July 27, 2025

Set at the edge of Ratna Park, Rani Pokhari is often passed by in haste—buses screeching nearby, motorbikes swirling around it—but pause for a moment and you’ll see it for what it truly is: a mirror of Kathmandu’s memory, both royal and deeply emotional. This large, serene pond was built in 1670 by King Pratap Malla, in memory of his beloved queen, to console her after the death of their son. It is a monument to grief, but also to love and continuity.

At its center rises a delicate temple to Shiva, accessible only by a small causeway opened during special festivals like Bala Chaturdashi and Tihar, when pilgrims float oil lamps and offerings onto the water’s surface. Around the pond, whitewashed stone walls and four corner shrines mark out the sacred geometry of this site, dedicated to various gods and planetary guardians.

For decades, Rani Pokhari was closed to the public, its water dark and sacred, its gates locked. But recent renovations have reopened its perimeter, allowing visitors once more to circumambulate the pond, reflect on its history, and see the city mirrored in its still waters. It’s a rare space in Kathmandu: open, contemplative, uncluttered by vendors or traffic.

Visit in the early morning or late afternoon, when the light softens and the pond becomes a painting. You’ll see pigeons swirling over the temple roof, women whispering prayers, and schoolchildren pausing at the railings with snacks and secrets. Rani Pokhari may not have the grandeur of a durbar square, but it offers something quieter, more personal—a chance to stop and simply take in the story of a city that has loved, lost, and endured.