When he was a teenager years ago during the war, the Maoists who held sway over the Dalit village of Muktikot in western Nepal promised Man Bahadur Bishwakarma liberation and prosperity. Many like Man Bahadur believed in that utopia, and took up arms like others from the downtrodden Dalit community here. They even renamed the village Muktikot (Fort Freedom) from its original Dumkot. ‘Dum’ is a derogatory term used to address the Dalit community. Muktikot is spread across a steep mountainside with unirrigated terrace farms. Most of the men migrate to India for seasonal work, others never come back. The women left behind had to walk hours for water, and since there were no roads then, travelling to town for government subsidised rice took at least a week. “The Maoists told us that we would find jobs right here in the village, that every household would have tap water, they promised an end to caste discrimination,” recalls Man Bahadur. “That is why I joined the revolution in Grade 10.” He is talking while walking up a steep trail three hours from Muktikot, where his family has been living in a cattle shed after a landslide damaged his house in 2021.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024051804058_bc4d26d047714332fcdd2242229a1227d207a972439e02e3c822aaa118066b3f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024051804058_bc4d26d047714332fcdd2242229a1227d207a972439e02e3c822aaa118066b3f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot"> <figcaption>Th remote village of Muktikot in Bajura district in far west Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>  Most of Muktikot’s young population joined the Maoists, convinced that changing the name of the village was proof this was going to be a real revolution. Eighteen years after the end of the conflict, the only thing that has changed for the nearly 2,300 Dalits in Muktikot is the name of their village. Not that there has not been some progress. There are now motorable roads and residents do not have to walk as far as Kalikot or Dailekh to get a sack of rice. More essentials are available in local shops for those with cash. Man Bahadur himself migrates to India to earn money, and had just returned for a break when we talked to him. “I fought for the Maoists in the hope that I would not have to go to India for work, but there are still no jobs here,” he says. “The Maoists promised a mirage.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024051804058_fcd64c34f689e7a4d44f285bb6a7b6b28329941e2766440ab208c9039a855d31.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024051804058_fcd64c34f689e7a4d44f285bb6a7b6b28329941e2766440ab208c9039a855d31" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot"> <figcaption>Men in Muktikot preparing to migrate to India for work.</figcaption> </figure>  Birth and death Manbuja Bishwakarma has just turned 20, the minimum legal age of marriage in Nepal. But she has been married since age 13, giving birth to five children, three of whom died. “The babies just died one after the other,” recalls Manbuja, who just had to have more babies in the hope that some would survive. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/how-the-climate-crisis-adds-to-child-marriage-in-nepal">How climate crisis adds to child marriage in Nepal</a>, Sonam Lama Her neighbour, 30-year-old Lalkala Bishwakarma has given birth eight times, and only four babies survived. There are women in Muktikot who gave birth to as many as 14 children, and there is not a single mother in Muktikot who has not lost a baby.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024051804058_dd4d62e65cc4ac88cd46a91a62b9c60bcb2d43bbc5cb5455dc7efe4a7d2ff1b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2024051804058_dd4d62e65cc4ac88cd46a91a62b9c60bcb2d43bbc5cb5455dc7efe4a7d2ff1b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot"> <figcaption>Lalkala Bishwakarma</figcaption> </figure>  Tilakhuni Bishwakarma, 40, had 10 children, and eight of them survived. Sitting outside her home, she is now surrounded by her grandchildren. Despite Nepal’s total fertility rate now dropping to near replacement level, here in Muktikot infant mortality is still high and this means women have more babies in the hope that some will survive. Child marriage and low female literacy contribute to the high rate of maternal and infant mortality. Community health records show that even in 2021, eight out of 45 infants born in Muktikot died. While Nepal’s average infant mortality rate dropped to 33 for every 1,000 babies born in 2022, &nbsp;the rate was 178 in Muktikot. “The most prominent among the many reasons for the high maternal deaths are early marriage and frequent pregnancy,” says Janaki Neupane, a community nurse in Muktikot. &nbsp; Four years ago, Bachchi Bishwakarma died of a hemorrhage while giving birth to her second child at home. Her husband Gorkha says she had barely survived giving birth to their first child. “I was home alone that day, and I took care of her,” Gorkha recounts. “Our child was born, but my wife bled to death.