&nbsp;Episode 1: Buddhists embracing Hindu gods
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&nbsp;Episode 2: Drawing inspiration from Hindu gods
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&nbsp;Episode 3: Erawin - The Symbol of Syncretism&nbsp;
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Religious harmony

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Prime Minister Juddha Shamsher Rana built the NJJR probably to transport logs cut on his forested birta land north of Janakpur to sell in India. The 2’6” narrow-gauge railway extended north from Jaynagar, India 29km to Janakpur and another 22km to Bhutaha/Bijalpura, cost 680,000 Indian rupees to build, and opened for business December 1937. The Nepali engineer in charge of construction was Capt Tilak Bahadur Rayamajhi, who in 1908 was one of the first Nepalis to receive a civil engineering degree in India.&nbsp; After 1950, the line from Janakpur to Bhutaha had little commercial value and was out of service. Until the late 1970s, there were no proper motorable roads connecting Dhanusha and Mahottari Districts with India. The NJJR was the only transportation alternative for people who had to otherwise go on foot, bicycle or ox carts to India.&nbsp; The NJJR also played an important role in religious tourism, as hundreds of thousands Indian pilgrims visited Janakpur annually to participate in the Bibaha Panchami, Rama Navami, and Janaki Navami. For the Bihari peasant bound for Janaki Mandir in 1955, sitting on the roof of a slow-moving train was a luxury compared to trudging 29km on foot from the Indian border. The first manager of the NJJR in Janakpur was Lt Hem Bahadur Gadtaula-Chhetri. The general manager from 1942-58 was Rekha Bahadur Rayamajhi of Bhojpur, posted at the railway’s main office at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94" data-rendition-name="original" width="1014" height="680" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A steam train excursion for foreigners in 1999. The last steam excursion on the Janakpur Railway ran in 2006. Photo: GORDON EDGAR</figcaption> </figure>  Rama and Seeta, the railway’s first two appropriately named locomotives, were built in Berlin in 1936. In view of the rising power of Adolf Hitler’s Germany at that time, was Prime Minister Juddha trying to cultivate the Third Reich in hopes of reducing Nepal’s virtually total dependence on British India?&nbsp; In 1939 Adolf Hitler gifted a Mercedes-Benz 230 Pullman Landaulet to Juddha as a way to convince him not to let the British use their Gurkha regiments against Germany in World War II. The car had to be disassembled and carried over the mountains to Kathmandu and reassembled.&nbsp; The Nepali Congress-led campaign against Rana rule received considerable support in Janakpur and the eastern Tarai. In December 1951, King Tribhuvan rode the NJJR from Jaynagar to Janakpur, and thousands thronged to catch sight of a king of whom they had heard but never seen. As operations on the Nepali Government Railway came to an end, its European-made engines were transferred to the NJJR. King Mahendra ordered two more locomotives named Chandra and Surya for the NJJR in 1962. They were built in Leeds and traveled from Liverpool to Calcutta to Jaynagar to begin their service.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335" data-rendition-name="original" width="2144" height="1399" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Inside the Nepal Janakpur Jayanagar Railway workshop at Khajuri. By the early 2000s, management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway. Photo: GEOFF WARREN</figcaption> </figure>  The NJJR was renamed Janakpur Railway (JR) in 1965 and became the Nepal Railway Company in 2004. Unlike most government-owned enterprises in Nepal of that era, the JR and Nepal Government Railway operated at a profit for many years. In 1947, its total income was 225,000 Indian rupees, with a profit exceeding 100,000 rupees.&nbsp; In FY1974/75, the railway had revenues of 2.6 million rupees and a profit of 443,000 rupees. It is unclear if depreciation expenses were accounted for. Only from the mid-1980s did the railway begin to lose money. The NJJR did a booming passenger business. Ridership increased from 197,000 in 1960/61 to 1.4 million in 1977/78. Revenue increased from 770,000 rupees in 1966/67 to 2.6 million rupees in 1974/75. Yet warning signs appeared in the 1970s that the railway was living on borrowed time.&nbsp; &nbsp;A foreign consultant conducted a comprehensive study of the railway in 1975 and concluded that ‘the entire railway is very old and worn out, and unless a total rehabilitation’ of the railway was undertaken, it would ‘be forced to close in a very short time’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1387" height="784" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A second class ticket issued in 2004 costing Rs7.25 between Janakpurdham to Jaynagar. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  CHUGGING ALONG An investment of two million rupees resulted in some improvements between 1976 and 1979 but rolling stock and most infrastructure were neglected for another 15 years. Yet somehow the JR’s trains kept chugging along for the next 42 years, often late, with service frequently suspended due to floods.&nbsp; Nearly every year, monsoon rains swept away some of the 135 bridges and tracks and embankments. An RSS News Agency bulletin in August 1975 noted that parts of Janakpur were ‘under 2.5 feet of water’, and the railway tracks near Khajuri were covered by four feet of water.&nbsp; The Jaynagar line was damaged in many places by the swollen Jaladi, Kamala and Jamuni Rivers. Trains to Bijalpura were suspended. For each week railway service was suspended a loss of 75,000 rupees resulted.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163" data-rendition-name="original" width="1202" height="770" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR MAP"> </figure>  There were also accidents. Trains made only two or three roundtrips daily between Jaynagar and Janakpur and ran at slow speeds, so there were few passenger fatalities, but there were frequent derailments due to the worn rails and overloaded carriages. A RSS report in 1976 said a train derailed near Mahinathpur, and some passengers riding on the roof fell off and were injured. ‘Such accidents occur because the coaches are not regularly maintained and repaired. The speed of the train has been reduced from 12 to 8 miles per hour, since the old and rickety coaches rattle and sway from side to side if driven too fast. The trains take an incredible 4 to 5 hours to cover 28 kilometres,’ the report noted. Gangs of dacoits occasionally boarded trains and robbed passengers. Another RSS report in December 1972 said ‘Six dacoits armed with guns and revolvers looted 13 railway passengers travelling from Janakpurdham to Jaynagar [last] Sunday. The [loot] included wrist watches, gold rings, currency notes and other paraphernalia of the passengers…The dacoits raided third-class bogie number 2 soon after the train started from Khajuri station. The dacoits after plundering the passengers jumped down from the running train about two miles from the Nepal-India border [and fled into India.]’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419" data-rendition-name="original" width="1498" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Narrow-gauge tracks in Jayanagar in India going north toward Nepal. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  Strikes and political protests also stopped the train from time to time. From the early 2000s Maoist and Tarai-based groups enforced stoppages with threats and intimidation that closed schools, shops, government offices, and brought transport services to a halt. Six minor political parties organised a strike in Janakpur in May 2001. Agitators stopped a train near Janakpur and pelted it with stones, breaking windows and injuring the driver. The railway came to a standstill in May 2004 after Maoists set fire to the Mahinathpur station. During February-March 2006, the Maoists obstructed rail service six times. A cylinder bomb exploded inside a train near Parbaha station in May 2009 injuring 30 passengers. Between 1993-2003, the railway had nine general managers who had influence with Kathmandu’s political and bureaucratic elites, but none of whom knew much about railways. Management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1140" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Coal was unavailable, so Seetaa-Ram, the railway’s first two locomotives, burnt wood for fuel. Photo: BASIL ROBERTS</figcaption> </figure>  Revenue ‘leakage’ was significant, as perhaps twenty percent of the passengers rode without tickets. Railway staff was bloated, in 1996 there were 340 on the payroll, many of them with political connections who needed jobs. Safety measures for railway operations were non-existent.&nbsp; There were no performance reviews, no criteria for promotion, and no training opportunities for workers to improve their skills. But the locals continued to ride their beloved railway. For 56 years, the Janakpur Railway received no foreign assistance, not even one rupee of foreign aid. That changed in 1994 when the Indian government provided two used diesel locomotives and 12 used coaches. Two years later, India supplied two more engines and 12 more coaches and promised some upgrades.&nbsp; This gave the railway a new lease on life, but the road network in the eastern Tarai had expanded,making the railway redundant. It also did not connect with the East-West Highway, the major transportation artery across the Tarai, nor could it seamlessly interconnect with India’s broad-gauge rail network at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f" data-rendition-name="original" width="3239" height="1429" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Pashupati, Nepal's first locomotive, in retirement at Khajuri in 1996. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  The railway carried no goods, all cargo traffic migrated to trucks. During the 1980s and 1990s, British and European train spotters traveled to India to ride its few remaining steam locomotives, including those of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. Some took a side trip to Jaynagar where they, without Nepal visas, were thrilled to ride a train to Janakpur without encountering a border check post or immigration officials. Other visa-complying tour groups arranged steam trains for 60,000 rupees or more.&nbsp; The last steam excursion ran in 2006, and after that, foreign interest in the railway evaporated. Cascading financial losses and government indifference coupled with irregular, unreliable service finished on the Janakpur Railway.&nbsp; Seventy-six years of remarkable narrow-gauge railroading in Nepal ended not with a bang but a whimper on January 20, 2014. Sic transit gloria. Dan Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. This is the third instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal.

