Divinity for Sale: Nepal’s Sacred Idols and the Western Appetite for Looted Art

How living deities were stolen from temples and turned into collectibles, while their worshippers were left with empty shrines and unanswered prayers.

By Mukut

The Loot Hiding in Plain Sight

In the quiet corners of eBay, Etsy, or tucked away in dusty European museums, sacred Nepali artefact are listed for sale. Stripped of context, language, and belonging. A centuries-old statue of Tara marked “decorative bronze.” A Bhairab mask tagged “tribal primitive.” 

This is theft.
And it has been happening for decades.

From the 1960s onward, Nepal’s sacred heritage has been disappearing object by object, shrine by shrine. This isn’t accidental. It’s systemic. And it continues because the people doing the taking know they won’t be stopped.

Living Gods, Not Artefacts

These are not museum pieces. They are deities.

In Newar Buddhist and Hindu traditions of the Kathmandu Valley, sacred objects are not symbolic, they are alive. A statue becomes a god only after a consecration ritual. A Bhairab mask doesn’t represent a deity—it is the deity, called forth to inhabit the form during festivals. A paubha painting is not “art” in the Western sense, it is a devotional map activated through offering and prayer.

To steal a consecrated statue is not like stealing a sword from a battlefield. It’s more like kidnapping someone’s ancestor and silencing them forever.

When the 12th-century Laxmi-Narayan statue was stolen from Patan in 1984, it wasn’t just a spiritual loss. It disrupted centuries of ritual. For nearly 40 years, the community continued to perform puja to an empty pedestal. The deity was finally located in a private Parisian collection in 2021, priced at €120,000. Its sacred status was not even mentioned.

In Thimi, the theft of the Nritya Bhairav mask halted the town’s annual Gai Jatra ritual dance for 15 years. In Kirtipur, elders still offer prayers to the hollow niche where Bagh Bhairav once stood.

These are not exceptions. These are patterns.

How the Theft Happens

The art world is complicit at every level.

First come the academics—well-meaning anthropologists in the 1950s and ‘60s who documented Nepal’s temple art, often with close-up photographs and detailed descriptions. Those catalogs later served as shopping guides for traffickers.

Then come the dealers. Western buyers partner with local middlemen who offer villagers a pittance for “old metal.” Corrupt officials falsify paperwork, labeling stolen items as “donated” or “found.”

Finally, the auction houses and galleries launder these gods into “primitive art.” Sotheby’s, Christie’s, and Bonhams have all listed Nepali bronzes and paubha paintings with no verifiable provenance. Social media platforms are now part of the machine: Instagram accounts like sell stolen mandalas as “esoteric décor” to fulfill the needs of eastern enlightment through decor. 

And let’s be clear: they know what they’re doing.

The Double Standard No One Talks About

Would anyone dare steal a statue from the Vatican and list it on eBay as “vintage Catholic décor”?
Would Sotheby’s ever auction off relics from Notre Dame and call them “tribal Western ritual furniture”?
Of course not.

Western heritage is protected by law, reverence, and threat. But Nepal’s gods? They are looted and sold, misnamed and misunderstood, behind glass and under spotlights in climate-controlled galleries.

This is about power.

Museums and collectors cloak their complicity in the language of “preservation.” But preserving what, exactly? And for whom? No one “preserves” something by ripping it from a living culture and denying its return. That’s not care. That’s colonization.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has proudly displayed stolen Nepali bronzes while fighting to retain looted Cambodian art. eBay bans Nazi memorabilia, but not sacred Nepali murtis. And when Western museums finally admit a piece was stolen, they often still refuse to return it—citing “legal acquisition” or donor contracts.

Nepali gods are not relics. They are not abandoned. They are not orphans. They were taken by force or fraud, and someone is still praying for their return.

The Ongoing Damage

The loss is not just spiritual—it’s economic and cultural, too.

A 17th-century Torana once part of a Kathmandu temple façade was sold for $250,000 in New York. Meanwhile, the artisan community that carved it lives in poverty, often lacking funds to preserve or document their own work. Sacred manuscripts stolen from libraries in the Valley are now in private European collections. Some of these scrolls contained pigment recipes, oral teachings, and secret mantras—knowledge lines broken in transit.

When a deity is stolen, rituals cease. When a paubha is lost, memory is erased. This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about survival.

The Path Forward: Ethical Reverence, Not Possession

There is another way.

Across Nepal, artists, designers, and cultural workers are reimagining sacred art without stealing it. Contemporary paubha painters create original works grounded in lineage and ritual. Designers reinterpret symbols of Bhairab, Tara, or Vajrasattva not to exploit them, but to honour their stories in new forms with community guidance and artistic integrity.

At Mukut, we are part of this movement. We believe you don’t need to own a stolen object to engage with Himalayan culture. You can support living artisans. You can learn the history. You can buy contemporary interpretations, not smuggled statues.

Reverence doesn’t require possession. Culture doesn’t require plunder.

Ask the Hard Questions

Next time you see a “rare Nepalese bronze” on Etsy, ask yourself:

• Whose god is this?

• Who last offered flowers or fire to it?

• Who still weeps for its absence?

And if you’re standing in front of a museum’s Himalayan wing, ask:
Why is it here and who gave permission?

Because when sacred objects are taken without consent, that’s not appreciation. It’s extraction.
And when institutions profit from silence, that’s not preservation. It’s theft.

The gods are not for sale. Not anymore.

What Mukut Stands For: Sharing Culture Without Stealing It

At Mukut, we believe that Nepal’s sacred heritage is not a commodity to be bought and sold. Tt is a living culture to be honoured, shared, and continued with respect. Our mission is to reclaim the narrative around Nepali art by offering an alternative to the harmful trade in stolen artefact.

We recognise that you don’t need the original, centuries old statue or mask to connect with Nepal’s rich spiritual and artistic traditions. Instead, Mukut creates contemporary designs inspired by these sacred motifs, reinterpreted thoughtfully and rooted firmly in Nepali cultural memory. These are not mere copies; they are new expressions that respect the past while engaging with the present.

Through prints, wearable art, and modern renditions, Mukut invites people to bring Himalayan heritage into their lives ethically. We encourage appreciation without appropriation, connection without theft. This approach protects the living gods still worshipped in temples, supports local artists, and fosters a deeper understanding of Nepal’s intangible cultural wealth.

By choosing Mukut, you join a movement that says: You can honour Nepali culture without stealing it. You can be part of its story without erasing the communities who have preserved it for centuries.