I was on my way to meet a goddess and I knew it was God’s will. It had fallen together too well. Let me give you the back story first… During my last visit to Nepal I visited the house of a Kumari. To Hindus, the Kumari is the virgin goddess and to Bhuddists she gives good luck. She is the only living goddess in the world and is believed to be the reincarnation of Taleju.
A girl is named the Kumari at a young age by the head Hindu priest and remains one until she bleeds. The bleeding can be by puberty or by a scratch/wound. If she bleeds at all, she cannot be a goddess anymore. Until then, she will live in a Kumari house. She is unable to leave the house except for twice a year during festivals. Her feet are not allowed to touch the ground so at these times she must be carried through the streets. Talking to anyone outside of her family or close friends is prohibited.
When I visited the house of one 4 years ago I stood on the outside with a crowd of onlookers waiting. She comes to the window twice a day and it is said that the look on her face will answer the question you are praying. There are currently 3 Kumaris in Nepal.
I remember seeing that first Kumari. I remember her face appearing in that 16th century window and everyone looking up. I remember my stomach sinking in the uncomfortability that they actually believed she was a goddess. I felt sorry for her and intimidated by her all at once. That little girl didn’t even have a say so in what she had become. I prayed for her until she disappeared from the window that day… and then I left.
That feeling has carried with me until finding myself back in Kathmandu this week. I knew I had to go back and pray for a Kumari again, but this time would be so different. My first day back in the city resulted in meeting a Nepali man who was happy to carry on a conversation about most anything. Myself and a teammate continued to see my new friend over the next couple of days at his shop. I figured it may be worth it to ask if he knew what time would be best for catching a Kumari at her window. I can not express to you the level of shock I felt when he casually said, “Yeah, you want to see Kumari? I take you to meet her in person, no problem. I am very good friends with one’s mother. You can go in the house, get a blessing from her, pray to her, and take picture.”
I had to make him repeat it a time or two before I grasped that he was totally serious. You are usually never allowed to take pictures of the Kumari’s and it is a special occasion when one “blesses” you. Meaning she marks your head with a red dot made out of rice, water and coloring for good luck. Now granted, I do not need a blessing from anyone but Jesus and the plan was to pray for her, not to her. What an opportunity to do it face-to-face instead of through the house this time!
Nine of us hopped in cabs with our Nepali friend. I was on my way to meet a goddess and I knew it was God’s will. It had fallen together too well. We traveled 20 minutes to one of the Kumari houses. We stepped through the first doorway into a small courtyard filled with statues and idols.
I followed my Nepali friend to the left where the entrance was. “Ladies first. Take your shoes off, and remember she cannot speak to you.” So us five girls left our shoes behind and entered one of the oldest standing buildings in Nepal.
Through that doorway and up a worn, wooden staircase to an empty room on the second level we climbed. When my feet reached that first room the spiritual realm closed in on me. I felt as if there was a physical fog around me. So thick that it was harder to walk through the heaviness of it pressing into my clothes. It covered every inch of me. My breath left for a second whike my soul grew disturbingly melancholy.
I took a couple of deep breaths to try and shake some of the weight off before the next door opened and a man (her father) motioned me in. It felt a bit like slow motion as I lead the way into that second room. I do not have the words for my feelings when I saw her.
She was sitting at the front of the room on her cushioned seat. Dressed in special red garmets with the specific Kumari makeup on her face. I was instructed to give her a payment before she would bless me. I kneeled infront of her and placed a few rupees in the plate at her feet. When I looked up at her all my mouth could say was His name, “Jesus”.
Her 8 year old fingers dipped in the bowl of red rice paste and placed a dot on my head. She never smiled. I could not tell if she looked sad or angry to me. Maybe unimpressed that a white person who probably was not even a Hindu had come to see her. Her feet rested in a golden plate of shallow water filled with flower pedals and fidgeted uncomfortably. I wondered how many hours she sits on that seat each day.