The saga of Nepal Jaynagar-Janakpur Railway

Nikita Gautam was watching angry street protests from the terrace of her home in Gaushala on 9 September when a group started attacking the police station across the road. Soon, it was on fire. Police fired back, and a bullet tore through Nikita’s chest and hit another neighbour who was also watching. Nikita died on the way to hospital.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025101712108_5257071d3688c9340a577ac80ec7af1b7e1130332c0cfcb9291583cdf981f339.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025101712108_5257071d3688c9340a577ac80ec7af1b7e1130332c0cfcb9291583cdf981f339" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>LIVE ROUND: The police bullet that pierced 19-year-old Nikita Gautam, killing her, was lodged in the body of a neighbour on 9 September. Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Nikita, 19, had just completed high school and was among 75 people killed during Nepal’s violent GenZ protests last month. For their families the Dasain festival was spent in mourning. Tihar will be just memories. Bhai Tika, the sibling ritual which this year falls on 23 October, will be especially poignant for those who have lost their sisters or brothers in the protests.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121012_c889f6e100068a0eda93014152d3cc0877a365feb6f525de1b3a2024c279e995.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251017121012_c889f6e100068a0eda93014152d3cc0877a365feb6f525de1b3a2024c279e995" data-rendition-name="original" width="609" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>Nikita with her brother Nirmal (right) at Bhai Tika before he left for Denmark two years ago. Photo courtesy: NIRMAL GAUTAM</figcaption> </figure>  Nikita’s brother, Nirmal, is studying in Denmark and the siblings were very close. He was trying to find a way to get Nikita also enrolled in college in Denmark. “We used to talk daily on video call, she used to tell me whatever she couldn’t share with our parents,” a distraught Nirmal told us. “She was taking photos and videos of the GenZ protests and sending it to me.” Nirmal had not been back for Bhai Tika the last two years, but was planning to visit this year. He rushed back to Nepal after finding out about his sister, but there is no Nikita to put a tika on his forehead.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121012_d085fdc310ff048f870c87c41b940407640488ab010cadca109f1d1725e870b0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251017121012_d085fdc310ff048f870c87c41b940407640488ab010cadca109f1d1725e870b0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1001" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>Nikita's mother Kalpana Gautam is still in shock more than a month after GenZ protest that killed her daughter.</figcaption> </figure>  The Gautam family is originally from Chitwan, moved to Kathmandu 33 years ago and lived in a rented flat 200m from the police station at the Gaushala intersection. A month later, their mother Kalpana Gautam is still in shock. Nikita was a loving child who took care of the children in the neighbourhood. She says: “With Nikita gone, we cannot console ourselves.” Nirmal has now returned to Denmark, and cannot come to terms with the void that losing his sister has left. “There is nothing left to do for me but to relive in my mind the countless memories of my sister.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121012_5cdc08e8dce7c1fcc5c27ef3d26a48814b70234f023ddf4afdbe7dd77cc5aad0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251017121012_5cdc08e8dce7c1fcc5c27ef3d26a48814b70234f023ddf4afdbe7dd77cc5aad0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>Unable to bear the memories of Nikita, her parents have gotten rid of almost all of her stuff except this photo album.</figcaption> </figure>  UMESH MAHAT On the same day that he got his work visa for the UAE, 20-year-old Umesh Mahat was also shot at the Gaushala intersection. Umesh’s sister Sumitra, 29, is the eldest of four siblings. Their parents are still in their hometown in Sindhupalchok. “Our family’s happiness has been snatched, there is a gaping hole that cannot be filled. There is no Bhai Tika this year,” says a tearful Sumita.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121016_45fb7e83a9ceb1a7d14364e97f4c5535271ae1a76238a4c384e6a5ff0f8da202.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251017121016_45fb7e83a9ceb1a7d14364e97f4c5535271ae1a76238a4c384e6a5ff0f8da202" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1002" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>TEARS IN HEAVEN: Sumitra Mahat's brother, Umesh, was killed when the police opened fire on protesters on 9 September. </figcaption> </figure>  Umesh was fun-loving, always respectful and willing to help others. He was close to the family and was the glue that held everyone together. He was good in studies and sports, and loved to play football. Sumitra’s 10-year-old son is still in shock, not quite comprehending the enormity of the loss of his uncle. Members of the family say it is pointless living in a country that kills its own. Umesh has been declared a martyr, but Sumitra and the family want those responsible punished, the individuals who ordered firing. “He used to tell me not to worry about his protests, that he is there and will always take care of the family,” recalls Sumitra. “He is gone forever and will not be taking care of anyone anymore.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121016_fb60559e8fe82d678065cdfae8c887f8e9ee1450cd9ee42ec5f2af8879c4902f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251017121016_fb60559e8fe82d678065cdfae8c887f8e9ee1450cd9ee42ec5f2af8879c4902f" data-rendition-name="original" width="225" height="224" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>Umesh Mahat. Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  GAURAV JOSHI Gaurav Joshi, 27, was killed on 9 September. His sister Ayusha has been posting videos and raising her voice through social media. She recalls the last conversation she had with her brother where he told her he was coming home soon after the curfew was imposed on 8 September. Minutes later, he had been shot outside Parliament. His last words still ring in her ears, and they haunt Ayusha. Her posts on social media hold the police and previous administration accountable, demanding that the new government focus on justice and not festivities.&nbsp; While the rest of Nepal celebrates Dasain, tihar and Chhath the families of those killed in the GenZ protests are making rounds of Singha Darbar and Baluwatar seeking justice.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017121016_34012d814325cdb16cd63001c683db37a28695deb89ab48729aad5e1a630a4bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251017121016_34012d814325cdb16cd63001c683db37a28695deb89ab48729aad5e1a630a4bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="488" height="519" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ Tihar"> <figcaption>Gaurav Joshi. Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  They want information about who gave the orders and who executed those orders to shoot students point blank in the head, and chest with live bullets from automatic weapons. Families of the victims say their children were purposefully targeted and are angry that the investigation is too slow, and may absolve the culprits. Sumitra Mahat is making rounds of government offices in Kathmandu. She says: “We have been going round and round in circles for a month from one office to another. No one listens to our demands for justice. We want the perpetrators punished, but it feels like they are dragging their feet.”

