At the heart of every Sakela festival is the Sili dance — a communal, circular performance that is simultaneously art, prayer, and ecological memory. When hundreds of Rai dancers form a vast circle and move together to the rhythm of the Chyabrung drum, they are not merely performing. They are, in the deepest sense of the word, renewing the world.
The Sili is led by the Silimangpa, the lead dancer, who determines the sequence of movements. Each movement has a specific name and meaning, drawn from the natural world. Bhale Nach imitates the proud strut and crowing of a rooster at dawn. Tho Sili replicates the graceful flight of birds across mountain valleys. Halo Sili mimics the movement of plowing fields. Lathi Sili represents the rhythmic pounding of grain. Dhan Ropne depicts the bending and planting of rice seedlings. Each choreographic pattern is a story — of seasons, of labor, of the intimate relationship between the Rai people and the land that sustains them.
The dance is performed at the Sakela Than — the sacred ritual ground that serves as the symbolic ancestral home of the community. Before the dancing begins, the Nakchhong priest performs opening rituals at the Than, invoking Sumnima and Paruhang, the divine mother and father whose union created the world. Offerings are made at the Machhaku shrine — considered the dwelling place of ancestral spirits. Only after these rituals are complete does the Silimangpa lead the first movement, and the circle of dancers begins to turn.
What makes the Sili extraordinary is its scale and inclusivity. At the annual Sakela celebration at Tudikhel in Kathmandu, thousands of dancers participate simultaneously. There are no spectators in the traditional sense — the circle is open, and anyone may join. The elderly dance alongside children. The Nakchhong dances alongside farmers. In the Sili circle, social distinctions dissolve and the community becomes, for the duration of the dance, a single organism moving with one rhythm.
The accompaniment is equally meaningful. The Chyabrung — the double-headed drum of the Rai people — provides the heartbeat. Its deep rhythm is not merely musical; it is understood as a spiritual pulse that connects the dancers to the earth beneath their feet. The Jhyamta (brass cymbals) provide sharp accents that ward off negative energies. Together, drum and cymbal create a sonic landscape that transforms ordinary ground into sacred space.
The Sili is performed twice a year during Ubhauli (spring) and Udhauli (autumn), mirroring the great seasonal migrations of birds and the agricultural cycle of planting and harvest. In spring, the dance celebrates renewal and asks the earth for abundance. In autumn, it gives thanks for the harvest and prepares the community for winter. This dual rhythm — asking and thanking, planting and harvesting, ascending and descending — mirrors the fundamental duality at the heart of Kirat cosmology: Sumnima and Paruhang, earth and sky, female and male, receiving and giving.
For young Rai people growing up in Kathmandu or overseas, the Sakela festival and the Sili dance have taken on new significance. They are not relics of a rural past but living connections to identity. Learning the dance steps, understanding what each movement represents, hearing the Chyabrung for the first time — these experiences bridge the distance between modern life and ancestral wisdom. The circle of the Sili, like the Mundum-Ridum itself, is designed to expand without breaking.