‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

Shristi Karki

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The sins of our mothers

People like myself were too young during the decade of the Maoist War to remember its horrors. We often wonder what life was truly like back then. Perhaps the closest we have come to experiencing a national crisis of that scale – with the protests, violence, curfews, and political maneuvering – was the GenZ movement in September. How did people cope? What did they fear? What was it like in the cities and &nbsp;villages? How was it that the king still held so much power? What motivated the guerrillas? And, how did &nbsp;ordinary people adjust and endure the war? My curiosity about the war that ended 20 years ago &nbsp;was met with a rollercoaster of emotions with Monica Rana’s debut novel, The Paths We Choose. The novel is not a retelling of events from the vantage of leaders, rebels. It is not about the violence, but a carefully curated perspective of ordinary people caught up in it. It is a glimpse into how the war altered or defined their paths. This is the 'People’s War' from the people’s own perspective. Readers are immediately invested into the lives of two central characters, the sister duo, Sumnima and Rita. The elder radiating from the beginning with her brave and cunning aura, and the latter, more timid and obedient, much of her time absorbed in awe of her sister. The writer’s language flows as effortlessly as the sisters’ strides up the hills to steal mangoes from Dhire Dai’s trees, only to race back down to Rato Mato, carrying us through their journey into adolescence. Amidst the rolling hills, mango trees, life is filled with laughter, adventures, and everyday banter, scenes so serene that they carry an unsettling calm that hints at what lies ahead. Village life is not all painted in romantic hues. The stark reality of poverty, subsistence, and contrast with the comfort of city living are never far away. Amidst these reminders, there runs a humbling truth: happiness once rested on small things, not on the material excess that define urban life. As the pages turn, the title begins to resonate: two sisters, once bound by the same bloodline, shared dreams, and the same roof, are caught in the crosshairs of war and forced onto separate paths. One by choice, and the other by necessity. The story unfolds with the seasons: the relentless monsoon rains, the scorching heat of summer, and a liberating winter that carries bittersweet truths. The year is 2001, as the insurgency intensifies. Against this backdrop, the cousins’ lives diverge. Sumnima is drawn into the rebels’ ranks to 'fight for equality and freedom', while Rita is uprooted, carried across distances, and placed in Seto Bangala as a helping hand among the higher-ups, in her family’s desperate attempt to secure her a better life after their village is reduced to a 'ghost city' by violent attacks. There are betrayals and beginnings, high palaces and humble hills, royals and rurals, identity and ideology, loss and lament, distance and discovery. Through upheavals, tears, and struggles, one thing remains constant: both sisters wonder about the other. They care. They long to reconnect. They hold fast to the dream they once shared to open a guesthouse in their village someday. A dream to simply live with no fear. To be free. To be happy. And, to be together. The writing illuminates vital themes: innocent people caught up in strife, the vast chasm of class from royals dining on silver plates to villagers back home hiding their last grain to save it from looters. And discrimination so stark it was as if people carried labels on their foreheads, marked by caste, skin colour, and gender. The sisters eventually reunite, but their journey is not an easy one, and what lies ahead is far from the future either of them once imagined. One might romanticise it as fate, or might recoil at the harsh reality Monica Rana lays bare: it is often the innocent who bear the heaviest burdens of war. Civilians are trapped between warring sides, enduring hunger, displacement, and violence through no fault of their own. Wars continue to rage across the world. Though the novel does not particularly focus on exposing the horrifying depths of war crimes, it remains a timeless reminder of what the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish once said: “The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don’t know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The paths we choose book review"> </figure>

The war between people

Prawin Adhikari’s new novel, Budhani, is a compelling and compassionate act of reinterpretation, reimagining a tale from indigenous folklore that draws its power from age-old fables of good versus evil and wisdom versus wilful ignorance.
In the first part of the book, Budhani, a name taken from the Tharu stories that inspired the author, the eponymous crow is born. We hear her inner, most personal thoughts as she grows from little chick to young, preening crow, learning temperance and tenderness from those around her as she comes of age. All the while, she retains a kernel of fierce independence deep inside amidst the all too familiar norms and expectations of the animal world.&nbsp;
Budhani, the adult crow, continues to cherish the succour that nature provides, revelling in it. As with all adults, she begins to understand the suffering that can arise from the crueler nature of those who ought to care for her wellbeing. The whole story, both the imagining of the animal world, and later Budhani’s place in it, draws inspiration from speculative fiction, encompassing fantasy and science fiction, bringing alive a world that is parallel to ours, but just a little different.&nbsp;
Adhikari has a keen affinity for nature that informs his writing. We are drawn into the world of the crows as surely as we might have been into those of a human. The bond between crow characters is effortlessly defined, and friendships and relationships, between people, and between animals and human, are so nuanced as to bring tears to the eyes.
In the way of speculative fiction, the writer must be cognizant of every nook and cranny of his made up world to convince the reader, as those who love N.K. Jemisin and Ursula K. LeGuin will know. Any hint that the creator might not know every goddess and princeling in the world he is defining, or may not carry every small detail of the nature of the trees, skies and creatures of this realm in his mind, causes cognitive dissonance for the reader - resulting in a failure to convince.&nbsp;
This writer succeeds in his world building, but while the characters are incredibly specific, the natural world of the jungle sometimes drifts into something more generic. Regardless of these occasional generalisms, this part of the book is both captivating and heart-wrenching, setting us up for the second half when Budhani manifests as a girl.&nbsp;
Without giving away major plot points (the two-part structure of the book is clear to anyone who opens the book), the girl Budhani is as vital, clever, and curious as her former bird incarnation. She grows up in a loving micro-family that is further strengthened by the strong Tharu community around her.&nbsp;
She becomes sage through hard knocks, and profound friendships. She learns the law of the jungle, but she is no wide-eyed Mowgli. Instead, she is once again nursed to wisdom by the innate, indigenous knowledge handed down to her by her Tharu elders who live at peace with the land, taking the idyllic but also harsh, agrarian way of life in stride and adapting with graceful acceptance, their ethos never quelled. &nbsp;
This half of the story is anchored by exceptional research on the part of the writer. Every nuance of daily life in the world of Budhani’s village rings true, along with the precious indigenous knowledge that is imparted along the way. When she must leave her beloved village to face the inconstant, arbitrary justice of the king, that court smacks vividly of so many other courts in humanity’s past and present. It is at this archetypal court of the inane, indolent king, led by his supposedly learned, cruel, priest that Budhani finally comes into her own.&nbsp;
Budhani’s journey has a happy ending, but be warned, there is anguish in these pages. Animal lovers and the kind of heart will suffer an aching feeling in the chest while reading. However, as is in the best of such tales, each loss metamorphoses into something else, coming full circle, balanced by karma, leaving the reader wishing that such things were true even in the real world.&nbsp;
As a fable, which always has a lesson, there are too many to list here, but as an allegory, there is one learning of critical importance. Encapsulated in the tale of Budhani is the tale of Nepal and the injustices that have been wrought upon her nature, her indigenous peoples, her female and girl folk, and all those who do not have the ability to speak truth to power like Budhani does. With this teaching, rest assured, this story will transform the reader, young and old.&nbsp;
Budhani is gripping, it is tragic, it is beautiful, and it is wise. The book is sometimes didactic but gentled by the framework of the fable, and uplifted by the unforgettable character who first claws and then walks her way into the reader's heart, her every struggle, small and large, coming alive for us. We cannot help but invest in this marvelously drawn, feisty, undaunted character and all those she loves so fiercely.&nbsp;
Adhikari’s writing has always been inspired by the minutiae of life, whether urban or in the village. He is the rarest of writers in that he writes equally well in English and in Nepali. This affinity for both languages enriches his novels in a way that someone writing in English, but with a lesser grasp of the Nepali language, may not be able to convey.&nbsp;
This particular writer’s portrayal of Tharu folktales, therefore, becomes an invaluable part of the canon of Nepali writers writing in English with its nuanced ear for language, its keen eye for detail and the deep responsibility it bears for translating the stories of one culture for the eyes of others.&nbsp;
Cultural appropriation is very real, but Adhikari’s Budhani transmogrifies without appropriating. Enriched by Lavkant Chaudhary’s thoughtful, playful illustrations, and further authenticated by Indu Tharu’s retelling of Budhani into the Tharu language, this enchanting, tragic, memorable story will carve a place in your heart.&nbsp;
Both English and Tharu editions are published by Safu, an imprint of Quixote’s Cove.
Sophia L. Pandé is a writer, art-historian and filmmaker. She consults on the Cultural and Creative Industries. She is Director of Development at the Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust, and the Founding Director of The Kalā Salon (a non-profit space for the arts).