Dark Tihar

Between Dasain rites and Tihar lights, the 21st edition of Surya Nepal Jazzmandu ended with a hearty deusi jam session at The Malla Hotel on Wednesday. The festival began last week with a concert for a lively young crowd at St Xavier’s School. Across town, the first bassline dropped at Jazz Upstairs with an impromptu ensemble as dusk fell over the city.&nbsp; Over the intervening days, Jazzmanduites faced a delightful dilemma of choosing between a lineup of intimate venues, each sending waves of music across the valley.&nbsp; “Because of the unrest, audiences from all over the world were inquiring and waiting for Jazzmandu,” said Navin Chettri, drummer of Cadenza Collective and co-founder of Jazzmandu. “The fact that they came was a testament to the power of music, and spoke of Nepal’s resilience.” German artist Leona Berlin’s R&amp;B was the one to watch, while cymbals echoed during the Swiss quartet mohs. set with Nu Jazz and neo-soul. The enthralling and soulful ragas from Jonisha Poudel rose over Patan’s brick courtyard as the sax joined in celebration. “Jazz was born from struggle and social unrest – and what emerged was something beautiful. In times like these, that spirit is something we can all aspire to,” said Jason Amirhadji, a first-time visitor to Nepal. Femke Smit and Mike Del Ferro from the Netherlands infused the air with the colourful, flowing spirit of Brazilian music. With Smit’s voice and Del Ferro on the piano, the audience was swaying to the music.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017101044_387ec0041807e1fb237094607394533a0f0f940e297c56abf994cd3657ba9b06.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251017101044_387ec0041807e1fb237094607394533a0f0f940e297c56abf994cd3657ba9b06" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Jazzmandu 2025 NT 1"> <figcaption>Nick Aggs. Photo: LOCHAN GYAWALI</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017101044_5178d79872a2495b486e3933f19e29ea3ab2538ae3ce50ca6f7117b73646f5a4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251017101044_5178d79872a2495b486e3933f19e29ea3ab2538ae3ce50ca6f7117b73646f5a4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="Femke Smit"> <figcaption>Femke Smit. Photo: ADITYA KHARE</figcaption> </figure>  “This is a synthesis between Nepali folk music and international jazz,” explained flautist Roshan Putwar before hopping on stage to play a soulful set. Putwar has researched Dāphā music and performed across the world. For the past weeks, the city’s pulse has been political: streets echoing with demands for change, there are still aftershocks of the upheaval that left the city weary and voices raw. And in the evenings, jazz acts too resonated with a quiet defiance. Musicians bent notes in response to the disquiet, and the audience imbibed it with eyes closed. “It takes great courage to come to Nepal after what happened and with the artists’ support we are able to revive unity and healing through music,” says festival co-organiser Samir Chettri, bassist of Cadenza Collective. “Music heals, and this festival brought positivity and peace among all.” The Cadenza Collective shared the stage with Australian saxophonist and composer Nick Aggs, a Brisbane native and member of the fusion group Afro Dizzi Act in a mix called Afrodenza.&nbsp; “It’s a privilege to play with musicians all over the world, especially with Cadenza because I’ve known the boys since 1999,” said Aggs.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017101048_944c4fb4be1d7d33cb7979ae57ccbb084d9eafffc4a48fa8690802049dcdf74a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251017101048_944c4fb4be1d7d33cb7979ae57ccbb084d9eafffc4a48fa8690802049dcdf74a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="Jazzmandu 2025"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017101048_a903986ea8a49881f5d94c05a23141db4800e11d6121afb0ece354feabb9bf9c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251017101048_a903986ea8a49881f5d94c05a23141db4800e11d6121afb0ece354feabb9bf9c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="Jazzmandu 2025"> </figure>  On Saturday, musicians and fans gathered for an open-sky Jazz Bazaar at Gokarna Forest Resort. Brazilian singer and composer Catia Werneck’s quartet got the audience on its feet to their bossa nova and samba tunes. “It’s the highest music festival in the world,” Werneck beamed. Every solo, every exchange between tabla and drums, sounded the amalgamation of east and the west here at the heart of Nepal. On Tuesday, the audience clapped and danced as a mix of artists performed songs like ‘Blues Selo’ and ‘Shiva’s Dance’, at Yalamaya Kendra in Patan. There were jazz fans who came to Kathmandu just for the music, like Namrata Raju from India. She said: “This was our second Jazzmandu. The artists were thoughtfully curated. There were people from all over the world, and the festival sets an example of music, peace and cultural appreciation”&nbsp; Chethana Salian from Oman agreed: “This is my first time at Jazzmandu, and what a fabulous way to let your hair down with some foot-tapping music. Added a bunch of the artists to my morning playlist, especially Cadenza Collective.” &nbsp; Cadenza’s Navin Chhetri sipped his beer, satisfied at the success of the festival: “Jazzmandu is becoming a tourism draw for musicians and audiences alike.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017101052_b4d1d7ff25f9c97c06f34916c6555a1ce5ccf415d3e7610d9ae6402e477b7bfe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251017101052_b4d1d7ff25f9c97c06f34916c6555a1ce5ccf415d3e7610d9ae6402e477b7bfe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="Jazzmandu 2025"> </figure>  The Samundra band representing Nepal’s Gandharva community opened the finale with rousing Tihar songs played on sarangi, flute and madal. Joelle Loretan from Switzerland, another first-timer in Nepal, spoke of the positivity of Nepalis: “The people here are so welcoming and in good spirits despite what they have been through.” &nbsp;

