In the alleys of Patan, as early May scorches the Valley, a towering wooden chariot leans against brick homes: silent but expectant. Around it, people gather not just out of curiosity but out of reverence. More than just another festival, it is the pulse of a community and a prayer for rain.
The Rato Machhindranath Jatra, known in Newa as Buṅga Dyaḥ Jātrā, is the longest and one of the oldest running festivals in Nepal. Spanning over a month, it blends Hindu and Buddhist traditions, centring on the worship of Rato Machhindranath, the god of rain and compassion.
To the Newa community, he is Bunga Dyah, the protector of the Valley. In Hindu belief, he is an incarnation of Shiva; in Buddhist iconography, he is Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of compassion.
A tale of drought and devotion
The origin of the jatra dates to the 7th century, during the reign of King Narendra Deva. The Kathmandu Valley was gripped by a drought that lasted 12 years. Crops failed. Rivers dried up. People suffered.
According to legend, the reason behind this prolonged disaster was that the serpent deities, the nagas who control rainfall, were imprisoned under the meditation seat of Guru Gorakhnath.
The drought persisted until they brought Rato Machhindranath, Gorakhnath’s teacher, to the Valley. The king, accompanied by tantric priest Bandhudatta Acharya and a local farmer, journeyed to Assam, where the deity had been reborn as a prince.
Through strategy and ritual, they managed to bring the god back to Kathmandu. The moment Rato Machhindranath entered the Valley, rain fell again. After Bhairab cried “Bu!”, meaning “home”, they enshrined him in Bungamati.
More than a myth, this story represents the deep interlinking of environment, faith, and governance that shaped how societies in the Valley responded to natural crises.
The craft of the chariot
The building of the chariot is as symbolic as the procession itself. Constructed entirely by hand using only wood, bamboo, and natural fibre ropes, the structure towers 48–60 feet high. There are no nails or metal joints, only traditional Newa engineering techniques passed down for centuries. Weeks ahead of pulling, locals begin construction in Pulchowk. A team of hereditary craftsmen, usually from the Karmacharya and Jyapu communities, takes on this responsibility.
There’s also an underlying belief: if the chariot is poorly built or topples, misfortune will follow. In 2004, the five-storeyed chariot toppled mid-procession, and within months, in February 2005, King Gyanendra seized absolute power in a royal coup. The country plunged deeper into political chaos amid an ongoing Maoist insurgency. For many, the crash wasn’t just an accident. It was an omen.
The chariot’s construction is closely monitored. Senior members of the community, including local priests and cultural custodians, inspect every element. As the wooden frame rises in the intense heat, it draws crowds of tourists, locals, students, and street vendors who watch tradition unfold in real time.
The procession and its meaning
Once ready, devotees carry the statue of Rato Machhindranath from Bungamati to Ta Bahal in Patan, where he resides temporarily before the journey begins. They then install him into the completed chariot in a special ceremony known as Pā Phwonegu.
The actual procession moves through the dense, historic streets of Lalitpur: from Pulchowk to Gabahal, Mangal Bazaar, Sundhara, and Chakrabahil, eventually reaching Jawalakhel. Folks pull the chariot manually with ropes using extraordinary coordination, patience, and strength. No modern tools or vehicles are used. The path changes slightly every year depending on road conditions and encroachments, but the core route remains steeped in ritual.
A key moment is the segment between Iti and Thati, known as Yākah Misāyā Bhujyā (याकः मिसाया भुज्या), a stretch traditionally reserved for women to pull the chariot. This segment, more than symbolic, highlights how women actively preserve community rituals.
At the festival’s end comes the Bhoto Jatra, held at Jawalakhel. In this ceremony, state representatives and thousands of spectators witness the display of a sacred, jewel-encrusted vest (bhoto) from the chariot.
More than just a festival
Along with religious devotion, the Rato Machhindranath Jatra is a form of cultural resilience. As urban life pushes traditions away, festivals alike unite communities through a shared past.
Neighbourhoods bustle with activity; clean old homes and decorate dyo-biga (god’s houses). Traditional music, such as dhimey and bhusya, echoes through the alleys. Elders pass down rituals, and children wear traditional attire. It’s one of the rare moments when ancestral memory, religious performance, and daily life converge.
The festival is also deeply tied to agriculture. In a valley still dependent on monsoon rains, many farmers look to Rato Machhindranath as their protector. Even those who have left farming hold on to this bond. For them, the god is not just a symbol of the past but a guardian of the future.
Lately, the festival has faced challenges. Urban expansion has narrowed the chariot’s route. Concrete buildings have replaced open spaces. Climate change has brought unpredictability to the weather patterns that this festival once sought to regulate through prayer. But the spirit endures.
Some rituals are short now, and public participation is low in certain areas, but every year, without fail, the chariot still rolls. And when it does, Patan breathes again.
If the wheels turn and the vest is raised, the people of the Valley will remember that once, long ago, they summoned a god to end a drought and have continued to do so ever since.
Sudipa Mahato is a junior editor with Nepal Connect.