I picked myself up to wander back a few steps as the other girls had their turn with her. One by one we passed infront of the Kumari, and one by one we took a few steps away to fall into prayer for her. The somber emotion was unbearable in my spirit. I prayed for Jesus to come into that room and to flood her with dreams of who He was and how loved she is. I never felt the heaviness go away though it seemed to lift a little from around me while I interceeded.
Then we were instructed to take a picture if we would like. Honestly, I felt awful taking one of her like she was some kind of tourist attraction but I also could not get over how impactful it would forever be for me and hopefully for those of you reading this. Here is the picture I took…
She has been a Kumari since the age of 4. She believes the spirit of a goddess lives within her reincarnated body. People pray to her and bring offerings so she will mark their heads with good luck. She is never allowed to take a husband for her entire life. She cannot speak to anyone outside of her family and close friends. Her feet do not touch the ground. If you asked me what her soul looked like through her eyes I would say empty and dark… But not by her own choosing. She lives the life of a recluse in a house filled with dark spirits. When she is dismissed from her job she will be moved to a temple to live out the rest of her days.
When we exited the building for our boys to take their turn going in, the grief fell out of us. It was the kind of pain where crying comes in silence but with an abundance of tears. I remember looking over and seeing Carla place her hand on the wall of the house to pray. I came behind to lay my hands on her shoulders and join. Then our other 3 girls came up to lay hands on us. We stood for a while just talking to God and feeling the spiritual emotion of that place. We took a picture with our good luck dots and felt it wrong to even smile.
The boys were inside for a long time. Later we would find that while we prayed at that wall they were all standing infront of her praying. One explained the feeling of thick smoke in the room. When they began to pray it was as if a window was opened and a fan began to blow. It did not clear out but seemed to be tumbling around in disturbance as they shed light in the name of Jesus. The Kumari had two fingers dipped in the red rice paste as they started. The longer they went the more restless she became with shifting and fidgiting. By time they left she had the rice paste smeared over her entire palm.
It was hard walking out of there and leaving in the cab again. You wish you could atleast converse with her for a couple of minutes and tell her there is one God who loves her more than any amount of offerings. Or that if her feet touched the ground it would be fine. She could run out of that house and through the streets if willed and it would be fine because her goddess status is a deciete used for Satan’s good.
I am willing to bet that it has been years, if ever, that someone has entered her home and brought the spirit of Jesus along out of love and grief for her. I find the tumbling smoke an incredible parallel to the spiritual warfare we have the authority of carrying places. See, it is all a battle between the principalities. To walk into warfare is to bring the angel army of Christ to quite literally battle the dark spirits of fallen angels that reside in a place.
I can picture how unsettled they were when we climbed up those stairs. I could feel them pressing in with spirits of confussion and unease, but the spirit I carry is greater. I know when I kneeled infront of her and spoke, “Jesus “, they stepped back in fear within their own domain. I believe God opened the opportunity for us to do that just to shed some light on that house. It is a reminder that while those spirits have grown comfortable there, they hold no victory.
After this experience we asked our Nepali friend to tell us her real name to remember her by instead of Kumari. He says only her family knows. Once she becomes Kumari, Kumari becomes her name and is all she goes by. We decided to give her a new name.
Hope…. It had to be Hope.
Are you aware of the amount of temples that fell and were destroyed in the terrible earthquake that hit Nepal a couple of years ago? God has a way even with natural disasters of sending His people messages. I know Nepal emensly struggles in deciete and worship of idols or false gods. 85% of this country claims to be Hindu while 10-15% claims Buddhism. However, this nation has the fastest growing Christianity rate in the entire world next to China! So here we are in a revival for the month. Ready to pray for little girl goddesses and lepers, serve the orphans, and minister to the sex trafficked women. My soul feels so good to be back here. Please keep Nepal as a whole and the Kumaris in your prayers. Pray boldly. Remember Hope…