The healing power of music

In early 20th century, Prime Minister Chandra Shamsher Rana wanted to build a railway from the Indian border north towards Kathmandu to reduce the costs of transporting food and other supplies.&nbsp; It would also facilitate travel of thousands of Hindu pilgrims from India, who had to walk up to five days to reach Kathmandu to celebrate Shivaratri and other religious festivals. The plan was to bring a railway up to Dhursing, where a ropeway to Kathmandu had just been constructed. This would avoid the need to carry supplies on the backs of porters from Birganj to Bhimphedi then over Chandragiri Pass to the Valley. However, the costs of building a railway to Dhursing were found excessive because of the steep grades trains would encounter north of Amlekhganj.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404100_ffac8f6a5b41d2727ae92690ccced8da5d2684cc88d933c75b9c90f555956757.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025100404100_ffac8f6a5b41d2727ae92690ccced8da5d2684cc88d933c75b9c90f555956757" data-rendition-name="original" width="1554" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Mahabir, a unique Garratt locomotive, built in Manchester, England in 1932. Collection: RICHARD PELHAM</figcaption> </figure>  A Calcutta firm Martin &amp; Company surveyed and built the Nepal Government Railway (NGR) in one year at a cost of approximately 1.1 million Indian rupees. The 30 lb narrow-gauge rails, 2’ 6” apart, extended 29 miles from Raxaul, India to Birganj, Parwanipur, Jitpur, Simara and Amlekhganj. Prime Minister Chandra, his wife, other Rana officials, and King Tribhuvan attended the dedication ceremony in Raxaul on 16 February 1927. It was only the second time in history a Nepal king had stepped foot on foreign soil. The NGR began service with two steam locomotives, 4-6-0 tanks (indicating wheel arrangements) built in Leeds, England in 1926. They were given the auspicious names of Pashupati and Guhyeshwari. As traffic increased, the NGR later purchased Goraknath (in 1928), Mahabir, Krishna, Sita-Ram, and lastly Sri Bishnu (in 1949).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404100_864b56ea45c837a9b4110bccb2df09a0011b2e2ad20202b3f9d9316d2b4fdce5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025100404100_864b56ea45c837a9b4110bccb2df09a0011b2e2ad20202b3f9d9316d2b4fdce5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1523" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Gorarkhnath on a bridge north of Birganj in 1958. Photo: DEREK CROSS</figcaption> </figure>  Railway engines embodied a religious-cultural significance besides their secular importance as mechanisms of transportation. These engines later ran on the Janakpur Railway as well. A British citizen, W S Pedrick was the NGR’s chief officer from 1927 to 1941. Tek Jung Thapa then became NGR general manager until 1959, when Kulbir Singh KC replaced him. Devendra Singh KC took over in 1963. A Bengali, Radha Charan Bhattarchaya, lived in Birganj and worked as an accountant and auditor for the NGR for 25 years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404104_1d7e97674ebac55bf3634ce9e44fc3af617b1bac9cb7fc818278329f44bf7e62.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025100404104_1d7e97674ebac55bf3634ce9e44fc3af617b1bac9cb7fc818278329f44bf7e62" data-rendition-name="original" width="1051" height="1297" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Sardar Tek JungThapa, the Nepal Government Railway (NGR) general manager for many years. Photo: ANIL JUNG THAPA</figcaption> </figure>  The opening of the Tribhuvan Rajpath and the advent of air cargo services in the late 1950s took traffic away from the NGR. During 1956-57, the NGR carried 255,000 passengers and 60,000 tons of freight and made an estimated profit of 800,000 Indian rupees. By 1963-64, the railway transported only 66,450 passengers, 30,070 tons of goods and for the first time in its history operated at a loss of 151,000 rupees. Passenger service ended in June 1965, and all freight trains were suspended on 13 April 1968. A sporadic 5km 'freight shuttle service' between Birganj and Raxaul continued until the late 1980s.&nbsp; The NGR played an important role in Nepal’s commercial life. During 1937-38, the top four products imported into Nepal by value were cloth, iron, yarn, and cigarettes. Since Kathmandu was the largest market for imports, many of those and other products were loaded on NGR freight cars at Raxaul and transported to Amlekhganj, then by lorry to Dhursing, finally by ropeway to Kathmandu.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404100_e3157ef1cd2ce312902d40178aa9d35cab1b9b23dfc0d0f37e77ce59b3df756d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025100404100_e3157ef1cd2ce312902d40178aa9d35cab1b9b23dfc0d0f37e77ce59b3df756d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1619" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Sita-Ram at Amlekhganj in 1958. Photo: DEREK CROSS</figcaption> </figure>  Passenger traffic also was impressive. During World War II, the NGR did a booming business transporting Nepal Army troops to India for garrison duty and services abroad. For example, 6,000 soldiers from two Nepali brigades rode the NGR during March 1940. At the end of the war, Maharaja Juddha Shamsher stated that Nepal had sent 148,500 troops to India at British request. Many of those men rode the NGR on their return to Nepal in 1945. A 1936 document in Nepal’s National Archives shows the NGR had nearly 170 employees that year. Annual salaries for those in the General Department ranged from 1,200 Indian rupees (a medical officer) to nine sweepers at 102 rupees. In the Traffic Department, five station managers each received 384 rupees, while four trolley men got 132 rupees. The Engineering Department supervisor’s salary was 1,800 rupees, while eight guards were paid 120 rupees each. Locomotive drivers took home 300 rupees, firemen 204 rupees. The Ranas had outlawed unions, but with regime change in 1951, railway workers went on strike and submitted a list of demands to the government for higher salaries, more sick leave, free housing, and establishment of a provident fund. Nepali Congress Minister Bhadra Kali Mishra met with railway representatives and made promises, but workers were not satisfied and continued their protests throughout the 1950s, actions that Nepal’s Communist Party enthusiastically endorsed. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251004031056_ef965e3369c8947dddd53fc69986ceff8ea0ae037474252e4ff3d2623df70fe8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251004031056_ef965e3369c8947dddd53fc69986ceff8ea0ae037474252e4ff3d2623df70fe8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1733" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway"> <figcaption>Mahabir with a freight train leaving Raxaul in 1964. Photo: FRITZ LEHMAN</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;In his book Prachin Sansmaran, Ram Mani Dixit tells how he and a party of Nepali officials and soldiers were entrusted with 1,530 boxes of Indian currency worth nine million rupees to deliver to the Calcutta mint in 1939. A special NGR train left Amlekhganj with the treasure, but being heavily overloaded, the train rapidly gained speed, and Dixit and the party became alarmed and began crying “Narayan, Narayan” in fear. The driver lost control, the train derailed, soldiers were thrown from the wagons, and silver coins were scattered in the jungle. Dixit and his colleagues managed to escape through the coach windows with only bumps and bruises. The NGR repeatedly faced several problems in operating its trains. Its engines could run on wood, but coal was the preferred fuel, and coal supplies from India sometimes were interrupted.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404104_1b5c40eb721f6d1c019764a7208ef93883374261f3823bf82606ca0599a12546.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025100404104_1b5c40eb721f6d1c019764a7208ef93883374261f3823bf82606ca0599a12546" data-rendition-name="original" width="1548" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Gorarkhnath taking water at Simara. Photo: DEREL CROSS</figcaption> </figure>  By the 1940s, spare parts for its locomotives were hard to obtain from England, and its 30 lb. rails could not support heavier equipment that would allow more efficient and less costly operations. While mechanics with only on-the-job training performed heroically to keep broken-down equipment repaired and in service, regular maintenance was neglected, and the Ranas took no steps to invest the amounts needed to modernise the railway. Nor did matters improve with the advent of democracy in 1951. Nepal’s First Five-Year Plan (1956-1961) for the transportation sector focused its attention and provided funds for building roads and airports. In Nepal’s transportation family, railways were the sano bhai, even the sautini bhai. However, the NGR was not forgotten, and several studies were conducted from 1952 to 1971 to consider what should and could be done with the NGR. A report by Indian railway officials in 1952 described the alternatives: rehabilitate the NGR at minimal cost; rehabilitate it as a permanent measure; convert the line to a metre-gauge railway, extend the existing narrow-gauge line from Amlekhganj to Hetauda after rehabilitating the entire system; or construct a new metre-gauge line to Hetauda.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404100_16b15ff70330db854836323a6827b53ceec5cbc14691748f7cdf61b9dd767e22.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2025100404100_16b15ff70330db854836323a6827b53ceec5cbc14691748f7cdf61b9dd767e22" data-rendition-name="original" width="1525" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Gorakhnath heading toward Birganj. Children around the world are fascinated by the sight and sound of steam locomotives. Photo: DAVID CROSS</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal adopted the last and most expensive alternative, but all that was accomplished was a survey of a new line to Hetauda. There were no efforts to implement the ambitious project or to secure the necessary funding. As the NGR rapidly deteriorated after 1956, newspaper stories and editorials rallied to support the railway and criticised government inaction. A 1959 article claimed that 'ill-feeling and disunity are prevalent among railway employees, and this has resulted in inefficient service causing anxiety and inconveniences for passengers. Local people who know the inside stories of the Railway are afraid to make a journey even up to one station.' In 1964, another paper wrote: 'The Nepal Government Railway is no more than a heap of scrap iron. The number of passengers is negligible. The Government has become completely indifferent towards the condition of the railway.'  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251004031056_c27b470a52bf8f66d7d56fef8bcbf1e3d74d997c5fd66d7e9e3085f322e7de92.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20251004031056_c27b470a52bf8f66d7d56fef8bcbf1e3d74d997c5fd66d7e9e3085f322e7de92" data-rendition-name="original" width="1519" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>Shri Bishnu under repair at Birganj. Photo: JOHN BENSON</figcaption> </figure>  Another article charged: 'The NGR has reached a stage of total ruination… Employees never receive their salaries in time… The train starts with ticketless passengers. No government authority ever inspects this wretched transport [system]... It is painful to note that we cannot improve the condition of such a small railway. We appeal to the Government…to improve the condition of this railway.' A 1965 World Bank study of Nepal’s transportation needs provided the coup de grace. It recommended the NGR be abandoned, as the cost of rehabilitation was excessive and did not solve the problem of incompatible track gauges at Raxaul, which necessitated transferring by hand freight from India Railway’s metre-gauge wagons to NGR’s narrow-gauge wagons. Nevertheless, Indian technicians completed surveys and submitted reports to Nepal in 1967 for rehabilitating the NGR, but by then the situation was hopeless: the railway was losing 300,000 rupees a year. Yet a few government officials continued to advocate for broad gauging the then-defunct NGR and extending it to Hetauda.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025100404100_9c70a2962fba05a9dbf239efd539adb42663070594bcc014bf84c9f2d1a05329.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025100404100_9c70a2962fba05a9dbf239efd539adb42663070594bcc014bf84c9f2d1a05329" data-rendition-name="original" width="1504" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Life and times of Nepal Government Railway NT"> <figcaption>The former NGR station at Amlekhganj in 2017. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  Again, Indian engineers conducted a survey for such a 52-mile broad-gauge, electric line in 1971 and submitted a reportto the government. They estimated the project would cost at least $200 million plus $60 million more for rolling stock. India’s Railway Ministry promptly concluded it was not a viable project, and the report died in Nepal’s byzantine bureaucracy. It seems some dreams never die, and hope springs eternal. In April 2018, the prime ministers of India and Nepal met in New Delhi and agreed to build an electric rail line from Raxaul to Kathmandu and that India would conduct the studies and pay the full costs of construction. That was seven years ago. No rails have yet been laid. Costs continue to escalate, and no guaranteed funding has been secured. Will we ever see electric broad-gauge trains arriving in Kathmandu? Certainly not in this author’s lifetime, but then he is no longer a young man. &nbsp;&nbsp; Read aoslo: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/nepal-s-five-little-railways">Nepal’s five little railways</a>, Dan Edwards Dan Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. This is the second instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal.

