The Narayani River in Chitwan National Park is at only 180m above sea level, but &nbsp;on a rare clear day last week visitors could see the summit of 7,893m-high Himalchuli right across Nepal, 150km away.&nbsp; Upstream, the Trisuli, Seti and Kali Gandaki &nbsp;join to form the Narayani in a catchment stretching 46,300 sq km from Dhaulagiri to Langtang — spanning one-third of Nepal’s area.&nbsp; Glaciers up in those mountains, and even a part of the Tibetan Plateau, feed the Narayani. To see the snows and river together underscores the need to regard the Himalaya not just as a mountain range, but as a composite watershed. This delicate balance between mountains and plains is now destabilised by climate breakdown. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251225111216_105ddc802eb5742227d62687c003bfdb1f3c55faba2c6352b29c2a83123247e7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251225111216_105ddc802eb5742227d62687c003bfdb1f3c55faba2c6352b29c2a83123247e7" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="People, naturally"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_b4c2c51021e6a21e6d87c748ba8eb6401827ad69d44953af842859c6839350c1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251224141228_b4c2c51021e6a21e6d87c748ba8eb6401827ad69d44953af842859c6839350c1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  “The climate crisis is a water issue. It is not just about this river, but the mountains and the glaciers we can see from,” said Adil Najam, President of the World Wildlife Fund International during a visit to Chitwan last week. “Water is going to be a frontline climate issue not only for Nepal but for the world itself. This crisis is not long-term, it is immediate-term.” Water from the Narayani, Rapti and other rivers have been vital in shaping the conservation success story of Chitwan National Park. But Nepal’s oldest nature reserve now suffers from either too much water during monsoon floods, or too little in the dry season as a result of extreme weather caused by climate breakdown. Insufficient recharge of aquifers and over-extraction of groundwater have caused oxbow lakes and wildlife watering holes inside the Park to dry up, and solar-powered pumps have been installed to replenish some of them.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_97cb5c51d38d4cc038fbaa305eca8e7096d2a58e573ee016fa7e2b9972e67f62.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251224141228_97cb5c51d38d4cc038fbaa305eca8e7096d2a58e573ee016fa7e2b9972e67f62" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  Nepal tripled its tiger population to nearly 400 in the past 14 years, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/close-encounter-of-the-wild-kind-in-nepal?fbclid=IwY2xjawFomglleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHd0IT1aTm1ugPsScRVjFSOQKx4trJC1QolMquJH-VcPA3Dsuc7J8twvEtg_aem_oRrHg17T6T0bQzRqU0AvgA" target="_blank">rhino numbers have rebounded to 752</a> with near-zero poaching for the past decade, and vulture species have been rescued from the brink of extinction — all this largely due to the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/on-the-tri-junction-of-wildlife-conservation-conflict-and-co-existence" target="_blank">efforts of local communities in the buffer zones</a> of parks like Chitwan. “The biodiversity here was protected because conservation has been collaborative,” said <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-s-tharu-are-tiger-protectors" target="_blank">Birendra Mahato</a>, an elected member of the Ratnanagar ward adjacent to the Park. “This <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/parks-plus-people" target="_blank">involvement of people in the buffer zone</a>, including us from the indigenous communities, has <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-s-tharu-are-tiger-protectors" target="_blank">helped reduce poaching and human-wildlife conflict</a>.” The <a href="http://www.apple.com/" target="_blank">Tharu, Bote and Musahar</a> <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-s-tharu-are-tiger-protectors" target="_blank">indigenous groups that used to live inside what is now the national park</a> followed traditional practices that took into account the behaviour of tigers, rhinos and wild elephants. There were few fatal wildlife attacks.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251226141228_d7c2df18d98d99c32d63ccce53edbe48a36a6a65612e3042f7e93b646f9d86ee.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251226141228_d7c2df18d98d99c32d63ccce53edbe48a36a6a65612e3042f7e93b646f9d86ee" data-rendition-name="original" width="828" height="693" loading="lazy" alt="CNP map"> </figure>  “We need to revive that traditional knowledge so there is human-wildlife coexistence, not conflict,” Mahato added.&nbsp; And communities living in the buffer zone will only protect wildlife if they see a benefit from saving them. The proven way to ensure that coexistence is through well-managed and sustainable tourism that lifts local living standards. The village of Amaltari along the Narayani river has several high-end resorts that employ local people as nature guides, hotel staff and cultural groups performing for tourists. Besides these, the village has 35 women-led homestays where visitors can experience indigenous culture, food and lifestyle.