<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc859c7e80680e08031ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1523" height="1000"/><figcaption>All photos: Sravasti Ghosh Dastidar</figcaption></figure>A tourist trip to Chitwan National Park usually includes interaction with the Tharu community. But most visitors do not get to see the region’s lesser known indigenous people, the Bote.The Tharu are known for their unique culture and artistic decorations manifested on walls, verandahs and household items. And while the Tharu are known as the people of the forest, the Bote are the river people.They mostly live along the East Rapti and Narayani rivers bordering Chitwan National Park, although there are some Bote settlements in Gorkha, Tanahu and Lamjung. The Bote are one of the least known and dwindling indigenous groups in Nepal. According to the 2011 census, there are only 2,830 speaking the Bot language as a mother tongue.Whereas transmigration of mountain settlers in the 1960s cleared the forests and displaced the Tharu, the expansion of Chitwan’s highway towns and a tourism boom encroached on the habitation of the Bote along the riverbanks. When traditional fishing and foraging of the Bote was restricted after the Chitwan National Park was established, the community moved to agriculture.Lately, they have also adapted to other trades like carpentry, motorcycle repairs and even auto rickshaw driving. However, in a Bote village near Sauraha three or four households still fish among the rhinos and crocodiles at the edge of the Chitwan National Park.Dusk settles stealthily on the banks of the meandering East Rapti which marks the boundary between the Chitwan National Park and the tourist village of Sauraha, semi-deserted these days because of the pandemic.Asian Pied-Hornbills, spotted doves and kingfishers flit from one branch to another of tall sal trees surrounding the tiny village. A group of men loiters around the thatched mud hut of Rishiram Bote (right).Rishiram’s wife and daughters go about the household chores of feeding their pet dogs, hen and goats, sweeping mud floors and washing utensils at the tube well. The boys play football. In between all the activities, everyone keeps looking towards the river expectantly.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc889c7e80680e08031fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="514">The sun is now low in the hazy sky, and in the golden light two small dugouts carved out of simal logs pull up at the bank. Unlike the longer canoes that ferry tourists and forest department personnel, these boats accommodate only two people.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc8a9c7e80680e080320jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1546" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The women and children run towards the canoes with plastic basins and sharp machetes. Rishiram and three fishermen jump off the boats with small handheld fishing nets that are brimming with bighead carps, silver carps, rohu, naini, mrigal, silver fish, catfish and eels.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc8d9c7e80680e080321jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="395" height="300">There are 120 species of fish found in the cool, slow-moving waters of the Rapti. Some of them are big, and there have been catches of up to 10kg. The licensed Bote fishermen are not allowed by the national park to use longer nets which would entangle crocodiles, and also make fishing unsustainable. The Bote fish for their own community, and have to be satisfied with whatever they can haul in their smaller nets.The women unload the fish, weigh and sell them to the men who have gathered to inspect the evening catch. They are regular customers, mostly hotel and restaurant owners from Sauraha who wait around for the boats to return. They can resell the fish at triple the cost price in town. Within minutes, the entire lot is gone. It has been a good day.On other days when there are some unsold, the Bote dry the fish and consume it themselves. The catch varies from day to day, with fewer fish in winter. Rishiram leaves at 6AM when it is still dark, paddling into the thick fog of the Rapti and returning late. The national park rules do not allow them to fish at night, and the Bote existence is hand-to-mouth.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc8e9c7e80680e080322jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="169" height="250"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171156/636bdc8f9c7e80680e080323jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1546" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdc949c7e80680e080324jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1572" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Living on the edgeThe Bote literally live on the edge – the edge of jungle, and the edge of the rapidly urbanising inner plains of Chitwan Valley. Modernisation has pushed them to adapt to a monetised, mostly tourism dependent economy of the district. And the national park, with its endangered and protected animals, keeps them out. This is life along the periphery of human habitation, and at the fringes of a protected nature reserve.It can be dangerous floating along these crocodile infested waters and the tall grass of the Rapti floodplain which is the favourite habitat of tigers and rhinos. Sometimes, fish-eating gharial crocodiles get entangled in the nets, and although setting them free can be dangerous, the Bote are forbidden from harming the rare reptiles.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdc989c7e80680e080325jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1573" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Gharials, with their long snouts and razor sharp teeth have to be disentangled with great care, and there are always park rangers watching through binoculars from sentry towers along the river. The Park warden has trained them to follow instructions on fishing, the do’s and dont’s. For example, after disentangling them, the gharials have to be taken to the breeding centre at Kasara.The larger mugger crocodiles are even more dangerous, and the Bote have lost friends and family to them. A few months ago, Rishiram’s friend’s body was found 50km downstream from where he was last seen. During the monsoon, the Rapti’s waters rise and the crocodiles come right up to the huts. They are shooed away with sticks, sometimes unsuccessfully.In the misty winter mornings, the tall, thick elephant grass has rhinoceroses, tigers and sometimes even wild elephants, lurking in them. The fishermen and rhinos frequently cross paths. On one such