Every tole builds its own, and building it starts inside the houses.

In the days beforehand households turn out their rooms and courtyards and sweep out a year of accumulated rubbish, on the understanding that filth is where malevolence lodges. That sweeping is not thrown away — bundled with reeds and greenery, it becomes the demon's body. Over it goes a frame of straw and bamboo, and for the face a nanglo, the flat round winnowing tray in every Newar kitchen, painted with fierce eyes and a mouth. Bells go on for ears.

The figure is raised on a tripod at the crossroads of the neighbourhood, where it stands all day. Boys guard it, string a rope across the lane, and stop passers-by to demand coins for the demon's funeral — a toll that is entirely expected and is part of the day rather than a nuisance. Households pin small clay or cloth dolls to the figure, sending away with them whatever they want gone from the year.

Bhaktapur builds the tallest and the effigies there compete tole against tole; Thimi, Bode, Tokha and Kirtipur all keep it vividly.

If you are asked for a coin at a rope across a lane in the Kathmandu Valley on this day, pay it. It is the correct answer.