Of crows, and people

Nepali activist Radha Paudel who works on dignified menstruation through her foundation shows in her new book just how pervasive menstrual discrimination is around the world.&nbsp;
Menstrual Stories: An Anthology from Global South is replete with tales of stigma, taboo, mockery, disrespect, shame, teasing, bullying by boys that persists.&nbsp;
Radha Paudel is a nurse who has worked in government hospitals across Nepal, and wrote an harrowing account about being caught up in the Maoist attack on Jumla in 2002. She turned into a dignified menstruation activist because of the discrimination and ostracisation she herself faced while growing up in Chitwan.
She established the Global South Coalition for Dignified Menstruation and Radha Paudel Foundation which hosted a six-month virtual fellowship in 2023 with participants from Austria, Bangladesh, Costa Rica, Malawai, Nepal, Nigeria, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and the UK.&nbsp;
The book is an outcome of those interactions where campaigners across the world spoke about their own experiences of having their first periods, the reaction of their families, school mates and peers.
A thread running through all the stories is that no matter where in the world women are, rich countries or poor, North or South, educated or uneducated, menstrual taboos persist to a greater or lesser degree.
There are stories of girls not telling their parents because the first bleeding was “too sensitive”, the restrictions on the freedom of young women by family members, schools not teaching reproductive health with accuracy and the right values.
In one school in Dhaka, biology text books had the chapter on sexual reproduction stapled shut. Many young men in Colombia’s conservative Catholic families even refused to answer questions in a survey about menstruation, and some confused menstruation with masturbation.
In Nepal, the lack of separate restrooms for girls in schools and shame about menstruation has contributed to the high female dropout rate after Grade 5. The practice of chhaupadi in western Nepal is an extreme form of menstrual banishment.&nbsp;
Paudel does not like the word chhaupadi because it is “too neutral”, and does not convey the discrimination.
The books also has examples of women across the world resisting the stigma and taboos, and spreading awareness.&nbsp;
A marathon runner in the UK recently ran without pads and ‘let the blood flow freely’. A Chinese athlete who won a medal at an international sports event was frank in her answer to a question from the media about her performance: she said she was having her periods.
Writes Laura Contreras-Aristizabal from Colombia: “It is ironic that despite the fact that more than half of the world’s population is made up of women and menstruating individuals, menstruation is still stigmatized and a taboo subject.”
We know there are even more serious problems of female genital mutilation in some parts of the world. But for the more pervasive and persistent occurrence of menstural discrmination, this slim volume offers practical solutions in schools and society to ensure a more dignified approach to accepting the monthly biological cycle in women without stigma.&nbsp;

Menstruation is normal, period

Halucha is a carpenter living a happy life with his big family in Kathmandu’s Maru Hiti in the 1960s handcrafting chairs, tables and temple woodwork. He observes festivals of his Newa community including <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-legend-behind-the-myth-of-indra-jatra">Yenya</a>, Indra Jatra, enjoys his favourite choila baji and with friends, and occasionally momocha. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/wine-and-women-during-yenya">Wine and women during Yenya</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040936_b1f8b03dc37e18d45a24c93422715ea0f6480b050683893d0fc5f3a8d6a290ce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240914040936_b1f8b03dc37e18d45a24c93422715ea0f6480b050683893d0fc5f3a8d6a290ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="1833" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="London Lakhey review MASK NT2"> </figure>  But then a big new furniture factory is set up nearby, which takes away the jobs of those with the ancestral occupation of carpentry. Halucha loses his customers.&nbsp; One thing leads to another and by the 1970s, Halucha travels to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-in-the-garden-of-england">England for work</a> after borrowing money at a high interest rate. London is rainy and dreary, he struggles with the language and at his job. He has no friends, people look at him differently and treat him poorly. He feels lonely and homesick. The isolation affects his <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-other-pandemic-mental-health">mental health</a> and before long, he loses his job and is homeless.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040952_5ff460d094ce67737cfcdf0bbf88edaadeffd58571806fe91bfc37a962d1390f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240914040952_5ff460d094ce67737cfcdf0bbf88edaadeffd58571806fe91bfc37a962d1390f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="London Lakhey review MASK NT3"> </figure>  Author Ojesh Singh weaves a layered tale that delves into the universal themes of migration, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/50-diaspora-diaries-in-nepali-times">diaspora</a>, mental health, racism, heritage and identity in simple, engaging storytelling style with vibrant illustrations by Sahanshil Dangol in the new Nepali children’s book, London Lakhey. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/brain-gain-into-brain-drain">Brain gain into brain drain</a>, Sonia Awale “Children are smarter than we give them credit for, they have genuine reactions and responses, and the earlier they are exposed to difficult emotions, the sooner they will learn to express them openly and grow up better able to deal with them,” says Dangol on some of the heavier themes underlying London Lakhey. Indeed, as children’s literature, the book does not shy away from difficult topics. This was a very conscious choice, says Singh, who himself went to England in 1999 and is now an aerospace engineer running two restaurants specialising in Newa cuisine in London. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/passing-the-baton-on">The Unstoppables</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar&nbsp; “The story is inspired by some of my own experience when I moved to England and that of people close to me, the not-so-easy beginning, the loneliness,” adds Singh, who is in Kathmandu to launch the book.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040956_bc4f28cd93c2b2c568d979707bc0d8a04f37e0fe519e1d8752f952b91a5fdea2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240914040956_bc4f28cd93c2b2c568d979707bc0d8a04f37e0fe519e1d8752f952b91a5fdea2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1141" loading="lazy" alt="London Lakhey review MASK NT"> </figure>  “The first thing we Nepalis seek abroad is a plate of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/dal-bhat-power">warm dal bhat</a> and not getting that can be so hard, then there are our festivals, dance and music that we miss so much.” Singh had it relatively easy as his father was already in the UK. But even then, he had to support himself and for the first five years he studied by day, while working at a restaurant at night. Finally, he bought his own restaurant, and another one a few years later. He calls them “Nepali-Indian” restaurants but actually specialise in Newa food, the first of few in the London area. “I do a lot of work virtually so the restaurant for me is like a living room and it is as if I am cooking for my friends and family, it keeps me feeling alive,” says Singh, whose clan home is in Basantapur. He is actively involved in the Pasa Pucha Guthi in London as one of the founding member since its inception in 2000. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-in-the-garden-of-england">Nepalis in the Garden of England</a>, Joy Stephens The Newa-English community in London organises cultural events including performing the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-spirit-that-is-fire">Lakhey mask dance</a> during Mha Puja, also the Newari New Year. This real-life tradition in London serves as an inspiration for the book. “The new generation of Nepali diaspora should know the struggles of their parents, what they went through, some were asylum seekers, others came for better opportunities,” says Singh, stating how this was one of the ideas behind the book, especially as he is himself a father now. A mutual contact brought animator and illustrator Sahanshil Dangol onboard for the book, and the two would go on to work closely for the nearly two years it took for the volume to develop. Dangol works for London-based studios and was previously involved in making commercials and music videos for up-and- coming Nepali artists like Yugal Gurung and Ankit Shrestha.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/memories-of-a-london-nepali-hangout">Memories of a London Nepali hangout</a>, Sunil Pun But what really got him passionate about the book project was the Lakhey element. During his undergrad, Dangol was working on a film to document his cousin’s mask dances in Pokhara but had to shelve it. He has since come across the Nepali Creative Gang, an online collective of artists, writers, game developers, animators and others which helps young talent with guidance and feedback as well as protection for their work. Dangol went on to develop a 4-minute-long stop motion film called Death and Exposure but he always had the Lakhey project at the back of his mind. “It felt like a second chance to work on something close to my heart,” he told Nepali Times in a video interview from London. It also helped that the characters spoke to him. Having moved to London at 11 following his father who was in the army, Dangol never felt like he quite fit in, neither in London, nor in Kathmandu. “Growing up, I didn’t have Nepali friends, and in any case, I didn’t feel like I completely belonged anywhere, and while I didn’t go through everything that Halucha went through in the story, I could still resonate with the character and sympathise with him, it is a relatable story with so many of our friends and families migrating today.” Dangol based the physical attributes of Halucha and other characters on people around him. The last few pages of the book are dedicated to the process of illustration including doodles and sketched studies of Lakhey and his masks. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/getting-behind-the-divine-mask">Getting behind the divine mask</a> The Lakhey mask depicted in the book is a variation of the real thing which is supposed to give devotees divine powers when they wear them. In fact, communities in Kathmandu did not want their actual mask to be represented in the book for fear of offending the deities.&nbsp; Lakhey is a demon in the carnival of God but is worshipped as a deity protecting townspeople of the Newa civilisation. He is depicted as having a ferocious face, protruding fangs, and a mane of red or black hair.&nbsp; During festivals including Indra Jatra which falls on 17 September this year (below), he comes out on the streets and dances in a trance whirling and jumping to the thump of drums.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040936_0d60bd64fe6b3db69c9654e3a90569768ba0caeaaaacd1b46b5ca4e357b21a6e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20240914040936_0d60bd64fe6b3db69c9654e3a90569768ba0caeaaaacd1b46b5ca4e357b21a6e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2170" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="London Lakhey review MASK NT 4"> </figure>  On the surface, London Lakhey is a children’s book but since its release, it has found as many adolescent and adult readers who have requested most copies, says Dangol. “I want our children to remember their roots and not be ashamed of it. They can so easily feel embarrassed because they are eating dal bhat for lunch and not burgers and pizza,” says Singh.&nbsp; “We have to own up to our roots but we don’t have to stick to one singular identity either, it can be a mix of Newa and British like in my own persona. This is important for stability and a peace of mind.” ­­  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040936_4af67a538381c66209f7cc834a6b2056857275cc12c2b3a5e3bf6f3f1c1c78c9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20240914040936_4af67a538381c66209f7cc834a6b2056857275cc12c2b3a5e3bf6f3f1c1c78c9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="London Lakhey review MASK NT 5"> </figure>