cold morning, Rishiram’s uncle had gone into the forest with his nets, and he saw the rhino too late. It charged, and gored him.Encountering tigers and wild elephants can be a risky affair. Especially if it happens to be Ronaldo, a rogue elephant which keeps himself entertained by entering villages and mauling inhabitants every year. Villagers usually ward off the wild elephants that come in search of food with electrified barbed wire fences.However, the intelligence quotient of elephants is legendary. They know when there is a power cut and listen to the sounds of generators, and vibrations in the wires, to determine when the wires do not carry a current. The villagers then have to resort to lighting fires to keep the animals out, as well as keep themselves warm.Sidelined existenceThe main livelihood of the Bote is fishing, paddling boats, gold-panning, collecting wood, and harvesting elephant grass and edible ferns from the forest. However, since the Chitwan National Park was established, fishing activities have been regulated with strict guidelines. Some now grow crops in their limited land by the river. They also sell chicken, eggs and elephant grass, and buy dal, rice and buffalo meat to supplement their own supply of fish, mutton, chicken and homegrown vegetables.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdc9b9c7e80680e080326jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1017"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>They now have solar-powered lights, but the homes are still plastered with mud and cow dung. The roofing is made from elephant grass, which is harvested once a year in spring when the Park is open for collection, and have to be rethatched annually. Rishiram and his brothers Parshuram, Dipak and Pardeep are the last few members of the Bote community in Sauraha. There are a few more Botes living down the river in Pathiani. Chitwan is, however, dominated by the better-known Tharu who have cleverly showcased their culture to attract tourists.Very few people have heard of the Bote, even in Nepal. Being  more under-served than the Tharu, the Bote and Majhi communities of Chitwan are at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder. The Bote language, dress, dances and songs are indigenous, and endangered as the way of life of these people is transformed.The Bote language is Indo-European but does not have a script, and is distinct from the Tharu and other indigenous languages here. The link language with other communities is therefore Nepali, and as children go to school, they are losing touch with their mother tongue.Origin and relocationThere are two possible origins of the name ‘Bote’. Besides fishing, the community was known for laying tree trunks or branches across rivers to build makeshift seasonal bridges to allow people to cross. ‘Bot’ means a tree, and it could be that Nepali speakers started calling them Bote.The other possibility might be that since they did not own land or houses, and took shelter under trees on the waterfront, they  came to be known as Bote, since their existence revolved around the river.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdc9f9c7e80680e080327jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1504" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Many members of the community have moved on from Chitwan in search of greener pastures. The traditional livelihoods are being gradually replaced by agriculture and other trading activities that generate better income. The Chitwan National Park, which restricted their fishing tradition, has given some of them auto-rickshaws under an instalment scheme as an alternative to their traditional lifelihood.But Rishiram’s family has stayed on, and is one of the few that still make a living from fishing. He could not continue his studies as he had to become the provider of the family from a young age. But he encourages his own children to get an education and pursue their dreams.The four children and Parshuram’s two sons want to continue their studies though they are yet unsure of their professional goals. Their school timings do not allow them to go fishing with their fathers, hence their interest in the traditional occupation of their community has waned. The girls go to school where they learn Nepali, English and Mathematics. They also help in the housework. They speak a smattering of Hindi, thanks to watching popular Hindi movies on television.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdca29c7e80680e080328jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1558" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The transformation of Bote lives, their adversities and poverty, have not been able to erode their filial bonds. Community ties are still strong. Bote families find dignity in working together, and they approach life with plenty of smiles and pride in who they are.As with other communities in Nepal, change is rapid and relentless. Literacy and income generation can help Rishiram Bote and others lift themselves from their subsistence lifestyles without erasing too much of their precious culture, heritage. Programs to uplift their socio-economic status involving tourism and conservation could combine their traditions with modernity, and help preserve what is best in the Bote way of life.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdca69c7e80680e080329jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1391" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Distance from Kathmandu to Chitwan: 175 kmFly to Chitwan: Daily flights from Pokhra and Kathmandu to Bharatpur airport, NepalFlight duration: 20 minsBy road: Prithvi Highway from Kathmandu, turn south at MuglingDriving time: 4-5 hoursBest time to go: October to MarchWildlife viewing: April-MayJungle Tours: Half-day, Full-Day Jeep Safaris, Overnight homestays in the jungle, Jungle treksBote village: Your local guide can take you (no scheduled tours)Tharu cultural village tour: 3 hours any day, any seasonSauraha and Pathiani: Auto-rickshaws available on hire<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110918110/636bdcaa9c7e80680e08032ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1523" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Sravasti Ghosh Dastidar is a photographer, travel and lifestyle journalist. She has a content writing firm Sravasti's and <a href="https://sravastis.com/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://sravastis.com/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1604192000570000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEwF63inGYoIyzYQ86L-Rp1vRFRIw">an e-commerce website</a> for eco-friendly greeting cards and pens.