Life and times of Nepal Government Railway

Remember their names

This is the first instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal. Nepal’s Forest Railways As<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/india-s-border-trains-that-connected-nepal"> India’s railway network </a>expanded in the 1890s and 1900s, the demand for wooden railway sleepers, called ‘ties’ in America, likewise increased. The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/the-rana-reign-a-recap-of-history,3751">Rana regime</a> realised that western Nepal’s dense forests, from which sal trees could be extracted and sold, represented a valuable source of revenue. There was a problem of accessing large tracts of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-tarai-s-shrinking-forests">Tarai forests</a>. However, once Indian railway lines are extended to Nepal’s border in several places, this issue could be resolved by constructing logging railways, also known as ‘tramways’ or ‘light railways’. The Nepal Government awarded a contract to Punjabi timber contractors to supply 15,000 sal sleepers to Chandan Chauki station of India’s Oudh &amp; Rohilkhand State Railway in 1908. The contractors also received a concession to construct a steam tramway to run 48km into <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/reviving-nepals-community-forestry-success-story">Nepal’s forests</a> for cutting and transporting trees. The author found no records, however, indicating that such an ambitious tramway was built in 1908. The hewn logs were probably carried into India by bullock carts or <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/elephants-become-white-elephants">elephants</a>. The earliest known forest railway in Nepal was built in 1914 in the southwestern corner of the present-day Parsa district. A British engineer went to the Indian border town of Bikna Thori to plan a 4-mile portable light railway for the transport of timber from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/on-the-tri-junction-of-wildlife-conservation-conflict-and-co-existence">the forest of Chitwan </a>to the Thori depot on the Bengal &amp; Northwestern Railway. This short line was laid upon wooden sleepers, and its rails could be taken up and repositioned when logging in one section of the forest was completed. This forest railway was in operation at least through 1917.&nbsp; A few year down the line in 1923, J V Collier of the Indian Forest Service built a narrow-gauge railway in Kailali district also to export of timber to India. This line, the Nepal Government Forest Railway, departed Chandan Chauki in Uttar Pradesh and ran 48km northwest into Nepal.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250824150820_84ddef57433c2f847b2c7e56c2d9c924084b6e6a504bbca905d2c593fac8eabd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250824150820_84ddef57433c2f847b2c7e56c2d9c924084b6e6a504bbca905d2c593fac8eabd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1130" height="689" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's little railways"> <figcaption>A Nepal Government Forest train in Kailali District hauling sal sleepers in 1925. Photo: DAVID CHURCHILL </figcaption> </figure>  It was a 2-foot railway supported by 11kg rails. The line was ‘temporary’ in that as sal trees were thinned out in one area, railway tracks were shifted to uncut areas of the forest. The railway crossed seven small <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-what-is-left-of-himalayan-rivers">rivers</a>, but the bridges were taken down during the summer and monsoon. Trains ran only from November to April. This forest railway purchased four 4-6-0T ‘tank’ engines built in Leeds, England. Each bogie could carry 100 broad-gauge sleepers, and two engines were needed to haul a 21-car train loaded with 2,100 sleepers. This huge commercial forest operation once employed about 14,000 men, most of them Indians. During one season, nearly 800,000 broad and metre-gauge sleepers were exported to India. When India suffered a depression in 1930, large scale operations came to an end. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rust-in-peace?fbclid=IwAR1_eg88TCOS6RGRW1af7WvaWx5mzh_rY8-vT1MnJxSs41QtCpaA988oXk8">Rust in peace</a>, Daniel W Edwards  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250824150828_13a0b894b9ea0c478904d358028f0c976d84f284432ee25106787366598d38e5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250824150828_13a0b894b9ea0c478904d358028f0c976d84f284432ee25106787366598d38e5" data-rendition-name="original" width="6000" height="4000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's railways"> <figcaption>Rails extended north from this spot into the virgin sal forests of Bardia in western Nepal 100 years ago.  DANIEL W EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  A third railway was built in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-big-bulls-of-bardia">Bardia </a>where some scattered rails and signs of an old roadbed were seen in the 1960s. It ran from Nishangada in India to Khairbhatti in Nepal. From there, stations heading south were Ranipur, Karmak, Taratal and Madhuwan. Collier likely <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-train-project-struggles-to-stay-on-track">built this railway </a>as well in the 1920s. An elderly man in Bardia in 2022, whose father had worked on this forest railway, was interviewed for this account. Kathmandu Valley’s Motor (Trolley) Railway Merchants importing goods from India via the<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/business/ropeways-connecting-nepal,1749"> ropeway</a> Chandra Shamsher built in 1927 had to go to the ropeway’s terminus at Matatirtha near Thankot to claim their goods and then haul them 6km to the customs house Bhansar Adda at Teku for clearance and payment of customs duties. The Motor Railway was built to carry goods from the<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16839"> ropeway station </a>directly to the customs office, making it cheaper and more convenient for merchants to receive their shipments. In December 1931, Prime Minister Bhim Shamsher issued an order (sanad) putting Lt Gen Singha Shamsher Rana in charge of building this rail line to Teku and on to ‘Nabalak Khana’ in Tripureswar, a distance of 10km. The project was subdivided into four sections or ‘phant’, and for each, budgets and timelines were established. There was bato phant (constructing the roadbed), lik sleeper and jordne phant (laying sleepers and joining the rails), culvert phant (installing culverts) and pul phant (building bridges). Colonel Kishore Narsingh Rana was put in charge of the sleeper and rail section, while Colonel Dilli Jung Thapa, an engineer at Ghar Kaj Adda, also was involved. The Motor Railway was completed by the end of 1933. In the beginning, the railway’s small wagons may have been pulled and pushed by men and bullocks. However, in 1938 a British railway manufacturer sent Nepal a four-wheel, 5½ ton, 2-foot narrow-gauge diesel-powered locomotive with mechanical transmission, hence the name motor railway. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-railways-janakpur-test-drive?fb_comment_id=3554227181262227_4263866616964943">Nepal Railways Janakpur test drive</a> Leaving Matatirtha, the trains passed Satungal, Naikap, the Bishnudevi Temple, crossed an iron bridge over Balkhu Khola, then to Ghattepakha, Sunagau, through what is now a section of Kuleshwor (‘Lik Marg’) to the Customs Office at Teku.