Sonia Awale

MASK

The five permanent members of the Security Council (the United States, China, Russia, France, and the United Kingdom) reign supreme, each wielding a veto over whatever the other 192 members might want. That is why Israel, owing to US support, can <a href="https://www.dailysabah.com/world/mid-east/israel-ignores-un-cease-fire-resolution-to-keep-pummeling-gaza">blithely ignore countless UN resolutions</a>, and why Syria, owing to Russian and Chinese support,<a href="https://news.un.org/en/story/2017/04/555292"> handily escaped sanctions</a> for its use of chemical weapons. Owing to the disproportionate power they wield, the Permanent Five share an old, decidedly British sense of empire. The authors of two recent books on empire, Lawrence James and Nandini Das, offer no thoughts on how the UN might, or indeed should, be reformed, would agree. In The Lion and the Dragon, James, a prolific historian of the UK’s role in world affairs, follows Britain’s relations with China from the <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2002/WORLD/asiapcf/east/06/20/hk.history.01/">nineteenth-century Opium War </a>until the return of Hong Kong and today’s tensions over Taiwan. And in Courting India, Das, a professor at the University of Oxford, concentrates on the very beginnings of the British Empire and its covetous reach into what was then the Mughal Empire in India. What this history shows is that empire is still very much with us. Though Americans, proud of throwing off the rule of King George III, tend to bristle at the idea, their own military, technological, and commercial power is as imperial and pervasive as Britain’s territorial dominance ever was. As James notes, we can thank the post-World War II Pax Americana for the mostly stable international relations that prevailed during the aptly named Cold War with the Soviets and their own empire. Read more: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/two-new-books-on-conflict-and-conservation">Two new books on conflict and conservation</a>, Kunda Dixit A perennial question, especially during periods of geopolitical upheaval, is not just how empires emerge, but how they fade. Though Britain and France still indulge their memories of empire, they have long since accepted being ‘middle powers’ at best. Ever since the Suez crisis of 1956, when the threat of US sanctions forced Britain, France, and Israel to withdraw from Egypt’s Suez Canal, Britain has supinely followed America’s lead in international relations. (UK Prime Minister Harold Wilson’s refusal to send troops to Vietnam in the 1960s is the exception that proves the rule.) At the same time, France has sought comfort in the collective embrace of what became the European Union. Vladimir Putin’s Russia is on a hopeless <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/what-does-defending-europe-mean">quest to reverse the collapse of the Soviet Union</a> and recreate the empire of Peter the Great. And China already sees itself, with some justification, as wielding global influence to rival that of the American empire. China’s pursuit of superpower status is born of not just current economic and political realities, but also its deep-seated resentment over the ‘century of humiliation’ (1839-1949) that it suffered at the hands of European (and Japanese) imperial powers. Of course, similar sentiments also animate Putin’s revanchism, as well as Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s dismissiveness of diplomatic overtures from post-Brexit Britain. In William Faulkner’s oft-quoted words, ‘The past is never dead. It isn’t even past.’ <h2>Passage To India</h2> The trite answer to the question of why empires fall is that they become victims of their own success, growing too large, too corrupt, too exhausted to fend off energetic newcomers. As the Arab philosopher and historian Ibn Khaldun argued in the 14th century, empires are like living organisms: they grow, mature, and die. As Das’s wonderfully researched book shows, the Mughal Empire was almost mature when the British arrived in the 1600s. Its Muslim rulers, with their roots in Central Asia, are fascinating figures. Emperor Jahangir, a generous patron of the arts, was addicted to opium and wine, whereas his wife, Nur Jahan, wielded significant political influence. The emperor’s son, Shah Jahan, was a ‘king of the world’, whose love for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, is permanently commemorated in the Taj Mahal. Mughal India was both a place of immense wealth and a bastion of religious tolerance (unlike Europe, with its centuries-long Inquisition against Muslims, Jews, and heretics). Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-smallpox-virus-in-british-india">The smallpox virus in British India</a>, Tom Robertson By contrast, the British Empire was barely in its infancy when its clash with Mughal India began. In Courting India, Das paints a vivid picture of the experiences – mostly endured, rather than enjoyed – of King James’s ambassador, Thomas Roe, at the Mughal court. But more than that, she also offers a rich description of Jacobean England as it was emerging from the first Elizabethan age and jostling for power with Portugal, Spain, France, and Holland. Roe’s own journals are a major primary source, but so, too, are the cultural interpreters of the period, from William Shakespeare to the poet John Donne (a friend of Roe). Theirs was an England full of energy, seeking its fortune in the Americas and the Indies. However, it was nowhere close to as sophisticated as courtiers like Roe seemed to believe. Indeed, Roe was almost a caricature of the Englishman abroad. He refused to learn any language that might have helped his mission (be it Farsi or Turkish), and he insisted that he and his staff wear English wool and silk, even through the Indian summer. While he eventually came to admire the pragmatic tolerance of Mughal society, he remained convinced of England and Protestant Christianity’s superiority. Never would he have allowed himself to ‘go native’. Roe was answerable not only to King James but also to his financial backer, the East India Company, which had been granted its charter by Elizabeth I in 1600. This meant he was constantly tussling with the miserly company for money (its traders were always jealous), as well as struggling to quell, or at least make excuses for, the riotous behavior of English sailors. Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/buried-in-history"> Buried in history</a>, Lisa Choegyal <h2>Century of Humiliation </h2> Two centuries later, the East India Company, as it appears in James’s book, would still be clinging to the same assumptions that Roe had held. The superiority and integrity of Christian Britain went unquestioned, and still stood in stark contrast to “Asian greed and despotism.” The biggest change, in the meantime, had been the collapse of the Mughal Empire. Mughal India, the wealthiest place in the world at the end of the 17th century, was steadily enfeebled by internal dissent and Persian and Afghan invasions. In 1857, the East India Company formally dissolved the empire, setting the stage for <a href="https://www.royal.uk/encyclopedia/victoria-r-1837-1901">Queen Victoria</a> to establish the “British Raj” and direct rule over the Indian subcontinent the following year.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240815120836_d96f9f442c51b3abd7717e340c856b87423a5f6d5a9e97422ffa7deec482aac2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240815120836_d96f9f442c51b3abd7717e340c856b87423a5f6d5a9e97422ffa7deec482aac2" data-rendition-name="original" width="842" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="The Mughal Empire's Treaty of Allahabad by Benjamin West NT"><figcaption>A painting by Benjamin West of the Mughal emperor Shah Alam II conveying the Treaty of Allahabad to Robert Clive in August 1765 after the Battle of Buxar that gave the Company the right to collect taxes -- marking the beginning of British India rule.</figcaption></figure>  To paraphrase Ibn Khaldun, 19th Britain was no longer an infant with imperial ambitions; it was now an adult with all the energy and ruthlessness needed to extend its reach around the world. As such, the British lion had no misgivings about disgracing the Chinese dragon. Looking back on this period, it is easy to see why Chinese President Xi Jinping is so determined to expunge the century of humiliation from the national memory. That century began in 1839 with the First Opium War. When China tried to block imports of East India Company opium from Bengal, Britain responded with all its (industrialised) military might. By 1842, British warships and soldiers had crushed all opposition and compelled China’s Qing emperor to sign the Nanjing Treaty. That opened China to international trade and ensured that British citizens in ‘treaty ports’ would be subject to British, not Chinese, law. Another consequence of the war was that Britain took possession of Hong Kong, which it would hold until 1997. Whereas Das describes India principally through Roe’s eyes, James is keen to present a balance between British actions and Chinese reactions. In doing so, he stresses that China was not reacting only to British imperialism. After all, this was a time when ‘a spirit of predatory imperialism … pervaded the foreign ministries of Russia, France, Germany and China’s near-neighbour, the newly industrialized Japan’. Seized by their own commercial ambitions, all four ‘regarded China as a land mass to be partitioned and shared out in the same way as contemporary Africa’. But these other imperial projects hardly give Britain a pass. In arguing that ‘Britain was reluctantly sucked into the complex geopolitics of great-power empire building in the Far East’, James simply is not convincing. Britain, the world’s leading naval power and the home of the Industrial Revolution, was already adept at the game of geopolitics and quite prepared to protect its interests in China, not least because that would also protect its interests in India. By the 18th century, the Qing Dynasty had expanded from its Manchu roots and established an empire extending from Mongolia and Tibet to the Pacific. But by the 19th century, it was too exhausted to withstand the pressure not only from the other imperial powers but also from its own people. The century of humiliation always refers to foreign interventions, but equally important were domestic embarrassments such as the 1850-64 Taiping Rebellion – in which some 30 million people died – and the 1899-1901 Boxer Rebellion. The dynasty’s ‘Mandate of Heaven’ was clearly slipping from its grasp. It finally came to an end in 1912, when the Western-educated Sun Yat-sen, following a brief revolution, established the ‘Republic of China’. <h2>Remember Thucydides</h2> Today, that title applies only to the island of Taiwan, whereas Xi presides over the ‘People’s Republic of China’, which was established in 1949 with the victory of Mao Zedong’s Communist Party over Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist forces. Since the 1970s, most countries – including both rival Chinas – have embraced the fiction that the ROC and the PRC refer to a single country. But there is a constant fear that Taiwan could formally declare its independence and destroy the fiction, thus provoking an invasion from the mainland. If President Joe Biden is to be believed, the US would then come to Taiwan’s rescue and the South China Sea would witness a Sino-American war with far-reaching regional and global consequences. Given his focus on Britain and China, James understandably devotes only a handful of his final paragraphs to US analysts’ ‘bleak’ prognosis of a future war over Taiwan. Moreover, throughout the preceding chapters, he deals deftly with other instances when conflict erupted between rival regional powers. These include the Sino-Japanese war of 1894, which led to Japanese occupation of Taiwan, the Russo-Japanese war of 1904, Japan’s bloody expansionism in the 1930s, and Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, which brought America into World War II. The big risk today is that China and America could end up at war as much by accident as by design. Graham Allison of Harvard University has famously warned of the ‘Thucydides trap’, an allusion to the Peloponnesian War, in which Sparta, the incumbent hegemon, was ‘destined for war’ with the rising power, Athens. It is tempting to dismiss Allison’s argument as alarmism. But over the past 500 years, there have been 16 instances of an incumbent power facing off with a rising power, and war was avoided in only four of them, the most famous being America’s rise to replace Britain as the leading world power in the early twentieth century. Notably, James recalls that China was ‘stunned’ by <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-politics-32810887">Britain’s 2016 vote to leave the European Union</a>. The message pushed by Chinese state-controlled media was that the UK had surrendered to ‘a losing mindset’. Clearly, the current Chinese leadership has no intention of showing weakness. The good news is that political and military leaders on both sides of the Pacific are aware of the risks. As Xi said in 2015, on his first state visit to America, “There is no such thing as the so-called Thucydides Trap in the world. But should major countries time and again make the mistakes of strategic miscalculation, they might create such traps for themselves.” The bad news, however, is that all countries are prone to ‘miscalculation’. <h2>Tick-Tock</h2> Almost a half-century ago, John Bagot Glubb, a British general who commanded the Jordanian army from 1939 until 1956, published a book entitled The Fate of Empires and Search for Survival. His thesis was essentially the same as Ibn Khaldun’s, only with the added claim that almost all empires rise and fall over a period of roughly 250 years. Putting aside the obvious flaws in Glubb’s arithmetic (the Ottoman Empire certainly did not ‘end’ in 1570), the core idea should not be dismissed. After all, historians now give the Qing Dynasty a lifespan of 267 years, and the Mughal Empire of Das’s book began to lose territory after only two centuries. A pessimist might say today’s China began with Communist victory in 1949, and that America’s quasi-imperial power began 201 years ago with the Monroe Doctrine. Time may not be on the side of those who place their trust in America to protect democracy and ‘liberal Western values’. John Andrews, a former editor and foreign correspondent for The Economist, is the author of The World in Conflict: Understanding the World’s Troublespots. © Project Syndicate  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817040832_cfc464995c06ecb51810752401d179a4b4da0c9be7a21219b8b2f0845e1f1920.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240817040832_cfc464995c06ecb51810752401d179a4b4da0c9be7a21219b8b2f0845e1f1920" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The evolution of empire book cover page NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817040832_f993521a48e8f6baa1ccc7fd4428cb0f19ae2b39a5ae76a9fb062a9af0675c36.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20240817040832_f993521a48e8f6baa1ccc7fd4428cb0f19ae2b39a5ae76a9fb062a9af0675c36" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The evolution of empire book cover page NT"></figure>