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_759ae97bf2c2f0365e1340cb8468cd9fc44ae735d50a1c76ce92d4651cb08da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20251224141228_759ae97bf2c2f0365e1340cb8468cd9fc44ae735d50a1c76ce92d4651cb08da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  “Lifting living standards is the most effective way to ensure nature conservation, and this means protecting authentic local heritage to generate income from tourism,” Adil Najam said (Interview, below). Tourists come to the buffer zone in the western edge of Chitwan National Park in Amaltari for safaris to see tigers, rhinos, the vulture conservation site, or to float down the river to watch the gharial, crocodiles and migratory birds. Chitwan National Park saw 300,000 visitors last year, with Nepalis now outnumbering foreign tourists. Gita Mahato runs one of the Amaltari homestays and admits that it was not easy in the beginning to ensure that the quality of service was up to mark, and business suffered during and after the pandemic. “But now we have more experience and confidence, our incomes have gone up, and it has restored pride in our culture and helped protect nature,” she added. “It is like a fairy tale.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251225111216_e136c9d7242193503080782d916209f8223d9c74079180b49c099083c27e4b09.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20251225111216_e136c9d7242193503080782d916209f8223d9c74079180b49c099083c27e4b09" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="People, naturally"> <figcaption>Vulture feeding at Jatayu which has rescued the raptors from the brink of extinction. </figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_58a4185f90c35a47806a077a19e7f24d8a9635ac45e8ce457f03a7604ba534b5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20251224141228_58a4185f90c35a47806a077a19e7f24d8a9635ac45e8ce457f03a7604ba534b5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  Improved living standards have impacted other social aspects: there are schools, children have better nutrition, child marriage has gone down, no one is stealing electricity with hooks anymore, and there are now three beauty parlours in Amaltari.&nbsp; WWF Nepal helped with seed money to set up the local Hamar Cooperative, which ploughs tourism income into a savings scheme that lends to members. There are no defaulters, and the indigenous <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/parks-by-the-people-and-for-the-people" target="_blank">Musahar, Bote and Tharu</a> households now have savings. The municipality has built electric fences to protect the rice and mustard fields from wildlife, and this has eliminated fatalities here from tiger attacks. The community’s Anti-poaching Youth Group and the Park’s military have increased vigilance after the jailbreak of notorious wildlife traffickers in September.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_3cff4bdf947bbcb070fe584ab628fb1b79cec047236e56a4486070f8f66ae42d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20251224141228_3cff4bdf947bbcb070fe584ab628fb1b79cec047236e56a4486070f8f66ae42d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  Chitwan and other <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/on-the-tri-junction-of-wildlife-conservation-conflict-and-co-existence" target="_blank">national parks and buffer zones</a> across Nepal are conducting a massive tiger census this week, installing 1,100 camera traps. The cameras also help to curb poaching, and the total tiger population is expected to exceed 400. Says Ghana Gurung from WWF Nepal: “This is the best example that protecting one charismatic species that is at the top of the food chain helps to protect biodiversity and the entire ecosystems.” <h2>“Water is the frontline climate issue”</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251225111216_8bf2b772f726c8f9eb11cc5b79f5c9c8afa115ee0eb170e69f52bf07a6a1e222.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="20251225111216_8bf2b772f726c8f9eb11cc5b79f5c9c8afa115ee0eb170e69f52bf07a6a1e222" data-rendition-name="original" width="1619" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="People, naturally"> <figcaption>Adil Najam with young Buffer Zone forest guides.</figcaption> </figure>  World Wildlife Fund International President Adil Najam was in Chitwan last week, and spoke to Ghana Gurung of WWF Nepal. Ghana Gurung: What are your impressions after visiting Chitwan National Park? Adil Najam: I always knew Nepal was special, and the work of WWF Nepal was special, but I just didn’t realise how special. Seeing the work first hand in Chitwan with species protection, zero-poaching and, most importantly, how to work with communities, particularly with indigenous communities so that we turn this rhetoric of nature vs people into truly a bridge of nature and people. Meeting members of indigenous communities and conservation officials, seeing their sense of pride about what has been achieved was very motivating.