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518040512_4718183318c77de8bb9b719346b9b19c96bef0984055585b00884f741f905c2e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240518040512_4718183318c77de8bb9b719346b9b19c96bef0984055585b00884f741f905c2e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot"> <figcaption>Tilakhuni Bishwakarma</figcaption> </figure>  Birthing centres were opened in Muktikot last year to address high infant and maternal deaths, but Nurse Neupane says it still lacks basic equipment and budget. Nirmala Bishwakarma got married when she was 13 and was &nbsp;pregnant soon after. She had her first baby, but soon got pregnant again. “Birth brings death here,” Nirmala, now 20, says simply. Nirmala and her children all look emaciated and she weighs only 33kg. Bajura’s district headquarters in Martadi provides nutritional allowance, but Nirmala cannot afford to travel that far to get it. &nbsp; Nepal’s development indicators, including lifespan (page 1) and poverty rate have shown dramatic improvements over the past three decades. But here in Muktikot, hunger stalks the land. In fact, a recent survey showed that 95% of women, children and young adults in Muktikot are undernourished. Most men, on the other hand, look well fed because they are mostly away in India for work. &nbsp; Only 12% of the land in Bajura is arable, but even then there is lack of irrigation, frequent droughts, and now climate breakdown contributing to the lack of food. “The harvests are just not enough to sustain the families,” says Bharat Bahadur Rokaya, chair of Swamikartik Khapar Rural Municipality where Muktikot is located. Here in the rugged mountains of northern Bajura bordering Humla and Mugu, the families grow millet, maize, and wheat, but Nirmala Bishwakarma says the harvests hardly last a month. “If it was not for the subsidised rice we would have empty stomachs,” she says. Hindrances to hygiene Down the mountain from Muktikot, the green waters of the Karnali River are visible. But the 400 Dalit households here have to share just three community taps for drinking water. Half the households do not have toilets, and defecation in the open is common. Donor agencies have helped build toilets, but these are mostly used to store fodder because there is no water. “How can we use water for the toilets where there isn’t enough for drinking?” asks Ward chair Ajay Bishwakarma. &nbsp; Families have to walk for four hours to bathe and do washing. “We do not wash our clothes for months on end,” says Kushi Bishwakarma, 40.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518040516_e234d5b4fac4fa24e62e65a35f2eafbfb044a32a5f8ef8172932eca96eeaa17b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240518040516_e234d5b4fac4fa24e62e65a35f2eafbfb044a32a5f8ef8172932eca96eeaa17b" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="733" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot hygiene"> </figure>  The lack of water has compromised hygiene and sanitation in the village, resulting in diseases like diarrhoea, allergies, and other health issues, especially among children. Lack of water in the village has also led to uterine prolapse among the women in Muktikot since they primarily face the task of ferrying heavy jars of water from the communal taps to their houses The ‘One house, one tap, one toilet’ campaign introduced by the rural municipality this year hopes to solve water-related issues for Muktikot residents. But that is yet another election promise. Testing times This underserved village is not just affected by structural inequality and state neglect. In 2021, a landslide swept away 54 houses in Muktikot, and most families lost homes and what little arable land they had. “Earlier, we at least had a house to live in, now we don’t even have that,” says Muktikot resident Asal Bishwakarma. “We have been living with relatives since. How will we survive?” More than two years after the landslide, not a single house in the village has been rebuilt. Each family was allocated Rs500,000 in relief on an instalment basis, with aid from all three tiers of government.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518040516_26ebf9b2f52722180b1b403b1410f19ea5c7d0321047b099a574a35519706914.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240518040516_26ebf9b2f52722180b1b403b1410f19ea5c7d0321047b099a574a35519706914" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1433" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot landslide"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518040516_bbe50221dca556ac0e798843d672f1190abafacb82fa792bfec289eeb31ad013.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240518040516_bbe50221dca556ac0e798843d672f1190abafacb82fa792bfec289eeb31ad013" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Muktikot landslide"> </figure>  Asal has only received Rs35,000 so far, and has spent it all on buying food. No one knows where the promised money went. Muktikot residents now want their entire village relocated somewhere safer. &nbsp;The local government agrees that resettlement is necessary, but it was unable to find a suitable alternative. “It is not possible to resettle such a large number of people at one go,” says Bajura MP Badri Pandey. “We also cannot create jobs for all of the population at once.” Muktikot might have been declared liberated on paper during a war fought in the name of Nepal’s downtrodden, but this Dalit village is emblematic of promises not kept. Looking around the landslide scarred village he has spent half a century of his life in, Muktikot’s Dhanajay Bishwakarma laments, “We are not even considered humans by the state.”

