhawani, who serves both Hindus and Buddhists. The selection of the Kumari, a tradition dating back nearly 2000 years or so, is made among the Newar people. The chosen one is a prepubescent girl from a certain clan who meets stringent requirements — for example, she must never have shed blood in any form, which is believed to cause the goddess to leave the body. She lives under strict conditions, including that her feet must never touch the ground outside her home. Since a Kumari must abdicate the role when she reaches puberty, girls usually serve in the capacity anywhere from three to ten years.

There are several Kumaris at the same time, but there is one chief Kumari, based here in Kathmandu, and she makes a public appearance once a week. And we just happened to time it right for one of her pop-outs. So we took our place in the little courtyard among the other visitors (and metal braces), eagerly waiting for her to show in the window above. She was behind schedule, as we could see on a digital clock on the wall on other side of the window, flashing the hours and minutes and seconds; but you can afford a little tardiness when you’re a goddess.

Finally she came to the window, a little girl who looked no more than six. (We later found out that she was in fact three!) She was dressed up for the part, and sporting the eye makeup common on even young girls in this part of the country. She looked down upon us nonchalantly for a minute or so, coughing three or four times, and then disappeared again. (We don’t have any photos of her to show, because taking her photo is taboo.)

We have to wonder what is going through her head. Does she really understand the position she is filling? Will it all go to her head? Will she ever be able to lead normal life again? What happens to ex-Kumaris? How well do they adjust to life after divinity? We don’t know. But we know that we were lucky to happen upon this uncommon occurrence. It’s not every day that you get to see a living goddess. It only happens on Tuesdays at noon. And we happened to be in the right place at the right time to capture yet another slice of local culture.

Events occurred 9/7-8/2026