&nbsp; So much of what you are doing here in Nepal is relevant to the UN’s SDG goals and WWF’s own 2030 roadmap — especially our core work on species. The challenges are great, but we do not take enough time to appreciate the achievements. We haven’t got to where we want to yet, but we are much further down the road. Tigers have almost tripled, rhinos more than tripled, zero poaching for many years, and all of this with a grassroots approach working with communities. It is not always easy, their concerns are real, but working with them as partners shows that conservation and people do not need to be contradictions.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251225111216_988386ce4e292ca298d9546035cb5e51f4b0c4bed3c6069b269360c2c1d3c98e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20251225111216_988386ce4e292ca298d9546035cb5e51f4b0c4bed3c6069b269360c2c1d3c98e" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="People, naturally"> </figure>  You mention challenges. What are some of the difficulties ahead? When you are working at a high level, the first challenge is keeping it at that level. Unfortunately global challenges like climate change, biodiversity loss are now so great that we have to multiply our efforts multiple times. Nepal also needs to share what you do here with the rest of the world. Unless we learn from each other, we are not going to solve the planetary crises. I was very happy to see how much the youth are involved in Nepal’s conservation effort, but the challenge will be how to get young people excited about conservation with an aspiration to do more.&nbsp; Yes, we try to work more with the youth. What were some of the other highlights of the trip? Clearly, one of the outstanding highlights was the visit to the homestay collective run by indigenous communities, particularly that they are women-led and they have become entrepreneurial, learning new ways to work with nature, designing new livelihoods, by having guests who enjoy nature. The homestay program in Nepal really has ownership and links nature and people.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141228_d8d27836a3d549713d2ff80687c32c2f7723a1c5bd778833852d0216a447b4f7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_19" data-image-id="20251224141228_d8d27836a3d549713d2ff80687c32c2f7723a1c5bd778833852d0216a447b4f7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Chitwan National Park NT"> </figure>  Nepal is one of the most climate vulnerable countries in the world. What were some of the impacts you noticed?&nbsp; I think every country now is climate vulnerable. For the developing world, it is a a compounded challenge not only because they were not responsible for the problem, but also because we now face its consequences. Because the world has not done very much on mitigation, the challenges have become more difficult. Besides carbon mitigation, we need to focus on adaptation and address the issue of water.&nbsp; Climate in the age of adaptation essentially becomes a water issue, and Chitwan has done well to protect its fresh water habitats. It is not just about these rivers, but the mountains and the glaciers we can see from here that feed them. We have compartmentalised problems: this is climate, this is biodiversity, that is plastic. That is not how nature works. There is no solution to the climate challenge without dealing with nature, and vice versa. So, water is going to be a frontline climate issue not only for Nepal but for the world itself. Leadership on climate will have to rest with countries like Nepal in demonstrating ways to build climate resilience. And resilience resides in people. Given this, what are the strategies we need going forward? We are seeing resource constraints, and that is not news. But beyond that many of the biggest challenges of our time are at threshold or beyond threshold level — whether they are climate related, loss of nature, or water stress, etc. We are at this pivotal point, and I hope we will invent better ways on how to deal with these crises. As you already do in Nepal, we have to look at ecosystems as integrated and connected, where doing good for one thing has a positive impact on another. We know that with species here in Chitwan — if one species does well, a whole bunch of others also benefit.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;And like you do here, we have to work in partnerships with communities, conservation people, other international organisations, the private sector. This is not the time for finding your corner and hiding in it. This is a planetary problem, and we need a 8 billion people solution.&nbsp; And the writing on the wall in Nepal and elsewhere is that young people are the key to the present and the future. It is really their world. We have to create an environment in which they can thrive to reach their own potential. And we have to give them the sense that although things are difficult, if we do the right things there are solutions.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141220_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="20251224141220_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758" data-rendition-name="original" width="680" height="103" loading="lazy" alt="SDG"> </figure>

