<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f379c7e80680e0b7961jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1373" height="914"/><figcaption>All photos: SRIJANALAYA/THE ASIA FOUNDATION</figcaption></figure>Rajib does not like school. His dreams are filled with snakes, pulling him into dark wells. He stares at his own reflection in the mirror, transformed by anxiety. The boy withdraws into himself, trudging against watercolour skies from one page to the next.When Rajib’s older brother arrives from Australia, he brings with him a gaming set. During one of the games, the boys enter a dark tunnel, and the brother asks: “Bhai, it’s pretty dark in here, are you scared?”Rajib responds: “No, I only get scared when I’m at school...”But the tunnel takes a sinister turn when villains show up. The snakes from Rajib’s nightmares shed their skins to reveal his classmates. He cries and finally shares with his brother the secret that has been eating him up all this time.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f3a9c7e80680e0b7962jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1197" height="821"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In the book  गयल केटो (Absent Boy) by Bina Theeng and illustrators Dristi &amp; Keepa Manandhar, Rajib is bullied and suffers from the resulting anxiety. It is one of six new  books produced by <a href="https://srijanalaya.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Srijanalaya</a> in collaboration with The Asia Foundation's<a href="https://www.letsreadasia.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> Let's Read Nepal</a> initiative.The project brought together six authors and six illustrators to design books on children's rights that address topics such as bullying, harassment, identities, gender- and caste-based discrimination and juvenile justice.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/milestone-in-tharu-childrens-literature/"> Milestone in Tharu children’s literature</a>, Alisha Sijapati <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/this-author-is-an-alien/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Books for young readers</a> by authors writing in languages of Nepal are rare. Even rarer are books that deal with the torment and confusion of being a child, so much of which goes unnoticed and overlooked by adults. Often, there is no vocabulary to articulate difficult thoughts and feelings – and even adults do not know what to say.Another book छ्याँबले (Chhyanbale) written by Tirtha Gurung and illustrated by Roseena Sakya is narrated by a mother swallow. Set in the mountain village of Sikles, which also called Chwiuli (barn swallow) locally the book follows an eponymous young boy who cannot walk and is bullied by his peers. Woven together are themes of loss and hope – literally a thing with feathers in the context of the book.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f3d9c7e80680e0b7963jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1196" height="820">“The inspiration for the story came from my own childhood,” says Tirtha Gurung who, like Chhyanbale, was unable to walk for a long time. “But all children grow at their own pace,” he adds, “and the book aims to give hope to parents as well, that it takes time and there is no reason to worry or feel bad.”The musical story unfolds in warm yellow and orange and fresh green through the pages as light slants and curves giving the impression of someone looking over without rest, aiming to protect.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f409c7e80680e0b7964jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1455" height="924">The artwork is similar in सुनौलो सुँगुर (The Golden Pig) by Swapnil Smriti and illustrator Swornim Shakya. It is the story of Lingyok, a young boy in Panchthar, also bullied by his classmates and teacher because of his family profession of rearing pigs. The rainy and thunderous palette mimics the unrest felt by Lingyok.Illustrations by Sapana Sanjeevni and Pallavi Payal for अम्बरको धुन (Ambar’s Tune) by Pranika Koyu on other hand is inspired by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/vibrant-mithila-art-thrives-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">vibrant Mithila art</a>. The book is a day in the life of Ambar who is wheelchair-bound, and each line and shape, all larger-than-life, frame the lucid text to tell the story of boundless imagination.“We wanted to reflect Ambar’s voice and character as closely as possible in our art,” explains Sapana Sanjeevani: “Mithila art with its two dimensional form helps to express his simple and flowing language.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f439c7e80680e0b7965jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1196" height="818">Sarita Pariyar’s उत्सुकता (Curiosity) is illustrated by Rupak Raj Sunuwar, and takes a more fabled approach to tell a powerful story of Dalit children which takes place in an entomic world, with industrious ants as protagonists.  ‘This is not an imaginary story. This is a story even more fearsome – <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepals-caste-struggle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the plights of caste-based discriminations</a>,’ read the first lines.“I was fascinated by weaver ants and how they use their saliva to make their homes, and this mirrored in how Dalit women use their saliva in sewing clothes which are then worn by the people of so-called upper caste.” says Rupak Sunuwar.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f469c7e80680e0b7966jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1493" height="945">Narrated by a young weaver ant, Utsukta the story poses tough questions at society’s hypocrisies. She wants to understand why she should come second to her male classmate who copied her answers in exam, or why Pantheni bajai, who ‘reeks of raw milk and cow dung’ snaps at her to stay away before sprinkling purifying water on the clothes Utsukta has carefully brought for her.Ujjwala Mahajan's जुभी (Juvie), is a much darker fable of children in juvenile homes, illustrated by Alina Chhantel in the many shades of red and black, with barbed wires running across the pages.What is striking about this surreal and sensitive story is the multitude of eyes that grow on the children’s skins, as though constantly watched and judged by the world outside.“Books about children's rights are usually didactic, and we have an image in our heads about people who are punished for breaking the law as irredeemable and violent people,” she says, “and with Juvie we wanted to break that narrative.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720f499c7e80680e0b7967jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1197" height="818">Creators met young adults in Bhaktapur Juvenile Centre before writing the book that may be too sombre for children, but both Maharjan and Chhantel wanted it to be representative of the people it was about.She says, “We believed that being honest to their story, reflecting the seriousness and discomfort, would help get the feeling across to the readers, and encourage them to be more empathetic and accountable.”Pallavi Payal hopes the books will be able to encourage more writers and illustrators to create educational materials for children in Nepal in languages that are easy to understand and relate to. She says: "Children want to read books that make them feel they are not alone.”The books are available <a href="https://www.letsreadasia.org/all/new">online</a> as PDFs in Nepali and English. To request a copy of जुभी (Juvie), please reach out to Ritica Lacoul of The Asia Foundation at ritica.lacoul@asiafoundation.org, or Srijanalaya at srijanalaya@gmail.com.Watch the book readings and conversations with authors and illustrators on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/srijanalaya">Srijanalaya's Facebook</a>.

