animal sacrifices in the depths of a valley

One day, I was making treks from the holy hot springs of Kheer Ganga back to Kasol village in Parvati Valley, tucked in the Himalayas of India. I was still working and inspired by the clean up the mountains campaign we were running and was carrying a bag of garbage down with me from Kheer Ganga, one of the many villages that doesn’t have any facilities for garbage management nor roads to get there.  

People were so grateful for the work we were doing that I would often be invited for tea in the local teashops or to stay with families in the area which was a very new and humbling experience. There was a beautiful spot on the trek down where a holy waterfall cascaded alongside a temple, named Rudranath, dedicated to the God Shiva. Here I sat at a little shack having been invited for chai while I overlooked the mountains and the waters that were shimmering with glitter from the minerals buried in the rocks.

I noticed a few local men across the way in their traditional tupi’s and recognised them to be the tribal people of Malana, one of the oldest tribes in the world. These people will not touch a foreigner and there are rumours that they are the descendants of Alexander the Great's army. They are one of the eldest democracies in the world and maintain ancient traditions that make them incredibly unique people’s of the Himalayas.

As I looked over to the waterfall and watched this group of men, I noticed something strange was going on. A wooden post had been erected, there were drums beating and, as I looked harder, I saw red splatters along the ground. They’re doing an animal sacrifice, I realised. My mind went all over the shop if I am honest, a curious part of me wanted to watch and then another part of me was a little disturbed by what I was witnessing, as I sat there on my own nursing a chai with a bag of garbage at my feet. I knew that the traditions of the area could be as culturally surprising to me as the behaviours of westerners can be to the locals and, hence, a mutual respect was there despite meeting one of the most challenging cultural activities thus far witnessed with my naked eyes; an animal's decapitation.

I decided I would wait for the procession to finish in order to continue walking. I turned to look away and nailed my tea. I took some deep breaths and had a moment of “well, I guess that doesn’t happen everyday” to myself as I pondered on what was going on next to me. As if they had heard the voice in my head, a Malana man walked past me to go in to the kitchen of the little tea shack. In his hand he held the head of a lamb by its ears, its beady eye’s staring right at me, as its little tongue hung out of its mouth and a ragged bloody edge lined its throat. “Dear God... I don’t think I can ever eat lamb again” I said to myself a little shaken while wondering what the tea house owner was going to do with the head.

This was not the only sacrifice I saw while I was in the mountains and when I got to the end of my trip 5 months later and was staying with my surrogate family in a little remote village, a larger procession took place where the whole village was celebrating the sacrifice of a goat. I got to a strange place when it came to morality.  These people don’t usually eat meat and survive mostly on rice and beans with vegetable curry. The sacrificed goat was distributed amongst the whole village and a prayer was made for them all. Sure they also made a sing and dance about it but it certainly made the occasion an auspicious one. More than what we might say for the churn, plump and dump factories of the Western world's farming system. 

On the last night I was invited to eat some goat curry and as a guest I didn't refuse despite me being vegetarian. I personally cannot say where I stand with animal sacrifices but certainly being a witness to a lamb's decapitation shook my soul and had my eyes opened to some of the most powerful cultural encounters one has whilst being on tour.