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Muktikot still waiting for liberation

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd90c9c7e80680e0801f0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="566"/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>Durga Sob, politicianDurga Sob was born in Doti, and was sent by her family for higher studies in Kathmandu in 1980. She had faced caste discrimination in Nepal’s culturally conservative far-west, and had thought educated and prosperous Kathmandu could be different.How wrong she was.In college picnics, at the student dormitory, in the classroom, Sob faced the same ostracisation and taunts of fellow students from the so-called ‘upper’ castes that she used to get in Doti.She got a job at Action Aid even while at college, and in 1988 she met American rights activist Robin Morgan. They talked a lot about how Nepal’s gender activism was not inclusive, and it left out women perceived to be of a ‘lower’ caste.Morgan helped Sob set up her own group. Forty years later Sob is still running her Dalit Women’s Organisation which by now has grown to become nationwide. Sob rented a flat in Kathmandu and kept two rooms as her office and two rooms to live in.Soon, the landlady found out that Sob was a Biswakarma, from the Dalit community. The usually friendly woman became hostile, and gave Sob notice to move out immediately.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd90f9c7e80680e0801f1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="449">Sob went flat-hunting throughout Kathmandu without hiding her caste, since she did not want to face the same problem again. But that made it even more difficult for her to find an office and residence space to rent.“I asked many people for help, no one came forward,” Durga Sob recalls. “In the end, I lied about my caste and soon got a flat. But even then, they would find out and harass me by cutting off my water supply or electricity to drive me out. I have had to move so many times in Kathmandu because of my caste.”In 1995, Sob was invited to attend the Beijing International Women’s Conference with other Nepali women activists. She had to share her hotel room in Beijing with a Nepali, but because she was a Dalit, none of the other conference participants from Nepal agreed to share a room with her.“That was the worst day of my life, I wept,” Sob remembers. “This was an international conference on women’s rights, the Nepalis were gender activists, and yet this was happening.”In 2001, Durga Sob was nominated member secretary of the newly established National Dalit Commission. But the discrimination did not stop. She says: “Dalit women have to face double discrimination: first because they are women and second because they are Dalit.”Sob was convinced that the only way to resolve caste racism is through politics. So, she started becoming politically active, but even in politics she found prejudice against Dalits. First, she joined Baburam Bhattarai’s Naya Shakti Party as a coordinator, hoping that its progressive agenda would help in her struggle.“I got that position because of my ability, but I started feeling pressure, there was a feeling that a Dalit women should not have a leadership role. I should have been a deputy chair or general secretary, but I was demoted to being a secretary,” she says.Durga Sob is now a central committee member of the People’s Socialist Party, but she has no illusions about ever rising to a position higher than secretary. She concludes: “When racism is direct and open, we can resist it. But when it is hidden, it is difficult to endure and fight against.”Yash Kumar, singerYash Kumar’s father was a Brahmin and his mother a Dalit. When he was 10 years old his parents brought him to Kathmandu from Sarlahi. He did not have to face racism while in the Tarai because he was quite young, and he was not discriminated against in Kathmandu because he had a Brahmin surname. However, when he was making his citizenship papers, he added ‘Pariyar’ to his formal name.It was after he became a well-known singer and famous for a hit song about untouchability that Yash Kumar started really feeling societal discrimination. A sister of his best friend with the Brahmin surname ‘Acharya’ was getting married, and he came over to give Yash Kumar an invitation card to the wedding. But he said the invitation was just for formality, and that he should not come to the reception.“He told me he did not believe in untouchability but his parents did not want his Dalit friend to attend the wedding,” he recalls. “It was like something pierced my heart.”Yash Kumar relates many other incidents where he faced ostracisation because of his caste. He would even hear friends cast derogatory remarks about Dalits either because they did not know he was one, or because they thought he was out of earshot.