The Evolution of Empire

<a href="https://www.ranjanadiga.com/">Ranjan Adiga</a>’s debut short story collection, <a href="https://www.penguin.co.in/book/leech-and-other-stories/">‘Leech and Other Stories’,</a> is a bold and honest exploration of a wide variety of modern experiences of Nepalis home and abroad. A million Nepalis leave the country every year, mostly for work, and about 90,000 to permanently resettle abroad. The ten stories in this slim volume revolve around characters who have migrated and are dealing with issue of identity in their adopted homes.&nbsp; Four of the stories involve Nepalis in the United States navigating success, divorce, cash jobs in Indian restaurants, diversity committee politics, and the Broncos. America is where Adiga himself is based currently, teaching Creative Writing and English at <a href="https://westminsteru.edu/campus-directory/directory-profiles/adiga-ranjan.html">Westminster College in North Salt Lake, Utah</a>. After publishing a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17263">few articles for this newspaper</a> in 2010, and a brief internship at The Kathmandu Post, he spent some well-paying years in advertising in Kathmandu and Bahrain.&nbsp; Fascinated by fiction, he did an MFA in creative writing at <a href="https://uncw.edu/">University of North Carolina Wilmington</a>, before completing a PhD at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa. Observing Nepalis struggling with identity and acclimatising to American culture gave the fiction writer in Adiga plenty of plot material to work on.&nbsp; Adigais often mistaken for <a href="http://www.aravindadiga.com/">Aravind Adiga</a>, author of the Booker-prize winning author of the 2008 book, <a href="https://kenyonreview.org/kr-online-issue/2009-winter/selections/review-of-aravind-adigas-the-white-tiger/">The White Tiger</a> that was made into <a href="https://www.netflix.com/np/title/80202877">a Netflix movie</a> starring Priyanka Chopra. “When you introduce yourself in Nepal, it’s never just your first name. If I just say ‘Ranjan,’ the next question is automatically ‘Ranjan ke?” Adiga tells us during a recent visit to Nepali Times. “People are often intrigued, and some harbour preconceptions about who I am.”&nbsp; And if it is not being mistaken for Aravind, it is to be taken for an Indian. But Ranjan’s pedigree is even more exotic: his grandfather was a <a href="https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/kathmandu-ripples-in-karnataka/cid/507815">high priest of Pashupati Temple</a> in Kathmandu, whose predecessors have been traditionally sourced from <a href="https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/andhra-pradesh/coastal-karnatakas-bond-with-nepal/article7144615.ece">Udupi of the Karnataka-Kerala border</a> in south India for the past 300 years. Both his parents are Nepali. Like many people who straddle multiple cultures, Adiga does not feel completely accepted in either place. In fact, the uprootedness of being at home everywhere and nowhere helps him in his writing, and that is also reflected in many of the characters in his stories.&nbsp; They too feel alienated in new cultures with various values and different requirements for getting by: whether a Madhesi in Kathmandu, a newly-Christian Dalit woman, or a homocurious uncle. One of the ten stories is titled Leech, and seems to be inspired by the experience of author and former American Peace Corps volunteer Broughton Coburn, whom <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11933">Nepali Times profiled in 2006</a>. Says Adiga: “A lot of my characters feel like parasites in the system, they feel alienated in the places they find themselves, often facing dilemmas between morality and survival.” Indeed, the protagonists in Adiga’s stories are mostly morally ambiguous. They may steal, lie, cheat and drink, but ultimately own up to their mistakes. “Most of my stories tell themselves as I write. It’s a process of discovery, of observing what the characters do and how they interact,” Adiga explains, adding that in only one of the stories did he start with the plot completely outlined beforehand.&nbsp; That story is ‘Student Visa’ about a Nepali youngster named Sanjay on whom his parents have great expectations: he will go to America and eventually bring Mom and Dad, too. Sanjay completely bombs the interview but lies to his parents (and to a neighbour uncle who has a brother in the States, and is naturally an expert) that he got the visa. The author seems interested in how Nepalis deal with relationship norms abroad. Adiga writes about couples in the US where the wife has a ‘better’ job and earns more than the husband, and a visiting father of a divorced son who looks past all of his successes in tech and only talks to him about his failed marriage. This is a story titled ‘A Short Visit’and has a strong plot with real writing. Nirmal is the son who works in tech and has a fancy house and a Tesla. His Baba is an electrical engineer turned alcoholic. Father and son bond over alcohol as a poignant, vulnerable story unfolds. Baba is not supposed to drink at all, and when Nirmal’s sister in Nepal finds out, she berates Nirmal. Brother and sister also have an interesting dynamic. Nirmal is rich and divorced in Denver, while Binita lives in Nepal with a stable joint family and children. The question looms: who has made the bigger sacrifice?As the booze flows, son and father process their different understandings of the divorce, get into arguments, and head to a party where Baba gets on stage and tells the crowd that he loves his son. “That was the story that I had to write quickly, as a replacement for one that fell through,” Adiga explains. “I wrote it in about three weeks, while usually take several months on each one.”&nbsp; Adiga’s stories are observant, uncomfortable and true. Like when he talks about Nirmal texting his ex-wife occasionally and liking each other’s photos on Instagram. Or when he writes: ‘Baba looked like someone’s driver at a wedding in Nepal, cowering in a corner, scrounging on leftovers.’ In ‘A Haircut and a Massage’ a middle-aged man named Krishna is in a sad sexless marriage and teeters on the edge of homosexuality. When his wife sends him out to buy veggies, he starts frequenting Iqbal’s salon for full body massage. Krishna’s marriage had started out well but deteriorated after his wife had their first child. Most of Adiga’s stories feature strong, pragmatic female characters who are in charge, with weaker and often embarrassing male counterparts. Adiga writes bravely about issues that we usually skirt around. ‘High Heels’ looks at a Dalit woman who converts to Christianity and works at a bank, doing better than if she did what her caste identity dictated. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/sermon-on-the-mountain,3911">Prosletysation may have its problems</a>, but the Church treats her as an equal.&nbsp; The story ‘Diversity Committee’ is about the tension between a professor and his white female student after he follows an awkward hug with an iffy text. Soon there is rumour spreading around school that the prof has a staring problem. The student has heavily bought into diversity brainwashing and is a star student, and now does not know what to do that her Professor-Of-Colour has hugged her and stroked her back. Meanwhile an interesting interaction is taking place between the Nepali professor and a Black lesbian professor in the same department. They are good friends in lily-white rural Idaho, but also compete for leadership and inclusion grants from the diversity committee. Adiga admits that one his inspirations is fellow-Nepali writer in America, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/writing-about-nepal-from-afar">Samrat Upadhyay</a> (<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4483">The Guru of Love</a>, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=9235">Arresting God in Kathmandu</a>, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Kathmandu-wont-let-go-of-me-samrat-upadhyay,3649">Mad Country</a>) who is also a Kathmandu St Xavierite. The short, clipped sentences, sparse prose and simple plot lines involving Nepalis are indeed vintage Samrat. And like Subcontinental authors who write in English, Adiga also grapples with making the vernacular dialogue sound authentic. The stories are set where the author lives and works, and it is about fictional fellow-Nepalis, so it is natural to wonder how autobiographical they are. Ranjan Adiga leaves us guessing.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024070411070_c4a190ab73e414a17b257fe459d8845b2615b9dbcd3eff06e202fafbe7f902d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2024070411070_c4a190ab73e414a17b257fe459d8845b2615b9dbcd3eff06e202fafbe7f902d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Leech and other stories NT"> </figure>