Ashish Dhakal

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For children, about children

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d122b9c7e80680e0a98c2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Young mothers with their children in Muktikot where child marriage has become more prevalent as subsistence farmers cope with a succession of droughts and floods that have destroyed harvests. All photos: SONAM LAMA</figcaption></figure>“Mulai kyai thaa bhayaanai,” murmurs Birjaman, pain and fatigue etched on his wizened face. He has just made a steep 3-hour climb from his village of Muktikot to a pharmacy carrying his semi-conscious daughter-in-law, Reti.She has post-partum haemorrhage, and has not stopped bleeding. The clinic managed to save her life, but the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/child-marriage-in-nepal-eloped-at-13-mother-by-17/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">young mother</a> lost her three-month foetus. Reti was married off at 16, and at 22 already has two children.The midwife says the miscarriage was due to weakness and heavy workload during pregnancy. Reti’s husband is working in India, and she has to do all the household work, raise the children, take care of the livestock, and fetch water herself.At the pharmacy, Gopal Singh says he sees cases like this often. This is the nearest medical stop for the predominantly Dalit village of Muktikot. He says, "This is nothing new around here, we get miscarriages like this daily. Many do not make it. Young mothers are not physically mature for childbearing and couples do not use contraceptives."Marriage before age 20 is punishable by law in Nepal but it is still common. Low female literacy, poverty, discrimination and cultural norms play a role, but <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/child-marriage-in-Nepal,3863" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">child marriage</a> has become more prevalent as of late, as subsistence farmers cope with a succession of droughts and floods that have destroyed harvests.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d122f9c7e80680e0a98c3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last winter, western Nepal suffered a 6-month drought that was followed by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/wildfires-ravage-nepal-mountains/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">wildfires that raged for months</a>. Then, two weeks ago the region was hit by a freak post-monsoon storm that destroyed standing crops. Farmers had been hopeful for a good harvest because of plentiful rain this monsoon, but <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/post-monsoon-rain-ruins-nepals-crops/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the unseasonal downpour</a> on 18-19 October unleashed landslides and floods and dashed their hopes.Scientists say global warming has added to the moisture content in the atmosphere, triggering <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/himalayan-floods-a-sign-of-worse-to-come/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">extreme weather</a> with erratic monsoons, frequent droughts and cloudbursts. Families in food-deficit western Nepal, already in a precarious situation, have been pushed over the edge.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12329c7e80680e0a98c4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="600"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Already stricken by poverty and caste discrimination, the impact of climate crisis means that more parents now marry off their young daughters, who in turn end up risking their lives due to early pregnancy and poor diet."My father remarried after my mother died, and he married me off at 16 saying I would have a good life after marriage," recalls Reti.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Climate crisis is a disaster in the Nepal Himalaya</a>, Sonam Choekyi LamaSubi, 16, is also from the same village. She lost her new born baby two days after home delivery three months ago. She had not had a single pre-natal check-up, was too <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-epidemic-of-hunger/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">undernourished</a> to breast feed properly, and her baby eventually died of hunger.Subi herself bled for more than two weeks after the birth, and even though there were no men to carry her to the health post, she survived. She is still weak and anemic. Subi’s friend Suna is also 16 and expecting her first baby. Afraid that she may have the same complication, she walked five hours to a pharmacy to get iron tablets.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12349c7e80680e0a98c5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12389c7e80680e0a98c6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994">Locals gathered in Muktikot. At least one member from each family is currently working in India.Suna’s mother Rauthi married her to a neighbour’s son because the family’s harvest failed after a long drought. She has seven children, all of whom have dropped out of school either to work in India, or to get married and raise their own children. The husbands of both Suna and Subi are also away in India, working to augment family income.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/women-and-water/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Women and water</a>, EditorialMost families here have at least one member working in India, and the income they send home was what helped them survive when crops failed. But many Nepalis lost their jobs during the pandemic, so even this fallback option was not there for the past two years.“Life here is tough, and getting tougher. Early marriage is the norm, since it is easier to get our daughters married, so we do not have to feed them,” says Rauthi, two of whose seven children are handicapped and cannot go to school, or work.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d123b9c7e80680e0a98c7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d123f9c7e80680e0a98c8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">Children in Muktikot have to walk across steep terrain for three hours roundtrip everyday to go to school.Nearly 40% of girls in Nepal marry before they are 18, while some 14% give birth to their first child before their 19th birthday. Moreover, children of Dalit communities are at higher risk of being <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/too-young-to-marry/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">married young</a> because of poverty, discrimination and limited access to resources.Although child marriage is less common than it used to be, it is still prevalent despite laws banning it. Now, the economic crisis due to the pandemic and the climate emergency has exacerbated the situation.This is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-curse-of-being-new-mothers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">evident in Bajura</a>, a district in Nepal with one of the worst development indicators with more than 70% of people living below the poverty line, while Nepal’s national average is 26%.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12429c7e80680e0a98c9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Frequent droughts and crop failures in recent years have further impoverished Bajura’s subsistence farmers. As it is, only 9% of the land in the mountainous district is arable, with a mere 1.42% with irrigation facility. Crop yields of barley, wheat, maize and millet harvests have dropped sharply in the past 10 years.Every year the district faces a shortage of 11,000 tonnes food grain, and a World Food Programme (WFP) bulletin classified 85% of the population being <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-pandemic-of-hunger/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">food insecure</a>. Muktikot is one of the villages classified as very vulnerable to deficient nutrition.Even in years with normal harvest, food grown here is enough only to feed families for three months in year. The result is out-migration for work, malnutrition, forced child marriage, high maternal and infant mortality.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6ptI6TJqUgWith farmers so dependent on rain-fed agriculture, their fragile existence is even more precarious because of climate-related extreme weather. A 30-year precipitation data at the nearby Martadimet station shows that total annual rainfall has fallen, there is little winter snow, and even that tends to come with destructive storms.“Rainfall has always been unpredictable in these parts, but these days there is very little winter snow that we need for the spring marsi paddy and buckwheat,” says 65-year-old farmer Brija Bahadur Bam. “And when it does rain, it is so heavy that it washes away the crops.”This all adds up to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/water-table-of-kathmandu-valley-falling-fast-recharge-to-replenish,4100" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">lower groundwater tables</a>, which means even perennial springs have gone dry. Indira Kandel of the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology says that the rain and snow is then not enough to replenish the aquifers.The link between drought and child marriage has been proven by research in India. Reetika Revathy Subramanian, a PhD student at the University of Cambridge, has studied how drought-induced migration in the caste-ridden Marathwada region of India has increased underage marriage.“The decision for a girl to marry gets shaped by a web of intersecting factors, including poverty, access to education, social pressure and norms, harassment and intimidation, which is further exacerbated by disaster,” she explains.In Nepal’s Bajura district, too, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/dalits-disasters-and-discrimination/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dalit community is more vulnerable</a> to the impact of the climate crisis on agriculture than more privileged groups. “Child marriage is rampant here but it is more likely in families hit hard by food crises and with many children,” says Birban BK of the Nepal Climate Change Support Program (NCCSP).The answer lies in making irrigation available to farmers so they are not affected by erratic rainfall, which is why the NCCSP prioritised building irrigation canals and flood-prevention gabion walls in Bajura.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12469c7e80680e0a98cajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1510" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Muktikot got its name from Maoists guerrillas during the insurgency who wanted to show that the Dalit village had been liberated from caste discrimination. The war has been over for 16 years, but life is, if anything, worse for the Dalits here.Village officials and locals believe that the relocation of the entire community is the only way out. Plans are afoot for the rehabilitation of villagers to settlements up the mountains to an altitude of 2,500-3,000m where rainfall is more regular. They can grow cash crops like walnut and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-parliamentarians-apple-grove/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">apple</a>, but will be needing help accessing the market.“These practices could be diversification of livelihoods and income sources through adopting climate-resilient cash crops, connecting farmers to the markets, promoting agro-forestry and use of bioengineering for infrastructure development,” says Monika Upadhyay of WFP Nepal.Even among Dalits, it is the women from the community who are even more affected by the climate crisis. The shortage of water <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">adds to their daily drudgery</a>, because they have to walk longer to reach springs that are still functioning.Says Radha Wagle of the Climate Change Management Division at the Ministry of Environment: “In Bajura and other districts, we need climate-resilient and gender-responsive plans because women are more adversely affected by socio-economic, geographical and climatic vulnerability.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12499c7e80680e0a98cbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="994"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nepal aims to implement these measures at local levels by 2030, the same year the government has set to end <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-child-marriages-spike-during-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">child marriage</a>. But given that the practice is still rampant, it is an ambitious target.Says Subramanian: “It is important to strengthen child marriage prevention groups, village-level committees to work closely with vulnerable families including women and girls in particular.”At nearby Radhamata Secondary School, only 13 of the 113 students in Grade 10 are unmarried. Manshova Buddha, 17, is one of them. She says: “With so many of my friends already married off by their parents, I also feel the pressure. But I am not going to give up on my dreams.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/educating-girls-for-climate-action/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Educating girls for climate action</a>, Helen GrantSome names have been changed.This report was supported by the Road to COP26 campaign implemented by the British Council and funded by UKAID.