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9129c7e80680e0801f2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="806">One well-known film actress once confided to him: “You are different from other Dalits in the way your think and speak. You must be mixed.”Yash Kumar says he reacts immediately when someone mistreats him because he is a Dalit, but it is more difficult when the discrimination is subtle. “I feel really sad that there is such behaviour in a city where there are supposed to be educated and conscious people,” he adds.Rekha Pariyar, student leaderUnlike other Dalits who face direct and indirect prejudice, Rekha Pariyar has been physically assaulted because of her caste. After her family moved to Kathmandu from Chitwan, and started being treated differently by the neighbours. They could not draw water from the community tap, and were not allowed into the corner tea shop.Rekha’s father and brother had a tailor shop. In 2012, they brought a sewing machine and other equipment in a rented pickup, but the driver asked for money more than was agreed upon. An altercation ensued, and the neighbours beat up members of her family, hurling racist slurs against them.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9159c7e80680e0801f3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="456">It took a long time for the police to arrive at the scene, and they took Rekha and her injured family members to hospital where her father and mother had to spend three weeks. Police in Maharajganj refused to accept her complaint. Only after appealing to Prime Minister Sushil Koirala did the police register the case, but even though this became a high profile media story, the perpetrators were never caught.Rekha Pariyar rose up the ranks of the student union, and used to deliver fiery speeches against caste discrimination. But her political colleagues would not eat with her, even though they travelled and did everything together.She says: “It is even more difficult to fight discrimination when it is so entrenched in supposedly better educated people in the cities.”B B Anuragi, singerBorn in Baglung, BB Anuragi was at the receiving end of racial discrimination. But when he came to college in Pokhara, the ostracisation got much worse. He got into an argument and a fist-fight when fellow students wanted to keep him out of the student dormitory. But after that he could not rent a room anywhere. He finally found a room with two other friends, but he had to move out when their parents were visiting.He started singing at a local gazal restaurant, but had to move multiple times when landlords cut off his water supply or harassed him when they found out that he was a Dalit. There was a Newa landlady who had a room, and he told her he was a Dalit. But her reply surprised him: “It does not matter to me what caste you are as long as you are a decent person.” She was an exception.In 2003, Anuragi moved to Kathmandu, but here the discrimination was of a different nature than Pokhara. “In Kathmandu people did not bring up caste directly, but would insinuate things which was difficult to counter,” he says.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9189c7e80680e0801f4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="448">Even to this day, he notices that people’s demeanour changes completely when they find out he is a Dalit. Neighbours do everything together, but do not call him for their parties or festivals.“I am a singer, and I pour out my anger in my songs, but this is Kathmandu, the message is restricted to the songs, it does not change too many people,” Anuragi says.Sona Khatik, Radio Station ManagerThroughout her life, Sona Khatik grew up suffering from caste discrimination. Her life story indicates that caste stigma is more entrenched in the Tarai than in the mountains.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd91b9c7e80680e0801f5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="881">“I like to report from the field instead of dealing with people in the office,” says Khatik who worked her way up from being an intern to the Station Manager of Community Radio Kapilvastu.“Even so, I often notice people’s attitude change after they find out I am a Dalit. They talk down at me,” she says. “They ask me my caste and profession of my parents, and when they find out I am a Dalit they actually tell me I must be a non-Dalit because of my senior position.”In 2012, she had gone to interview a senior official at a government office. He did not even tell her to sit down in the sofa, she had to take the interview standing up. Because caste discrimination is now punishable by law, the prejudice is also more subtle.One of Khatik’s close friends eats with her, but when she is invited to her friend’s house she has to eat outside the kitchen. “It really affects me when close friends do that,” she says. “I just stopped going to her house.”Khatik says it is difficult to counter discrimination when it is so indirect. “We are invited to functions, but the organisers often treat non-Dalits differently than Dalits. Often, they just ignore me. So, I have just stopped going to such functions. I counter indirect stigma with an indirect boycott.”Holi Nepali, tourism entrepreneurNepali Dalits face discrimination even when they are abroad. And Holi Nepali, who runs Top of the World trekking agency in The Netherlands, has a direct experience of this. Nepali was born near Pokhara and through the kindness of trekking agency operator Rajiv Shrestha she got a good education. She stayed with his family, so others did not treat her badly then.When some people in Nepal used to ask her what her caste was, she would say she was from the leather worker ‘Sarki’ caste. They would reply: “You are so good looking even though you are a Sarki?”She started working in Shrestha’s trekking agency where she met a Dutch national and got married to him, and started living in The Netherlands in 2012. But even there, caste discrimination has followed her.