original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

Race against time

<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

<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="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67049c7e80680e0599b7jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Lavkant Chaudhary</figcaption></figure>As they enter Lavkant Chaudhary’s Masinya Dastoor exhibition at the Siddhartha Art Gallery, the visitors are strongly drawn to one particular work on display.  They are three canvases titled DDT depicting circles within circles in the first one. Chakra, the circle of life, but it is also a bullseye, and the tiny figures of animals and people are rendered in the style of a traditional Tharu folk art. The figures are the size of an adult mosquito, and a greyscale exterminator points directly at the centre of the target, ready to spray dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane.The other painting are lifelike paintings of three DDT cans amidst a backdrop of insects, and the third is of a colourful cloud of butterfly silhouettes. <figure><img width="1500" height="1476" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67089c7e80680e0599b8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Chaudhary says the American-supported <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-mosquito-that-changed-nepals-history/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">eradication of malaria</a> from Chitwan and the Tharu homeland in the Tarai destroyed not just mosquitoes but but also the Tharu people. The paintings, he says are the “silenced histories of the Tharu community.”The Tharu were genetically immune to malaria, but once the disease was eradicated by killing mosquitos, settlers came in to clear the forests, land was bought at a pittance from Tharus unable to read the land deeds.The Masinya Dastoor is expression through art of an aboriginal people the rulers in Kathmandu treated as expendable. The works are housed in two floors with earthy acrylic on canvas paintings (pictured below), land title copies with ink superimposed, wood carvings, an art installation and video. Each artwork across these various medium connect back to the historical persecution of the Tharu people. <img width="1500" height="1573" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a670b9c7e80680e0599b9jpeg.jpg" alt="">Chaudhary says he used to be as ignorant about Tharu history as the rest of Nepalis, but was inspired when he began researching his community during a six-month art project initiated by Artree Nepal in Bhaktapur after the 2015 Earthquake.“All I came across were recurring stereotypical ideas about the Tharu. We were just <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/tharu-escargots/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">water snail eaters</a>  jungle dwellers, alcohol drinkers, and an honest tribe. That was our identity,” he recalls.Sangeeta Thapa of the Siddhartha Art Gallery says some indigenous groups in Nepal were taken as bonded labourers since Lichhavi times 1,400 years ago. Later on, under the Shah and Rana dynasties when the caste hierarchy was codified into the first Mulki Ain of 1854, indigenous groups were placed under the category of paani chalne masinya matawali (touchable but enslavable alcohol drinkers) which made them expendable by the state. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a670e9c7e80680e0599bajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Despite slavery being abolished in 1926, the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Modern-day-domestic-slaves-domestic-workers,3785" target="_blank" rel="noopener">kamaiya bonded labourer system</a> persisted until it was outlawed as late as 2004. But by then the Tharu had lost most of their land.One of Chaudhary’s art installations is of small wooden boxes hung from the ceiling, each filled with grain and a single brass bullet. Next to it, the Diary series recreates pages carved into wood from the diary of Jokhan Ratgainya, a Tharu journalist and revolutionary who was killed in June 2001. <figure><img width="1500" height="2078" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67119c7e80680e0599bbjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In one corner, the Tamasuk series, with pen and ink drawings on Nepali paper, leads into the Dastoor series, stippling drawings of day to day activities on archival paper prints of the dastoor (legal orders).The second floor hosts large striking oil paintings that detail day to day scenes alongside violence: from the conflict years, and the Tikapur massacre of 2015. Another installation is of ghaila pots hanging inside a darkroom which projects light on the walls. On one wall, a video replays a barmasiya folk song and then shows a burning miniature village as eyewitness accounts of violence. <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67149c7e80680e0599bcjpeg.jpg" alt="">Chaudhary writes in a description that he has used art to fill the gaps left by Nepal’s mainstream media to communicate the atrocities: “I found strength in unearthing what has remained silent and kept silent by the Nepali media, the state, and civil society.”His art speaks volumes about displacement and resistance, easily comparable to the struggles of indigenous peoples in the subcontinent and beyond. The mix of mediums, attention to detail and the historical narrative woven into each work makes for an exhibition that is an experience, one that sheds light on Nepali history and the indigenous peoples who have been silenced.Masinya Dastoorby Lavant ChaudharySiddhartha Art GalleryUntil January 9 2020