How the climate crisis adds to child marriage in Nepal

<figure><img width="1338" height="731" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfcab9c7e80680e0a0ba1jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Laxman Ramtel was recently appointed priest of the Ganesh Mandir in Godamchaur. Photos: HIMALKHABAR</figcaption></figure>One evening 20 years ago, Laxman Ramtel headed to Bhaktapur from Godavari to meet up with his friends.  When he arrived, Ramtel saw that one of his friends was shaving his beard. Thinking he too could use a shave, he attempted to borrow his friend’s shaving equipment. But another one of his friends stood up abruptly to stop him, proclaiming: "Dalits are not supposed to use the same blade as Brahmins and Chhetris." His friend’s words hurt Ramtel deeply. “I was humiliated and heartbroken that day,” he recalls. “I came back home and wept all night.” Many years later, a priest came around to his neighbourhood in Godamchaur on the southern outskirts of Kathmandu Valley, where Ramtel was born and raised, to tie the holy strings on people’s wrists during Janai Purnima.  His family, however, was treated differently. “The priest personally tied the doro on everyone else,” he says. “But when he learned that we were Dalit, he refused to approach us -- he tossed the holy thread at us from afar.” For Ramtel, the years before, between, and after these two incidents have been peppered with similar <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepals-caste-struggle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">discrimination</a>. He has experienced caste-based <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/caste-aside-dalits-battle-sitgma/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">prejudice and intolerance</a> all of his life, be it from strangers or friends, in a village or city, market or temple. But now, Ramtel is at the precipice of change. In July, he was appointed priest of the Ganesh Mandir at Godamchaur by the chief priest of the temple, Pandit Deenbandhu Pokharel. <img width="1703" height="999" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfcae9c7e80680e0a0ba2jpeg.jpg" alt="">Ramtel, an electrician by profession, was overjoyed--to the extent that he briefly forgot about his past experiences. But soon enough, the worry began to creep back in. What if the people refuse to receive tika and blessings from a Dalit priest, he thought. “Although I was chosen because I was qualified for the job, I believe and hope that this decision contributes in some way in building a society without caste-based discrimination,” says Ramtel.oGenerations of Ramtel’s family have made their lives and livelihoods in Godamchaur. He grew up trailing along with his mother often during her visits to the Ganesh Mandir, and the temple is as much home to him as his own house. As such, Ramtel is a man of abiding faith. “I fast every Tuesday for Lord Ganesh, and I see him often in my dreams,” Ramtel says solemnly. “This opportunity might very well have been the fruit of my conviction.”As news of his appointment spread, Ramtel garnered encouragement and support from some high-profile civil society leaders, including Dr Govinda KC, who visited the temple along with social workers, writers, and legal practitioners to receive tika from the new priest to boost his morale. (Pictured, below) <img width="800" height="511" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfcb19c7e80680e0a0ba3jpeg.jpg" alt="">“I was very happy to have received offerings and blessings from priest Ramtel,” said KC, while advocate Omprakash Aryal, who accompanied him says that he hopes Ramtel has been encouraged by the support.Priest Ramtel, for his part, was pleasantly surprised to have met KC and the team of civic society leaders in front of Godamchaur residents. "Today is among the happiest days in my life,” he said.Ramtel has participated in the conservation of the temple for years and was directly involved in its restoration when the 2015 earthquake destroyed it. In fact, the temple bell is still at their home and will be taken to the temple after it is fully reconstructed, says his wife Puja Roka.Ramtel’s day typically begins at four in the morning, when he makes his daily rounds of the holy pipal tree nearby before moving on to other tasks of the day. And although he has been worshipping the tree and the temple for a long time, Ramtel is unfamiliar with the rituals he will need to perform as a priest, and the protocols he needs to follow.  <img width="1800" height="1347" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfcb49c7e80680e0a0ba4jpeg.jpg" alt="">But he has ample time to learn, with the temple reconstruction expected to be complete in three months. Meanwhile, he is adapting to his new circumstance, learning about the ins and outs of the temple and his life as its custodian. He is also reading the Bhagawad Gita and the Ramayana as he familiarises himself with religious texts ahead of his lessons with the chief priest Pokharel.Once he is done with the training, the hands that have helped light people's homes will also light the diyo oil lamps in the gods' home. <img width="1000" height="503" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfcb79c7e80680e0a0ba5jpeg.jpg" alt="">Ramtel is also making tentative plans and schedules for the time after the temple reconstruction is complete. He intends to spend his mornings at the temple every day and entire Tuesdays. He wants to devote his time rebuilding and conserving other temples, idols, and places of religious significance around Godamchaur.His father Govinda Ramtel commends his son’s faith and attachment to the temple, which he believes was vital in his appointment by the Sanatan Goraksha Rashtra Nepal. But he also worries about the kind of reception he would get from the communities.“I hope that my son makes other people happy through his service, but I fear others will speak badly to him, make insulting remarks questioning the son of a Dalit being a priest,” says the 89-year-old.The young priest himself hasn’t forgotten the kind of treatment he received all his life for being a Dalit, and he is constantly thinking if he will face more <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/caste-aside/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">caste-based discrimination </a>as a priest now. He says: “I am a Hindu in the same way a Brahmin or Chhetri is, my faith in God is the same as theirs. God doesn’t care about caste, doesn’t discriminate, only humans do.”Links to Himal Khabar series on this subject:<a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/125353" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/125353</a> <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/125374" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/125374</a> Translated by Shristi Karki.