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250825020852_033f0cee9775d7dadde7811132f84da876f614c386e3677e560ba7aed79909d9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20250825020852_033f0cee9775d7dadde7811132f84da876f614c386e3677e560ba7aed79909d9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="railways in Nepal"> <figcaption>Lik Marg in Kuleswor, the former route of the Motor Trolley Railway. Photo: DANIEL W EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  In 1945, Motor Trolley had four engines, but spare parts was badly needed. The charge for transporting one maund (about 40kg) of cargo from Matatirtha to Teku was 50 paisa. Even though the trains ran slowly and only for a short distance, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/fatalism-and-fatalities">accidents were not unknown</a>. A train loaded with rice, salt and cotton derailed on a curve in July 1946, and two railway employees were crushed under the cars and killed, five others were injured. Besides the driver and a brakeman, guards rode the trains to prevent theft of goods.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250824150836_63a327d4db3b067a23dd5c6cf17a31ffe811ffd4a8429bc31011d62298a90060.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="20250824150836_63a327d4db3b067a23dd5c6cf17a31ffe811ffd4a8429bc31011d62298a90060" data-rendition-name="original" width="6000" height="4000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's railways"> <figcaption>The author by the remains of the Balkhu Khola bridge built in 1932 with American steel. Photo: JEEVAN NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  By 1953, government budget estimates indicated the Motor Railway would break even with an income of Rs70,000 against Rs71,000 in expenditure. It appears the railway stopped service around 1957 with the opening of the Raj Path and the extension of the ropeway from Matatirtha to Bhansar Adda. Bent steel beams of the bridge across Balkhu Khola and two plaques recovered from the river a few years ago are the only remains of this railway today. Photos of the Motor Trolley Railway in operation are hard to come by.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250825020848_3a7cd17d0ffc36bbf5fdad404f5f6e91c7aa0e4f4ed729ed2c7e9c186f32ca9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20250825020848_3a7cd17d0ffc36bbf5fdad404f5f6e91c7aa0e4f4ed729ed2c7e9c186f32ca9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="5189" height="1979" loading="lazy" alt="railways in Nepal"> <figcaption>Steel plaque commemorating the construction of a Motor Trolley bridge across the Balkhu Khola. Photo: DANIEL W EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  The Kosi Project Railway (KPR) As early as 1941, India and Nepal considered building a dam on<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-kosi-s-sorrow-and-scope"> the Kosi River</a> to prevent destructive floods caused by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">monsoon rains</a>. Floods in 1950 inundated 500 villages in Bihar and left 500,000 people homeless. The two governments signed an agreement in 1954 to build a barrage on the Kosi, and King Mahendra and Prime Minister Nehru laid the foundation stone in April 1959. To transport stones from a quarry near Dharan to use in mixing concrete at the construction site, the Indian government, in charge of building the barrage, made plans to build a narrow-gauge railway linking Bihar and its border town of Bhimnagar with Nepal’s settlements at Chakraghatti, Chatra and Ghopa, the outskirts of Dharan.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250824150816_fc5e13b01022c63c64f1e83589da0015eee7ecd002bdd3d97b88c98c1f3d45b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_21" data-image-id="20250824150816_fc5e13b01022c63c64f1e83589da0015eee7ecd002bdd3d97b88c98c1f3d45b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="4011" height="2645" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's railways"> <figcaption>Steel plaque commemorating the construction of a Motor Trolley bridge across the Balkhu Khola. Photo: DANIEL W EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  The section of the KPR in Nepal totaled 66km — the country’s longest railway to date. The stations south of Chakraghatti were Rajabas, Maduhuwan, Kushaha, Haripur and Bhantabari. The line built, operated and owned by the Indian Government, was opened in 1958 and known locally as Dhunge (stone) Rail. Procuring locomotives, wagons and other materials was a challenge. India’s Railway Board searched the country for old 41 lb rails, and located steam engines, most built around 1910, in poor condition, and stored in ‘retirement’. These decrepit locomotives were later cannibalised for parts to keep the remaining engines running, and six newer locomotives built in Yugoslavia were sent to the KPR in 1960 to prevent the railway from shutting down and halting construction of the barrage.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250824150832_fd644f9e2674c5047a531de5dfeb2c8860b0f93dddc7a2df3db867bf31b2c94b.bmp" data-media-id="editor_22" data-image-id="20250824150832_fd644f9e2674c5047a531de5dfeb2c8860b0f93dddc7a2df3db867bf31b2c94b" data-rendition-name="original" width="3171" height="2069" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's railways"> <figcaption>KPR locomotives, water tank and staff at Chakraghatti in Nepal. Photo: JOHN BENSON</figcaption> </figure>  Used bogie-wagons (gondolas) came from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/india-nepal-rail-diplomacy">Indian railways</a> that had been converted to metre-gauge, others were manufactured in Muzaffarpur without couplers due to the non-availability of steel. A hundred new wagons arrived from Japan, but only half could be put in service, as couplers from the other 50 were removed and attached to the Muzaffarpur wagons. This smorgasbord of equipment kept shop mechanics and work crews busy, but now-abandoned railways in Nepal always operated under less-than-ideal conditions. Although the purpose of the KPR was to transport gravel, stones and boulders to the site of the barrage, photographs show people riding in loaded wagons. Excluding Dharan, there was no bus service through the wild animal infested jungle between Dharan and Chakraghatti or along the dusty paths linking other small villages on the KPR, so patient locals sat in wagons at Dharan, waiting perhaps for hours for trains to depart.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250825020852_7d011dcc8e9b8cb0fe745b352486ebc4a84dac99419eadb35875333db20837c6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_24" data-image-id="20250825020852_7d011dcc8e9b8cb0fe745b352486ebc4a84dac99419eadb35875333db20837c6" data-rendition-name="original" width="3965" height="2659" loading="lazy" alt="railways in Nepal"> <figcaption>Ticketless riders on a train of gravel and stones in the forest between Dharan and Chakragatti in 1966. Photo: JOHN BENSON</figcaption> </figure>  Sons of former railway workers in Chakraghatti say that there were no fixed schedules, three or four trains ran both ways daily in the early 1960s. Southbound trains carried gravel, stones and boulders, while northbound trains would carry coal, cement and provisions, including sacks of coins to pay the workers. Trains even ran at night, and the crews worked long hours. Workers received free housing in project-built tenements but had to buy food supplies and items for personal use. The Babu Saheb or the superintendent lived at Chakraghatti, and at one time supervised more than 1,000 employees, nearly all of them from India. The barrage was completed in 1964, but by 1970, the Kosi Project Railway had passed into history. Daniel W Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal.