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd91e9c7e80680e0801f6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="434">Nepali has a Nepali Chhetri friend whose relatives admonish her for hobnobbing with a Sarki. During Nepali gatherings, she has heard many Nepalis advise others not to marry outside their caste groups.“It seems that no matter how educated you are, no matter if Nepalis are in Europe, they cannot rise over bigotry,” she says.Shanti Paswan, activistShe was born and raised in a town in the Madhes and never had to face discrimination in her home town of Siraha. That may have been because she grew up in a Tamang majority neigbourhood. However, after she became older and got involved in social service activities, she faced discrimination at every step.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9219c7e80680e0801f7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="437">In 2012, when she wanted to stand for election to a school management committee she was forced to step down because of her caste. Her rivals thought she might win, so they threatened and intimidated her. “After it got nasty, I thought is just was not worth it,” she says.Because it is illegal to openly discriminate against a Dalit, the educated ones pass snide remarks to put them down. “They will not say it directly, but if there is someone who not good-looking or if there is an undesirable person around, they describe them as ‘being like a Dalit’. If there is a crime anywhere, it is a Dalit who is the first suspect,” Paswan says.She has developed her unique way of dealing with such racism. “If it is someone who is just not aware or are illiterate, I let their slight go, but if it is someone who should know better, I come down hard on them.”Bhuwan Singh Biswakarma, ex-soldierHe is one of the few Nepalis who has even been to Antarctica. Bhuwan Singh Biswakarma was born in Baglung but moved to India when he was 10, and later joined the Indian Army. He joined an expedition to Antarctica, and says he was never treated different because he is a Dalit.However, after retirement and return to Nepal he has been facing discrimination in his own homeland. “Earlier, even the educated people used to discriminate on the basis of caste, but now because it is illegal to do so, there is a different more roundabout kind of discrimination,” he says.Biswakarma says such indirect treatment manifests itself in friends who do everything together, but stay apart while eating. Once, he was drinking tea with a friend when he inadvertently touched his glass. The friend got up and left saying he did not feel like having tea that day.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9249c7e80680e0801f8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="362" height="417">“I always know they are doing it because of me, but how do I fight that?” asks Biswakarma who now lives in Butwal. “Close friends do not invite you for weddings and other parties at their home. It hurts.”Purna Lal Biswakarma, engineerEven if a Dalit is an engineer, he has to face discrimination. In fact, no matter what senior position they hold, even if they are rich, or hold high office, Dalits still face caste discrimination from a society that should know better. Engineer Purna Lal Biswakarma is living proof of that.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9269c7e80680e0801f9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="350">Born in Kusma of Parbat district, Biswakarma grew up with other Dalits, and did not face stigma for being from a ‘lower’ caste. Even when he enrolled in an engineering college in Kathmandu, he did not really face much discrimination.It was after he gave his Public Service Exam that he started facing the brunt of the injustice. After joining the Irrigation Department, he had to travel across Nepal. It was in Baitadi in far-western Nepal where he had to face the worst treatment even from co-workers.He still remembers the discrimination from a close friend and long-time colleague who was getting married. Everyone got an invitation but him. He was invited for a reception later, but did not go because the ill-treatment affected him deeply.“They talk to you with respect, but as soon as they find out you are a Dalit, the tone changes completely,” Biswakarma says.Purna Nepali, professorHe was born in India and was raised in Kapilvastu where he faced ill treatment, abusive language and discrimination every step of the way while growing up. But it was after he moved to Kathmandu that he had to face other kinds of poor behaviour. He joined the United Nations Gender Mainstreaming Project and was assigned to Myagdi where he faced caste violence from his own colleagues. They did not drink water from a bottle that he had touched. “They never said anything bad, but their behaviour was appalling,” Nepali remembers. It affected me deeply at a psychological level.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171144/636bd9299c7e80680e0801fajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="521">In 2008, he had gone to Bajhang and Doti for research into his PhD and it was difficult to get a room for the night. “Dalits did not have room, and non-Dalits would not give you a room,” he remembers. “There have to be stricter laws against caste discrimination, and they need to be enforced. The only way to reduce this racism is through a zero tolerance policy.”Centre for Investigative Journalism- Nepal