History in a house of worship

<figure><img width="934" height="442" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914114/636ba5a59c7e80680e0736d6jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Kalpana Nagari and Kalawati Auji from Godavari Municipality who face double discrimination from society for being Dalit and because their relatives tested positive for COVID-19 after returning from India. Photo: UNNATI CHAUDHARY</figcaption></figure>Across Nepal, it is the already under-served and vulnerable who have been affected by the prolonged lockdowns. But it is the Dalit returnees from India who have tested positive and their families who face double discrimination.The Ministry of Health issues a daily tally of COVID-19 cases, but no one is counting the poorest of the poor who are dying of hunger or pre-existing diseases, or have been have been driven deeper into destitution.Kalpana Nagari, 30, works as a day labourer by the roadside in Godavari Municipality to earn enough to feed her two children. This time of year there are plenty of jobs planting or weeding paddy fields, but she is unemployed because of social stigma after her husband, Tika Narayan, tested positive for COVID-19 last month.Tika Narayan Nagari had returned from India after he lost his job there on 15 May. He tested positive was quarantined altogether for 50 days first at the border, and later because of delays in getting his test result. But even after he got out, the Dalit family has been shunned by neighbours and society.   <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-long-journey-to-nepal/">The long journey to Nepal</a>, Upasana KhadkaHer family used to face discrimination even before because they were Dalit, but COVID-19 has added another layer of prejudice. Even that is not what worries Kalpana the most – it is not earning enough to feed her family.“Without work, how are we going to feed our children that is what I am most anxious about,” says Kalpana, who does not have a house of her own and lives with her sister-in-law. Her husband had to go to India to find work to repay a loan he took for his mother’s funeral.“During every meal, I worry about where the next one will come from, and I feel faint,” says Kalpana. “The landlords did not give me any work in the rice fields because they said ‘your husband has corona, you might also be infected’.’” Kalawati Auji, 40, is also from Godavari and raised her three sons all by herself after her husband died nine years ago. Her eldest son died last year, and her youngest has heart disease. Her middle child, Dipak is 22 and worked in Bareilly in India. It was the money Dipak sent home that allowed Kalawati to pay for food and medicines for her daughter-in-law, son and grandson.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/caste-aside/">Caste aside</a>, Shusma BaraliBut Dipak lost his job and returned to Nepal on 30 June. He tested positive for COVID-19 and was confined in a quarantine for 34 days where he was ostracised both for being infected, and for being a Dalit. After coming home, he quarantined himself in a cowshed for a week.But even after he recovered, the family has been harassed and humiliated by neighbours. Neither Dipak not Kalwati can find a job, and they owe a neighbourhood provision store Rs50,000.Says Kalawati: “This pandemic has come to kill the poor like us.”  Fifty-year-old Harish B K also returned from Bareilly in the first week of May. Among the 234 people whose swab samples were taken, Harish was among 70 who tested positive – only two of them were non-Dalits.“The non-Dalits in the quarantine used to get hot water, lunch, and more food than us. If we asked for more food, they would ignore us,” he recalls. Now out of quarantine, but jobless, deep in debt, and facing double discrimination and humiliation, Harish says he often has suicidal thoughts.  <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/workers-return-to-jobless-nepal/">Workers return to jobless Nepal</a>, Ramu SapkotaGodavari Municipality says it has plans to provide farm subsidies to the most vulnerable during the pandemic and lockdown. Deputy Mayor Ratna Kadayat says the plan will give priority to Dalits, women, and marginalised communities under the 'Prime Minister's Employment Program'.But these future plans are a mirage for most Dalit families like the Nagaris, Aujis and BKs here. Their needs are urgent and immediate, and they have heard these promises before.Rights activist Savitra Ghimire at the Dalit Women's Rights Forum (DWRF) says the relief may be too little too late for most Dalit families. Godavari and the Attaria highway intersection are hotspots for a surge in coronavirus cases. In the past month alone, the area got 4,000 returnees from India, and of them 349 tested positive and 294 have recovered and gone home.  However, being virus-free is just the beginning of the struggle for Dalit families here in western Nepal. As more and more districts re-impose lockdown, business is not expected to pick up soon, and this means fewer options for employment. And even if jobs open up, Dalit returnees and their families here will be the last to get them.­­­Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">“They killed our son, now they are killing justice”</a>, Shusma Barali<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/black-lives-matter-but-dalit-lives-dont/">Black lives matter but Dalit lives don't?</a>, Pratistha Rijal

COVID-19 sharpens caste discrimination in Nepal

Caste aside

<figure><img width="1500" height="998" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac639c7e80680e077f2cjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Sunita Sunar is a widow at 20 after her husband, Tikaram was killed in the murders of six young men in Rukum on 24 May. </figcaption></figure>Much of the attention after the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFwO6-tK61fVzHKtMb6tZixmolFHQ">murder</a> of six young men in Jajarkot on 24 May centred on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFuVIALVGPnKs6ZS0QA9TiVy-bQiA">Nabaraj BK</a> and his relationship with a teenage girl from a ‘higher’ caste. Nearly forgotten in the aftermath of this tragic crime are Tikaram Sunar, 20, and Sanju Bika, 21, two of Nabaraj’s friends who accompanied him to help him elope with the girl, and who were among the six lynched and thrown into the Bheri River that evening in Rukum.  What is even less well known is that Tikaram and Sanju were married and left behind widows and young children. The bodies of both young men were found a few days later downstream from the crime scene.  Sunita Sunar is Tikaram’s wife, and wears a shite shawl on top of a white mourning dhoti. Her face is swollen with constant weeping. The 18-year-old holds her two-year-old daughter in her lap and she says she has no more tears left to shed. Her daughter keeps asking, “Where is baba?” Sunita has no answer, and sobs quietly. She eloped with Tikaram when she was 14, and says her life has now fallen apart. When they brought her husband’s body home two days after the murders, Sunita fainted. His body was pale and wrinkled from being so long in the water, and it had cuts and bruises all over.   Sunita heard that night that there had been a fight in Chaujhari of Rukum involving Nabaraj BK’s group, but at first she did not think it was that serious. Still, she was afraid, and was shocked as news came later that night that Nabaraj had been killed and his body was found in the Bheri.  “I took my daughter and went to ask the police,” Sunita recalls in a soft voice. “They said they had found Nabaraj’s body and one other body that they could not identify. For some reason, I had a premonition that my husband did not survive either.” Sunita remembers the sight of her husband’s body with deep cuts made by sickles. There was blood oozing from his mouth, nose and ears. “That image just keeps coming back to me over and over again,” she says. Sunita Sunar got married as a child, and has always wanted to complete her studies. She and her husband agreed that as soon as her daughter grew up, she would go back to school. She does not know what to do now, whether to return to her parents or stay in her husband’s house. He in-laws are day labourers and earn just enough to feed the family from day to day. Their only hope was Tikaram who wanted to open a mobile repair shop to augment the family income. “My in-laws love me, but the situation here is miserable, everyone had pinned their hopes on my husband to take care of the family, now he is gone,” she says. “I never imagined that I would be alone this early on in life.”  Sanju BK’s wife, Sabina, is just 20 and has a four-year-old son to support. She was married off at 14 by her parents to Sanju even though she had never seen him. At 15 she got pregnant, dropped out of school in Grade 8, and soon gave birth to her son.  <figure><img width="1500" height="964" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac669c7e80680e077f2djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Sunita Sunar’s two-year-old daughter and mother Gita BK.</figcaption></figure>Just like his friend Nabaraj BK, Sanju wanted to join the security forces and was already training for it. “I may not get leave after I join the forces, so we should celebrate our son’s birthday before I go, he used to say,” Sabina recalls. “I still cannot believe he is gone. I feel he will just walk in the door at any moment,” she says, breaking into silent sobs. Sanju’s father needed hospital treatment for three years, and while taking care of him he was determined that their son should grow up to be a doctor. He had taken out a loan so their son could go to a good school. Sanju BK was missing, and it was mental torture for Sabina as she heard of one body after another being retrieved from the Bheri. His body was found five days later from 30km downstream.  <figure><img width="1042" height="692" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6a9c7e80680e077f2ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>The banks of Bheri River between Rukum and Jajrkot district where the bodies of the victims were found.</figcaption></figure>Sanju BK’s father is still ill and cannot work. His elder sister takes care of the family business and does household chores. Sabina wanted to get a government job to help support her family, but now there is no certainty. Six weeks after the murders, Sabina is still waiting for justice for the murder of her husband and five of his friends. There is uncertainty about what will happen to the accused. So far, 23 of the 27 charged with the lynchings have been sent into custody pending trial by the Rukum West District Court. The girl Nabaraj BK wanted to elope with and her minor brother have been sent into a correctional facility. One of the accused has been named as a mastermind, while the others have been accused to abetting a caste-based murder.Says Sabina BK: “For now, we need justice. After that, I do not know what will happen.”

