from September 11, 2008

I'm resisting the urge to let loose a flood of gushing sentiment about how good it feels to be back in Nepal (though technically I was in India the first time around). All of me, except for my guts and my lungs, is happy.

Both mornings so far here I've woken like clockwork before 3 AM, with or without wrenching guts, so i've had insano long days of exploring Kathmandu. By far my favorite neighborhood so far is the maze of the old city, centering more or less around Asan Tol. Gorgeous crumbling Newar architecture: 3 or 4 story brick houses inset with intricate wood carvings, arranged around courtyards accessible only through 4-foot-high doors. With some big exceptions--the origin of some of the wares and the choke and tussle of traffic through the narrow, winding streets--life here continues as it has for centuries. It to this Newar enclave that I came early yesterday morning in search of a Vaidya (Ayurvedic doctor). I'd read of Dr. Kamadev Jha, reputed to have an office in Asan, but wound up by miraculous circumstace at the home and office of Dhana Bajra Bajracarya. I was and am looking for someone to study with, or at least observe in action, but in this case I was spurred particularly by a prompt case of loose and angry guts. So less than 24 hours after arriving in this indescribable city I found my first real lead. The Baidya (in Nepal Hindi/Sanskrit V's are pronounced as B's) greeted me, asked me what was wrong, quickly examined my pulse and eyes and took my blood pressure, Western-style. Within 2 or 3 minutes he'd diagnosed undigested food--the chewy microwaved fish steak courtesy of Thai Airways--gave me a powder (Bilvadi Curna) to take twice a day and that was that.

I stuck around while he examined others, and in 3 cases out of 4 saw him diagnose jaundice, indicative of a liver disorder. He had readymade Nepali printed handouts detailing the appropriate diet and herbal regimen for Kamala (jaundice), so evidently it is a common ailment in these parts. It's not hard to imagine why: the liver faces constant onslaught from pathogens bred by poor sanitation, and from exposure to environmental toxins in the air.

The most surprising thing about Dr. Bajrcarya is that he is a Newar Buddhist, in fact a Tantric Buddhist priest. Bajracarya means "master of the thunderbolt," and his hereditary cast role involves performing esoteric rituals and conducting initiations to other Newar Buddhists. If this has got you scratching your head--aren't Budhists supposed to be casteless?--I suggest you check out David Gellner's books on Newari society and religion. The Kathmandu Valley is a fascinating place. What I'm more interested in here is the type of Ayurveda hereditarily practiced by these Newari Buddhist priests; Dr. B's is an eight-generation practitioner. I'll probably never know, though, because as anything other than a high-caste Newar Buddhist, I don't qualify for initiation.

Another, more modern Baidya, Dr. Sarita Shrestha, confirmed my suspicions that this is a totally different lineage of Ayurveda from the more South Indian type I studied under Dr. Vasant Lad in New Mexico, and from the North Indian Brahmanical tradition of practice. Unlike the majority of practitioners, who are Hindu, Dr. Bajracarya is no Sanskrit pundit. Like all traditional practitioners he learned orally, but probably in the Newari language, which is of Tibeto-Burman descent. If I'm not mistaken this brand of Ayurved has never left Nepal, and is unknown in the West.

Now if I just change my name to Shakya, lose 18 inches and convince everyone I'm from Manabouddha . . .