Dance like a deity

On the night of 10th August 2025– technically the 11th – I got out of Kathmandu airport and rushed to Thimi, where Prajita Shrestha was performing the Nagacha Pyakhaan. Woven around the story of Hindu mythological characters, Bhasmasur and Mohini, the dance is exclusive to Thimi in Bhaktapur. 

Prajita is only the fourth girl to dance as Mohini. In the past, male members of the community played the role. In a move away from the traditional mode where men perform female roles in religious dances, women are now being inducted in some performances.

When Prajita was first asked by the guthi to perform as Mohini, she instantly said yes, before even asking her parents’ permission. “My heart leapt with joy the moment I was asked. I knew I was meant to do this,” she says. 

She first performed in August 2022 and was nominated again in August 2025 to perform. Social media reels of her dancing that gained wide popularity seems to have endorsed her as the crowd’s choice, even though she was actually stepping in to fulfill a sudden vacancy due to unforeseen events.

When I arrived in Thimi that night, Prajita had already been on her feet for a long while. Her face lit with mischief, she went from alley to alley, flirting and motioning at Bhasmasur, the antagonist of Nagacha Pyakhaan.

The story has it that the Hindu god Visnu, disguised as the enchantress Mohini, enamours and prompts the demon Bhasmasur to self-destruct. The old dance form, exclusive to Thimi, was revived in 2019 and women dancers were gradually introduced. Some other cities like Bhaktapur and Kirtipur have also introduced women in religious dance and music, recently.

Prajita had seen Nabina Prajapati perform as Mohini ahead of her and says it worked as an inspiration when she was asked. Her parents did not disapprove of her intent because her brother, Kiran had already been performing the Bhaila dance and they were familiar with the processes. The Bhaila, dedicated to Hindu deity Bhairav, was revived about a decade ago, and is performed by young boys in Thimi.

All religious dances in the Kathmandu Valley were traditionally done by men. Prajita is one of the few women who have stepped into unchartered territory. The 24-year-old, a student and communication worker, has also set the stage for more girls to follow in her steps.

“I know they say that Newa women do not have freedom, but we have to understand that not letting women participate in these dances was also a way of protecting them,” she says. 

As Prajita and the troupe stepped up on the raised stone platform daboo at Thimi thoroughfares that night, men in the audience cheered: “Wala, wala!” It’s here!

Unfazed, Prajita maintained her smile and her composure, her arms flailing in the night air, her feet tapping the ground. “When one performs as Mohini, the crowd jeers and teases. It might be because in the past men disguised as women to perform and they got teased. So when our grandmothers were saying no to this, they were trying to keep us from that exposure, which they did not think was safe or appropriate.”

Newa traditional dances are said to be exclusive to male dancers for many reasons. The weight of the headgear and masks is maintained as key, the others being the endless hours of practice, night time performances and long hours of fasting, and often drinking of alcohol and even blood in some instances, required as a part of tantrik rituals. And there’s menstruation taboo, and the distance women are kept at from Nasaa dyaa, the deity of charm and grace.

As I followed Prajita around that night, I was already starting to feel the night weighing down on me. But she sprinted from tole to tole, bells jingling, a pair of ankle brace hugging her bare feet, her green skirt flaring as she pirouetted. The red velvet blouse threw a blush to her face and the peacock feather on the crown of her head fluttered as she tilted her head to look into the face of Bhasmasur, the beckoning of desire.

Being in the role of Mohini has changed many things for Prajita, who is also a radio journalist with Radio Kathmandu, 92.1. 

“I have newfound confidence to do my work after I participated in the dance. I also do cultural activism, so doing the dance helped me gain a new perspective and also connect with new people,” she says. 

While the joy of dancing can be for oneself, Prajita says she also thrives in the adulation she receives from the audience, many of them her relatives and neighbours.

“From the time I took on the role, my father hadn’t been very involved in what I was doing. But the night of the performance, when I saw my father in the crowd, I felt elated,” says says. Like so many little girls who thrive on validation from the elders in the family, Prajita in that moment wanted to make sure she lived up to the new social responsibility she had embraced. 

That act of being drawn into the circle because of presence and participation is an important experience. Men in patriarchal societies are already part of that circle, while women are on the margins because of the social status they are expected to maintain. 

But breaking the boundary to be included in the circle requires the opening up of that circle up by the male members of the community. Arjun Shrestha, Nirajan Shrestha, Birendra Shrestha, Rabi Shrestha are some of the names Prajita mentions when speaking of her dance gurus. They are men who formerly performed the Nagacha Pyakhaan and are now transferring the legacy.

“In the past, I used to be like an outsider, a spectator to the dances that were performed in Thimi. But after I participated, people in the religious dancing circles knew me and I am allowed to watch practice sessions for other dances, even stay out late with the dancers, mingle with them,” says Prajita. “I feel accepted.”

Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people in Pratibha’s life.