“I never thought I would be alone this early in life”

<figure><img width="640" height="429" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eb39c7e80680e0ccddejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Mildred and Richard Loving were sentenced to jail for their inter-ethnic marriage. They took the case to the Supreme Court, and won on 12 June, 1967.</figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eb69c7e80680e0ccddfjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Families of Nabaraj BK and his missing friends.</figcaption></figure>On 23 May, Nabaraj BK of Jajarkot and five friends were reportedly killed because he had fallen in love with a young woman from a different caste, and they wanted to marry.He went to her village in West Rukum with a group of friends to bring her back, at her request, to his village to start their lives together.But their dreams met a violent end. A group of 50-60 men from her village attacked Nabaraj and friends. The next day, Nabaraj and his friend Tikaram Sunar, both Dalits, were found dead. The bodies of four others were pulled from the river -- Ganesh Budha, Lokendra Sunar, Ganesh Budha, and Govinda Shahi.It was a heartbreaking event. Caste hatred killing love.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal caste attack turns deadly</a>, Prabir DadelMy own country, the United States, has a terrible, tragic history of discrimination and violence in opposition to inter-ethnic love.For many years, laws prohibited relationships between whites and blacks (or other groups). Today, 12 June is the 53rd anniversary of Loving v. Virginia, the landmark 1967 US Supreme Court case decision that eliminated these laws. <img width="640" height="190" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eb99c7e80680e0ccde0jpeg.jpg" alt="">The case gets its name from the marriage of Mildred and Richard Loving. The 12 June anniversary is known as ‘Loving Day’.Mildred and Richard Loving had grown up near each other in a small community in the hills of Virginia, the state just south of Washington DC. One of America's original 13 states, Virginia had a tobacco economy based on slave labor from 1620s to the American Civil War in the 1860s. Mildred's family had lived in the area for generations, as had his. Mildred and Richard fell in love and got married in June 1958. They moved in with her family while Richard, a carpenter, built them a new house. One night five weeks after the wedding, police barged into their bedroom at 2 am to arrest them. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/african-americans-in-cold-war-nepal/" target="_blank" style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" rel="noopener noreferrer">African-Americans in Cold War Nepal</a>, Tom Robertson They were sentenced to a year in prison, or to leave the state for 25 years. Their supposed crime was violating a Virginia law prohibiting interracial marriages. Richard Loving was white. Mildred Jeter was mixed African American and Native American. To stay together, they decided to move to Washington, DC. Maryland created the first law against interracial marriage three centuries earlier, in 1661, and Virginia followed suit the next year. At the time, European settlement was only a few decades old, and the use of enslaved African people for arduous tobacco work was growing. Slavery lasted another 200 years, until the American Civil War in the 1860s. White slaveowners sometimes had sexual relations with black slaves. Rape was common. By law, children from these relations were considered black, not white or mixed, and became slaves. The American Civil War ended slavery in 1865, but afterwards white supremacists created 'segregation' laws to keep whites and blacks apart that would last for another century. Courtrooms, railroads, buses, and theaters had separate sections for whites and blacks. White and black children studied at different schools. Facilities for black Americans were far inferior to those for whites. Segregation was enforced by police, laws, and courts, but also by violence. Over the years, over 3,000 black Americans were killed in lynchings -- killings outside the legal system -- to enforce this unjust, hierarchical system. Nothing was more carefully policed than marriage separation. The Civil Rights freedom protests of the 1950s and 1960s ended most segregation laws. The last to fall were laws prohibiting mixed race marriage in 15 of the southern states, including Virginia. It was the case started by the Lovings that brought it down. After their arrest, Mildred and Richard Loving moved to Washington DC so they could avoid jail time, and be together. But they missed the place where they grew up, the hills of Virginia, and their families there. They filed a lawsuit. At the time, an elderly Virginia judge used religion to justify the law preventing interracial marriage. "Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents," he wrote. "The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix." The judge's argument used religion to deny love. It also shows a common strategy of calling one's own inaccurate and flawed ideas 'natural'. But across the world, racial groups had been intermingling and intermarrying for millennia. It was natural. Richard Loving boiled down his case to very straightforward logic. “Tell the court,” he instructed his lawyer, “I love my wife, and it is just unfair that I can’t live with her in Virginia.” In 1967, nine years after their wedding, the US Supreme Court decided 9-0 in favor of Mildred and Richard Loving. The Lovings and their three children moved back to their families in their beloved Virginia. In the US today, over 15% of marriages are between people of different racial groups. In 1990, even 25 years after the Loving v. Virginia decision, 63% of white and other non-black adults said they would opposed a close relative marrying a black person. Today only 14% say this. On Loving Day 2007, Mildred Loving shared these touching words: “My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God's plan to keep people apart...But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realise that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the 'wrong kind of person' for me to marry.” Mildred and Richard's granddaughter summarised the lesson that her grandparents taught the world: “If it’s genuine love, colour doesn’t matter.” Let's hope that today, on Loving Day, and every day, that message of love spreads from the beautiful hills of Virginia to the beautiful mountains of Nepal.