Vishad Raj Onta

Feeling at home nowhere and everywhere

Many browsing the shelf of a bookstore or library may see Shépa written in bold all caps on the cover of this book, and misread it as 'Sherpa' and think it is yet another book on the ethnic group from the Khumbu. That happened to this reviewer when a copy arrived by mail. But Shépa in Tibetan actually means ‘explanation’ and is a unique form of oral poetry sung in the question-answer style and the intangible heritage of Tibetan-speaking people in danger of dying out.&nbsp; The book contains Shépa poetry that has been passed down from one generation of the Choné people of Amdo to the next. The original Tibetan verse is translated into English and Mandarin, and includes animistic beliefs before Buddhism got to the plateau. There are Bon Po legends, explanations of various Mahayana traditions, as well as the shared memory of the ebb and flow of history. &nbsp; The Shépa has a wide range of subjects and has been recited and shared for hundreds of years, and the book is a result of contributions from researchers, monks, and devotees. It is thus a valuable undertaking to document this oral tradition before it disappears forever. The book is part of the World Literature Series and the ebook version is available for free from OpenBook Publishers.&nbsp; “This trilingual publication is a landmark in Tibetan studies, making research findings accessible to the community for whom Shépa is a living practice,” says Tsering Shakya of the University of British Columbia.&nbsp; Why the Choné people came to embrace the Shépa oral tradition is buried in history, but it does resemble the recited verse of the Himalayan rimlands. Shépa performances can be religious or secular, sing about the Tibetan cosmology, history and recite chants at weddings. The verses are rendered by elderly men and are performed somewhat like the back-and-forth dohori in Nepal.&nbsp; Shépa orature is varied and constantly revised, its mutability giving it relevance as Tibet is swept by change. The book may be a bit too detailed for the lay reader, but will be valuable for students and researchers of Himalayan linguistics, ethnicity, and even for those studying Nepal’s indigenous groups.&nbsp; More importantly, the book is an invaluable documentation of an oral tradition that is hanging by its thread, made accessible because of the translation of the stanzas into English and Mandarin.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240215150228_7c1e788f70d5d20a2ca7e94fb9db29f14f0244b629d96f9fcfa3824440beb6b9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240215150228_7c1e788f70d5d20a2ca7e94fb9db29f14f0244b629d96f9fcfa3824440beb6b9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Shepa"> </figure>

Kunda Dixit

The Shépa lexicon

The 240 year reign of the Shah dynasty in Nepal that ended in 2008 saw palace intrigues, coups, a revolution and massacres. And 16 years after it was abolished, there are calls to reinstate the monarchy. After Nepal’s founding king Prithvi Narayan Shah died in 1775, there were a series of infant and/or weak kings with little to no involvement in government. The country was run by power brokers either from the royal family or its retainers. After Jang Bahadur’s coup in 1847, the kings were just puppets. It was not until 1951 when the Rana regime ended that the Shah kings became more involved. Too involved, in fact. In 1960 King Mahendra staged a coup and dissolved an elected parliament for a 30-year experiment with the partyless system. After the 1990 democracy movement, King Birendra gave up absolute powers to be a constitutional monarch, but the Maoists immediately launched their armed struggle to end the Hindu monarchy. However, the royal family itself imploded in the 2001 royal massacre, and it took just seven more years for Nepal to become a secular republic. The political aspects of Nepal’s transition from monarchy to republic has been written about extensively, but Anne Taylor Mocko in her book Unraveling the Crown: Rituals, Politics and the Fall of Kingship in Nepal takes a more historical and anthropological approach. She examines the rituals that make a king a king, and why and how taking away those rituals interrupts the process. Mocko, who is professor of religion at Concordia College in Minnesota, draws connections between ritual, politics and kingship. She distinguishes between succession rituals (‘those which mark the end of one office-holder’s tenure and the beginning of a new office-holder’s tenure’) and reinforcement rituals (‘that permit the constant reproduction of a social office throughout the duration of the office holder’s tenure’). The reinforcement rituals appear to reflect rather than produce a social status. Mocko expands on this by analysing the rituals following the royal massacre. The massacre left Gyanendra, King Birendra’s brother, as the only surviving royal family member eligible to rule. The book delves into the government handling of the murder investigation. The two-member team was given three days to investigate. The investigation did not include any forensics and the final report did not have the results of the ballistics test. It then looks into the cremations and coronation of two kings (Dipendra was crowned in a coma). Mocko concludes that the rituals were either highly problematic or incomplete, given the unusual circumstances. She draws from Ronald Grimes’ ‘ritual infelicity’, a concept that accounts for the many ways that a ritual can go wrong. Given the loopholes in the massacre report, many shocked Nepalis concluded that Gyanendra himself was to be blamed for the killings. The response to his enthronement ritual was therefore unenthusiastic and controversial. Mocko also brings up the incomplete ritual of katto for both Birendra and Dipendra, as both the brahmins who volunteered for the rituals did not leave the Valley as they were supposed to, given their dissatisfaction with the compensation and offerings, hence leaving the ritual unfinished. With these and other shortcomings in the succession rituals, the book points out that the reinforcement rituals were more important for Gyanendra to solidify his kingship. The bulk of the book deals with three annual events where the king plays a public role: the Bhoto Jatra, the Indra Jatra and the Dasain festival. The writer examines these rituals in the aftermath of 2006 people’s movement and 2007 when the political parties made moves to strip the palace of reinforcement rituals even though the king was still living in Narayanhiti. Gyanendra at first tried to continue being involved: he attended Bhoto Jatra, received the blessings of the Kumari at the end of Indra Jatra and continued to put tika on the public at the palace in 2006. But by 2008, an elected Constituent Assembly voted to abolish the monarchy and Gyanendra left the palace. When the Prime Minister took over these ex-royal rituals, the king ended up being just a regular citizen. The gradual demotion of the king showed how important these rituals were in giving the king legitimacy. Mocko makes us wonder whether Gyanendra would have remained king even without any connection to the government if he had retained his royal ritualistic role. This South Asian version of the book is slightly updated from its 2016 version Demoting Vishnu: Ritual, Politics and the Unraveling of Nepal’s Hindu Monarchy published by Oxford University Press in Europe and North America, and has new photographs and a new title. This is a recommended resource for anyone interested in Nepal and its monarchy at a time when Gyanendra is once more in the political arena.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240215150216_4faf43761932353d053627ef8117c4c47ee466d6089fdd15cdfd15153ab917bb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240215150216_4faf43761932353d053627ef8117c4c47ee466d6089fdd15cdfd15153ab917bb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Unraveling the crown NT"></figure>

