<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637204589c7e80680e0b2859jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="534"/><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/6372045a9c7e80680e0b285ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="547"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5065#.YeJVJKBBzOQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">8.3M earthquake that struck at 2:28PM on 15 January 1934</a> was the last major quake to hit Kathmandu before the 2015 Gorkha earthquake. Nearly 17,000 people were killed in Nepal and India.The disaster is commemorated in Nepal every 15 January as National Earthquake Safety Day.The Rana rulers at the time went about quickly rebuilding the heritage sites, with many thinking even today that the reconstructions closely resembled how the monuments looked before 1934. However, evidence indicates otherwise.“It may not be evident to the naked eye, but upon closer inspection one can see there are many anomalies in the way the reconstruction was handled after the 1934 earthquake,” says Rohit Ranjitkar of <a href="https://kvptnepal.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">KVPT</a>, who is documenting the changes and is working on a book about the same.Following the earthquake, rebuilding Kathmandu Valley was of utmost priority as it was the capital and had faced severe damages. Engineer Dilli Jung Thapa, who was 93 years old when Ranjitkar met him in 1990s, was tasked with the project.“According to him, the rulers had given a timeframe and the job was expected to be completed within that period," says Ranjitkar. "So, replicating them to look as they did in the Malla era was not possible. Temples around the palace complexes were given more priority, and materials from the peripheral monuments were used to rebuild them."Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-historic-kathmandu-beneath-our-feet/">The historic Kathmandu beneath our feet</a>, Sahina ShresthaWhen KVPT was renovating seven temples in the Kathmandu Darbar Square around 2007, they found that the struts used in the Narayan temple east of Kaal Bhairav were taken from other temples around it.In Patan, the Taleju Temple and the wings of Sundari Chok also have struts from other monuments. It is difficult to track their origins now because of lack of documentation.Using materials from one temple to reconstruct another also means that many temples lost their true forms or their history was completely erased.In Bhaktapur, while the city rebuilt the Bhairav temple in its original size, four temples in the Darbar Square were rebuilt as a one-storeyed structure, and four other buildings were never rebuilt.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/6372045d9c7e80680e0b285bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1217"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637204619c7e80680e0b285cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3156" height="2220"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A black and white photo of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/Patan-town-as-a-museum-piece" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Patan Darbar Square</a> taken by Kurt Boeck in 1890 shows three shikhara-style stone temples. Only one, Chaysin Dega is still around in the original style. Materials from the other two, a Shiva temple and a Narayan temple, were used in rebuilding it.Further, individual materials from temples were not only used to rebuild structures in the same area. Some travelled in-between the cities too.For example, in the 1980s when the Germans were helping with the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/clash-of-cultures-in-bhaktapur/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">reconstruction of Bhaktapur</a>, they found that the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/The-beginning-of-history,3225" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Chyasalin Mandap</a>, which had collapsed nine hours after the 1934 earthquake, was missing its original pieces.The priests knew that parts of the building had been recovered and were used elsewhere. They finally located the former chauffeur of the-then governor who reported that 32 roof struts with depictions of Krishna had been transported to Kathmandu to be used in the New Road Gate.According to an article by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/niels-gutschow-leaves-home/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Niels Gutschow</a> and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-guardian-of-the-shadows-%20Götz%20Hagmüller,3352">Götz Hagmüller</a>, they also found that the pillars, consoles, capitals and pedestals from the pavilion had been used as timber to construct a one-storeyed arcade in Sallaghari.The capitals had been shortened and lintels shred to pieces. Some of the pieces that had been preserved were reused in the reconstruction of the Chyasalin Mandap, but the struts from Kathmandu could not be returned.The team deliberately refrained from copying the design of the struts, and the roof was reconstructed with plain timber. They hoped that in the long-run, the components may be recovered.In Patan the once Shikhara-styled Shiva temple and Narayan Temple today are housed in stucco-dome style structures. As was the Bhaidega Temple after the original three-story structure fell down, but <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/restoring-a-piece-of-nepals-history/">it is currently being rebuilt in its original style and design</a>.The north wing of Mulchok, the largest and oldest of the three main choks in Patan Darbar was also damaged by the earthquake. During the renovation, the intricately carved window was replaced by another much simpler wooden window which can be seen today.Old photos also show that the dabali north of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Raze-retrofit%20-or-rebuild,3963" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the Gaddhi Baithak</a> actually had houses which did not go down completely but were later cleared to make the open space as we see it today.There is also photographic evidence of the original three-storeyed Patan District Court House. Nonetheless, after the top floor was damaged in 1934, it was renovated as a two-storeyed structure.Currently, there are plans to reconstruct the wing with support from the Indian Embassy but it has not moved ahead yet. In the case of Bhaktapur, Gutschow's and Hagmüller's team were assisted by oral history. But today, there are very few people around who can remember the details from before 1934. And without proper documentation, it is difficult to know what the monuments looked like originally.Says Ranjitkar: “While it is a given that the architecture of a place can change over time, there needs to be proper documentation of everything so that when the time comes to reconstruct and renovate, we <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/lessons-not-learned-from-2015/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">don’t repeat the same mistakes</a>.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/lessons-still-not-learnt/">Lessons still not learnt</a>

