This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.thenation.com/issue/may-2024-issue/">the May 2024 issue of The Nation</a> magazine. My first glimpse of Kagbeni in Mustang came with a mix of relief, elation, and a cold foreboding. I had been walking north with my Nepali guide, sturdy 50-year-old Manoj Tamang out of Pokhara, for four days. Dhaulagiri at 8,167m looming to the west and the Annapurna massif to the east, until we had put them behind us.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/soon-monsoon">Soon, monsoon</a>, Anita Bhetwal Now in their rain shadow on the north side of the Himalaya, the landscape quickly turned from alpine to arid high-mountain grassland and desert. We would spend two nights and a full day in Kagbeni at 2,804m before continuing up to Jharkot and Muktinath (3,800m), still the ‘foothills’ by Himalayan standards. Hence the relief, especially for my 56-year-old back and legs which were no match for Manoj’s. As for the elation, it came not only from the vista of Kagbeni’s terraced fields and orchards appearing, like some miraculous oasis, at the foot of barren cliffs and snowless mountainsides.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030540_48e8edcc734cc1dd82514c3d142ad8027b57fe9fd6af2186be6623b39bc90ca6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240518030540_48e8edcc734cc1dd82514c3d142ad8027b57fe9fd6af2186be6623b39bc90ca6" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni"> <figcaption>A view of Kagbeni, looking north up the Kali Gandaki valley.</figcaption> </figure>  Since the 12th century, Kagbeni has been the “gateway” to the ancient Kingdom of Lo, known today as Upper Mustang, a restricted area on Nepal’s border with China. Yet today’s Mustang, as <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/14672715.2023.2174891">recent scholarship</a> by the anthropologist Emily Amburgey and others has shown, is no idyllic Shangri-la, thanks to its mix of poverty, uneven development, government neglect, out-migration of the young, and, increasingly, symptoms of climate change (like those snowless mountains during my January visit). Indeed, the foreboding came when I remembered why I was there. Last August, Kagbeni suffered a devastating flood—brought on by extreme rainfall—the likes of which no one living there had ever experienced. I wanted to see the damage and the recovery effort for myself—and I wanted to hear from local people about what climate change means for their lives and communities in the <a href="https://hkh.icimod.org/hi-wise/hi-wise-report/">fast-warming Himalaya</a>. * Kagbeni is built along both banks of the Kag Khola river where it flows into the Kali Gandaki from the east. The original 12th century town, with its traditional flat-roofed mud houses and its medieval monastery and fort, lies on the north side, and the newer part of town to the south.&nbsp; The confluence of the two rivers, sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists, has made Kagbeni an important stop on the age-old pilgrimage route to the ancient Muktinath temple complex farther up the Kag Khola Gorge. The area is now heavily touristed thanks to a major road completed in 2008. That first afternoon, I made my way along the new town’s main street until it opened suddenly onto what still looked, five months after the flood, like a war zone. The grey rubble of rock, sand, and dried-mud debris, a block wide and a story high, stretched a good 200 yards along both sides of the narrow river.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030540_a02fc741e3dd0e6c639460c046d8fc29a7fd953be48ab0ff731a7f5cee272621.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240518030540_a02fc741e3dd0e6c639460c046d8fc29a7fd953be48ab0ff731a7f5cee272621" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1536" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030544_60cfb13b9bbcd268a6dfe68cdab45678260fc5156e32c3bf0e74a00043b06791.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240518030544_60cfb13b9bbcd268a6dfe68cdab45678260fc5156e32c3bf0e74a00043b06791" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1536" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood"> </figure>  &nbsp;The floods that sweep down these river gorges do not just carry water, they consist of a thick, heavy flow of cement-like silt, mud, and rock that levels everything in its path and raises the riverbed by many feet. Think of it not as sea-level rise but riverbed rise, putting homes, schools, stupas and temples, infrastructure, and fields in greater peril with each new flood, which comes more often as global warming alters the South Asian monsoon. Rinzin Namgyal Gurung, the Kagbeni rural municipality chair, laid out the extent of the flood damage for me in an email: eight buildings completely destroyed, including a hotel, a government ward office, a health centre, and a police station, and 19 that suffered partial damage, including the monastery and the secondary school.