On December 8, 2000, Lok Chitrakar woke up especially early. It was the day he had been anticipating. With brushes, paints and other paraphernalia, he departed from his art studio for Krishna Prasad Bhattarai’s residence. The former prime minister had asked him for a strange favour.

After a while, Chitrakar arrived. Kishunji had not eaten yet. It is advised that both parties do not eat before the ritual. Chitrakar gathered composure and poised himself for what lay ahead. The artist had been in the craft for more than 25 years, yet, on that day, he was about to do something for the first time. On that day, he didn’t need a canvas to paint on. Lok Chitrakar, the veteran Paubha artist, was about to paint on the former prime minister’s head.

What series of events had led to such a situation? Kishunji, at the time, had a nasty case of the shingles. Also known as Herpes Zoster, or janai khatira in Nepali, the ailment is a variation of the chicken pox and is characterised by the forming of painful rashes which wraps around the body in a loop, like the sacred thread—janai. Kishunji had been afflicted by the rashes around his head and neck, and as a result, he sought help from the most popular healer of shingles—an artist.

A trip to Chitrakar’s studio in Patan reveals myriad paintings steeped in Hindu and Buddhist iconography. Mortars and pestles rest in a corner and the curved interior of each mortar is stained with a unique colour; there are no signs of tubes or bottles of paints. Chitrakar is one of the few artists who have held on to the ancient tradition of making one’s own paint. At his studio, called Simrik Atelier, the colour blue is extracted from Lapis Lazuli, black in the same way that kohl is made, and the whites are reconstituted from ground limestone or sea shells.

But, apart from Chitrakar’s dedication to the old ways, he treasures another quirk—being able to cure the janai khatira completely, simply by painting pairs of lions, or “simhas”, around the rash. Chitrakar claims matter-of-factly that even today doctors themselves will sometimes recommend this treatment to patients afflicted by the shingles. All patients, according to Chitrakar, when painted on, are cured within four days. That included his most high-profile patient—Kishunji.

In terms of scientific or medicinal value, the process may arouse scepticism. However, a closer inspection can douse the confusion to some extent. According to Chitrakar, the painting of the lions is often paired with a homeopathic paste made from cow milk, extract from white sesame seeds and a common grass (seto dubo). When applied to the rash, the ointment soothes the burning sensation and expedites the healing process.

“Once the simhas have been painted, people trust fully in the lions’ powers to heal and their abilities to combat the virus,” Chitrakar shares. A well-placed placebo effect may contribute to the healing process; people may get healed precisely because they believe the lions will help them do so. As a result, Chitrakar continues,“They become very mindful of the painted area and keep it clean, in an effort to not smear the painted lions, in turn, keeping the rash clean.”

Apart from this, Chitrakar also believes that a strong, good-willed intent and the artist’s desire to help their “patients” contribute to the process. “Artists should not expect any returns from the afflicted; they should do it purely with the intent to help.” The purest form of this tradition, simply called “simha lekhne” or “drawing lions”, is done strictly on a donation basis where patients contribute what they can, and desire, to the artist.

Traditionally, the ritual has been performed for many centuries by the Chitrakars of the Valley. Chitrakars, who in the stratified Newar society are skilled artisans and painters, have passed on the craft of healing with lions from one generation to another. Lok Chitrakar recalls that his early childhood was spent fashioning paint brushes from cat hair for his father. He healed his first “patient” with a pair of lions at the tender age of 12.

“When I was young,” he says, “these healing paintings were done only by Chitrakars. But now with the number of Chitrakars who continue to paint dwindling, I know of other painters who perform the ritual as well.” He says that as long as the essence of the lions is emulated, it shouldn’t matter who paints the lions.

Much of the art that Chitrakars do, still rigorously follow the mores of traditional iconography. Body postures, mudras and facial expressions define whether an artwork is imbued with religious sensibilities. The lions, too, have a certain essence—three feet are always rooted to the ground, while one paw is raised as if attacking the rashes they are painted around. The paintings are also done using just three hues—black, white and red. Once these essences are captured, the artists are free to give the drawing their own personal touch. No two lions, according to Chitrakar, are the same.

Given that the number of Chitrakars who continue to paint is decreasing with every generation, when asked if he could pass the craft of “simha lekhne” to a non-Chitrakar, the Pauba artist goes silent for a moment. “I like to think that Chitrakar is more than just a caste, it is a lifestyle. I might be able to teach someone else the art, the colours, the symbols and the nuances. But could I impart a lifestyle that was cultivated through being raised in a specific way, in a specific community? I am not sure,” he says.

As of today, Lok Chitrakar has lost count of the patients he has helped ward off the shingles. When asked how it was to paint on the former prime minister’s head, he simply replies, “I felt happy to meet him, of course, but in the end, he was just another person I helped to heal. I was simply happy to have helped yet another human being.”

And so, the artist can be found in his art studio today, carrying on the age old tradition of “simha lekhne”, and taking it with a grain of salt and the humility of someone who recognises that he is merely a medium—the healing, like the inspiration for his Paubas, is drawn from a source no one can put a finger on.