Sahina Shrestha

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Kathmandu’s temple restoration after 1934 quake

<figure><img width="800" height="1067" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a25c59c7e80680e0439ddjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: HANS HOFER</figcaption></figure>Communities in Kathmandu Valley’s historic towns have revived age-old traditions and craftsmanship to rebuild after every earthquake in the past. The disasters provided the opportunity to revitalise ancient art, architecture, traditional techniques for wood carving and metal work. Nearly four years after the 2015 earthquake monuments like the Patan Museum (above) are examples of Kathmandu Valley’s living heritage that attract pilgrims and tourists.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21144&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Learning from Nepal's past to rebuild its future</a>, Prakriti Kandel<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/deconstructing-reconstruction/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Deconstructing reconstruction</a>, Alok Tuladhar <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhaktapur-shows-the-way-by-rebuilding-itself/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bhaktapur shows the way by rebuilding itself</a>, Suyog Prajapati<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/piece-by-piece-patan-darbar-square-reconstruction,3782/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Piece by piece</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/owning-our-past-heritage,3461" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Owning up to our past</a>, Sahina Shrestha<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a25c89c7e80680e0439dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="132">

Our past is our future

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csrbcdCBW4IIt has been nearly four years after the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Monumental-loss,2215" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2015 earthquake</a>, and media reports about reconstruction of damaged buildings is mostly negative: compensation is too little too late, it has not reached the neediest, and the process is too bureaucratic.Indeed, only a fraction of the 700,000 buildings destroyed have been rebuilt with government help. Since the money is not enough, families are building small sheds so they can receive their third tranche.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/deconstructing-reconstruction/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Deconstructing reconstruction</a>, Alok TuladharHowever, in Kathmandu Valley’s historic towns, communities have revived age-old traditions and craftsmanship to rebuild after the earthquake just like their ancestors did after every previous disaster. In fact, along with tourism, earthquakes have provided the opportunity to revitalise ancient art, architecture, traditional techniques for wood carving and metal work.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25d39c7e80680e0439e3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="132"/>“Earlier, it would not be possible to study the interiors of heritage structures, but the earthquake gave us the chance not just for building back stronger, but also for detailed research of how our ancestors knew about seismic resistant building designs,” says conservationist Alok Tuladhar.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25d59c7e80680e0439e4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="786"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One of the most dramatic examples of this is the reconstruction of the three-storey <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/restoring-bhai-dega-temple-in-patan,4046" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bhaidega Temple</a> in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/patan-museum-updated,1304" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Patan Darbar Square</a>, which was razed in the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5065" target="_blank" rel="noopener">1934 megaquake</a>, and had been rebuilt with a Moghul stucco dome. Reconstruction in the original Malla style had just begun 80 years later, when the 2015 earthquake struck.Nearby, the Char Narayan and Hari Shankar temples were reduced to rubble, and ancient pati (traditional rest houses) came down. Today, most of the damaged monuments have either been rebuilt or are covered in scaffolding (right).Leading Patan’s restoration work is the Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust (<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2017/04/26/story-of-a-temple-rising/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">KVPT</a>), which was supervising Bhaidega and other reconstruction even before the 2015 earthquake. KVPT’s architect Rohit Ranjitkar says the earthquake four years ago provided the opportunity to learn more about <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/In-perfect-harmony,3251" target="_blank" rel="noopener">traditional construction methods</a> so they could be revived.