The Queen is Dead, Long Live the King
It is Indra Jatra in Basantapur but in Britain, the Queen is dead. Through an early September cloudburst we navigate the uneven flag-stoned narrow streets around Om Bahal.
Water drips down my collar, drenched awnings hang limp and locals shelter in the shopfronts amidst an air of anticipation. Not far away, the elaborate chariots are assembled ready to parade Ganesh, Bhairava and the Kumari through Kathmandu and Hanuman Dhoka.
The ancient annual outing of the living goddess is the culmination of the spectacular Indra Jatra festival attended by masked dancers, musical bands, tantric priests, devotees and foreign onlookers. It marks the end of the monsoon rain to ensure a good harvest and seeks protection from the deity Indra, the temperamental ruler of heaven.
Kathmandu’s Kumari used to be royal, venerated by the Shah kings, but since the end of Nepal’s monarchy and the advent of the federal republic, it is today’s political leaders who lead the reverence in lieu of her former regal patrons.
But in Britain, despite all odds, the monarchy endures.
The sudden death of Queen Elizabeth and the transition to King Charles has rocked Britain, the Commonwealth and indeed the world over the last week. Even the Downing Street switch just two days earlier to a new Prime Minister was eclipsed by a nation engulfed with grief. We make our way through the flooded streets to sign the condolence book at the British Embassy – everyone is dressed in sombre black and President Bidya Devi Bhandari has arrived just ahead us.
All over Britain, tearful throngs gather at the gates of royal palaces to express their loyalty and respect with carpets of flowers, tributes and accolades for the late Queen Elizabeth. The June Jubilee celebrating the Queen’s unprecedented 70 years on the throne have morphed into mourning.
The well-rehearsed crimson and gold pomp and pageantry of the passing seamlessly swings into action. Within hours London resounds with solemn music, cannon salutes, black-ribboned trumpet volleys and tolling church bells. Crowds line the streets to observe the historic events, show solidarity with the bereaved new King, and witness ceremonies and sumptuous regalia dating back a thousand years that will consume the coming days.
At aged 96 the death of Queen Elizabeth could not be unexpected, but no one seems emotionally prepared for it, so keenly felt by many who had known no other British monarch and whose reign defines a constancy woven into the fabric of many of our lives.
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Kathmandu newspaper headlines were unequivocal ‘The Queen Dies’, with articles remembering her two visits and recognising the enduring bond with the British Gurkhas in both her personal and official capacity. Nepali friends confessed to sobbing at the news.
A retired Nepal army general’s eyes teared up as he told me: “She really was the most extraordinary woman who impressed the entire world and was admired by us all.” It feels good to recall incidents, recount stories, dig out photographs, find solace in collective grieving.
She became Queen the year after my birth, and I was not even three years old when my mother, a lifelong royalist, hoisted me onto her shoulders in the grimy streets of post-war Newcastle to wave our little Union Jacks as she drove by on a tour of North-East England soon after her coronation.
I last saw her in person across the parade ground in the shadow of the magnificent Wren-designed Royal Hospital in Chelsea leading a full hand of all the immediate British royal family to celebrate the 200th anniversary of Gurkhas in the British Army. I was with my mother that chilly June evening in 2015 as the purpling London night sky faded above the Nepali and British participants – smart green uniforms, precision marching, wailing bagpipes and whirling khukri.
Nepali rulers have long and affectionate ties with British royal visits dating back to Jang Bahadur and Queen Victoria, and share an entwined history since the entanglements with British India that ended in 1816. Friendly relations at that time suited the preservation of Nepal’s sovereignty as well as providing much-valued recruits for the British Army.
The relationship was further cemented when news of the first ascent of Mt Everest by Tenzing Norgay and New Zealander Edmund Hillary on a British expedition that buoyed Britain by arriving on the eve of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation in June 1953. Sir Ed, a Knight of the Garter, appreciated his close association with her, and in his understated Kiwi way was known to have thought the Queen was ‘a bit of all right’.
The Queen and Prince Philip have twice visited Nepal. First was the infamous tiger hunt of 1961 hosted by King Mahendra, saluted by 376 domestic elephants, catered by Boris Lissanevitch and immortalised in the book Tiger for Breakfast.
Our Tiger Tops Meghauli grass airstrip was carved out of the thick jungle, ‘coolies’ cleared insects from the royal camp and allegedly tipped buckets of water into the cistrn when the chain was pulled in the hastily constructed royal loo.
But the 1961 trip can be said to have signalled the early beginnings of Nepal’s tiger conservation story. The Duke of Edinburgh, the first president of WWF, refused to hunt in order to highlight the need for conservation, pleading a diplomatically bandaged trigger finger -- little comfort to the Chitwan tigers and rhino that were shot by others in the party that day.
During the second state visit 25 years later in early 1986, I and others had the chance to shake her hand in the garden of the British Embassy in Kathmandu. The emphasis was on development, diplomacy and the decades of service by the British Gurkha, with moving meetings with highly decorated veteran heroes of the ranks.
The Duke of Edinburgh broke away from the main program to revisit his old hunting ground, gratifyingly now protected as Royal Chitwan National Park and South Asia’s first natural World Heritage Site. Binoculared and safari-suited, he spent a peaceful day in the Tarai jungles with then-Prince Gyanendra and joined us at Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge for lunch.
The new King Charles III has been in Nepal on three occasions, first representing the Queen at King Birendra’s splendid coronation in 1975 amongst many world leaders -- Imelda Marcos was observed flirting with him. King Charles returned twice to trek in the Annapurnas, an official visit accompanied by Prince Dhirendra in 1980 and a private one with friends in 1992.
Both were planned and organised by trek pioneer Col Jimmy Roberts, but his walking days were over and I recced the first Royal Trek route in 1980 with Pertemba Sherpa, mountaineer and one of Mountain Travel’s star sirdars. Then-Prince Charles strode uphill towards the silhouetted skyline tree that still bears his name near the first day lunch spot where Tiger Mountain Pokhara Lodge now stands, accompanied by a royal retinue that included security detail, radio operators and medics equipped with blood.
‘The mountain views were gin clear for all four days,’ Colonel Jimmy noted with satisfaction. My task was to escort the press pack back down to file their stories. Only the murder of John Lennon knocked the Nepal story off the world’s front pages.
No photographs survive of the Prince’s Trek, the circuit south of Phewa Tal that we organised for the Prince of Wales’ second private trek in 1992. But I was with him in Pokhara at the British Gurkha camp for the pre-trek briefing and a jolly dinner in the mess tent hosted by the Colonel. It was a turbulent time for Charles, following the India visit where Princess Diana was famously photographed perched alone and forlorn on a marble bench in front of the Taj Mahal.
The well-worn navy leather wallet engraved with the silver three feathers insignia presented to me by the Prince, sorry I mean King, is in my bag that sad morning after his mother’s death as I dodge the downpour in a festive Kathmandu Darbar Square.
His long apprenticeship over, every day Charles is looking more like a king. Whilst a bereaved country gets used to new words in an old anthem, updated bank notes and other ritual changes, he faces the controversies of modernising the monarchy in a complex post-colonial world.
The Queen is dead, long live the King.
Lisa Choegyal wrote the column So Far So Good in Nepali Times from 2018-2020. She is a sustainable tourism specialist who has made Kathmandu her home since 1974.
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