Caste aside, Dalits battle stigma

The Kangchenjunga Trek in far-eastern Nepal is a remote and less-crowded adventure that offers raw wilderness, diverse cultures, and breathtaking terrain below the world’s third highest mountain. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) grabbed the world’s attention before Mt Everest ever did because its imposing rampart dominated the northern horizon from Darjeeling, the summer refuge for the British in India. The Kangchenjunga massif is more a mountain range rather than a peak, its high ridge stretching 25km from Nepal to Sikkim.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c" data-rendition-name="original" width="938" height="726" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga trail map"></figure>  Sikkim considers the mountain sacred, and has banned mountaineering expeditions. But the various prominences of Kangchenjunga are increasingly popular for climbers via the north face in Nepal. For non-mountaineers, even the Kangchenjunga trek can be arduous, especially in winter. It is one of the last pure wilderness areas in Nepal, traversing sparsely populated valleys that are rich in biodiversity because of the high annual rainfall. Even when Nepal was a forbidden land, among the first foreign visitors was British botanist J D Hooker who explored the Nepal side of Kangchenjunga in 1850 to collect plant samples. The peak was first climbed in 1955, two years after the first ascent of Mt Everest.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The establishment of Kangchenjunga Conservation Area in September 2006 was accompanied by tragedy when 24 people, including Nepal’s nature preservation pioneers were killed in a helicopter crash. The Conservation Area is now the only one managed completely by the local indigenous people. It has 70 varieties of orchids, 30 rhododendron types, and 15 out of 28 endemic plants of Nepal. Kangchenjunga still gets very few of the 200,000 foreign trekkers who visit Nepal every year, but improved road access in recent years is making it more popular. Trekkers have a choice of exploring the North Base Camp (Pangpema) or the South Base Camp (Yalung Glacier), or combine both for the full Kangchenjunga Circuit (map). This trek is considered strenuous, with long walking days, high altitude, and tea house accommodation that is much more basic than the Everest or Annapurna regions. Trekkers have to be fit and with prior hiking experience. Most teams take tents and camp, and carry most of their food.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  FULL CIRCUIT Because the region is restricted, trekkers must obtain a permit and be accompanied by a licensed guide. A full circuit can take three weeks, while doing only the North or South Base Camps will take two weeks, including flying from Kathmandu to Bhadrapur and jeep to Taplejung or a rough trail to Hellok. The lower forested stretches are teeming with wildlife, and this is red panda and snow leopard country. The streams and ponds have amphibians and reptiles, some of which have not yet even been classified. The route also passes the homelands of the Limbu, Rai and Tibetan communities with the local culture and architecture more intact than in most other mountain areas of Nepal.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The best seasons to trek are spring (March–May) and autumn (September–November). There are fewer trekkers and climbers in winter, and many of the birds and wildlife have migrated down to warmer climes. Despite its beauty, trekkers should be prepared for challenges like long distances between villages, unpredictable weather, and limited emergency rescue options due to the remoteness of the area — all even more challenging in winter. Norbu Lama is an international hiking guide with www.dolpocaravantreks.com and just returned after leading a trek to Kangchenjunga Base Camps.