&nbsp; In all, 27 buildings designated as residential or hotels were destroyed or damaged, plus nine ‘crucial public structures’ (water supply and treatment, irrigation canals, sewers, electricity stations, bridges, and river retaining walls) ‘were also severely affected’. This is a town of just 600 people. Gurung also listed the full extent of recovery funding and assistance the town received from Nepal’s national government: “Ministry of Home Affairs, 10 heavy tents and 15 blankets.” Assistance received so far from international NGOs: none. In the absence of such aid, the Mustang community in Nepal and abroad, has stepped up with a grassroots fundraising campaign. As Mustang faces another monsoon season, the question of longer-term survival is on some people’s minds. * Laxmi Gurung is 49 years old and was born in Kagbeni, where her ancestors have lived for eons. She was away in Kathmandu when I visited Kagbeni, but I caught up with her the following week in the capital’s Swayambhu neighborhood. Laxmi and her brother, a former local-government chairperson, own and run Kagbeni’s Hotel Mustang Gateway and its iconic <a href="https://www.facebook.com/yacdonald/">YacDonald’s restaurant</a>.&nbsp; Together, they founded the Fama Foundation to help preserve Mustang’s traditional culture as the region rapidly develops. Educated at universities in India and New Zealand, Laxmi attended COP28, the latest United Nations Climate Change Conference, in Dubai last December with Nepal’s delegation to advocate for the establishment of a ‘loss and damage’ fund at the UN. Last year’s August flood had damaged the hotel and restaurant, sending a car through a wall.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030544_e746e002560e33596c8c9beea4fe1210d0ff8f0aa697fd82e55426b049aecc46.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240518030544_e746e002560e33596c8c9beea4fe1210d0ff8f0aa697fd82e55426b049aecc46" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood loss and damage"> <figcaption>Laxmi Gurung's hotel and restaurant was damaged in the Kagbeni flood. She says the 'loss and damage' fund cannot pay for everything that is lost.</figcaption> </figure>  Laxmi described that night in harrowing detail: the intensity of the rain, unlike anything Kagbeni had experienced in the past (the old town’s mud houses, which have survived centuries in the region’s arid climate, are now dissolving under the recent downpours), the warning calls from villages upriver, which saved lives (Kagbeni had no fatalities), the unforgettable sound of heavy debris crashing into buildings in the darkness and of buildings collapsing, the agonising wait to see the damage in first daylight.&nbsp; “It was the longest night,” Laxmi said. But it was the flood’s aftermath that was the most revelatory. “The next day we see everywhere heaps of mud. And we don’t know what to do. Everybody is crying,” Laxmi said.&nbsp; Houses and belongings were buried under the debris, while some items were carried down the Kali Gandaki as far as Lete, 25 miles away. “All the people, from Lubrak, from Muktinath, every village from Upper Mustang to Lower Mustang came with something in hand to help Kagbeni, to move the debris. They came personally to help us, and they also contributed financial help. Mustang is an example that community exists.” “From the government, we still have not got any relief funds,” Laxmi said. Nepal’s Home Ministry and a variety of NGOs “came and watched—they see, they study, and [are] gone.” Pointing out that Kagbeni’s carbon emissions, like Nepal’s as a whole, are negligible, Laxmi asked, “Why are we the ones who suffer a lot? Our memories, heritage, structures, landscapes: gone. And who is to blame for this? Should we blame ourselves? We should get compensation. But who will listen to us? We are a small community, a small mountain village, in one corner of—beyond the Himalaya. Even Nepal’s government believes we are beyond the Himalaya, and we have been neglected.” When asked about her advocacy in Dubai for loss-and-damage funding, and if there are losses that cannot be compensated, she said: “The financial help can establish new houses, infrastructures, but our heritage, our ancestors’ properties, we cannot rebuild. The loss of memories, values, culture, customs cannot be repaid.” * Yungdrung Tsewang Gurung, 36, is a freelance researcher, conservationist, and photographer from Lubrak, a tiny village a few miles south of Kagbeni. Dating back to the 12th century, it has 14 households and is the last village in Mustang entirely following the pre-Buddhist Tibetan Bön religion. Working with Amburgey and other scholars, Yungdrung has researched the effects of climate and social change in Mustang. In June 2021, his family’s small ancestral home in Lubrak was destroyed by a major flood. They have since built a new house higher up the steep mountainside, and he has documented and reported <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">for the Nepali Times</a> on how Lubrak is shifting ground as the floods and rising riverbed overwhelm its ancestral fields and now threaten the heart of the village itself. “Knowingly or not knowingly, local people are already struggling,” Yungdrung said. “In Lubrak, my family was living with the threat of when the flood would happen and we would lose our house. In 2021, it happened overnight. And when we see the snow melting and how the rain pattern is changing, and flood is one of the outcomes, we cannot do much. In our village, most of the old traditional things are already damaged, and we do not have [many options for a] livelihood.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030548_4296e553e89fe3a46fdf156b47e9c0409d40a78f20eaf30df2d23222b9dcf6d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240518030548_4296e553e89fe3a46fdf156b47e9c0409d40a78f20eaf30df2d23222b9dcf6d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1125" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood victim"> <figcaption>Yungdrung Tsewang Gurung, of Lubrak village, at Paradise Trekkers Home in Kagbeni in January 2024.