Sahina Shrestha

The role of rituals in royalty

A lot has happened since American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin was first published in 2005. The book set off ripples after it won a Pulitzer, but created a tidal wave of interest after Christopher Nolan adapted it for his 2023 blockbuster movie Oppenheimer which is dominating this award season. American Prometheus is a nuanced portrait of a scientist ‘whose brilliance was matched only by his internal conflicts’, and by retelling its protagonist’s life and times the book is a call for rationality in the nuclear age to contain the fearful threat posed by weapons of mass destruction and terror.&nbsp; The book took 25 years to research and write and is a sobering reminder that the doomsday clock is closer to midnight today than at any time since the end of the Cold War. It has been ticking ever since the world’s greatest scientific minds got together in Los Alamos in New Mexico in 1943 to build an atom bomb before the Germans did.&nbsp; Germany surrendered, but that did not stop hawks in the US military to use it to kill 200,000 people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. The Americans justified this by saying that a long-drawn assault on the Japanese mainland would have cost a lot more lives. And Oppenheimer himself felt that the first military use of atomic weapons should be so spectacular and destructive that its ferocity would deter future use. The book reminds us that he opposed the detonation of the second bomb over Nagasaki, and the development of the hydrogen bomb. The fact that nuclear weapons have not been used in war for the past 80 years shows the reasoning could have some merit. But it has not stopped nuclear proliferation, and countries like Pakistan, India and North Korea now own atomic warheads as well.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-nuclear-weapons-story-is-not-over">The nuclear weapons story is not over</a>, Nepali Times Speaking with Nepali Times ahead of his session at the Nepal Literature Festival in Pokhara on 17 February, Kai Bird emphasised that the nuclear story is not over, and it could still end very badly: Vladimir Putin’s threat to use tactical nuclear weapons against Ukraine, Israel's strategic ambiguity, and Iran's impending nuclear arsenal. Closer to home, Nepal is surrounded by nuclear-armed countries which are not exactly friendly with each other. India has frequent border skirmishes with Pakistan and China, and Nepali soldiers serve in the Indian Army.&nbsp; Amitav Ghosh in his 1999 book Countdown following the Indian nuclear test wrote that even tactical use of nuclear weapons could result in fallout carried by prevailing winds to Himalaya glaciers that could turn Asia’s rivers radioactive and contaminate aquifers. &nbsp; If Middle East tensions escalate into a nuclear confrontation, it will endanger 2 million Nepalis who work there and most will have to return home for safety. Nepali students were killed by Hamas in Israel, and continue to die for Russia in Ukraine.&nbsp; The staunchest critic of nuclear weapons was the architect of the first atomic bomb himself. The book recounts how after the Japanese surrender, Oppenheimer met President Truman and said he felt he had “blood in his hands”. Truman told aides later he never again wanted to see that “son of a bitch … cry-baby scientist”. &nbsp; Oppenheimer used his newfound fame as a celebrity scientist to slow the nuclear arms race. ‘He tried valiantly to divert us from the bomb culture by containing the nuclear threat he helped to set loose,’ the authors write in Prometheus.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-the-movie-oppenheimer-missed">What the movie Oppenheimer missed</a>, Katsuhiro Asagiri But at the height of the anti-Communist McCarthy purges in the 1950s, Oppenheimer was singled out for his peace initiatives in &nbsp;hearings designed to silence and humiliate the scientist.&nbsp; “Oppenheimer became the chief celebrity victim of the McCarthyite witch-hunts. And today around the globe we seem to be experiencing similar xenophobia about immigrants, ethnic and religious minorities and workers disrupted by technology and globalisation,” Bird says in his interview (overleaf).&nbsp; The dense 700-page biography reads like a political thriller that starts with Oppenheimer’s precocious childhood. He is so fascinated by rocks and minerals that the New York Mineralogical Club invites him to deliver a lecture not knowing he is only a 12-year-old boy. He is miserable at Harvard and Cambridge, his mental well-being is put to a test and he is diagnosed with schizophrenia. But he flourishes in Göttingen in Germany where he learns quantum physics. Back in America, his Berkeley department becomes the centre of fundamental research into atomic physics. He supports leftist causes but never joins the Communist Party.&nbsp; Today, there is a theoretical debate about which is worse: all out nuclear war, or climate breakdown. &nbsp;One has more immediate and irreversible implications than the other, but the fact is that both are manmade threats and we have it in our power to remove them.&nbsp; Read : <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/ukraines-lessons-for-sandwiched-nations-like-nepal">Ukraine's lessons for sandwiched nations like Nepal</a>, Bhaskar Koirala Harnessing atomic energy was always a double edged sword. Besides the bomb, many energy planners are pushing for nuclear reactors to be climate-friendly. But atomic reactors have a problem with radioactive waste disposal, and the dangers of Chernobyl or &nbsp;Fukushima type meltdowns.&nbsp; The future may be in fusion reactors, the same physics that drove the thermonuclear bomb that Oppenheimer so staunchly opposed. Fusion is cleaner energy with water as the only by-product.&nbsp; “It is becoming increasingly likely that the problem will not be resolved with renewable energy – which is growing too slowly to make a significant difference – or expensive technologies like carbon capture and sequestration and green hydrogen,” says Nouriel Roubini of New York University’s Stern School of Business. “Instead, we may see a fusion energy revolution, provided that a commercial reactor can be built in the next 15 years.” Oppenheimer said that the only defense against nuclear terrorism was the elimination of nuclear weapons, and in the age of nuclear arms race he was also worried about mankind’s moral survival. His friend, a fellow theoretical physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi said, ‘You drop a bomb and it falls on the just and the unjust.’ In Japan, surviving hibakusha and their descendants continue to suffer genetic defects. In the South Pacific, Kazakhstan and other nuclear test sites, many still suffer devastating health consequences from fallout. The Los Alamos site itself led to inter-generational sickness from radioactive fallout for 15,000 Navajo people living downwind. They were not warned before the test, and they have been forgotten since.&nbsp; American Prometheus reminds us of the urgent need for nuclear arms control in a volatile world. Bird and Sherwin have narrated the moral dilemma and persecution of the inventor of a fearful weapon, coming generations will have to grapple with ways to keep prevent its use. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/year-of-reckoning">Year of reckoning</a>, Editorial  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024021515028_d560d5d86980d0c3493c75fd1e4e7e2bb3a91c490d2641329aea2901d6564482.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024021515028_d560d5d86980d0c3493c75fd1e4e7e2bb3a91c490d2641329aea2901d6564482" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="669" loading="lazy" alt="American Prometheus NT"> </figure>

The destroyer of worlds

Sha Bahadur Gurung was 30 years old when he was arrested for participating in a peaceful protest. He died aged 65 last week in Bhutan’s Chamgang Central Prison. He was among 31 prisoners of conscience in Bhutan, many of whom are serving long sentences for opposing the regime’s forcible expulsion of 100,000 of its Lhotsampa people in the early 1990s. ‘Mr Gurung died on 15 December in his prison cell under circumstances that raise serious concerns about custodial negligence and long-term abuse,” said a statement by the Global Campaign for the Release of Political Prisoners in Bhutan (GCRPPB) based in The Hague which demanded an external probe, justice and release of remaining political prisoners. Gurung was from Chirang and was arrested in 1990 while serving in the Royal Bhutan Army, and accused of having sympathies for the Lhotsampa people. He was mostly held at the notorious Rabuna Prison in Wangdi Phodrang District.&nbsp; Gurung’s relatives in the United States said he had endured prolonged physical and psychological abuse during his imprisonment, and repeatedly subjected to torture and inhumane treatment. They believe the decades of ill-treatment had damaged his health, ultimately leading to his death. Earlier this month, Gurung was transferred from Rabuna to Chamgang Central Prison. On 14 December. He had gone to bed after dinner without any visible sign of distress. He was found unconscious in his cell the next morning.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="902" height="1103" loading="lazy" alt="Sha Bahadur Gurung NT"> <figcaption>Sha Bahadur Gurung, who died at age 65 in prison in Bhutan after serving 30 years for expressing political opinion.</figcaption> </figure>  He was referred to a hospital in Thimphu, suggesting that he was still alive during transfer to a local health post. But it appears that he had already died before being taken from prison. Gurung’s death occurred two days before Bhutan’s National Day on 17 December, when families, supporters, and human rights advocates worldwide had hoped for the release of political prisoners through a royal amnesty. Instead, the death of one of the longest-serving political prisoners has caused grief and anger in the Bhutanese diaspora.&nbsp; “We strongly condemn the treatment and death of Gurung, a peaceful and justice-loving Bhutanese citizen,” the V statement said. ‘This tragedy raises serious questions about the treatment of political prisoners in Bhutan and stands in stark contrast to the country’s international image under the principles of Gross National Happiness, compassion, and mindfulness.’ Earlier this year, The <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/en/special-procedures/wg-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention-its-101st-session" target="_blank">United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention</a> said the Bhutan government was detaining citizens without parole for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/detainees-in-dire-straits-in-bhutan-s-prisons" target="_blank">expressing political opinion</a>. The New York-based Human Rights Watch (HRW) said in 2023 that there were least 37 <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/03/13/bhutan-free-long-term-political-prisoners" target="_blank">political prisoners</a> in Bhutan’s jails. Of them, 32 belong to the Nepali-speaking Lhotshampa community, which has faced <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2003/06/18/nepal-bhutanese-refugees-rendered-stateless" target="_blank">decades of discrimination and abuse</a> and eviction. Most of them were convicted because of prohibited political activity between 1990 and 2008. One political prisoner, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/no-country-for-dissent?fbclid=IwAR07lpitMBWAYSkny_3d_smQBlmoxAOQm1OxdNtl-27h8mV0RNO9IxVY2qs" target="_blank">Madhukar Monger</a>, who was released in 2023 after serving 29 years described brutal conditions in <a href="https://www.hrw.org/asia/bhutan" target="_blank">Bhutan</a>'s jails. Political prisoners were not given enough food, and medical care, he said, urging the internaitoonal community to press for the release of prisoners of conscience.&nbsp; In March, <a href="https://www.hrw.org/about/people/meenakshi-ganguly" target="_blank">Meenakshi Ganguly</a>, Deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch, urged Bhutan’s international partners to call on the Bhutan government to release all remaining political prisoners immediately.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1422" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1420" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