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Chitwan’s Bote people in a changing world

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b712a9c7e80680e0600b9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1109"/><figcaption>Photos: Arun S Rana</figcaption></figure>Few Nepalis know where Kamchatka is, and the ones who do probably heard about it from the board game ‘Risk’, where it is described as the remote region between Asia and North America.Kamchatka Krai, as it is known in Russia, is a land of active volcanoes and hundreds of thousands of pristine rivers that flow down to the Sea of Okhotsk. It teems with brown bears, salmon and trout.For a group of eight Nepalis brought together by their passion for fishing, this was paradise. In the past, they had explored Himalayan rivers in Nepal and India in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18700#.XileCP4zbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">pursuit of the iconic golden mahseer</a>. But overfishing, habitat loss and failures of conservation have led to massive depletion of this magnificent fish.Taking a roundabout route via Muscat and Moscow, the Nepali fishermen landed in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky Airport 43 hours after leaving Kathmandu.  Our guides for the trip, Andrey, Victor and Serge, and our cook Tanya, met us at the airport, and took us to a store to buy supplies – including a stock of vodka, an essential in Russia for warding off the cold.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18700#.XileCP4zbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Quest for gold</a>, Arun RanaWe had all bought waders in the hopes of fly fishing, but these were more useful as wind breakers. Despite the thick thermals we wore under them, we found it too cold to stand in the water of the Bystraya River for more than 15 minutes at a time. Meanwhile, the macho Russians bathed in the frigid water and walked around in t-shirts.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMKiJOJXClI&amp;feature=youtu.beThere are six species of Pacific salmon, and all of them swim in the waters of Kamchatka. From June to October, different species run up the rivers at different times to spawn. Unlike our golden mahseer which also migrate upriver to spawn but return to the depths of our big rivers every year, a salmon spends its early life in the river and then enters the ocean where it grows into an adult. After two to five years, the salmon swims back up the river to the exact spot where it was born, to spawn and then die.The indigenous people of this region revere the salmon as a deity. Brown bears gorge on salmon and store the energy thus gained to sustain them through their winter hibernation. Rainbow trout, char and grayling feed on salmon eggs and decaying salmon flesh. What the bears and other fish do not consume decays and provides nutrition for the vegetation along the rivers.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-wellbeing-of-the-wilderness/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The wellbeing of the wilderness</a>, Mikel DunhamWhen we stepped into the Bystraya in mid-September, the last of the sockeye salmon were bright red and exhausted. Big silver spinners shimmering in the water imitated trout, and even as they gasped for life, the dying sockeyes bravely fought off predators to protect their eggs.The sight of thousands of juvenile salmon leaping joyously into the air was comforting. We slept well knowing that the sockeye had done their duty, and that millions of salmon would be swimming into the Sea of Okhotsk this year as they have for countless years.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b712d9c7e80680e0600bajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1109">Salmon undergo a drastic metamorphosis when they enter freshwater rivers from the ocean. Their bodies contort into humps and they develop beaks and gnarly teeth. Fish that are bright silver in the ocean turn red and green in the river, and are considered inedible. Only the silver salmon are eaten.On the first two days we could not hook a rainbow trout, until we discovered that they were taking pink flies. Up to 15 rainbow trout were then hooked before lunch, including a monster 24-incher that weighed 4.5 kg.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dams-and-dreams-a-journey-down-the-karnali/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dams and dreams a journey down the Karnali</a>, Ramesh BhushalAs we ventured into the Kamchatka wilderness, autumn had coloured the forest in yellow and red, interspersed with green. Every living thing was stocking up for winter. A dozen brown bears were fat from their salmon diet, and human beings too were storing salmon, cleaning hundreds of fish and packing them in beds of salt to preserve them through the winter. It is impossible not to develop a deep reverence for the salmon, and we all hoped that sustainable angling would win over commercial greed.Every evening we stopped rafting around five o’clock, and set up camp for the night. Our three guides used chainsaws to quickly cut logs for the fire, and before long Tanya had two pots on them, one for coffee and the other for borsht. Inside the dining-kitchen tent, she got on with other dishes – some of the tastiest meals we had ever eaten.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/rafting-in-the-wild-west,3041" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rivers of Nepal’s Wild West</a>, Yu Wei Liew<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b71309c7e80680e0600bbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b71339c7e80680e0600bcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b71369c7e80680e0600bdjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101120/636b71399c7e80680e0600bejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427">Fresh caviar, straight out of the salmon gut, washed and lightly salted; fried salmon steak; baked rainbow trout; grayling sashimi; pumpernickel bread; pancakes and an assortment of chocolates for dessert. Generous shots of vodka, of course, to wash it all down. The organisation of the trip was meticulous and exemplary.We landed more than a hundred fish in five days, and learned that fish see in colour -- how else do you explain the trout’s preference for pink flies?  We learned that despite their rough exterior, Russians are mild-mannered, honest, hard-working people who look after their guests well.It is heartening to know that there are still a few magical, untouched places on this planet where human beings and nature coexist.  For us Nepalis, there was a parting wish that we could keep just one river in our own country flowing free and clean, and that we might set it aside to save the mighty golden masheer.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18383#.XilfcP4zbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Save our rivers from ourselves</a>, Megh AleArun S Rana is a fishing enthusiastshaivax@gmail.com

