Raised in Hawaii and Virginia, Emily did not pray to the Shinto gods of her mother’s native Japan, and did not know how to find the comfort of the Buddha. But under the guise of Pashupati, the lord of all living things, Vishnu spoke in her dreams with the shrill voice of the sun, the queen of heaven. Surely Amaterasu will not find me here, she told herself when she first arrived. The morning air always felt big with expectation of the day to come-the sights and sounds of a living city, brightly colored buildings and people, deliveries by bicycle and motor scooter weaving this way and that, children shrieking in the streets, tourists everywhere. A zigzag route through the streets made it much more satisfying. At three miles or so, the run directly there was not enough exercise. In those days, her interest lay further east, in the Pashupati temple by the airport. When she first arrived in Kathmandu, the summer after graduating high school, Emily stayed in a little guesthouse off Gangalal Road, near the river.
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