Atrocities against Tharu expressed in art

Muna Gurung

Pancha Kumari Pariyar: Still She Rises

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V1x6nUgo9g&amp;feature=youtu.beEver since Nepal’s founding king <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6592#.XVUiCuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Prithvi Narayan Shah</a> described the nation state he forged as a garden of 4 castes and 36 ethnicities, besides considering themselves ‘Nepali’ most people have also kept a distinct sense of sub-national identity.The Muluki Ain of 1854 defined this social hierarchy, and the 2011 <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8616#.XVUpheMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">census</a> lists all 125 castes and ethnic groups, forming the basis on which the new <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/09/20/peoples-constitution/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Constitution</a> defines Nepal’s <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15798#.XVUpPuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">reservation policies</a> for the civil service, government and Parliament. But with an increase in inter-ethnic marriages producing an even more multicultural society, there may be a need to redefine ethnicity as the country becomes even more diverse.“Growing up, my most cherished memories are visiting my grandparents from both sides of my family and being exposed to diverse beliefs, traditions and food,” recalls Rubeena Mahato, who has a Maithili father and Newar mother. “The two ethnic backgrounds merged seamlessly without one undermining the other.”But despite embracing her dual heritage and being raised in a household with no concept of caste hierarchy or religious superiority, and taught to respect people regardless of their ethnicity, Mahato says society kept her in a box as she grew up. (See box story below)Mahato recalls that the first question she was asked at school was about her caste and ethnicity. As children who didn’t know better, her classmates made assumptions based on what they had seen their parents do. Mahato was seen only as a Madhesi, leading her to feel self-doubt over her Newar identity. While she embraced her duality, her peers and teachers did not.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53aa9c7e80680e052362jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>INTERETHNIC LOVE: Prime Minister KP Oli presents rhododendron blossoms to his wife Radhika Shakya on 21 February during Kalu Pande Diwas in Dahachok. Pic: Krishna Paudel</figcaption></figure>The caste and ethnic categorisation in the Muluki Ain and a rigid perception of identity pose obstacles for Nepalis who want to adopt their hybrid identities. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16478#.XVUm4uMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Seira Tamang</a> is a political scientist whose research focuses on social exclusion. She says, “Regardless of how people might choose their ethnic and other identities, society at large will see and treat them according to the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7872#.XVUqB-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">singular homogenised identity and strata of the Muluki Ain.”</a>Historian <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11936#.XVUmpeMzbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pratyoush Onta</a> of Martin Chautari says Nepalis have three types of responses to multiethnic identities: embracing their hybrid ethnic identity, reasserting one ethnic identity while rejecting the other, or identifying themselves only as Nepali. Keeping a single ethnic identity as long as it abides by the ongoing patrilineal system aligns with the current perception of ethnic identity, but there is social and political confusion for many like Mahato who want to preserve their hybrid ethnic identity.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13361#.XVUnpOMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mahendra Lawoti</a>, professor of political science at Western Michigan University, who has written extensively on Nepal’s reservation policies, says, “Ethnic identity is not just shaped by the individual’s perception of themselves, but also society’s recognition of them. Ethnic identity, to some extent, is a social construct.”Indeed, the ethnicity of a person in Nepal is still largely determined by the father’s lineage. But this can lead to even more confusion over the freedom of women to change their ethnic identity and surname with marriage and the matter of reservation policies.Besides a mandatory quota for women in government and civil service, there is also <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4140#.XVUosOMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">affirmative action</a> for indigenous people, Dalits and other ethnicities. But as marriages create more <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12561#.XVUoO-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">multiethnic identities</a> and a weaker attachment to a single ethnicity, the future of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15753#.XVUn0OMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">reservation policy</a> comes into question.“The reservation policy should be reflective of society and should respond to changes in the social dynamic,” says Lawoti. “The state does not recognise multiethnic individuals, but it should respond to this new reality.”However, whether offspring of inter-ethnic marriages will seek to assert their hybrid identity, or take up one or other of their parental identity is also uncertain. Some may prefer to assume the identity of their Dalit or indigenous parent rather than their 'higher caste' parent in order to benefit from reservation.Lawoti and Onta both agree that policies should be more flexible to accommodate multiethnic individuals. different caste or ethnicity. Women should be allowed to either keep their birth surname or change it to their husband’s, but if they are allowed to change when it fits their immediate purpose, the system perpetuates unfairness.“Women should be allowed to change their ethnic identity when they get married but not to simply abuse the system,’’ says Lawoti. In Nepal’s patriarchal society, even with inter-ethnic marriages there is a tendency for wives to adopt the customs, traditions and culture of her husband’s ethnicity, forgoing her own. Children are raised with the culture of their father’s ethnicity. When doing so, the ethnic background of women erodes and hybrid identities are less likely to be formed.However, with greater geographical mobility, the spread of education, and people moving out of historical ethnic enclaves, there are more possibilities of mixed ethnicities. Politician Tripple P Gurung and journalist Ramyata Limbu raise their children with a fusion of ethnic customs and practices. Both Gurung and Limbu traditions are preserved flexibly within the home – a trend that many families with inter-ethnic marriages now practice.Basantapur of Sunsari district in eastern Nepal is perhaps one of the most multicultural, multilingual and multiethnic villages in Nepal. Anthropologist Chudamani Basnet researched inter-marriage in the town and found that although <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19885#.XVUo3eMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Janjatis</a> have been intermarrying people from higher caste groups, there were none of the expected cultural conflicts.A Limbu woman married to a Giri man found that as they had migrated away from their families and were more economically independent, they faced very little inter-ethnic conflicts.However, not all such marriages are accepted. 