Nepalis go salmon fishing in Kamchatka

Everyone in the world is running some kind of race. Some chase recognition. Some chase money. Others run simply to stay ahead of others. But there are some who run for others. They are not trying to overtake anyone, they do not do it for fame, they are not getting paid to do it. But they run to pay for the upliftment of those less privileged. Bal Joshi, 41, is originally from Surkhet. His father was involved in the democratic movement during the days of absolute monarchy and he remembers frequent police searches of the house. And with his father in hiding, the young Joshi had to take care of the family. When the family’s small shop failed, his mother took the young Bal and his brother back to the village, and that is where he completed his education, walking four hours roundtrip every day between home and school. He ran most of the way, and without realising it he has been running ever since. Life was hard. Rent, food, education. His mother struggled constantly. There were days when there was no money even to buy kerosene for the stove. At one point, he sold his calculator, worth Rs 300, for just Rs 80 to get by.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251229031252_edb16b64a3d362a8dc86870bfa5deaad03a84e67d47f37cfd0bb5a8e584691fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251229031252_edb16b64a3d362a8dc86870bfa5deaad03a84e67d47f37cfd0bb5a8e584691fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Running for dear life NT"> </figure>  At 15, Joshi moved to Nepalganj to continue his education. He initially stayed with his uncles, but eventually began living on his own. The transition to city life was difficult, and he experienced significant economic hardship while trying to pursue his studies. There were times when he struggled to meet basic needs, and at one point he sold his calculator just to get by. When he was 17, after hearing that his father was seriously ill, Joshi travelled to Gujarat to bring him back home. His father died soon after, and Joshi took on responsibility for supporting his family. It was his mother who taught him that despite scarcity, life had to be lived with dignity. Joshi started working at a newspaper at the age of 16 as a proofreader, and later became a journalist. During the Maoist war when children were being orphaned as a result of violence by both sides, he became active in the Sahara Group, and at 19, he began managing an orphanage that took in conflict-affected children. In Bajhang, after the army killed a man on suspicion of being a Maoist, his wife jumped into the Seti River and ended her life. Their two children were taken into army custody. During the rescue process, Joshi met Sunaina Adhikari of the ICRC and back in Nepalganj they decided to get married. The conflict was still raging in western Nepal in 2005, when Joshi went to the United States. In Maryland, he initially worked at a Bengali-owned Subway outlet, spending long hours on his feet behind the counter. He changed jobs frequently, financing his education along the way, and ultimately graduated with a degree in finance in 2008. He joined Hancock Whitney Bank in Texas, and has risen up the ranks to be Senior Vice President. A colleague inspired him to run as a way to stay healthy. But it soon turned into something more meaningful — running more than a dozen 50km marathons for charity.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251229031252_165a6d935860cf6707178aa2ac7395733883158f425bbe0ebed125529d601f61.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251229031252_165a6d935860cf6707178aa2ac7395733883158f425bbe0ebed125529d601f61" data-rendition-name="original" width="999" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Running for dear life NT"> </figure>  Last year, Joshi returned to Nepal to run the Everest Marathon, and raised $42,000 which he donated to <a href="https://onestepfoundation.org/" target="_blank">One Step Foundation</a> which works on health care, child welfare and cultural preservation in Nepal and around the world. In June this year, Joshi and his family climbed Kilimanjaro, raising $19,000 for 80 HIV-affected orphaned children in Tanzania. During the Diwali festival he ran 220km in Nevada’s Red Canyon and raised $25,000 for cataract surgeries through the the <a href="https://www.theruitfoundation.org/" target="_blank">Ruit Foundation</a> in Nepal for cataract surgeries.&nbsp; Joshi does not run competitions, and is not trying to break any records. His motto is: “My race, my pace.”&nbsp; Turning his childhood scarcity into helping others, he says: “We all share sunlight, rain, air, and soil, nothing is truly just your own. I grew up without shoes, and I am fortunate to be able to distribute shoes to those who walk barefoot.” We ask Bal Joshi what (and where) next? His answer: the <a href="https://www.worldmarathonchallenge.com/" target="_blank">World Marathon Challenge</a> that will go around the world to run seven marathons in seven continents in seven days beginning in Antarctica at end-January.&nbsp; Joshi aims to run wearing the daura suruwal and Nepal’s flag as to show where he comes from, and how far in life he has come.