Love's victory over racial hatred

Muna Gurung

Pancha Kumari Pariyar: Still She Rises

Recent outrage in Sikkim over an Indian Army expedition climbing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-kangchenjunga">Kangchenjunga</a>, the world’s third-highest peak, has spiked attention to the need to balance mountaineering jobs with indigenous reverence for sacred landmarks. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) is not a peak as much as it is a mountain range with 16 peaks above 7,000m on the border between India and Nepal -- the word itself means ‘five treasures of the snows’ in Tibetan. Some of the highest prominences like Kangchenjunga West and Kangbachen are in Nepal, while the Main, Central and South Peaks are on the border. Climbing the peak from the Indian side has been banned since 2001 because the indigenous Lepcha community there regard the mountain as the abode of Dzoe-nga, the patron deity of Sikkim, which was an independent Himalayan Kingdom until it was annexed by India in 1975.&nbsp; Buddhists in Sikkim say their saint, Padmasambhava, recognised the mountain as a protective spirit. The state has declared the base of the mountain Kangchenjunga National Park, which covers an area one-third of Sikkim. ‘The act of scaling this sacred peak is not only a matter of serious concern but also a violation of both the prevailing legal provisions and the deeply held religious beliefs of the people of Sikkim,’ read a letter from Chief Minister Prem Singh Tamang (Golay) to Amit Shah, India’s Minister of Home Affairs and Cooperation.&nbsp; Tamang continued: ‘We further request Your Honour to take up the issue with the Government of Nepal to ensure that no future expeditions are permitted on the sacred mountain, in deference to the deeply held beliefs and cultural values of the people of Sikkim.’ Kangchenjunga was climbed for the first time exactly 70 years ago by a British team who told King Tashi Namgyal, the Choegyal of Sikkim, that they would not set foot on the summit. Since then, there have been about 532 successful climbs of the peaks and 52 have died while trying.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1782" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Indigenous communities in Sikkim held purification ceremonies following the Indian expedition to Kangchenjunga. Photo: THE VOICE OF SIKKIM / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/peak-climbing-season-2025-s4abrxny">This spring climbing season</a> alone, there were 70 climbing permits for foreigners issued for Kangchenjunga by the Nepal government, and made it to the top while one French climber died.&nbsp; One of the expeditions this year was an Indian Army team led by Col Ranveer Jamwal, who has summited the highest peaks on all seven continents, and Mt Everest thrice. Jamwal’s team was on the final leg of a ‘<a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/nimas-summits-mt-kangchenjunga-concludes-historic-har-shikhar-tiranga-mission-successfully/articleshow/121341315.cms?from=mdr">Har Shikhar Tiranga</a>’ (The Tricolour on Every Peak) mission to plant the Indian flag at the highest points of each of India’s 28 states. Kanchenjunga was the last peak they had left, and the hardest, but the expedition put five climbers on the summit. What seems to have incensed the Sikkimese is that while it has banned climbing the mountain from its side, it was an Indian military expedition that went to Nepal to climb the mountain. After news broke of the climb in May, the Sikkim Indigenous Lepcha Tribal Association asked people to observe purification ceremonies in temples across the state. Mayalmit Lepcha of the association acknowledged that the Sikkim government was also partly at fault: “I don’t think such an expedition could have gone forward without the state government being informed, so it could have done something to intervene. It shows weakness. What’s done is done, all we can do is carry out these sanctification ceremonies.”&nbsp; In 2000, one year before Sikkim’s ban, the state allowed an Austrian team to attempt Kanchenjunga’s northeast face for a fee of $20,000, on agreement that they would stop 10m before the summit. Despite this, there was outrage over the expedition on the grounds that it violated Indian laws regarding the defiling of religious sites and Sikkim’s rights to maintain its culture after merging with India. The Indian Army expedition was also seen to have circumvented Sikkim’s law and violated religious sensibilities by going through Nepal. While the team may have thought they were respecting Sikkim’s beliefs by finding a way to complete the mission, the people of Sikkim saw it as defilement.&nbsp; The somber mood of the Sikkim people at the ritual contrasts sharply with Jamwal’s sense of accomplishment. “Without a doubt, the most difficult summit of my life,” he told reporters after the climb. “It tested every ounce of our will.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157" data-rendition-name="original" width="787" height="377" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Prayer flags along the Sikkim-Kangchenjunga trekking route. Photo: TREKKINGININDIA.COM</figcaption> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">controversial Nepali-British mountaineer Nirmal Purja</a> was also on Kangchenjunga this spring the mountain, on a mission to summit all 14 8,000m peaks for a third time. He echoed Jamwal about the tough conditions: “The conditions above camp were extremely tough, with deep snow and challenging terrain—more crevasses than usual.” Nepal’s government has not said anything publicly, but it is unlikely that it will ban climbing on Kangchenjunga, since it is becoming popular with expeditions because of its technical challenges, and overcrowding on Mt Everest. Nepal does have bans in place for some of its mountains out of respect for local beliefs. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/to-open-machapuchre-for-mountaineering-or-not">Mt Machapuchre</a> (6,990m) the imposing pyramid that looms over Pokhara, for example, is seen as an icon of purity by the Gurung people and a symbol of Vishnu by the Hindu communities who live at its base. A strict climbing ban has been in place since 1957, when a British expedition led by Col Jimmy Roberts stopped 45m short of the summit – either because the last bit was too difficult or out of deference to local sentiments.&nbsp; Khumbila that stands above Namche Bazar is only 5,761m high, but like Kanchenjunga is considered the protector deity of the Sherpa people. Gauri Shankar on the Nepal-China border, called Chomo Tseringma by the local community, was off-limits between 1965 and 1979 due to its association with Lord Shiva and Gauri, his consort. Although expeditions are now allowed, there are not too many takers. In Tibet, climbing Mount Kailash is prohibited by the Chinese government because it revered by the Hindus, Buddhists and followers of the Bon faith. Even Mt Everest is regarded as sacred, and its Sherpa name is Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of the Earth.&nbsp; Economically, climbs on Kanchenjunga bring in decent revenue. This climbing season, the 41 permits, at $1,800 each, brought in $73,800. This is somewhat comparable to Makalu, Lhotse, and Annapurna I, but these numbers are dwarfed by the $4 million in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-everest-industry">Everest permits</a>. Revenue from Kanchenjunga climbing permits is something Nepal could potentially forgo if necessary, but the expeditions also provide jobs to hundreds of high altitude guides, porters, base camp support staff and other logistical costs.&nbsp; As the third highest mountain in the world and the tallest in India, there will always be significant motivation to climb it from the Nepal side, especially as climbers are drawn by the technical climbing at high altitude.

Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb?