Nepal’s five little railways

One night last week, Asabir Tamang was awoken from his sleep by the grumble of the nearby Trisuli river. He alerted his family and neighbours in the village of Khalte, and in the dark they scrambled up the slope to safety as the waters rose. It had been pouring all night, and the villagers thought it was a replay of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rasuwa-flood-likely-a-glof">the 8 July flash-flood on the Bhote Kosi</a> that killed 12 people, washed away a vital trade bridge connecting Nepal and China as well as a dry port with electric cars, damaged four hydropower plants and an electric substation. The Chinese had warned the authorities in Nepal of another flood, and the Uttargaya Municipality was on high alert. Both floods are believed to have been triggered when <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mapping-kangchenjunga-glacial-flood-risk">supra-glacial lakes</a> in the catchment of the Lengde River in Tibet overflowed due to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-climate-crisis-is-a-water-crisis-in-the-himalaya">global warming</a>. The flood on 28 July was not as destructive as the earlier one, but Tamang’s family climbed to safer ground just in time before the flood swept away his tin-roof hut and those of his neighbours last week.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090848_f573652291798dad5aba2b9db23b82e2bebc30ca21321371735674018554f925.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250807090848_f573652291798dad5aba2b9db23b82e2bebc30ca21321371735674018554f925" data-rendition-name="original" width="2222" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="From one disaster to the next NT"> <figcaption>NEITHER HERE NOR THERE: Survivors of the 2015 earthquake in Mailung, Tiru and Gogane, were resettled in Khalte on the low-lying banks of Trisuli, but have suffered two damaging floods in July (left) caused by climate breakdown. All photos: SABINA DEVKOTA</figcaption> </figure>  Fifty-eight year old Tamang, his family and 276 other households relocated themselves to the river-side settlement of Khalte after<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/building-back-not-better-after-2015-kxble6c6"> the 2015 earthquake </a>destroyed their villages Mailung, Tiru and Gogane up in the mountains.&nbsp; According to the locals, they intially took temporary refuge in Satbise along with other displaced families from Haku. They stayed in an open area provided by the municipality chairman for five months. Later, they rented a place in Naubise for 27 thousand per month, only to be evicted by the landowner after seven months. Eventually, they settled on the public land in Khate where they continue to live today. Tamang himself lost nine members of his family in Mailung, including his wife, five grandsons and three granddaughters. Repeated <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/seismological-Centre-2015-earthquake,2230">aftershocks</a> triggered rockfalls, and it was too dangerous to go back to rebuild homes in their ancestral village. But while relocating to a new place that would be safe from a seismic disaster, the inhabitants of Khalte have become victims of recurring climate calamities.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090852_24b0bab16ce2fdd5dc1c64a91d869e16bfec1130d880eb376faf4dffa6ac58ba.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250807090852_24b0bab16ce2fdd5dc1c64a91d869e16bfec1130d880eb376faf4dffa6ac58ba" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="From one disaster to the next"> <figcaption>(Clockwise) Asabir Tamang, Sukmaya Ghale, Norsing Tamang, and Sanchamaya Ghale</figcaption> </figure>  “We left the place we were born in, and have been living in fear for the past ten years,” Tamang told us, surveying what used to be home for 17 members of his extended family in Khalte. “But it is just as dangerous here.” The 2015 earthquake not only displaced, but also divided families. Sanchamaya Ghale, 40, still lives with her husband in her home village of Tiru which was devastated in 2015, while her children are with relatives in Khalte because their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/patan-school-built-back-better">school was destroyed in the quake</a>. Sarita Tamang, 40, is from Gogane, the other village that was destroyed in the earthquake. She and her husband decided to stay back to tend the family farm, while her five children are in Khalte for studies. Meanwhile, Mingma Tamang took a risk to rebuild his family home in Gogane for Rs1 million. He says, “I spent everything I had earned in Malaysia before the earthquake to rebuild the house.” Tamang lives with the grief of losing his youngest daughter and son who were crushed in their home in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/reviewing-lessons-of-the-2015-nepal-earthquake">2015 disaster</a>. A 2021 research in Gogane and Tiru shows that the earthquake did not just destroy homes, but the traditional community bonds of the Tamang community which provides support in time of need. With families divided and split into groups, that collective spirit of self-help is lacking, and this has also led to socio-psychological distress. Glan Bahadur Tamang, 60, also moved down to Khalte because it is too traumatic to go back to his ancestral village of Gogane. He does hike up occasionally to sow millet and maize, but does not linger there. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-unseen-wounds-of-climate-disasters">The unseen wounds of climate disasters</a>, Anek Rajbhandari Even before last month’s floods destroyed their sheds, the highlanders found Khalte too hot and many who were moved here fell sick to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16988#.XnMUhagzbSF">water-borne diseases </a>and other infections. Today, the villagers only gather in their ancestral homes at funerals of their relatives and friends because their ancestral burial grounds are near the villages that the earthquake forced them to abandon.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025080710080_6805bc25bc91eb7cedbbdc585ae52deec5cf67f41105901627a71794de7dddef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2025080710080_6805bc25bc91eb7cedbbdc585ae52deec5cf67f41105901627a71794de7dddef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1486" height="1352" loading="lazy" alt="From one disaster to the next"> </figure>  For many villagers like Sukumaya Ghale, 57, the idea of going back up to Tiru, Gogane or Mailung is fraught with fear. But Khalte offers no real safety, either.&nbsp; “The river can take everything at any time,” says Lalmaya Tamang, 29, recalling the fear that gripped the resettled families on 8 and 28 July.&nbsp; There have been efforts to lure the families back to their villages in the mountains from the heat and danger of living in the deep valley of an unpredictable river. In 2020, the Hong Kong-based Kadoorie Foundation, in coordination with the then National Reconstruction Authority built an integrated settlement of 119 houses in Tiru for 152 beneficiaries.&nbsp; However, disputes over fair allocation halted the distribution of new homes. They are all locked and vacant, and some are being used for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/be-kind-to-buffaloes?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR1jWdEuifITwezF3twa8iMAHlbFRifK8hdt70jG44Ty7O8AgAZbfK8mp8I_aem_AaofDjDS71K5FWxwfN9qp9F0GjG6xapjL1QIf_69QspE2lglwHdqvGXHY8PFxdJESkauMyr47dSVBiq6OnonU9k9">livestock</a>. “We could have considered moving, but there are no basic facilities like toilets and water taps,” says Norsing Tamang, 58, pointing at a row of empty houses in Tiru. The Dhading District Level Project Implementation Unit actually bought the land to build the homes for the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/memories-of-the-great-earthquake">survivors of the earthquake</a>, but it was not enough for everyone. Says Bam Bahadur, Tamang former chair of Ward 1 of Uttargaya.&nbsp; “We didn’t know how to decide who gets what,” he says, “there was no option for further land acquisition.” The government did acquire additional land in Pahirebesi in 2021 to resettle 125 survivor families, but that also turned out to be sufficient for only 103, halting distribution once again.&nbsp; Another land plot purchased in Shantibazar in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/kathmandu-s-waste-is-making-nuwakot-sick">Nuwakot</a>, by the then Dhading-DLPIU for 24 displaced people, also became unviable when a 200KV high-tension line from the Upper Trishuli hydropower project was routed through it.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090852_95c11b2d364f37d3f6be99008a8c7f0d64f51df6eaf796ab1ac8fe56131f770b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20250807090852_95c11b2d364f37d3f6be99008a8c7f0d64f51df6eaf796ab1ac8fe56131f770b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2222" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="From one disaster to the next"> <figcaption>The government developed integrated resettlement of 119 houses for the villagers in Tiru, but they lie empty due to a lack of basic facilities.</figcaption> </figure>  The government’s resettlement plans all look good on paper, but here on the ground there are many stories of well-meaning but failed attempts. This year the Ministry of Urban Development has allocated Rs70 million to acquire land for the 86 remaining displaced people in Khalte. But residents are unhappy because there are still not enough housing and the elderly refuse to move into the buildings because they lack basic <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/do-not-fail-students-in-wash">water and hygiene facilities</a>.&nbsp; Experts criticise the one-size-fits-all approach of government and charities. “Integrated settlements post-earthquake have become failures,” says Associate Professor of Rural Development Department, Tribhuvan University, Ratnamani Nepal. “Just building a 2-room house is not a shelter. Livelihoods, access to water, education, and roads, all should be part of the plan.” Elsewhere in Barpak and other integrated <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/moving-after-shaking,3792">re-settlement in Sindhupalchok</a> the government has overlooked the community needs, cultural sentiments and social networks in the name of construction of integrated settlement.&nbsp; ‘A settlement is a cultural and social space, without it there is no sense of community,’ explains Nepal. A 2021 research published in ScienceDirect Journal, referring to Khalte, Tiru and Pahirebesi settlements recommends that resettlement and relocation should be <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/participating-to-save-kangchenjunga">community-driven </a>reflecting the priorities of affected people.&nbsp; The World Ban’s Safer Homes, Stronger Communities: A Handbook for reconstructing after Natural Disasters notes why relocation after disasters often does not succeed, identifying key problems such as poor site selection, culturally insensitive designs, lack of community input, distance from jobs and network and insufficient funding. According to the Central Level Project Implementation Unit, post-quake 97 integrated resettlements have been completed and 6 are still under construction in Nepal. The need for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-to-build-back-better">proper housing</a> is far greater than relocation. Chegu lama, 40, still lives in Khalte, and dissuades people from moving there. “There are no basic amenities: &nbsp;no road, no hospital and no school. We go back and forth to keep up with culture and survival.” But not everyone agrees. Chiring Tamang, 65 and Yangchen Tamang, 60, make occasional visits from Tiru to Khalte to meet their four sons and daughter-in-laws insist: “They are scared to live here, but at this (old) age we won’t abandon our ancestral home.”