Running for dear life

A day after Rabi Lamichhane and Balen Shah <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/old-vs-new-in-nepal-in-2026-z6l4fgrd">came together to form an electoral alliance</a>, Kulman Ghising has also joined forces with the two leaders, merging his Ujyalo Nepal Party with the RSP.&nbsp; Following last-minute negotiations before Monday’s midnight deadline for parties to file their list of candidates for the Proportional Representation (PR) seats, Lamichhane and Ujyalo Nepal chair Anup Kumar Upadhyay signed a seven-point agreement to unify the two parties, with Balen Shah as witness.&nbsp; Per the deal, Ghising will be the vice-chair of the RSP, joining DP Aryal and Swarnim Wagle as the party’s seconds-in-command. The earlier agreement between Lamichhane and Shah retained Lamichhane as RSP chief, and promised Shah prime ministership if the party wins a majority in Parliament in March.&nbsp; Ghising’s team reportedly has a 17% share on the list of PR candidates filed by the RSP at the Election Commission. Balen has also fielded his own picks, and together the party has the likes of cricketer Gyandenra Malla, actress Reema Biswokarma, rights activist Mohna Ansari, climate activist Tashi Lhazom, and singer Prakash Saput as PR candidates. Ghising had held multiple rounds of talks with the RSP chair and the Kathmandu Mayor to discuss possible collaborations, but had failed to reach a power-sharing agreement. On Monday, Ghising had met with Lamichhane heeding a last-ditch effort from GenZ leaders, in particular Sudan Gurung, as they tried for the final time to get the interim Minister on board with Lamichhane and Shah before the PR list submission deadline.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025123004128_99e23ae7b6a042e71d271e3e74f7527086a7bb55779e6781bc9e7b711c8303e7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025123004128_99e23ae7b6a042e71d271e3e74f7527086a7bb55779e6781bc9e7b711c8303e7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1595" height="1087" loading="lazy" alt="Sudan Kulman Balen"> <figcaption>Photo: SUDAN GURUNG / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025123004128_d9f530704ab4c6e27eebf51f8e9fb55fed1d4281c99d089d06455cc7448bfda7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025123004128_d9f530704ab4c6e27eebf51f8e9fb55fed1d4281c99d089d06455cc7448bfda7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1026" height="1084" loading="lazy" alt="Balen and Sudan NT"> <figcaption>Photo: BALEN SHAH / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  The three are now set to make a formidable team to challenge mainstream parties at the polls. News of this alliance has been welcome to Nepalis who are looking for any alternatives to break the stronghold of the Oli-Deuba-Dahal trio over Nepali politics in recent history.&nbsp; But they will also carry each other’s baggage.&nbsp; Lamichhane, who was jailed for defrauding cooperatives depositors last year, was welcomed back as RSP party chair with open arms after he was released on bail last week. And while he has maintained his base of loyal supporters, he was subject to widespread criticism after he walked out of detention amid the jailbreak during the September protests, prompting his eventual voluntary return to prison.&nbsp; His party’s silencing and expulsion of critics within the RSP has also drawn direct comparison with the leadership structure of Nepal’s mainstream parties. Prominent leaders like Sumana Shrestha have left the party over disagreements with leadership.&nbsp; Meanwhile, Balen’s impassioned campaign resonated with Nepalis disillusioned with establishment leaders during the 2022 election and made him mayor of Kathmandu. The mayor’s direct, no-holds-barred style of communication and commentary has attained him much support beyond his constituency.&nbsp; But his unyielding, often unempathetic leadership style and policies— like his dismissal of street vendors and informal businesses during his drive to free up Kathmandu’s footpaths— have also earned him detractors. His recent outburst on social media in November that included expletives against both of Nepal’s neighbours and the US, as well as Nepal’s three main parties and the RSP was also widely criticised.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251230041212_fc2088daf32bac93541ebf25ca07725d75a721ae83440749ac8fa09d8fe308f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251230041212_fc2088daf32bac93541ebf25ca07725d75a721ae83440749ac8fa09d8fe308f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="890" height="1255" loading="lazy" alt="Agreement NT"> <figcaption>The seven-point agreement between RSP and Ujyalo Nepal Party.</figcaption> </figure>  Ghising, credited with ending Nepal’s prolonged load-shedding during his tenure as the chief of Nepal Electricity Authority, has a reputation of getting the job done. His public goodwill earned him a seat on Prime Minister Sushila Karki’s interim Cabinet following the youth protest.&nbsp; But he has also been under scrutiny for funds misappropriation as well as controversial power purchase agreements during his tenure as NEA chief. Ghising had foregone the leadership position at his Ujyalo party, preferring to play the role of patron until closer to the election date, but was nonetheless criticised for his political and electoral aspirations while being a member of the transitional government. It now remains to be seen if and when Ghising will step away from his position in the interim Cabinet and begin campaigning with his new partners.&nbsp; As it stands, the involvement of prominent GenZ figures in bringing together Ghising, Shah, and Lamichhane has established youth leaders as major players in Nepal’s post-September political landscape. These leaders will have significant pull with young and first-time voters. But not all young leaders are impressed with this new triumvirate. Some have pointed out that the unity between these three leaders is no different from the political opportunism and quid-pro-quo power-sharing culture established and followed by Nepal’s mainstream leadership for the last three decades which culminated into the GenZ movement of September.