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People, naturally

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

Parks by the people and for the people

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111148/63721d4a9c7e80680e0bd4dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="931"/><figcaption>Nepal has successfully doubled the number of its tiger population. Photo: WWF</figcaption></figure>Nepal’s success in protecting endangered wildlife and their habitats is unquestionably impressive. It leads the world in innovative policies that promote community participation in conservation, such as <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/tree-mendous/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">community forestry</a>, conservation areas like Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP), and national park buffer zones.Nepal’s forest cover has nearly doubled from 26% in 1992 to 45% in 2016. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-many-rhinos-is-enough-rhinos/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">population of rhinos</a> have increased from 100 in the 1960s to 752 in 2021, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/its-a-jungle-out-there/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">tigers</a> from 121 in 2010 to about 240 last year. These successes have happened despite high human population density, which makes them even more astounding.We can attribute much of Nepal’s success to a ‘sandwich’ of innovative policies from above and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/villagers-step-up-to-protect-nepals-tigers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">community action</a> from below, which have made the country a role model for biodiversity conservation around the world.Protected area buffer zone policies enacted in the mid-1990s incorporated communities in globally unprecedented ways. They set aside 30-50% of park income to locals for conservation and livelihood activities and made provisions for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-can-up-forest-cover-to-45-by-2030/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">community forestry</a> in the buffer zone.But these policies would not have been effective without people’s support for protected areas and environmental conservation. Even before buffer zone policies took effect, people appreciated benefits from protected areas.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111148/63721d4d9c7e80680e0bd4dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="701"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111148/63721d509c7e80680e0bd4e0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3506" height="2481"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In the mid-1990s, I surveyed communities in the buffer zone of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-animal-interface-in-nepal-wildlife-corridor/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bardia National Park</a> about their perceptions. More than half of the people said the park benefited them in a multitude of ways. People described the area as beautiful, green, and good to see.They thought it was useful to conserve the forest and wildlife, that the protected area improved the climate and increased water for crops. They appreciated resources they could extract from the park, such as thatch, fuelwood, fruits, and vegetables.Today, people there are even more likely to perceive benefits. In a 2015 study, more than 90% of people felt the Park was important for a healthy environment and for future generations. Two-thirds said it was essential for the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">conservation of wildlife</a>.But the buffer zone policies are not perfect.In the 1990s, when park-people programs first began in Nepal, the primary goal was to reduce locals’ dependency on parks by improving their livelihoods. To achieve this goal, buffer zone policies set aside half of the community funds for development and income generation activities. Development funds went to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-needs-wildlife-friendly-highways/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">physical infrastructure</a>, such as roads and buildings, and income generation funds went to trainings like vegetable farming and motorcycle repair.But these types of activities are not directly related to conservation. During my research in the 1990s, when buffer zone projects were first piloted, local residents around Bardia National Park questioned how sewing training for women and health posts were connected to conservation of the park.The project-sponsored health post was even perceived as detrimental because it competed with the local government health post. Thirty years later, while visiting <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/chitwan-can-accommodate-more-tigers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Chitwan National Park</a>’s buffer zone in January this year, I heard the same sentiments.People questioned why buffer zone money was going to development projects with no direct link to conservation instead of community forests and community-based anti-poaching units.