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25d89c7e80680e0439e5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">In KVPT’s workshop in the Patan Darbar gardens, a dozen woodcarvers are busy with their chisels and mallets renovating damaged eaves and columns from the temples, and also carving new ones to replace missing originals. The descendants of famous artisans are carrying on their family professions and rebuilding after 2015, just like their forebears did after 1934, 1866, 1833 and other destructive earthquakes that struck Kathmandu Valley in the past.KVPT’s reconstruction philosophy is to retain as much of the original pieces as possible, so woodcarvers work carefully to graft pieces salvaged from the rubble, ensuring that the fresh carvings perfectly complement the darker brown hues of the original wood structure.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25da9c7e80680e0439e6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934">One of the carvers, Pratap Shilpakar, takes a break and tells us, “I feel honoured and proud to contribute to help preserve our heritage, and to repair these precious artifacts that were carved by my forefathers.” Shilpakar was working in his personal handicraft shop in Bhaktapur before being recruited by KVPT for the intricate task of repairing the originals.Off the 17th century Pimbaha Pukhu at Sulima Chok is a small temple where the four columns holding up the roof are from different centuries. Heritage expert Anil Chitrakar points them out: “Each of these columns are from a different era, recarved after every earthquake. Our ancestors knew how to improvise and rebuild as they went along.”To be sure, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/traditions-dying-off-in-patan-temple-courtyard-as-young-generation-leave" target="_blank" rel="noopener">not many young Newa people today are too keen</a> on taking up their ancestral profession of wood carving, which needs life-long devotion and instruction to master. However, after 2015 there is renewed interest in preserving the built environment and Kathmandu Valley’s intangible heritage. Says Chitrakar: "As long as there is a critical mass of artisans to take it to the next generation, the craftsmanship will survive."Shilpakar (whose surname means ‘craftsman’) admits he has learned more about ancient styles and techniques while reconstructing Patan’s monuments -- skills that he can incorporate into his handicraft business, now that tourism is on the rebound. Reconstruction has also been a financial boost for carvers after plummeting business post-earthquake.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25df9c7e80680e0439e7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934">Besides woodworkers, the earthquake also helped revive artisans who worked on bronze as they repaired the gajur pinnacles damaged in 2015. Masons and clay workers who specialised in traditional dachi appa bricks have also got new business after the earthquake.Studies prove that structures which had been maintained regularly before the quake suffered minimal damage. Conservation is therefore an ongoing exercise, and important not just for a regular flow of skills amongst artisans, but also safety in preparation for the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/aint-seen-nothing-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">next big earthquake</a>.KVPT’s Ranjitkar says, “We apply the principle of minimal intervention to improve safety features of buildings, because human life comes first. The damage in the 2015 earthquake gave us further insight about the weak points that we need to work to strengthen.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhaktapur-shows-the-way-by-rebuilding-itself/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bhaktapur shows the way by rebuilding itself</a>, Suyog Prajapati<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/kathmandu-monumental-rivalry,4209" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A monumental rivalry</a>, Om Astha Rai<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/piece-by-piece-patan-darbar-square-reconstruction,3782/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Piece by piece</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/owning-our-past-heritage,3461" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Owning up to our past</a>, Sahina Shrestha<h2>A tale of two cities</h2>Of the ancient kingdom towns of Kathmandu Valley, <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/piece-by-piece-patan-darbar-square-reconstruction,3782/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Patan</a> and <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhaktapur-shows-the-way-by-rebuilding-itself/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bhaktapur</a>  have made the most progress in reconstruction because of the involvement of local communities and the activism of organisations like KVPT.It is in Kathmandu, the seat of the national government and led by a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/state-of-confusion-kathmandu-mayor,4094" target="_blank" rel="noopener">weak mayor</a>, where the progress in rebuilding monuments have been slowest. The government has waited four years to decide on the reconstruction of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/On-the-way-up/untie-the-knot-in-heritage-reconstruction,862" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Kasthamandap</a> and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/on-queens-pond-rani-pokhari,4092" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rani Pokhari</a>. It blundered in trying to rebuild them with concrete, ignoring traditional design styles.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/kathmandu-monumental-rivalry,4209" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rivalry among donors</a> like China and the United States which have vied for high-visibility reconstruction projects in Hanuman Dhoka and Darbar School have also put additional pressure on the municipality.