Kulman follows Balen to RSP

Koreana Coffee Guff begins with a scene where Narayan Wagle, the editor-turned-farmer, appears in reverse cameo, as a character in a novel. He has just landed at Incheon in the dead of winter.&nbsp; The opening premise reminds one of Tolstoy’s saying about how stories begin either when someone goes on a journey, or when a stranger comes to town. ‘The winds of each city are its original inheritance, shaped by its local language, its specific topography and the buffets of the airborne wings of birds and airplanes,’ Wagle writes.&nbsp; The author is both on a journey and a stranger to the town. The word ‘stranger’ might need to be redefined here, as he has visited Korea several times before. But if every journey is new, then he is a stranger of sorts — stranger to the people he meets for the first time in the book, stranger to the reader who will encounter him for the first time like I did in high school reading the English translation of his 2005 Madan Puraskar winning novel Palpasa Cafe.&nbsp; Koreana is non-fiction, and was first published in 2017 in Nepali, and recently rendered into English by Prawin Adhikari, who specialises in translating Nepali works into English in such a way that they do not read like translations at all.&nbsp; Even so, I turned to a few chapters from the original text, curious to see how ideas have morphed. Take Wagle’s journey to Ansan Mountain. It is the same mountain, but something different happens in the two languages. The inexplicable feeling is that the translation has to conquer the mountain itself. At its best, the book gives the reader a peek into Wagle’s mind, his internal monologues, his writing ideas, his thoughts on the people around him, his deep yearning and respect for nature, his exploration of Seoul and Korea, where he is attending the Asian Literary Creative Writing Workshop in 2017.&nbsp; BACK TO THE LAND ‘All cities appear the same everywhere,’ he writes of Seoul, speaking of how ‘development’ has masked the original charm of a city rebuilt after war. In recent years, Wagle has moved on from being the editor of Kantipur, to activism, and has now returned to his ancestral land in Tanahu to farm.&nbsp; Clues to this metamorphosis can be detected in this book, which was written nearly ten years ago and before his transition. Wagle used to write a column called Coffee Guff, and the book carries that conversational style.&nbsp; But not all monologues land. Thoughts rooted in a specific time and space like the hike to Ansan where the author reflects on buildings, birds, and trees feel connected with a context and background. Then there are those that bring in a new metaphor, a new reflection, a new connection in almost each new sentence which make it difficult to follow the author’s stream of consciousness.&nbsp; Halfway into the book, we finally meet the writers who have come from different parts of Asia for the workshop. Not speaking a common language, the writers have to rely on interpreters and Google, which turns their exchanges into quirky moments of laughter.&nbsp; Writers are an important part of the book, the lens through which Wagle invites us to see the world. Poets Manjul from Nepal and Shiva Ryu from Korea make guest appearances. Through two Korean writers who share the surname Kim, we get a glimpse into Korean history and society, and how writing is intertwined with politics.&nbsp; This Korea is different from the Kpop idols and skincare routine that has dominated recent imagination of the divided peninsular nation. Wagle writes, ‘Literature attempts to unite, politics impedes it. They are being continuously thwarted by the conflicts ongoing in the nation’s politics.’&nbsp; One of the Kims is Kim Min-jung (김민정), author of The World’s Most Expensive Novel, that explores what it means to be a writer in Korea.&nbsp; Reading Koreana feels like a hike through a jungle. If one is able to move past the tangled and stretched monologues, the book can hold moments of awe and wonder. But there is always a desire for a clearer trail to follow. &nbsp;&nbsp; Narayan Wagle’s characteristic witticism is there aplenty, his observations are astute. Writers exploring their craft and readers curious of what is churning inside Wagle’s mind will find treats -- sometimes well-crafted, other times to be searched between the lines. &nbsp; Alfa M Shakya is a writer, researcher, and podcaster. She runs and hosts ‘How’d You Create That?’, an art podcast about the creative process.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251230071252_5503c9fb08d62adb328d8f817b353604429559d3d9c6542edf3663c3f8c554e5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251230071252_5503c9fb08d62adb328d8f817b353604429559d3d9c6542edf3663c3f8c554e5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Korean coffee guff English translation review"> </figure>