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111148/63721d539c7e80680e0bd4e1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1441" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Around the world, alternative livelihoods are the go-to activity for communities when it comes to biodiversity conservation projects. However, the main benefit of livelihood activities is often improved community relations. There is little evidence that they are successful in terms of increasing people’s income or in decreasing pressure on protected areas. They can even cause more <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/hiding-their-head-in-the-sand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">natural resource extraction</a>.And, unfortunately, the focus on increasing income has limited our appreciation of the ways that protected areas help communities. Increasingly, studies are showing that, contrary to the common belief that protected areas cause or exacerbate poverty, the benefits from protected areas actually translate into less poverty in Nepal and other places like Bolivia, Costa Rica and Thailand.The underlying problem for communities in protected areas is not poverty, but that they do not have sufficient opportunities to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nature-without-borders/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">participate in conservation and management</a>. Focusing on providing ways for people to participate will improve livelihoods that complement conservation.Now, as Nepal modifies its buffer zone regulations, it has an opportunity to prioritise activities that strengthen the links between communities and conservation. This will create sustainable livelihoods in the broader sense of improved health, water, climate, and nature resources. Following are some recommendations that will strengthen the park-people relationship:<ol><li>Buffer zone funds should not be used for regular government activities but rather support conservation activities that directly help communities protect habitat and wildlife.</li></ol>This means prioritising <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/who-now-owns-nepals-forests/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">community forests</a>, community-based anti-poaching units, human-wildlife conflict mitigation, and support for forest and natural resource- dependent communities, who are often the poorest of the poor and the most marginalised. This may also help depoliticise buffer zone management committees, a common criticism of the current system.<ol start="2"><li>Support for forest and natural resource-dependent communities should prioritise the sustainability of traditional livelihood activities, especially for the most marginalised communities. Policies should support and enable the conditions to incorporate people’s traditional activities into the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/naturally-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">conservation of natural resources</a> and serve as a bridge for these communities to alternative livelihoods.</li></ol>For example, buffer zone funds could be used to create and support river stretch conservation user groups, just as they support community forest groups.<ol start="3"><li>Buffer zone policies should have mechanisms to incorporate local and traditional ecological knowledge into habitat and wildlife management. For example, water and grassland management are two increasingly critical issues in protected areas of Nepal, about which people with traditional and ecological knowledge, such as Tharu, Sonoha, Maje, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/chitwans-bote-people-in-a-changing-world/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bote</a>, and Musahar know a great deal. They can provide invaluable insights and perspectives into pressing conservation needs.</li> <li>Buffer zone policies should be consistent with national policy guidelines and community forestry guidelines regarding inclusion and pro-poor activities. For example, community forestry policies require registration of both male and female head of households, 50% women participation on committees, and require that 35% of Community Forest User Group (CFUG) funds be allocated to pro-poor activities.</li></ol>Buffer zone policies should also have similar provisions. In addition, there should be equal representation of households in buffer zone management groups. For example, one household in each user group should have the same voting power as any other household in any other user group.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111148/63721d569c7e80680e0bd4e2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This means user groups should represent the same number of people across the buffer zone. Currently, while a user group must have at least 15 households, some have up to 100, but each user group, regardless of size, has two delegates who choose user committees members.Our survival as a species depends on policies and communities everywhere in the world <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/between-existence-and-extinction-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">preserving our environment and its biological diversity</a>. Nepal leads the world in bringing communities and conservation together. It will be interesting to see where Nepal will lead the world next with its revised buffer zone policies.Teri D Allendorf, PhD, is the executive director of Community Conservation Inc. and an Honorary Fellow in Dept of Forest and Wildlife Ecology at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, USA.