The debate about who is less accountable to the public: politicians or bureaucrats is as old as Nepal’s democracy itself.
Some blame politicians for being beholden to the businessmen who finance their electoral campaigns, and are forced to return the favour with contracts and kickbacks when in power.&nbsp;
Others say it is civil servants who are neither civil nor servants, and know the inner workings of the system to exploit loopholes – they then teach ministers, MPs, mayors, or ward chairs which juicy projects can be squeezed. And everyone gets their share.
In reality, it is probably not a case of either, or. Both have their hands deep in the honey pot. Corruption is now such a given that yet another exposé in the mainstream press, like the latest visit-visa scam, does not raise eyebrows anymore.
We may have to edit Lord Acton’s famous quote to say that in Nepal we do not even need absolute power to corrupt absolutely. The ruling cartel has divvied up the spoils, so that no one ever faces charges. The three parties all know about the skeletons rattling in each other’s closets, and they cancel each other out.
Politicians and bureaucrats get all the blame for taking bribes, but what of the givers of bribes? In this crony capitalism, businesses invariably need political patrons in an elaborate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-only-growth-industry-private-sector-corruption" target="_blank">national network of give-and-take</a>.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-only-growth-industry-private-sector-corruption" target="_blank">Politicians and businesses work hand-in-glove</a> so that conflict of interest in contracts, insider trading, cartelling, and non-performing assets of banks become the norm. Our survey after the 2017 local election showed that out of the 753 newly-elected local government chairs, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/elected-contractors" target="_blank">nearly 300 were contractors</a> involved in sand-mining, quarrying, or transportation syndicates.
Nepal’s tycoons have discovered that instead of donating to election war chests of politicians, it is a much surer return on investment to spend the money to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-business-of-politics-in-nepal" target="_blank">become legislators and politicians themselves</a>.
In democracies, there are checks and balances to control corruption when it becomes endemic. The Nepal Police and Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) are supposed to do the detective work without political interference. The courts are required to be independent in dispensing justice and punishing crooks.
But the less said about the judiciary the better. A writ petition in the Supreme Court last week accused our sister magazine <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/" target="_blank">HimalKhabar</a> of contempt of court for two stories: one about how high courts have been overturning a majority of verdicts of district courts in cases of rape, and another about the Biratnagar High Court clearing a self-proclaimed holy man, Krishna Bahadur Giri, of rape despite police presenting physical evidence.
The doctrine of the separation of powers stipulates that it is when the other three pillars in a democracy are compromised that the role of the free press becomes even more vital. The world over, as soon as populist autocrats are elected to the executive, their first order of business is to co-opt the legislature and the judiciary. Then they buy off, intimidate, or neutralise the media with Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation (SLAPP).
Nepal’s officialdom seems to be taking midnight Zoom lessons from other despots on how to gag the media. Last month, popular talk show host Dil Bhushan Pathak was served an arrest warrant by the Kathmandu District Court for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CntsnTrtG8" target="_blank">a YouTube explainer</a> about the alleged involvement of the son of Foreign Minister Arzu Deuba Rana in a reported purchase of Kathmandu’s Hilton Hotel.
The Lalitpur District Court ruled that Pathak could not be arrested without fair trial, but this week the Kathmandu District Court filed another case against the journalist based on a complaint by the Cyber Bureau, and put him on a fugitive list.&nbsp;
Without going into the veracity of Pathak’s explainer, it is deeply problematic that the Electronic Transaction Act has been invoked – proof that politicians are getting the courts and investigating agencies to make an example of a high profile journalist.&nbsp;
The intention is to silence media investigations into the fake refugee scandal in which the main partner in the ruling coalition is implicated, and in which one of its former home ministers was jailed last year.
The Kathmandu High Court has been mysteriously active in targeting journalists these days. <a href="https://bizmandu.com/" target="_blank">Bizmandu</a> and <a href="https://nepalkhabar.com/" target="_blank">Nepalkhabar</a> were served a notice last month <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/no-freedom-after-expression-y4inku06" target="_blank">to withdraw a story they did</a> on the Chair of the <a href="https://www.sebon.gov.np/" target="_blank">Security and Exchange Board of Nepal (SEBON</a>) Santosh Narayan Shrestha allegedly demanding kickbacks from hydropower investors.&nbsp;
Incredibly, the court even asked the two portals not to report on the subject anymore – a ruling so absurd that the Patan High Court overturned it a week later.&nbsp;
The allegations against Shrestha were made in a public meeting of the <a href="https://www.ippan.org.np/members/3060/bungal-hydro-ltd" target="_blank">Independent Power Producers Association of Nepal (IPPAN)</a>, and MPs demanded a <a href="https://myrepublica.nagariknetwork.com/news/parliament-demands-probe-into-sebon-chairman-over-alleged-commission-demand-40-32.html" target="_blank">Parliament inquiry</a> into the regulator. <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/144523/santosh-narayan-shrestha" target="_blank">HimalKhabar</a> reported this week that while Shrestha was reportedly demanding commissions from private investors for IPOs, he cleared primary share sales in Bajhang’s 10.75MW <a href="https://www.ippan.org.np/members/3060/bungal-hydro-ltd" target="_blank">Bungal Hydro</a> in which his family members have investments, company records show.
And then just on Monday, bureaucrats hoodwinked MPs by deleting references in a bill requiring a two-year ‘cooling off’ period under which retiring civil servants could be barred from holding constitutional positions for two years.
The contest for who is more corrupt: bureauacrats, politicians, or the private sector is on.
Kunda Dixit

SLAPPing Democracy

The monsoon this year arrived on time, and brought life-giving rain — irrigating paddy terraces, recharging groundwater, reviving springs, and increasing electricity generation.
But Nepal has to deal with either too much water or too little. On a clear April day before the monsoon, the hills of Sindhuli district were parched, and there were wildfires burning out of control. There had been no rain for the past six months.
And that has been the perennial crisis for Nepal’s farmers: that 85% of the rainfall occurs during just four months of the monsoon with little rain for the other eight months.&nbsp;
The water crisis is related to the powerful changes sweeping the mid-hill region of Nepal. With better roads, higher incomes and more exposure, many residents now aspire to have the kind of water supply seen in urban homes. They want hot or cold water at the turn of a tap, showers and flush tank toilets.&nbsp;
To meet this rising demand, many local and provincial governments are investing in large water supply projects often by lifting water from rivers hundreds of metres down the mountain. But these new systems may not be sustainable in the long run.
Many villages in Sindhuli are switching from local springs to piped systems, and even in rural homes, overhead tanks are becoming common.
But this new convenience comes with big challenges. Lifting water from rivers far below requires long pipes, electric pumps, and constant maintenance. These systems are costly, and the streams themselves often shrink to a trickle in the dry months. Big water-lifting schemes look impressive, but there is doubt if they can meet growing water demand.
A much more sustainable solution would be what some communities are doing: restoring old ponds or build new recharge systems. But those villages are exceptions, in most places traditional ponds and wallows are being filled up to be turned into sports fields, or make way for buildings.
Where there are new ponds, they are sometimes in the wrong places or without proper design. Roads and drains are not engineered properly and have increased landslides and erosion. Water management in hilly areas is not just about building things, it is about building in the right way, in the right place.
Traditional water systems were based on nature. They were not perfect, but they used the land wisely. Ponds used to hold rainwater and slowly refill springs which supported families, farms, and forests.&nbsp;
Not everything worked well in the past, but we can learn from traditional water management practices. Across Nepal, some rural municipalities have launched campaigns to store monsoon runoff — either in tanks, ponds or by recharging the aquifers.
But not all efforts have been successful. Some ponds are built without any hydrological study. Some are rushed to meet deadlines rather than real needs.&nbsp;
Now, the Muhan initiative hopes to revive springs to make households more resilient and help farmings. With the financial support of the Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research, research is being done to understand how springs work and how they are affected by changes in rainfall, land use, and development.&nbsp;
Instead of just building pipes and tanks, the project maps the entire springshed so we can understand the root cause of water shortage. In Sindhuli, the problem is not the amount of rain, but the loss of natural systems that store it and the social systems that manage water.&nbsp;
Nepal’s towns and villages now face a major challenge: how to manage water all year round as demand rises with people’s living standards. Depending only on river-lift systems is not a sustainable solution.&nbsp;
We need a mix of approaches that help store water from the rainy season to make it available for the rest of the year, whether by directly harvesting rainwater, restoring ponds, managing springsheds, or smart management of demand.
Rural Nepal is also seeing dramatic depopulation. Much of the outmigration can be stemmed if there is easier water supply for agriculture and household use. Across the mid hills, villages are emptying because springs are going dry. Government policy needs to catch up with the reality on the ground, and support solutions that work for people and nature. Every water supply plan should include recharge structures. Every road or building project should consider water flow and erosion. Local governments need more than budgets: they need training, tools, and data.
Ngamindra Dahal is with the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu. Hemant Ojha collaborated in this piece and is associated with the Australian National University.