Coffee guff from Korea

From stone spouts to cast-iron mains, Nepal’s water system and its struggle to provide safe water tells a larger story of power, disease, dependency — and lessons for the future. From 1823 to 1891, the Nepali state made just two notable interventions in Kathmandu’s drinking water system. The first was when Prime Minister Bhimsen Thapa commissioned a stone pout (hiti) to tap groundwater within the valley’s traditional supply system. The second came nearly 70 years later with Nepal’s first industrial-era water system, the Bir Water Works in 1891 under Prime Minister Bir Shumsher Rana. Linking these two milestones was the spectre of cholera. From the 19th century on there were seven global cholera pandemics. <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0264410X19309995#bb0325" target="_blank">Originating in Asia</a>, the disease reached Europe and the Americas, the Vibrio cholera bacillus breeding in poor sanitation wherever it found it. The first wave erupted in 1817, followed by others in 1829, 1852, 1863, 1881, 1889 and, finally, in 1961, the seventh pandemic which still lingers on. London, the epicentre of the Industrial Revolution, was repeatedly stricken. In Britain ‘miasma’ foul air was blamed. &nbsp;In Nepal, cholera was seen as divine damnation. By the late 19th century, as Nepal’s relationship with Britain deepened, the Bir Water Works was inaugurated in 1891 as a defence against cholera. Whether cholera also shaped Bhimsen Thapa’s decision in 1823 is less clear. Contemporary records note the commissioning of Sundhara, but do not refer to the cholera epidemic raging at the time. The silence itself is telling: Nepal’s elites were ruling in the shadow of the disease. Bhimsen Thapa first resided in Thapathali Palace, which was built in 1802 by Nain Singh Thapa, father of Mathabarsingh Thapa, who would briefly become prime minister in the 1840s. In 1806, Bhimsen Thapa moved to Bagh Durbar, a new complex on the western edge of Tundikhel. Historians are vague about the water supply in the residences of the nobility, but wells and water hauled from rivers, ponds, canals, and other sources were likely the primary sources. A small hiti north of Bagh Durbar, near today’s Sun Dhara, may have supplied the palace. In 1823, Bhimsen Thapa had it enlarged, making it the last and largest state-built hiti in Kathmandu. Even as Bhimsen Thapa was involved in palace intrigues and border conflicts, Britain was engineering pipelines. By the late 18th century, Sir Thomas Simpson had invented the bell-and-spigot joint, making long-distance pipes viable. Fluid dynamics, dealing with pumps, pipes, and filters, was becoming a foundational discipline. In Kathmandu, the scourge continued. Cholera struck Kathmandu repeatedly, in 1862, 1867, 1872, 1874 and 1875. The 1872 epidemic, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kathmandu-in-the-time-of-cholera" target="_blank">according to historian Tom Robertson</a>, claimed between 200 and 250 lives a day. On average, cholera killed between 1,200 and 1,500 people annually in Kathmandu Valley, an enormous toll for its small population. The summer of 1885 was especially calamitous: a cholera epidemic ravaged Kathmandu and its periphery from the beginning of June until late August. The disease even breached the royal palace, reportedly killing 23 people, mostly young girls. Records show that 909 people received treatment at the British Residency dispensary, and estimates suggest that as many as 10,000 people perished in a city of 50,000. In November that year, Bir Shumsher seized power in a coup. He inherited not only a premiership but a Valley ridden with disease. Cholera was endemic, and it was accompanied by typhoid, smallpox, goitre, syphilis, and chronic dyspepsia. The The British Residency dispensary at Lainchaur was inadequate. “In a poor country like ours, wealth means health,” Bir Shumsher remarked, an unusually pragmatic admission that epidemics were not divine punishment but structural afflictions of urban life. He soon pledged to expand health care. In 1889, he opened Bir Hospital and staffed it with Indian doctors to treat cholera, typhoid, smallpox, and other prevalent illnesses. PIPED WATER Bir Shumsher also recognised the need for safe drinking water. Between 1866 and 1872, he had served as Nepal’s ambassador in Calcutta, and he must have seen water mains already in operation there, and a filtration plant inaugurated in 1870. Madras had installed such a system as early as 1800, Bombay constructed the Vihar and Tulsi reservoirs in the mid-19th century. In Kathmandu British Residency personalities such as George Gimlette must have urged Bir’s government to quicken the construction of the hospital and water system, yet the archival traces of such exchanges still await historical scrutiny. By the late 19th century, the British had developed a technological ecosystem for water supply, intakes, pipes, fittings, reservoirs, and trained engineers. Bir Shumsher appealed to the British Government in India for engineering assistance. A British engineer named Mr Feigneur surveyed Kathmandu to prepare maps, and estimated the volume of water that could be brought from the Rudramati River. In 1889, a more experienced engineer, Lockhart Matthew Sinclair arrived. He was a Scotsman educated at Wellington College and the Royal Indian Engineering College, with prior experience in constructing waterworks in Jubbulpore and the Viceregal Palace in Shimla. Appointed State Engineer of Nepal (1889–1892), Sinclair reviewed Feigneur’s plans, updated them, and chose the Bishnumati River as the source of the city’s drinking water. Sinclair’s design included a reservoir at Panipokhari, at 1,330m elevation and 30m above &nbsp;Tundikhel, thereby enabling gravity-fed distribution in pipes. With a capacity of 7,327 cubic metres, the reservoir could store nine days of supply.