Protecting Nepal’s parks by saving buffer zones

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

‘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>

The sins of our mothers

When Winston Churchill addressed the Canadian Parliament in December 1941, he recalled that generals of Nazi-occupied France had said that England would “have her neck wrung like a chicken”. Churchill went on to quip: “Some chicken.” As the laughter and applause subsided, he added: “Some neck.” (Even longer laughter and applause) We do not know who first started calling the narrow corridor that joins India to its northeastern states a 'Chicken’s Neck', but there also was the hint of a Churcillian connotation. Akhilesh Upadhayay in his new book In the Margins of the Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck, uses this strip as an entry point to explore a region adjoining Nepal, Bhutan, China, Sikkim, Darjeeling, India’s northeast and the tectonics that shaped its geo-strategic terrain.&nbsp; Upadhyay’s Chicken Neck is an organic whole, connected through centuries by transboundary traders, travellers, monks, spies, missionaries, mountaineers, and more. And as infrastructure and connectivity improves, smaller countries like Nepal and Bhutan (and earlier Sikkim) are caught up in the region’s rivalries. The tri-junction of the Chicken’s Neck is a potential flashpoint that has obsessed India’s military strategists ever since Partition in 1947 and the formation of East Pakistan, and the Chinese annexation of Tibet. India found itself squeezed between Chumbi Valley in China to the north and Pakistan to the south. So, when Sikkim started acting too independent for its own good 50 years ago, India engineered its annexation and turned it into its 22nd state. The 1962 Sino-Indian war elevated its strategic importance even more. Alarm bells ring in New Delhi each time there is trouble around the Chicken’s Neck: the Naxalite uprising had to be swiftly crushed, the Indian military moved in to liberate Bangladesh, Gorkhaland and ULFA activities were dangerously nearby, Bhutan had to be appeased. Every once in a while things would flare up between India and China, as in the 2017 Doklam standoff.&nbsp; And last year’s regime change in Bangladesh has rattled New Delhi enough to deploy its Rafael fighters and BrahMos cruise missiles in the Chicken’s Neck. It is now the most densely militarised strip of real estate in this part of the world. &nbsp; As a journalist and former editor of Kathmandu Post, Upadhyay also peers at the Chicken’s Neck through Nepal’s perspective. After all, Jhapa (where the author is originally from) sits right there astride India’s strategic lifeline.&nbsp; Geopolitics is at the front and centre of the book that takes readers back to the time Nepal was a closed Himalayan kingdom.&nbsp; Nepal may be a yam between two boulders, but it may just as well be a thicker Chicken’s Neck as far as New Delhi and Beijing are concerned. Nepal’s rulers have always had to walk the tightrope between China and India. Khampa guerrillas, covertly helped by American and Indian intelligence, raided Chinese military convoys from bases in Nepal, and King Mahendra had to do some intricate diplomatic footwork. India is often described as Nepal’s closest friend, but our relations with China go back as long in terms of the Lhasa trade, Bhrikuti and Arniko, religious exchanges and people-to-people relations. While Nepali researchers are wary of touching on Chinese, Indian or American sensitivities, Upadhyay’s journalistic background means he has no qualms about tackling the subject head-on, and objectively. He spent more than a year researching the book, sniffing around Siliguri, Bagdogra, Naxalbari, Darjeeling and the villages on the Jhapa side. Then he travelled to Olangchung Gola to listen to ordinary people of the Himalayan rimlands. Despite the perception about rigid frontiers between nation states, the book hints at how absurd the notion is. The Chicken’s Neck is also a wild elephant migration corridor, disturbed by the India-Bangladesh border fence, new expressway embankments, airport runways, and expanding cities. Similarly, the people on the Nepal-tibet border used to cross over to graze yaks — this expanded the gene pools of not just the yaks but also the nomadic humans who moved with the herds.&nbsp; Despite the hard borders, trade flourishes. Upadhyay marvels that a shop in Phungling in Taplejung has embroidered saris from Siliguri and fluffy jackets from China. he finds that residents in the northeastern and southeastern tips of Nepal have more in common with kin across the border in Tibet or India than with someone from Kathmandu. Nepal was once one of the biggest trade hubs in ancient times, and our products were treated as equals in Indian border cities. People too, could move freely, especially if they were and are from bordering Tarai cities.&nbsp; Nepal’s rich history and culture was shaped by the proximity to neighbours, and despite borders it is still cemented by marriages and trade — especially in the Nepali-speaking lands to the east. Its geographical positioning makes Nepal not landlocked but land-linked, adjacent to the largest emerging economies of the world. Nepal needs to deploy its soft power with effective diplomacy to take advantage of these two empires, and not be choked by their rivalry. The book was going to press when the GenZ protests ignited in September, but Upadhyay nevertheless managed to insert the current political transition into the pages with deft editing. &nbsp;The final section of the book examines at least three possible scenarios that may unfold as South Asia continues to be shaped by great power rivalries and imperial contests that have weakened the unilateral influence of the west.&nbsp; Akhilesh Upadhyay extrapolates from the Chicken’s Neck, zooming out for a wider perspective on the Subcontinent. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="In the Margins of Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck NT"> </figure>

Some chicken, some neck

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.