I walk up the rickety stair leading to her shrine
on the top floor of a black old temple,
overawed by the imminent glimpse of the Kumari,
the living goddess in Patan ,
my steps are cautious and every mural is terrifying .
and suddenly , there she is , in a small compartment
of this room smelling of cypress,
clad in red and glittering gold , perching on a black throne,
like fire flares through the eternal darkness of mystery
and remains aflame, here, in this tiny room.
I stand motionlessly before her, ten steps away ,
dare not look at her straight to the eyes, but I know,
she is now looking at me , triumphantly ,the goddess,
yes, the holy goddess is looking at me,
through the innocent eyes of a five-years-old.
I come closer, to the scarlet wonder ,
and kneel down , as man always does before a deity ,
pranamasana , pranamasana.
and I pray, even though this grand religion
and its doctrine seem to me curious and exotic,
but no man can stand without a belief and passion,
for that, I must pray.
benevolently, she dubs on my forehead a red dot.