❝A TWENTY SEVEN DEGREES OF NORTH LATITUDE, in Budhanilkantha, with the god Visnu in front, in the absence of routine, at this soap opera pace, I still have the impression of having arrived less than a week ago at Nepal, when in reality there is nothing left to set foot on the steps of the plane to Manila. May Magellan protect me.
On foot, with dawn light I entered through Budhanilkantha, and neither was the pond overflowing nor was the water as clear as I had supposed the day before it would be.
Two young Hindu novices, now in red, standing on top of the big statue of Vishnu, as they usually do, they arranged the trousseau and makeup in a way that was as precise and careful as automatic, without thinking, while a ringing of bells of different frequencies continued to ring throughout the square, curiously contributing to the concentration.
During that immense moment, the temple was closed. We all remained outside, leaning on the railings surrounding the grounds, watching or praying while the ceremony took place.
Then a long queue began to enter worship and make offerings, so big that I gave up approaching. Meanwhile, a foot away, the rest of the novices recited some mantras from memory in Sanskrit in a little temple attached●
