<aside>
Circles of Connection
रिस राग कपट् छल छैन जाँहाँ, तव धर्म कती छ कती छ याहाँ, पशुका पति छन् रखबारि गरी, शिवकी पुरि कान्तिपुरी नगरी। -भानुभक्त आचार्य
What makes a city? Is it buildings and bustling streets, or something subtler like the stories once whispered in courtyards, turning into rituals that still give life to squares, while nature weaves into its foundations? Cities are not mere accidents, but deliberate creations born from necessities and aspirations. In the Kathmandu Durbar Square, cultures are ever evolving yet enduring, always revolving around the five elements of life. In this heritage walk, we discover how.
EARTH holds the lives circling its temples, alleys, and courtyards. WATER springs from the ground, through a nourishing network of stone spouts, ponds, and canals, forming the spine of our culture and architecture. The city holds SPACE for festivities that celebrate nature—welcoming monsoon rains and lush harvests. And as the city dances, alight at night with oil lamps and sacred flames, the pride of belonging burns like a FIRE of hope on a new moon night. Here, in this square, the AIR carries incense, whispered prayers to all beings, and the roars of momentous jatras. In these moments, the square truly comes alive like a mandala, guarded by the 8 mother goddesses
As we take this walk through येँ, a city from which we have all taken flight or fallen back upon, let us ponder upon the depths of the mandala we live in, and the oneness it embodies for all life forms. Let us pause to remember: what makes a city?
</aside>
Chronicles by @asthaha, Creatives by @creative_minefield, Curated by @srichchha, Compiled with ChatGPT5
Further details are added after the event on 31st August 2025.
This walk was curated by Sojan Prajapati, incorporating the Pancha Pranali perspective, and received attendance of about 15 participants from different fields and interests.
<aside>
A city is not stone alone. It is a breathing entity, carried by the intangible: beliefs whispered in courtyards, rituals woven into calendars, stories pressed into bricks and beams. It is nature and culture entwined, shaping one another through the centuries.
Kathmandu asks us to look beyond facades. Its form is mandalic, its rhythm human scaled. Temples rise beside houses, shrines glow from street corners, palace towers loom yet fold into ordinary life. The Valley has carried continuity from the 2nd-century Licchavi inscriptions to the bustling chowks of today, holding temples, monasteries, water conduits, and courtyards as vessels of memory.
Yet the city has never been still. Arabic arches once framed palaces, replaced by Rana’s neo-classical façades, rupturing indigenous craft. And before them, the Malla’s pagoda-style flared—a renaissance of wood and brick, a cultural flame that burned until smothered by colonial taste. Trade routes crisscrossed, carving alleys and squares, gathering people in fragments rather than a single whole. The palace precincts occupied little ground, but their temples magnified their presence. Around them, castes circled concentrically, walls holding the density in.
But walls break. Expansion came with mountain migrations and the arrival of Europeans. Rana gardens became concrete; villages fused into rings around the core. Kantipur— “Mahanagara”—outgrew its sword-shaped myth, yet carried its many names: Yan, Kashthamandapa, Yindishi, Kantipura.
Heritage is not a frozen relic here. It is what people choose to carry: traditions, festivals, rituals, and arts. Basantapur proves this—Taleju still guards, Hanuman Dhoka still anchors, not as a museum alone but as a layered continuum, where built forms cradle living practices.
And circling the city like guardians are the Ashtamatrikas—Maheshvari, Brahmani, Vaishnavi, Indrani, Kaumari, Varahi, Chamunda, and Mahalakshmi. Their shrines, aligned along the Upaku route, mark an invisible mandala of protection. Once, thirty-two gates held this sacred boundary. Today, only fragments remain, but the goddesses endure, worshipped with Bhairav and Ganesh, weaving divine force into civic life.
The pattern of Newar urbanism reminds us: upland settlements, lowland fields; distinct routes for gods, people, and the dead—squares like lungs at intersections, Durbar Square at the crown. Every street carries echoes of processions, every chowk a rhythm of shared breath.
And within it all, the Pancha Pranali—the five elements—shape the city as much as its people:
To walk through Kathmandu is to walk through these elements. A city not as accident but as oneness—where memory and future, culture and nature, people and deities merge.
And so, the question lingers, whispered through stone and smoke:
What makes a city?
Is it walls and towers, or the rituals and breaths that live within them?
Perhaps, just as rice fields do, the city too remembers.
</aside>