From one disaster to the next

For someone who is considered a pioneer of abstract expressionism in Nepal, Kiran Manandhar is abstract about his craft. At age 68, Manandhar does not see the need to explain himself, or his art. His bold and vibrant brush strokes on canvas capture movement in the temporal and spatial planes. “I still do not understand what is abstract, there is no way to define it,” Manandhar told us while showing us around his exhibition. “Sometimes, even before I decide what I am about to create, a drop of colour hits the canvas. That’s the beginning of a dialogue.”&nbsp; The ongoing exhibitions are bursting with the products of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/art-for-arts-sake">Manandhar’s lively palette and wide imaginings</a>. The visuals are quick to grab the visitor’s attention, but the emotional depth lingers longer.&nbsp; In his series, Women, what initially look like distorted, animalesque forms reveal themselves to be powerful abstractions of the essence of womanhood. It is all there: strength and vulnerability, nurturing and rebellion, solidarity and sorrow, compassion and love.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090820_0152fa0ff18278c9bdec0710052244332deb3b4eaf030071df4eeab890610776.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250807090820_0152fa0ff18278c9bdec0710052244332deb3b4eaf030071df4eeab890610776" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Kiran Manandhar"> </figure>  The works portray the patriarchy, and how Nepali women have become each other’s pillars. The <a href="about:blank">complexities of womanhood </a>are often best understood only by women themselves, but Manandhar seems to have the heart, mind and eyes to explore them artistically. Several pieces from the Women series and Manandhar’s other artworks, are currently on display across Kathmandu Valley in the <a href="https://mona.com.np/">Museum of Nepali Art</a>, <a href="https://kathmanduarthouse.com/">Kathmandu Art House</a>, Kathmandu Guest House and Patan Museum. The exhibitions honour the maestro’s five decades of artistic exploration and features not just his iconic works, but also represent a timeline of his life journey. As a child, Manandhar used to accompany his mother to the Bishnumati River, which at the time was clean and wide. During her evening puja, he would watch the flicker of votive lamps as they floated down the dark waters. &nbsp; Later, he sculpted sand figurines on the banks or rendered flowers in watercolour. Painting soon became a passion, but the young Manandhar was a rebel: rigid schools never held his interest and he preferred to roam by the river. Growing up without a job, he survived on little, searching for free meals outside mosques, and spent hours fishing and observing life unfold around him.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090816_774263f821feba7a3353ac2959d24d7e2e306a00f91ccf3a9f34cfedb33cac51.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250807090816_774263f821feba7a3353ac2959d24d7e2e306a00f91ccf3a9f34cfedb33cac51" data-rendition-name="original" width="1499" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Kiran Manandhar"> </figure>  He ended up in Varanasi. He remembers sleeping on railway platforms, eating leftovers from garbage piles and being beaten and chased away by the police. Yet, in letters home, he wrote that he was staying in hotels and dining lavishly.&nbsp; “No one rises easily in art. There’s always struggle, pain, and relentless effort,” he reflects. “Almost every artist has had to fight their way up.” Eventually, he enrolled in Banaras Hindu University and &nbsp;earned both a BFA and an MFA in painting. As he came to his own, Manandhar began exploring the broader Nepali art scene and travelled to France, Germany, and Japan for art programs and residencies.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250807090820_c19ed015bc1ba7f1fb90c329c7fb45d60066288631631f9ed472c14a0d5ebd2a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250807090820_c19ed015bc1ba7f1fb90c329c7fb45d60066288631631f9ed472c14a0d5ebd2a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Kiran Manandhar"> </figure>  Along the way, he imbibed influences of contemporary movements in art but was mostly drawn by <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Manandhar-fourth-exhibit-Nepal,2641">expressionism</a> in a cubist style — but infusing it with influences of his Nepali roots. Manandhar has plenty of heartfelt advice for younger artists: “One reason art hasn’t progressed as much as it could is that we often dismiss young people and their potential. Wisdom is hoarded instead of shared. But these learnings must be passed down.” Which is exactly what he seems to be doing with his multiple exhibitions around the Valley. TUG-O-WAR Manandhar describes his creative process as a playground with three players: colours, canvas, and himself. From that moment, the painting unfolds on its own terms. He begins to see possibilities and builds upon them, even as he is caught in a constant, dynamic tug-of-war. What emerges from this push and pull are masterpieces. “As soon as I see colours or even think of painting, I’m completely consumed by it. My only fear is: what if one day there are no more colours? What if one day I cannot paint anymore?” His Aatma Series takes us on a spiritual journey. The aatma (soul) transports visitors somewhere beyond the visible to unknown terrain. In Aatma IV, we are pulled into a hypnotic spiral, falling into Manandhar’s own Bermuda triangle of emotions and abstraction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250809060824_1bfea0c248ecca3d8543f7e9e77b71eb756be4b9aab65f46ed197561ea3edc50.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250809060824_1bfea0c248ecca3d8543f7e9e77b71eb756be4b9aab65f46ed197561ea3edc50" data-rendition-name="original" width="4000" height="6000" loading="lazy" alt="KIRAN MANANDHAR"> <figcaption>Aatma IV</figcaption> </figure>  His Ganesha paintings take a more serene approach with soft curves and muted tones that emanate wisdom. In contrast, the Bhairava radiates the raw ritualistic energy of a mask dance. Both are deeply rooted in Nepali tradition, yet boldly <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/painting-a-painter">contemporary in expression</a>. Then there are the Self-Reflection and Untitled works perhaps intentionally open-ended. Viewers will find human forms, birds, fleeting figures, and swirling emotions scattered across canvases and lokta paper with acrylic, oil pastels, charcoal, and mixed media.&nbsp; Even by Kiran Manandhar’s standards this is as abstract as art can get. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; KIRAN Till 18 September&nbsp; 10am-6pm Museum of Nepali Art Kathmandu Art House&nbsp; Kathmandu Guest House&nbsp; Patan Museum

Kiran Manandhar in the abstract

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

This is the 75th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

In a democracy, governments come and go. But Nepal had become so entangled in the triangular affair between Sher Bahadur Deuba, K P Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal that it was becoming impossible to tell who was canoodling with whom.&nbsp;
All three had long since abandoned their party ideologies. Staying in power was all that mattered as they turned Nepal’s democracy into a kleptocracy.&nbsp;
For the past at least 20 years, we have warned them to mend their ways. Democracy had to be rescued from the hands of such kakistocrats. Waiting to pounce were monarchists and anarchists of every ilk, outcast Maoists, and supporters of a leader jailed for fraud. Tycoon Durga Prasai said his rally in March was to restore a Hindu monarchy, but he was just a temporary royalist whom even the ex-king spurned.&nbsp;
All this converged into a perfect storm on 8 September. Commandos shot and killed 19 innocent young people outside Parliament, the anger boiled over into targetted arson and vandalism the next day. The government fell, and Sushila Karki was elected interim prime minister through Discord.&nbsp;
With not just their monopoly on power but also their very lives in danger, the triumvirate was at first in total shock. Then came conspiracy theories and an inability to gauge the rage from decades of misrule.
Nepalis had assumed that after September the old parties would see their folly, and step down to hand over the leadership to a new generation. But 10 weeks later, there is no sign of any act of contrition.
In the NC, Sher Bahadur Deuba has sidelined the caretaker he himself appointed, Purna Bahadur Khadka, and is active again as the party prepares for a showdown in its Convention next month. The UML is proceeding with its own General Convention, where Oli is fully assured of a third term as party boss. Dahal sees no alternative to himself in his newly-forged Nepali Communist Party and is eagerly eyeing becoming prime minister for the fourth time.&nbsp;
The three leaders who everyone had hoped would finally retire have reincarnated. It is obscene for obsolete politicians to still hanker for power after all that has happened.&nbsp;
SHOCK AND AWE
The three leaders who have been prime minister a dozen times between themselves want to cling on, but this is not abnormal if we apply <a href="https://www.bbc.com/audio/play/w3cszmjz" target="_blank">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross</a>’ theory of the five stages of grief. The author of <a href="https://www.google.com.np/books/edition/On_Death_and_Dying/GlSq0AEACAAJ?hl=en" target="_blank">On Death and Dying</a> was analysing how people with terminal illness deal with their situation, but her 5-stage theory may be applicable to the way heads of the NC, UML and NCP are reacting to the shock of being overthrown — first with denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.&nbsp;
On 9 September, distressed by what had befallen them, the three were in total denial. Then began the stage of anger. Oli ranted in public about a conspiracy to install an ‘unconstitutional’ interim government, blaming the Nepal Army, and vowing not to take part in election even while preparing for it.
The NC has decided to participate in elections, although it has to first sort out its internal power struggle. The NCP and the RSP have united with smaller parties and are actively preparing to campaign. GenZ groups are speaking in different voices, with Sudan Gurung and Miraj Dhungana openly trying to unseat an interim government they themselves installed.&nbsp;
The parties are now in the third stage: bargaining. Instead of asking himself in hindsight what he should have done, Oli wants Parliament restored but has also registered his party for elections. The UML won't allow elections unless the government lifts restrictions on Oli’s movement.
Likewise, GenZ groups are putting up conditions for supporting polls: arrest Oli and others. Karki is single-mindedly focussed on elections, even if it has to be put off by two months. The Army would also like polls on time because it does not want a repeat of September when it had to intervene to form the interim government.
If Karki’s 6-month mandate ends without elections, and if by then the GenZ’s trust in the interim government collapses, then UML and NC could plan to press for an all-party election government, restoration of Parliament which would then dissolve itself to appoint a new prime minister that Karki would also be agreeable to.
The current state of affairs makes it difficult to imagine elections being held on 5 March — mainly because polls would be incomplete without the three main parties taking part, and it is unlikely they would participate in polls that they are certain to lose since they have not reformed themselves. Amidst these ifs and buts, the role of the Army will be critical.&nbsp;
The fourth stage of grief is depression, and that is what will happen to the parties when the reality of their unpopularity finally hits them. Only then will they finally accept their fate, realise that it was all their own doing, and perhaps reinvent themselves.
Kübler-Ross said the five stages did not necessarily have to be in that order, or that sometimes there may only be three phases, which may be applicable to the parties. What is for sure is that the three leaders are in no mood to atone for their sins.
Rabin Giri is an editor with <a href="http://nepalnews.com/" target="_blank">nepalnews.com</a>.&nbsp;