'Higher caste' people who have married Dalits, for instance, are <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15947#.XVUuxuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">routinely ostracised</a> by their own community. Sometimes couples who have crossed caste or ethnic lines to elope have been publicly taunted, beaten, or driven out of their villages.Basnet attributes much of the opposition to the loss of cultural heritage and language. “Inter-marriage was made possible by a common language, Nepali, which has facilitated interaction between people of different ethnic groups, but at the cost of their mother tongues,” he adds.As offspring of inter-ethnic marriages create and practice their own fusion customs, some of the distinct cultural and linguistic attributes of the original ethnic groups tend to erode. The future of hybrid identities with the current social and political state of Nepal is therefore uncertain, even though Prime Minister KP Oli and his wife Radhika Shakya, and other senior politicians, themselves have married across ethnicities.Inter-ethnic marriages in Nepal came in waves. During the Panchayat, many underground Communist leaders, like KP Oli, developed relationships with young women in the households where they rented rooms, or in the neighbourhoods of inner city Patan and Kathmandu. During the National Development Service, college graduates were mandatorily required to serve a year in rural areas, and got married to locals. The third wave was during the conflict, when Maoist guerrillas could get married with the party's consent. Today, education, mobility and connectivity have unleashed a new wave of inter ethnic marriages.Uncertainty is also perpetuated by the lack of data regarding inter-ethnic marriages. The Department of National ID and Civil Registration refused this paper’s repeated requests to release data of inter-ethnic marriages or to comment on the trend, citing issues of privacy and discrimination.Regardless, Nepal is celebrated as a multicultural, multilingual and multiethnic nation, characteristics that have been embedded in the Constitution. But while the country as a whole may have a rich ethnic diversity, it is also becoming a new melting pot.Read Also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11202#.XVUid-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Happily ever after,</a> Shraddha Basnya<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15581#.XVUideMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Caste no bar,</a> Kong Yen Lin<a href="Nepal,%20an%20emerging%20rainbow%20nation" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal, an emerging rainbow nation,</a> Rubeena Mahato<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15775#.XVUjneMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's mutli-ethnic future,</a> Shyam Shrestha<h2>Tharu-Tamang</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53ad9c7e80680e052363jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Suksari Chaudhary was in her early 20s and working in a garment factory in Kathmandu Valley when she met Chhewan Lama. Amidst the hum of sewing machines and heaps of fabric scraps, the two fell in love.They went their separate ways, but five years later they both found jobs in a school in Lalitpur and got married soon after. Although she is Tharu and he is Tamang, the wedding ceremony reflected neither culture but was performed using Brahmin rituals.“I think it was easier for us to have an inter-ethnic marriage because both our parents were no longer with us and our other relatives also had inter-ethnic marriages,” says Chaudhary. Lama’s parents and Chaudhary’s father had passed away years before they met.The only time they faced any difficulty over their mixed marriage was when they returned to Lama’s home in Kavre for the first time after getting married. She recalls, “At first, his extended families didn’t really understand why he had married a Tharu.” But when Chaudhary was asked to sit in a traditional Tamang puja by Lama’s family, she felt welcomed and accepted. It was rare for a conservative family to allow a person from another ethnic background to worship with them.A year after their marriage, Lama and Chaudhary had a daughter, who grew up in a multiethnic household. She is now 22, and Chaudhary regrets not teaching her daughter Tharu customs, just as she herself never had the chance to learn about her heritage. As the only Tharu family in a predominantly Brahmin/Chhetri area, as a girl she was only familiar with the customs and practices of the ‘higher caste’ community.Today, the family has added other rituals to their celebrations. For example, during Dasain, they put white tika on each other in the evening as per Tamang custom. Lama says, “When we were raising our daughter, we neither raised her strictly as a Tharu nor a Tamang. She is a combination of both and a product of an interlaced family.”<h2>Maithil-Newar</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53b09c7e80680e052364jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="843">Growing up in a Maithil-Newar household, Rubeena Mahato embraced her colourful and multicultural heritage, celebrating both Rakshya bandhan and Bhaitika with Newari mandaps and eating Mithila dishes like thekuwa, khajuriya and daal puri during Chath and delicious yomaris during Newar Lapte bhoye bhoj. “My dual heritage merged seamlessly and they always have,” says Mahato.From a young age, Mahato was taught to respect everyone regardless of their ethnic or caste background. But she did not always receive the same treatment from others, and witnessed others get harassed because of their heritage.“Because of my upbringing, it was inconceivable for me to engage in ‘othering’ and exclusion, or to suffer it. I remember arguing with my friends over it and refusing to participate. Over the years, there have been multiple occasions where I have had to lecture perfectly educated young people for using caste slurs. Most are embarrassed, some are quite taken aback and some refuse to introspect. But I know that we cannot let such behaviour go unchallenged.”Now living in the US with her husband, Mahato remembers: “Our home is a riot of colours, tastes and flavours from our various heritages. What could be more Nepali than that?”

Nepal is turning into a nation of hybrid identities

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-system