Barely minutes away from the angry cabbies, foul-mouthed shopkeepers, clingy beggars and screechy vegetable sellers

of the Sri Ram chowk in Birgunj lies the serene, peaceful temple of Gahwa Mai. The temple is as tranquil as the rest of the town is chaotic, and spending the day here can make you forget that you are in the third world clich of a small town breaking into a metropolis with sudden violence and vigor. Time seems to stand still inside the holy grounds of this temple. The devotees that come in are in a perpetual state of self-induced phantasmagoria. Their eyes are tightly shut and their bodies move jerkily, spasmodically to the bhajans recited by pot-bellied Pandits in frayed silk dhotis and grimy sacred threads. Seconds become minutes, minutes, hours; but the devotees refuse to sit downdancing their way to redemption as goddess Durga, with her kohl-ed eyes and stony smile, watches silently through the tiny holes of the wooden door that cages her. The giant copper bell that stands in the middle of the courtyard, right outside goddess Durgas cage is rung only occasionally but the high-pitched, chiming sounds of tiny brass cymbals are heard every few minutes. Combined with the soft humming of peoples voices, the melodic bhajans and mantras recited by Pandit wives while tying holy threads around peoples wrists, these sounds make a lullaby - a harmonious, gentle music that makes you want to slowly drift off to sleep. The smell of the delicious free food distributed by the temple trustees is just as soporific. The scent of flaky, light honey scented chirotis, scrumptious fresh coconut karanjis and apungo drenched in ghee is mellow, but omnipresent, and so tempting that you are bound to ask the pandit for a refill of your plate once you eat your share of the Prasad. In any other holy Hindu shrine, asking for more Prasad is seen as a disrespectful act, responded to with chastisement or at least a disapproving frown. But not inside Gahwa Mai. The Pandit is always is always more than happy to let you eat to your hearts content, and with a wide, warm smile, he will pour heaps of apungo onto your plate as many times as you ask. Once a day, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes later, Durgas cage is opened and all can get a glimpse of her extraordinarily beautiful, but strangely disquieting form. As the wooden doors are opened and sunlight pours upon her cold marble face, every man woman and child in the vicinity cant help but stop what he/she is doing stare at the allpowerful mother goddess in awe. Durga is the epitome of beauty, power and purity. For the few minutes that she is open for viewing to the general public, one becomes calmer, more content at peace with ones own mind and body. Durga becomes a part of everyone and everyone becomes a part of Durga. But eventually, the doors are closed again and although the atmosphere of spiritual cleanliness and devotion remains, that sense of euphoria of actually seeing god with your very own eyes is gone. To a non-believer, devotees at Gahwa Mai may look like a group of hippies high on cocaine. Everyone seems to be in his/her own world, completely detached from the pain, happiness, sorrow, worry of the outside world. This is a parallel universe where there is room for nothing except love for the mother, everyones mother, Durga. If people could,

they would build their homes inside Gahwa Mai and spend their lives inside this wonderful environment full of positivity. But sadly, this is not possible. After letting go of all their human emotions inside the house of god, everyone needs to get out and back to the real world. Piles of rubble, dug-up roads, indescribable chaos with incessant destruction and never ending construction-everything half-built, half-conceived, careening along with a ruthless brashness. The stillness disappears. If only the whole world were a temple.