Kangchenjunga in winter

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

Ancient heritage meets dern distillery craft as the US-based The Nepali Spirit Company this month makes its global debut with Kathmandu Ayla. Inspired by Nepal’s ancient rice whiskey tradition, the product is the first of four handcrafted spirits that brings Kathmandu Valley’s 1,000-year-old ayla tradition to the world stage. “The first four products combine history, culture, and tradition and it has taken eight years to get to this launch point,” says CEO of The Nepal Spirit Company Kashish Das Shrestha, who is also publishing a book on the history of alcohol in Nepali culture. The other three ayla products are Masala Whiskey aged in Brazilian Amburana casks and spiced with black cardamom from Nepal, Annapurna Ayla, and Haku Chaku Himalayan Espresso Liqueur made with organic Nepali coffee, and chaku (dark molasses).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141244_ab74945dc60ce5ff83fe7a88596fc032c18705e7cda9dc62df21694d3ad83b85.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251216141244_ab74945dc60ce5ff83fe7a88596fc032c18705e7cda9dc62df21694d3ad83b85" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>  “I started visiting international whiskey auctions six years ago and after reading about distilling, my passion for spirits grew, and I felt the urge to tell the story of Nepal’s heritage spirits to the world,” explains Shrestha. Once poured in Nepal’s royal courts, ayla is a clear rice whiskey that is a millennia-old living heritage of Kathmandu used in rituals from birth to death and traditional life milestones of its inhabitants. Ayla is distilled to capture the classic aromas and flavors, with a soft sweet after taste. It can be enjoyed neat, sipped through meals, or enjoyed as shots. With more than 15% of Nepal’s population living and working abroad, there is a cultural demand for ayla in the diaspora from Asan to Amstredam to Australia.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216121236_0db0ec396832736fef60b636d7012a917be65471408c81383a40613f928f9e78.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251216121236_0db0ec396832736fef60b636d7012a917be65471408c81383a40613f928f9e78" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1270" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141236_a84ede74c67a61e75af2f0cc1c985b4d04ff2292c6bd0bd0b841f4d2c7b593aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251216141236_a84ede74c67a61e75af2f0cc1c985b4d04ff2292c6bd0bd0b841f4d2c7b593aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;“We also believe ayla is a wonderful way to tell Nepal’s story to the world,” says Lilu KC Shrestha, Chief Operating Officer of the company. “We intend to use our platform to promote Nepal in any way we can, and also find ways to give back to the country. It was high time a world-class Nepali spirits brand entered the global market, and we are proud to take the lead.” Aside from the ayla itself, the bottle and packaging was conceived by New York-based designer Sahara Shrestha to reflect a complete Nepaliness. “Each bottle and box is a love letter to Nepal, and every detail is an expression of respect and appreciation of Nepali heritage and our desire to share it with the world,” says Kashish Das Shrestha. “And ayla itself is a sacred part of our culture, so we wanted to make sure the bottle reflects this reverence.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141244_d2746204c64802ff81453d7a8749f516bf3c62538fe3c98400a9b3978c03b273.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251216141244_d2746204c64802ff81453d7a8749f516bf3c62538fe3c98400a9b3978c03b273" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1475" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> <figcaption>Aylarita</figcaption> </figure>  The bottom of each bottle has an embossed Mandala representing the universe and its interconnectedness. A glass molding of Himalayan peaks Chomolungma and Nuptse signifies the earth and heaven. The bottle cap is a black and gold rendering of the metal plates that hang from Kathmandu’s temples. The logo of The Nepali Spirit Company is also inspired by the unti, a traditional vessel used to pour ayla. While its top is typically adorned with a peacock, the company’s design replaces it with rice stalks. This motif is also on the label of Annapurna Whiskey named in honour of both the mountain and the goddess, the giver of grain. For a new take, ayla can be paired with a lime wedge lathered in honey, cumin, and salt, or on the glass rim. It can also be mixed into cocktails to make Aylarita, Aylatini, or Aylapolitan. <a href="http://www.thenepalispirit.com/" target="_blank">www.thenepalispirit.com</a>, @TheNepaliSpirit

The American Ayla

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

dalits

Muktikot still waiting for liberation

Caste aside, Dalits battle stigma

Kangchenjunga in winter

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The American Ayla

The war between people