Samrat Upadhyay’s newest novel <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/books/review/darkmotherland-samrat-upadhyay.html" target="_blank">Darkmotherland</a> imagines a Kathmandu in political turmoil after a large earthquake. In the aftermath, Home Minister Giridharilal Bhagirath Kumar stages a ‘koo’, and has convinced people that he is the answer to the crisis.&nbsp; He is now known as ‘PM Papa’, and picks up classic dictatorial ways — propaganda, statue-making, history-revising, and a gang of Shiva-worshipping ‘Fundys’.&nbsp; We are introduced to two complicated protagonists. The first is Kranti, a fetching young woman and ‘Madam Mao’, her Communist professor mother. The chef father loved classic rock and died by gas cylinder suicide. Kranti hates her mother, and the Communist group which congregates at her home to plot against PM Papa, although they seem to take forever to get anything done.&nbsp; Kranti has a complicated relationship with the handsome Bhaskar, the middle son of the Ghimirey family oligarchy that is aligned with the dictator. She loves him, but as Bhaskar gets more and more involved with her mother and the Communist group, finds herself heading out to the ‘Bhurey’ (Bhu-kampa Rey-fugee) tents, to spend time with poet Kabiraj.&nbsp; Kranti is also given to delusions, paranoia, and psychosis, convinced that Bhaskar’s family is spying on her, and that one in the Communist group has supernatural powers of suggestion that led to her father’s suicide. Despite mental issues, she marries Bhaskar and into the Ghimirey clan, and the complex nexus between business and politics.&nbsp; The second is Rozy, initially the genderqueer lover of PM Papa who he discovered in the streets, and is described as a ‘gorgeous homosexual’. She turns heads due to her sexuality and beauty, and gets more and more politically powerful as the story moves along.&nbsp; Upadhyay tells us Nepali writers writing in English often feel a pressure to create an “all-embracing world” (interview), but that is what he seems to be getting at with the monumental plot of his novel. Unlike the realism in his previous novels, this one drifts off into magical realism. His narrative blends the ever-present risk of a big earthquake and the actuality of political tremors. The speed of political upheaval seems a little unrealistic for anyone who lived through the 2015 earthquake, although the GenZ protests showed just how quickly a regime can be reduced to a heap of rubble. The age-old question: oppression can be overcome, but what comes after? The PM Papa character is a Gyanendra-Oli-Deuba-Prachanda-Modi-Trump-Papa Doc composite who is good friends with the not even thinly veiled President Corn Hair.&nbsp; Through the character of Kranti, Upadhyay conveys the dynamic between a parent and a child who is now a full adult, on relationships in Kathmandu as marriage looms, on pervasive corruption which one might denounce but have to take advantage of to get things done.&nbsp; Through Rozy, Upadhyay brings attention to the non-binary identity, one that has existed forever in Nepal, and although is discussed a lot in the West lately but not so much here. Upadhyay explores the origins, the present, and the various advantages and disadvantages of the queer.&nbsp; Storytelling in the early parts of the book oscillates between the real and absurd fantasy amidst the physical and political backdrop that does not have to be Nepal -- it could be Modi's India or Trump's America.&nbsp; The reader sees the world through Kranti’s psychosis, or PM Papa’s displays of power, such as when a ‘Sweej’ wrestler is beaten to death with a mace in a wrestling spectacle.&nbsp; These elements <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/profiles/article/96329-samrat-upadhyay-wants-you-to-expect-the-unexpected.html" target="_blank">coagulate in the novel</a>, and Upadhyay has all the pages at his disposal to prod and push them against one another to see what happens. The novel is still at its best and most engaging when describing vulnerable scenes, of Kranti and her mister, or of Rozy’s messed-up childhood.&nbsp; Any Nepali reading his weighty novel can recognise the allusions and nudges such as the Tourist Area: Thamel, Open Stage: Khula Manch, Tri-Moon: Tri-Chandra etc. But anyone not from these parts may have a tough time keeping track. Keeping a notebook handy may be useful.&nbsp; Ultimately, the novel does work, it provokes and entertains. For best results, serialise the reading over 30 days, not 3 like this reviewer.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Darkmotherland NT"> </figure>  <h2>More things change, more they remain the same</h2> First US-published Nepali Samrat Upadhyay is the award-winning author of novels and short story collections like Arresting God in Kathmandu, The City Son, Mad Country, and Buddha’s Orphans. Upadhyay is also the Martha C. Kraft Professor of Humanities at Indiana University, where he teaches Creative Writing.&nbsp; Recently in Kathmandu, he talked to the Nepali Times over coffee in Boudha about his writing, his teaching, and his newest novel, DARKMOTHERLAND.&nbsp; Nepali Times: Darkmotherland is 732 pages long. What was it like writing a much longer book? Samrat Upadhyay: Torturous Ha ha ha. Around 2014 I started a story. I knew it was going to be a novel. It was about this woman who is accused of being a Mangalik. Then the big earthquake happened in 2015. I was in the US but my parents were still here, they were living in tents. Then I started thinking, what would happen if a dictator came to power. That’s how PM Papa was born. I think mostly because of his character the novel exploded. I had never written a character like him before. I don’t do any plot outlines when I write. Let’s see where it goes. I like the process of writing to lead to discoveries. If I knew everything then I’d get bored. Not knowing where the storyline might go is very exciting. All these different threads started coming in, the character of Kranti started taking on a big role. Her mother, a Communist-leaning professor, started taking shape. Kranti also had a love-interest from an oligarchical family. The novel just took off and I just continued writing. A novel is as long as it needs to be. The initial draft was 1,700 pages. I was writing pretty fast. I don’t pause to see if the sentences are pretty. I whittled it down, and by the time I sent it to my agent it was 1,100 pages. He was able to sell it to Soho Press. I worked with an editor who suggested some further cuts and expansions. The editing part was even harder than the initial writing, because by that time I was tired of looking at the novel. There was a bit of a delay because of Covid, then we got back on track. What’s your daily process of getting the words on paper? I am a morning writer. I get up in the morning and start writing. You can have all kinds of theories but there is this saying, Shut Up and Write. The writing is where the meat is. You encounter difficulties in writing that you may not encounter when thinking about it. I see this in my students. I knew this was a big project so I knew that if I wanted to get it out I would need to write a lot per day. I got a couple fellowships in the university that gave me a few semesters off teaching. I would write for about 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes I would give myself a 1,000 word deadline, but I’m flexible with it if I don’t get there. You have to be kind and patient. What is your inspiration behind the gender-queer character, Rozy? I’ve always been a strong supporter of LGBT. I would say that at this point half of my students are non-binary or on the gender spectrum. Some of them are going through transitions. In some ways Nepal has become more accepting, but in other ways not. I did a workshop with Blue Diamond Society, and heard pretty harrowing stories. I didn’t intend to create a gender-queer character, but it seemed like the novel was demanding that. Especially in terms of the tyrannical stronghold that PM Papa has over the entire country, it made sense that there would be a counterpart, I wanted to put these things in motion and see how they interact. As I was writing Rozy, her character became very formidable. How much do you draw from Nepali politics? Do you form characters off people you know? Not in a very concrete sense, but I’m always drawing from them. I grew up in the Panchayat System, and lived in Lainchaur. The palace was there. The monarchy was such an institution. But then I was in the US, so I wasn’t here when the pro-democracy movement happened. In some ways it felt like things had changed, but were the same in other ways. I feel the same way now. I do draw upon people. I think my father makes an appearance in my work in various forms, I disguise him, of course. You’ve taught creative writing for a while now, how is literature changing?&nbsp; My students are also writing non-binary characters, because they want to be reflected in the stories. This is something new that we didn’t have. White authors, characters were the default. People of Color on the margins. African American and then Hispanic, South Asian authors were always pushing back on this status quo. When I was growing up in the classroom we were reading a lot of white male authors, but in my own life I was reading Salman Rushdie, African, South African friends and writers. My students have a lot more interest in fantasy, many are writing dystopian. One student is writing a novel where the characters start playing a game, and then they enter the game, and an entire new world opens up. On the one hand there are complaints that students aren’t reading enough, which is true, but my students are producing smarter work. Writing that is a lot more insightful. The calibre of discussion in my graduate-level novel writing classes is mind-boggling to me, and makes me want to keep on teaching. Do Nepali writers who write in English feel a certain pressure, from the market or self-imposed, to make their stories more Nepali? My experience for a long time was that there was a pressure, I felt it true in my case, I was supposed to be the representative of every Nepali. But Nepali writers writing in Nepali are not asked, how are you representing Nepal. At that time there was a lot of pressure to write a novel that is all-embracing, that is supposed to speak on all aspects of the country. Politics felt like an integral part of it, that these novels had to make big political statements. I always felt like this was wrong. I mean, people have to write what they want to write. &nbsp;You write what you want to write, and if it resonates with readers, that’s great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Art isn’t going to speak to everyone. We do a competition every couple of years called Writing Nepal. We make a call for stories, and we decide the best ones. I find it refreshing now that the writing isn’t all about Nepal. The best stories are quite varied. What are Nepalis writing about?&nbsp; Several of the stories are about the role of women in our society, done with a lot of nuance, about the sort of multitasking they have to do. Some of it was deeply historical, some dystopian, the coming of AI. Some of them have an old-timey type of feel, and some of them are very modern, contemporary. The general level of art in movies, TV shows, and novels seems to have regressed compared to say the 90s.&nbsp; I don’t think that’s entirely true. Publishing has been harder, for sure, but there are a lot of novels being published every year. My writing workshop had always been a good vehicle for short stories, but a lot of my students now—even undergraduates—are working on novels. I haven’t formulated my thoughts on AI, it is so new and has hit us so hard. Many of my students are using AI, especially when writing response papers to works of literature or peers, which I find appalling. That’s going to be a struggle. I tell my students, who are you fooling? If you feel that you want to be an artist, or a writer, then what’s the point of using AI? AI-generated stories are also just not that good. They’re almost too perfect, too well put-together, making moves that are easy to detect. There is something about human-written stories that are messy and exciting. But there are also plenty of students who want to do original work and don’t want anything to do with AI.