Water for Life

<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The Kusunda</a> are among the last remaining hunter-gatherer communities left in Nepal, and it has only one fluent speaker left of a language that is not related to any other language group in South Asia.&nbsp; The Kusunda call themselves the King of the Forests ((गेम्येहाक़ in Kusunda,वन राजा in Nepali) and used to have a nomadic lifestyle till recently. But decades of exclusion from mainstream society and modernity have forced the Kusunda to assimilate. &nbsp; Today, most Kusunda live across Nepal’s mid-hills and western plains, choosing to identify themselves as Thakuri and adopting names like Sen, Shahi, and Khan to avoid ostracisation. Over time, inter-ethnic marriages between the Kusunda and other communities became increasingly common.&nbsp; However, the assimilation with other communities also meant that almost no one from the Kusunda community can speak their mother tongue – considered by linguists to be a ‘language isolate’ not related to any other language group in the world, and lacking set rules of grammar that are foundational to other languages. There are no words for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ in Kusunda, nor are there words to signify direction. There are 23 languages with less than 1,000 speakers listed in Nepal's 2021 census, with Kusunda being the language with the least number of speakers. The number of people who identified as Kusunda has decreased with each subsequent census. Only 253 individuals identified themselves as Kusunda in the last National Census of 2021, down from 273 in 2011.&nbsp; <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/raithane-bhakha/embed/episodes/Kusundas---the-last-of-the-forest-kings-e23ge6p/a-a9peei1" height="102px" width="400px" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe></div> The government’s decision to provide a social security stipend to the community for the past few years has prompted many from the Kusunda community to reclaim their identity and in the process, explore their culture and language. Kamala Sen Kusunda, who lives in Dang, is the only fluent native Kusunda speaker alive, although there are now other Kusunda and non-Kusunda people learning how to speak the language. By the time Kamala Sen Kusunda was born in 1975, her family had settled in a village in Rolpa. Although she did not experience the nomadic life of her forebears, she still roamed the forests freely as a child and many of the values and socio-cultural practices of her community were instilled in her and her siblings.&nbsp; This meant that Kamala grew up speaking Kusunda with her family. But by then, the Kusunda had increasingly begun to interact with people beyond their community, and inter-ethnic marriages had become a norm.&nbsp; Kamala herself married at 18 to a 52-year-old man from the Chhetri community. She would go on to have four children, but they were brought up with her husband’s culture and community rather than her own, and teaching them her mother tongue seemed impractical.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="855" height="641" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Gyani Maiya Kusunda with Kusunda youth in 2015.</figcaption> </figure>  “If I had spoken my language to them when they were children, they would have learned,” she tells us ruefully. “But they were growing up in a different community, so I never pushed, and they never expressed interest.” At the time, she had other things to worry about, such as earning a livelihood and sustaining her family. To find work, Kamala and her family moved to Shimla in India, where she worked at an apple orchard for six years.&nbsp; Over the next years, Kamala and her family moved back and forth between India and Nepal for work, and Kamala was not actively conversing in the language of her people or being able to connect with members of her community now scattered across Nepal.&nbsp; Had she not forgotten her language after all those years? “How could I forget the language of my ancestors?” she replies. “Not speaking it did not mean that it ceased to be a part of me.”&nbsp; Kamala had been working at a brick kiln in Thimi seven years ago when the National Language Commission tracked her down, offered her a paid position as a Kusunda language consultant and source person for basic language training in Dang.&nbsp; It was there that Kamala met her cousin Gyani Maiya Sen Kusunda, the only other person able to speak Kusunda fluently, who had been working with the Commission to conserve Kusunda language and culture. It was also where Kamala met language researcher and lexicographer Uday Raj Ale. Ale had been in the middle of his research into the Tharu language and community 15 years ago when he met Gyani Maiya Kusunda’s son, who told him that his mother was one of the few people who spoke Kusunda, but that no one had shown an interest in studying and preserving the language and culture. Ale met Gyani Maiya, spending time with her learning and researching Kusunda. By 2017, Ale had collected enough words to put together a Kusunda dictionary. The Kusunda vocabulary currently comprises 2,000 words. His research into the Kusunda language and culture has taken him to every known Kusunda household in Nepal. Although the census puts the number of Kusunda at 253, Ale reckons there are only 158.&nbsp; “Kusunda language is endangered due to its lack of use in everyday life, literature, and religious and socio-cultural practices, as well as the prevalence of inter-ethnic marriages,” explains Ale. In 2019 the Language Commission began its language transfer programs for youth from indigenous communities. Since then, the Commission has completed multiple phases of Kusunda language classes in Dang facilitated by Uday Raj Ale. The classes have 20 students, not just from the Kusunda community, but also interested non-native students.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33" data-rendition-name="original" width="1485" height="1535" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Students learning Kusunda with instructor Uday Raj Ale (second row, left)</figcaption> </figure>  Khamba Rokaya, who worked as a caretaker for young Kusunda children in Dang, became interested in learning the language as she sat in with the children during their lessons, and for the last few years has been among the few non-native Kusunda language learners in Dang. “I am not from the Kusunda community, but now that I have learned the language, I hope to do my part to carry on the work and share my knowledge with as many people as possible,” she says. “One way to ensure that we preserve this language is to extend its speaker base, both within the Kusunda and non-native communities.” Ale and Kamala have continued to work together since Gyani Maya’s passing in 2020, expanding the Kusunda vocabulary and creating appropriate curricula to fit the needs of the students as their knowledge of Kusunda expands.&nbsp; But without any documentation of Kusunda history, the community’s traditions, stories, values and language were at risk of being lost to time. “The loss of an ethnicity, language or culture in a country is akin to losing a vital organ, and a unique perspective of looking at the world,” says Ale. Which is why Archive Nepal in collaboration with the British Council’s Cultural Protection Fund and the UK’s Department of Culture, Media, and Sport in February launched a book of creative writings in the Kusunda language titled पिन्डा (meaning ‘The First’ in Kusunda): A Compilation of Kusunda Literature. The book is a collection of informative essays about the Kusunda language and culture, short stories that explore themes from nomadic life to universal Nepali experiences of poverty and migration, letters to loved ones, as well as conversational pieces by five Kusunda students ranging from ages 16 to 30. The works in the Kusunda language are also translated into Nepali and English.&nbsp; “Language is an important part of ethnic identity, and our indigenous languages cannot evolve or be conserved unless they are spoken or taught,” said Ale during the launch of the book earlier this year. “But most importantly, language exists as long as there exists literature in that language.” Kamala was in Kathmandu for the launch of the book, and smiled proudly as she looked at the young writers who had contributed to the collection. She said: “I’m glad the young people have chosen to learn and preserve Kusunda. Otherwise, our language would have died with me.” &nbsp;

caste-based-discrimination