&nbsp; The system was designed to serve about 70,000 residents through both private connections and public standpipes. The reservoir was a single-compartment tank with an arched brick roof covered in earth and turf. Its brick walls were bonded with lime mortar and aggregate, and its floor was dressed with fly stone. Work on the valley’s water supply began in 1888, three years after Bir Shumsher seized power. The following year, Bir Hospital and the Bir Water Works took shape. The project involved some 40km of imported cast-iron pipes, weighing 1.866 million kg and inscribed with the marks of Scottish foundries ‘Ally and McLean’ and ‘Glasgow’. Construction required 620,000 man-days of labour and cost over Rs600,000. Transport costs inflated prices: <a href="https://commons-nepal.com/the-first-kaldhara-in-the-four-cities-of-the-valley/" target="_blank">a load of cement</a> costing Rs10 in Calcutta was worth Rs33 by the time it reached Kathmandu. Bir Water Works was inaugurated in September 1891, six years after the cholera epidemic. Water flowed out of 131 taps, including eight in Lainchaur, six in the royal palace, eleven in the prime minister’s palace, sixteen around Tundikhel, thirteen in Thapathali, seven in Thamel, and two in Naxal. The system’s designation, the term ‘works’ , echoes the Chelsea, Calcutta, and Glasgow Water Works, underlining its industrial pedigree. Water was also supplied to Phora Durbar, Bir Shumsher’s palace of music and dance whose fountains sprayed rose-scented water in a display of opulence. The <a href="https://commons-nepal.com/the-first-kaldhara-in-" target="_blank">Bir Dhara Works</a> was more than an engineering scheme: it was Nepal’s first modern public-health intervention. Safer drinking water curbed waterborne disease, and the number of cholera outbreaks declined, but were not eliminated.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260103020144_d5c22de54c0eaab680a166c5a7482839fdc09b60679109021d0504252a810254.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260103020144_d5c22de54c0eaab680a166c5a7482839fdc09b60679109021d0504252a810254" data-rendition-name="original" width="865" height="535" loading="lazy" alt="Cholera and drinking water in Kathmandu"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260103020144_a46075b6d759585df56a2bb8e5a07d85de7d9a69406165c32784fe30012c9971.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260103020144_a46075b6d759585df56a2bb8e5a07d85de7d9a69406165c32784fe30012c9971" data-rendition-name="original" width="2791" height="3859" loading="lazy" alt="Cholera and drinking water in Kathmandu"> </figure>  “Now we have water to fight cholera, and I believe cholera will no longer prevail. After four years of piped water, the benefits have been greater than expected,” Bir Shumsher said in a proclamation. Despite this, the prevalence of poor sanitation, open defecation, cramped housing, and malnutrition meant that typhoid, smallpox, and dyspepsia remained endemic. The Bir Dhara system marked Kathmandu’s transition from reliance on wells, rivers, springs, and hiti to piped water, operating for several decades and laying the foundation for the expansion of drinking water services across the country in the late twentieth century. <a href="https://commons-nepal.com/the-first-kaldhara-in-the-four-cities-of-the-valley/" target="_blank">Extensions followed in Patan</a> under Chandra Shumsher, and Bhim Shumsher later added the Tri Bhim Dhara. Piped water systems were subsequently constructed in towns such as Kirtipur, Bhaktapur, Dhankuta, Pokhara, Dhulikhel, and Jajarkot which itself saw a deadly cholera outbreak in 2009.&nbsp; CHOLERA METAPHOR In 1933, Nepal’s first water bureaucracy, the Pani Goswara, was established, formalising state involvement in urban water supply. Yet even till the late 20th century, households continue to rely on a mix of sources, including public water networks, private vendors, rooftop storage tanks, borewells, wells, hiti, and household filtration. The lack of reliable water supply places disproportionate financial, physical, and psychological burdens on low-income households, underscoring how decades of infrastructure expansion have not translated into universal, reliable service. during challenges in governance, investment priorities, and regulation. Bir Shumsher also attempted to introduce <a href="https://www.ukaalo.com/news/cholera-in-kathmandu-1958/" target="_blank">basic hygiene measures</a>, such as pit latrines with squatting slabs. However, there is no record of these facilities being built in his palaces, later built palaces, or elsewhere. Sanitation conditions remained poor for both the elite and the general population. Open defecation or the use of crude pit latrines without proper waste disposal was common. With no drainage or sewer systems, human waste accumulated near homes, contributing to the spread of waterborne diseases. In 2019, Nepal declared itself ‘open defecation free’, a policy milestone, but this achievement masks the persistence of deeper problems. Urban areas generate some 867 million litres of wastewater daily, yet only 7% of it is treated before being discharged. Sewage flows untreated into rivers and streams, spreading cholera, typhoid, dysentery, and other diseases, particularly among children and vulnerable communities. Safe disposal of faecal sludge continues to be a major struggle for many communities and local governments. Besides Jajarkot, Godavari in Kathmandu Valley had a localised outbreak in 2024. This year, Birganj was struck by a cholera outbreak caused by a lethal combination of unreliable water supply, groundwater overpumping, poor drainage and hygiene, and unsafe waste disposal. And Nepal’s peacekeepers deployed after the earthquake in Haiti in 2010 were blamed for spreading cholera that ultimately killed 30,000 people in the Caribbean nation. The Bir Water Works was more than a reservoir and pipes. It was Nepal’s first brush with modernity, mediated through engineering and haunted by cholera. More than 134 years on, cholera remains a threat and a reminder of Nepal’s challenges in water and sanitation governance. The issue is not merely ensuring access to safe water but also building public trust that quality essential services can be delivered equitably, sustainably, and with resilience. Ajaya Dixit is a Kathmandu-based researcher exploring Nepal’s water history since the mid-eighteenth century to inform ethical water and river management in a changing climate.

boat

Chitwan’s Bote people in a changing world

Nepalis go salmon fishing in Kamchatka

Running for dear life

Kulman follows Balen to RSP

Coffee guff from Korea

Life in a time of cholera