A dystopian motherland

From its headwaters near Mansarovar on the Tibetan Plateau to its confluence with the Ganga in India, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/faith-to-reality">the Karnali</a> remains one of the last great free-flowing rivers in the Himalaya. At a time when most major Asian rivers have been dammed by concrete, the Karnali still surges, migrates, floods and recedes according to its own natural rhythms. This sustains an entire living system -- wildlife, communities and cultures — that cannot be replicated once a river is turned into a staircase of reservoirs. The Karnali is a natural artery for western Nepal. It nourishes fertile floodplains, recharges aquifers, supports fisheries and connects remote communities.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Confluence of the Humla and Mugu Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  Bardia National Park and its rich biodiversity, including the tiger and fresh water dolphins, depend on the river and its seasonal interaction with the floodplain and wetlands. Riverine birds, crocodilians, endemic fish, all depend on the river. Millions of people in Nepal and India rely on the Karnali (called Ghaghara in India) for household use, irrigation and livelihoods. This living river now faces <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dams-and-dreams-a-journey-down-the-karnali">a cascade of proposed hydropower projects</a>. So far, the Upper Karnali &nbsp;(900MW) and the massive Karnali-Chisapani (10,800MW) have been purposed. Both have been mired in controversy and have been delayed. Construction of smaller projects like the Bheri-Babai Diversion are already underway.&nbsp; The Upper Karnali is a Rs146 billion project first purposed in 2006. It started construction earlier this year with the Indian conglomerate GMR leading the task. Even so it faces a setback as Bangladesh cancelled the power purchase deal of 500MW.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47" data-rendition-name="original" width="4284" height="5712" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Free-flowing Upper Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  The project is located on the stupendous Karnali Bend where the water can be pushed through a 2.5km tunnel over a drop of 130m, creating a huge generation capacity. But Nepal’s move towards big dams comes at a time when scientists warn of more extreme weather events like floods and landslides in the already fragile Himalayan landscape. Nepal now needs investment in storage projects as most hydropower plants are of the run-of-river type, which means power generation drops in the dry season. But a piecemeal dam-by-dam approach risks destroying a unique resource for benefits that could be achieved elsewhere with far less ecological cost. Once a free-flowing river is fragmented, its sediment delivery is choked, fish migrations are cut off, floodplains dry out and local cultures that revolve around seasonal flows begin to unravel. These changes are effectively permanent.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Local children play indigenous musical instrument.</figcaption> </figure>  “The Karnali is the last and most pristine Himalayan River left, most others are already exploited. It should be protected as a wild, scenic, free flowing river as a gift to future generations,” says activist Megh Ale, who wants the river to be developed as an eco-tourism corridor on the pilgrim trail to Mt Kailash and Mansarovar.&nbsp; “We have many big tributaries to the Karnali,” Ale adds. “We can keep the main stream of the river as free flowing, and develop hydro projects on the tributaries. More than 6,000MW can be produced without touching the main river stem.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1875" height="2500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Rafters say Karnali is one of the best places for white water rafting in the world.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has abundant alternatives to hydropower: solar energy has been hardly tapped, and integrating them with pump storage systems are cheap, quick to build and are low impact. Smarter siting and design, modern transmission links and regional power trading can deliver reliable energy without sacrificing the country’s last pristine river. Preserving the Karnali would also pay dividends in climate resilience: free-flowing rivers buffer <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-denial-in-the-himalaya">extreme floods and droughts</a>, carry sediment that builds deltas and replenishes nutrients on farmland, and provide insurance against glacial and monsoon variability.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Tharu women repair a channel fed by the Karnali, which is a life line for their farms.</figcaption> </figure>  The Karnali is also a cultural and economic asset in its own right. As a rare, undammed Himalayan river, it underpins nature-based tourism, scientific research, and a way of life for Indigenous and local communities. Kalashtham Tharu, 32, is an elephant mahout in Bardia, and says the Karnali is an important source of water for animals and farming. Diversion for irrigation near Chisapani has meant that a channel going into Bardia National Park has gone dry, affecting biodiversity and nearby farms. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="2000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Panning for gold on the banks of the Karnali. She makes Rs200,000 per year. </figcaption> </figure>  Similarly, the Sonahar community in Bardia relies on the river to pan for gold, their sole source of income. Anita, 40, says there is much less water in the Karnali this year. On an average, she makes Rs200,000 from middlemen for the gold she pans during non-monsoon months. &nbsp; WILD RIVERS Around the world, countries are beginning to recognise the value of keeping a few great rivers wild. Protecting the Karnali would place Nepal at the forefront of that movement and strengthen efforts to seek international recognition for the river’s outstanding natural heritage. Any decision should be grounded in a transparent, basin-wide assessment that weighs the full social, ecological and economic costs—not just the megawatts on a project spreadsheet. That means evaluating alternatives, safeguarding critical habitats and migration routes, and recognising the rights and knowledge of the people who live along the river. It also means asking a simple question: If Nepal can meet its energy goals without damming the Karnali’s main stem, why wouldn’t it?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>River mining the Karnali in Kalaili district causing uneven landscape with the river flowing away from Bardia National park.</figcaption> </figure>  Advocates have petitioned Nepal’s Supreme Court to protect the Karnali, with a hearing scheduled in Kathmandu on 22 December. International lenders and investors should take note: Financing high-impact dams on the Karnali would run counter to emerging global standards on biodiversity, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dancing-with-the-river">climate resilience</a> and free-flowing river protection. Funding clean energy in Nepal should not require sacrificing the country’s most pristine river. For three decades, I have documented the Karnali from its source in Tibet to its entry into India, capturing the river’s seasons and the lives it sustains. The images I have captured and the voices of people who depend on the river, tell a simple truth: a free-flowing Karnali is irreplaceable. Once the concrete is poured, there is no going back.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1504" height="1502" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Inner sanctum of Mt Kailas in the vicinity of Manasarovar and Rakshas lakes in Tibet.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has many options for generating power. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-karnali-portrait?%2F">It has only one Karnali</a>. Keeping this river wild would be a gift to the living Earth and to future generations — a legacy measured not in megawatts, but in life. Says Megh Ale: “We are very rich in natural resources but manage them very poorly. We want instant solutions but do not have a long-term vision. We are not against development but there needs to be a good balance with nature.” &nbsp;

book-review

The sins of our mothers

The war between people

Of crows, and people

Menstruation is normal, period

MASK

The Evolution of Empire

Feeling at home nowhere and everywhere

The Shépa lexicon

The role of rituals in royalty

The destroyer of worlds

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

The sins of our mothers

A dystopian motherland

The river of life