While most Maltese were plastering on colourful paints and stitching together 2014 versions of Disney princesses and superheroes, Melanie Vella was in Nepal chatting to ash-smeared naked sadhus and dancing to mantras.

Naga Sadhu draped in malas.

The Maha Shivaratri festival in Nepal is a festival dedicated to the great Lord Shiva – the chillum-smoking Hindu god of preservation and destruction. This ancient festival was celebrated on February 27. The day varies every year depending on the lunar calendar, much like carnival. We embarked on our own nine-hour bus pilgrimage from Pokhara to Kathmandu to participate in the most celebrated event of the Hindu calendar.

An estimated one million Hindu devotees, followers, yogis and sadhus flock to Kathmandu’s Pashupatinath temple each year, the oldest and most significant temple of Lord Shiva. A crowd of some 20 foreigners stuck out, but we were invited in. Nepali people are always eager to share their culture and traditions.

We watched the temple come to life with devotional chanting of ‘Om Namah Shivaya’, Naga Sadhus twirling to the tunes beside ancient stupas, and brazen monkeys cheekily stealing from offerings. Hindu devotees queued up to pour coconut, honey, milk and water over the Lingum, the stone phallus symbol of Lord Shiva. These pujas, or rituals, are believed to cleanse them of bad karma from their current and past lives, and earn them a place in heaven.

Women weeping over the dead body conjure up an emotional reality – they were real people, not corpses. They had loved ones, who sat and watched the body burst into flames

Only believers are allowed inside the actual stone temple. We positioned ourselves away from the flow of worshippers and sat by the holy Bagmati river, murky with a mix of milk and ashes. Fires blazed on the banks of the river, fuelled up to swallow the corpses that were cremated on the ghats. It is believed to be the ultimate honour to be cremated on this holy day because spiritual liberation is achieved more swiftly.

Naga Sadhu smoking chillum.

Unlike in Varanasi, a holy city in India, women are allowed to attend the cremation ceremonies. Women weeping over the dead body conjure up an emotional reality – they were real people, not corpses. They had loved ones, who sat and watched the body burst into flames. Different culture. Different rituals. Different reality?

Onto a more lively scene. The Naga Sadhus, Hindu holy men, are the ardent followers of Lord Shiva who spend their lives naked except for the flimsy loincloths around their middle. These loud and carefree characters, with dreadlocks bee-hived on their heads, malas draped around their necks and ash smeared over their naked bodies, were the highlight of the surreal setting.

We sat with two inviting Sadhus, perched beside the river with a circle of gawking locals surrounding them. We soon became the attraction. Feet bare, we offered bananas, crisps and whatever other treats we could fish out of our bags. These were used for prasad, holy food that was blessed by the Sadhus and shared with the group. Yum? Not quite, but refusing would be disrespectful.

Naga Sadhu practising yoga.

For one day only, the line between illicit drugs and symbols of devotion is temporarily blurred in a hazy smoke of chillum (a cone-shaped pipe filled with cannabis). Holy men chant ‘Boom bholenat’ before each puff, to honour Shiva as this is a symbol of the powerful god. This is the way Nepal’s biggest annual religious event has been celebrated for thousands of years in an imitation of Shiva. They believe it helps dissolve the yearning for worldly pleasure and brings them closer to the universe.

After observing the hullabaloo of sadhus and devotees, we were invited to eat with the other pilgrims. Several organisations and social workers set up tents in a courtyard to provide free meals and shelter for the thousands of pilgrims who had made the journey from all over India and Nepal – some walking for days.

Scoops of dal bhat were mounted on plates, traditional concoctions of rice, vegetable curry and zeris for dessert, a crispy deep-fried batter drench­ed in sugar syrup. The sense of community was carried into the kitchen as men and women squatted beside pots that could literally feed an army. It felt natural to sit down with them, chatting and laughing while chopping cherry tomatoes.

Entrance to Pashupatinath Temple swarming with people.

The meal came with celebrity-status-treatment; we shook hands with a local member of parliament and smiled for the camera, dal bhat in hand.

A rhythmic ringing of bells began. It was time for the puja to begin. Large torches on either side of the river were lit as the sun began slowly sinking be­hind the river. Five men dressed in traditional orange dress raised offerings of coconuts to the heavens, as they swirled to a choreographed dance.

Behind them, a projector showed photographs of the previous year’s ceremony from someone’s Facebook page. The contrast between the traditional fire ceremony and the projection was almost comical.

This all-day festival had us conversing and celebrating alongside locals, sipping chai and dancing to mantras late into the night in this yearly carnival of the consecrated.

The crowds, cremations and clouds of smoke may be a little overwhelming, but it was an authentic experience of Nepali culture.