Sacrifice

What would you do if you only had a few hours left to live? If you're a goat you apparently nibble leaves, head butt your neighbour, pleasure yourself or some combination of the three. Of course goats don't know when they're condemned to death, but if they did I like to think they would spend their final hours in the same way.

"We have to make God happy," a man told me.

A marching band led a procession of several dozen families. Boys held tall bamboo branches adorned with single red and white cloths. Women carried flat baskets with offerings of fruit, popcorn, fried bread and rice. I walked with Upsarah, my guesthouse owner's 21 year-old niece. She carried a small jug of milk. "For the rice pudding," she told me. A few people brought large red parasols. Men walked their goats, leading them on short ropes. We arrived at a grassy hillside next to the oldest tree in the area. A shrine stood at its base.

I was a guest at Family Reunification Day, an annual ceremony in which offerings are made to ancestors and a god. Everyone gathered was part of the Khatri Chatri caste. In Nepalese Hinduism, different castes sacrifice a particular animal be it water buffalo or pigs. Khantri Chatri sacrifice goats.

The women got to work separating their family's offerings. A giant basket filled up with everyone's fruit, another with breads, another one still with popcorn. The women heaped a selection of goodies from the baskets into individual leaf bowls. A caldron of rice pudding bubbled away.

Meanwhile the men had tied their goats to shrubs. All the goats were decorated with red tika powder. A few had red and yellow painted horns. One wore a garland of marigolds. All were male.

Leaf bowls in hand, people munched happily on the snacks. Goats were given orange rinds and banana peels which they scoffed. They won't have the chance to digest them, I thought.

Finally after an hour and a half, the band started up again. Men untied their goats and led them around in a circle, parade style. For a moment it seemed like a dog show with proud owners showing off their animals for the judges. The illusion dissolved when they lined up along the shrine path. The goats remained calm but the excitement amongst the people was palpable. Small children gathered on the slope vying for the best view. A holy man with a shaved head was dressed all in white. Another man sat cross-legged nearby was suddenly overcome by a writhing fit as though possessed.

Before I could ask about the flailing man, the first goat was brought forward. Someone firmly held his hind legs and another the rope, extending the animal's neck slightly. The goat was sprinkled with water. The following pause felt like the moment before freefall on a fairground ride. You have signed up for something thrilling and maybe horrible. You are strapped in, waiting at the top. The only thing left is to plummet to the ground. You know it's coming, but when?

With one strong blow, a man with a machete hacked off the goat's head executioner-style. Thunk. I think I must have gasped. I was not expecting this. I thought the throats would be slit or punctured like the water buffalo. The holy man in white touched his lips to the blood spurting out of the severed body. This I thankfully had been warned about.

The next goat was brought forward, held in place and with a swift swing of the blade his head was separated from the body. The holy man was given blood, the dead goat taken away and the next held in position. The process was quick and dramatic. By about the third goat the holy man in white had blood splattered gratuitously down his front.

We've all heard about the running of headless chickens, though I for one have never seen it. It seems beheaded goats also have a disturbing repertoire of reflexes. I witnessed mad twitching, kicking and perhaps most unnerving, tail wagging. Even after the bodies were laid on the grass while the artery in the neck was tied, they sometimes continued to jerk and throw their legs about. Despite all this, the queue of waiting goats remained calm. Only occasionally one would call out, bleeting.

People believe the god they are sacrificing to enters the holy man's body through the animals' blood. I watched his shaved head bob up and down, feet prancing like a boxer's before a fight. He was jazzed up. One by one the bodies of newly killed goats were held to his lips. An assistant wiped his mouth with a cloth, like a coach wiping a fighter's brow.

Once all the goats were killed, their tied feet were strung through stout bamboo poles and taken away. Young boys carried heads by the ear. Back at home, individual families cleaned their goat and divided the meat between them. The goats' lives are an offering to the ancestors and a god, but it is the living who enjoy the meat. The sacrifice is believed to bring good luck to the whole village.

Someone handed me a leaf bowl of rice pudding. It contained milk from the whole community and raisins, dates and pieces of coconut. I ate with my fingers enjoying the sweet creaminess.

- Panauti, Nepal