Radha, a recently retired Kumari, is excited to explore the Patan Durbar Square for the very first time as an ordinary girl. She has left behind the elaborate and time-consuming rituals that burdened her childhood as the living goddess of Patan. She, along with her uncle Pradip and brother Dhiraj, spend a Saturday weaving in and out of the square, testing each other's historical knowledge. Meanwhile, Amogh, a vengeful priest whose family suffered unjust displacement during the age of the Mallas, discreetly maneuvers around the square, scheming for a resurgence in power. When Amogh spots the former Kumari and her family, an earthquake hits the valley, and strange incidents follow that threaten the balance of the realms. The new Kumari of Yala has yet to be chosen, but Radha must step up, to protect the mortal realm as is her divine duty. 

The book opens with a compelling journey through the alleys of Patan, immersing the Nepali reader in tales of familiar structures and temples. Incidentally, I had just visited the Patan Museum with friends a few days before I started the book and I struggled to explain the difference between Mul Chowk and Sundari Chowk. It was embarrassing of course, that as a millennial Newar, residing in Kathmandu, I didn’t know enough of my own history. 

Amatya caught my fancy precisely for this reason. The book is about a Kumari! One of the more mystical aspects of the Nepali culture. Immediately, I am curious. I want to read more. Within the first few chapters, I am traversing through Patan Durbar square, like Radha, Dhiraj and Pradip, being reintroduced to many of the structures, temples and motifs I grew up with. References to Kawas, Khyas, Black Curtains, Mha Puja and Kartik Dances took me to the edge of my own knowledge of my heritage; it shed light on all the questions I had as a child but stopped asking because I didn't have access to answers. 

The story is gripping, the subject matter, intriguing and I’m at the edge of my seat till the very end. Like most fantasy fiction, the plot carries the book, peppering the reader with a few explanations of Nepal Bhasa words here and there. Footnotes and illustrations might help those not familiar with Nepal Bhasa and Nepali myths but on the whole I was impressed by Amatya’s abilities to describe esoteric Newari traditions and rituals - which normally are hard to follow -  well enough to move the plot forward. 

The fusion of fantasy with Newari mysticism is a rare feat, and I was curious to see how it would unfold. Amatya exceeded expectations, tastefully bringing mythical elements to life. He had his work cut out for him, introducing readers to the intricate world of Vajrayana concepts. The narrative strikes a perfect balance between humor and spookiness, making it a compelling read. The eerie experience is so intense at times that I found myself hesitant to read the book at night.

I didn’t know that as a Newari girl, brought up in the valley, I needed this book, in this genre, in this language, to revive my love for my identity. I recognize that it may sound problematic but this is true for a majority of millennial Newars all around the globe. We want to share the beauty that is our heritage, but we are not equipped with the language or even the stories to do our heritage justice. Amatya did that for me. Through Radha, Wrath of the Maeju, I was able to walk around Patan Durbar Square, a place I have been through a hundred times, with new found knowledge and pride. I have never felt seen in a fiction, let alone a fantasy. For this, I cannot thank the author and publishers enough. I am looking forward to many more from the author.

An edited version of this review was published on Nepali Times on December 8, 2023.