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25e39c7e80680e0439e8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="786">Patan heritage activist Ram Prasad Amatya, 80, shakes his head comparing his town with Kathmandu: “After four years, the Rani Pokhari and the temples in Kathmandu are still in ruins. The central government has no love or ownership for our heritage.”In stark contrast, Patan has not just rebuilt inner-city tanks like Pimbaha Pukhu, but the reconstruction has revived the entire neighbourhood, attracting new <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Heritage-homes-in-Kathmandu,3400" target="_blank" rel="noopener">homestay tourists</a> and giving locals an open space with a relaxing ambience.Says heritage activist Alok Tuladhar: “Whatever has worked in post-quake reconstruction in Patan or Bhaktapur have been achieved by local communities. The national government has bungled everything it has tried to push in Kathmandu.”<h2>Dharma Bajracharya's dharma</h2>Woodcarver gradually recovers his trade after the hard challenges of the 2015 earthquake<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25e69c7e80680e0439e9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Despite new tools and automation, Nepal’s artisans have gone back to <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/a-craving-for-carving,3637" target="_blank" rel="noopener">traditional methods to rebuild monuments</a> destroyed and damaged in the 2015 earthquake.In the Chwechhen neighbourhood of Patan, detailed carvings adorn almost every piece of architecture. A crumbling old temple in the square has now been lovingly and painstakingly restored to its former glory, using old techniques, raw materials and tools.Dharma Dutta Bajracharya (pictured, above) is one of the woodcarvers, and has been chiselling figures of deities into wood since he started as an apprentice to learn the craft from his father at age 13.Woodcarvers like Bajracharya lost much of their business when the earthquake and Indian Blockade reduced tourist traffic to a trickle. Luckily, the disaster turned out to be boost because of the demand for reconstruction using traditional techniques that generations of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/half-full/relearning-build-better,1118" target="_blank" rel="noopener">woodcarvers</a> have passed down to the present day.The eldest of four brothers in his family, 43-year-old Bajracharya’s upbringing was tough. “Money was tight so you either learnt the trade or you went to school, not both,” he recalls. He was the only brother interested in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/training-woodcarvers-to-restore-the-future,3586" target="_blank" rel="noopener">woodcarving</a>, but he now fears that these skills will end with his generation because his son is not interested in carving.Bajracharya says these are skills that you cannot just be trained for, they need to be learned from a very young age. It is not just the skill and craft, he adds, but a whole culture of devotion that imbues a piece of wood with divine attributes.Younger children in the neighbourhood now wear smart uniforms and go off to school every morning. Few have time to learn the old crafts, and it is not taught in school. Bajracharya admits he wants his son to be happy, and perhaps it is just as well he does not get encumbered with a dying profession.But despite the difficulties, Bajracharya still takes great pride in his profession and it shows in his craftsmanship. “I’ve done this for 30 years, and the carvings on the reconstructed monuments will be passed down for the next generation to enjoy.”With all the rebuilding around the corner, and Visit Nepal Year 2020 reviving hopes of tourism, Bajracharya has reason to be hopeful.Taylor Mason<h2>Heritage hotel</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a25e99c7e80680e0439eajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Earthquakes may have preserved Kathmandu Valley’s culture in the past, but recent times it was tourism that kept the craftsmanship alive. One of the prime examples of this is <a href="http://dwarikas.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dwarika’s Hotel</a> in Kathmandu that is more like a museum of Newa devotional art than a hotel.At the peak of Kathmandu Valley’s heritage destruction in the 1970s, founder <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=1181#.XFwC5FUzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dwarika Das Shrestha</a> roamed the city streets salvaging carved windows, columns and eaves. As the city itself turned into concrete, Shrestha embedded the priceless elements into a new hotel that started in 1977. Today, the award-winning hotel is an example of how tourism can help preserve heritage.Shrestha also employed local artisans to carve extra windows and doorways and thus kept the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/rebuilding-temples-a-chance-to-creat-jobs-and-to-revive-woodcarving-industry%20,2347" target="_blank" rel="noopener">tradition of woodcarving</a> alive. Along with collected woodwork, carpenters created the hotel’s furniture, traditional brick-making skills were used for terracotta work.  Today, many more Kathmandu hotels, even private residences, have emulated the Dwarika’s model of preserving traditional motifs.

Learning from Nepal's past to rebuild its future

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

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

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.