</figcaption> </figure>  The people of Lubrak are actively discussing whether, how, and where to relocate as a community—a prospect complicated by the fact that, under recent national policy, the community's ancestral land is now owned by the Nepali government. “We cannot build and claim that it belongs to us, like our parents and older generations,” Yungdrung said.&nbsp; His family was the first in Lubrak to lose its home, and the plot on which they rebuilt was allocated through the village’s traditional community decision-making process. But now their ownership, and the village’s ability to relocate on ancestral land, is uncertain.&nbsp; “We do not fit in the Nepal government’s policy,” Yungdrung said. “How can we survive here?” Kagbeni now faces the same issue. Nepal’s central government recently overruled a local decision to allocate community land to flood victims for building new homes. “As authorised land documents remain unavailable, the affected individuals and local authorities are actively pursuing procedures to acquire land from the government,” explained Rinzin Namgyal Gurung, the chairperson. * Asked what would happen if there were suddenly a significant amount of loss-and-damage funding for Mustang, if it would make a difference or if there was a mechanism through which to use the money, Yungdrung did not sound confident.&nbsp; “I don’t see a way through, directly,” he said. “The political situation is not stable. Many people at different political levels will benefit from it, and many NGOs are influenced by political parties. So for now, even if you say in 2024 there will be lots of grants for loss and damage, I don’t think it will reach the ground level. It won’t reach the people who actually suffer.” There’s a simplistic narrative about loss-and-damage funding, which took a long-overdue stride forward at COP28. It suggests that if wealthy Global North nations create a pot of money to compensate the most vulnerable developing countries, among which Nepal ranks in the global top 10, that it will address the problem.&nbsp; It is as if, where the culpable rich nations once said, “They’ll adapt,” the thinking now goes, “We’ll compensate them.” In other words: We’ll help pay for your losses (“Here, will this pocket change do?”) while we keep burning the world, melting your glaciers, and wrecking your monsoon.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030544_90c475a58da9022888aa9eb21e8a34f2b0b4fb62dce33d65fb80564b004c288f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20240518030544_90c475a58da9022888aa9eb21e8a34f2b0b4fb62dce33d65fb80564b004c288f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood"> <figcaption>Buildings damaged by the August 2023 flood in Kagbeni, as seen in January 2024.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240518030548_0e74d4aa22d583f175cd44f26320733b40c246d5da073941becf1afa140064f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20240518030548_0e74d4aa22d583f175cd44f26320733b40c246d5da073941becf1afa140064f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood"> <figcaption>Damage and debris from the August 2023 flood in Kagbeni, as seen in January 2024.</figcaption> </figure>  Full loss-and-damage funding for poor countries is a moral and geopolitical imperative. Debt cancellation for developing nations might be a start. But it’s a naïve ‘first world’ fantasy to think that a government like Nepal’s has the capacity to implement climate relief and adaptation measures at scale, however much money is spent, without deep political and structural reforms (as any number of Nepali experts will tell you). What the United States, Europe, and the world’s other advanced economies truly owe the Global South goes well beyond compensation—especially when money itself cannot compensate for what is lost. We owe them nothing less than to break the grip of fossil fuels on our economic and political systems and end the use of coal, oil, and gas <a href="https://www.ecoequity.org/2024/02/after-dubai/">as fast—and as equitably</a>—as possible. That will require a political mobilisation like nothing we’ve yet seen, one that is still, at this late date, nowhere in sight. What, then, do you say to a person like Laxmi Gurung as she looks you in the eye? I had no adequate words. But maybe we should be looking to her for answers. In Kathmandu, I asked Laxmi if she thinks her community will ever abandon Kagbeni or whether her people will stay and fight, come what may. “The day we got the flood,” she told me, emotion in her voice, “we became strong. We said, ‘We should fight.’ We all are traumatised, we feel scared to stay in Kagbeni, but we thought, ‘No, this is our place, this is our home. No matter what, we should fight.’ So we all get together, and then the community all came. Then we began to say, ‘Oh, if we stand, everybody is with us. Why not stand?’” <a href="https://wenstephenson.com/">Wen Stephenson</a> is a veteran journalist, essayist, and climate-justice activist. A frequent contributor to <a href="https://www.thenation.com/authors/wen-stephenson/">The Nation</a> and <a href="https://thebaffler.com/authors/wen-stephenson">The Baffler</a>, he is the author of <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/250727/what-were-fighting-for-now-is-each-other-by-wen-stephenson/">What We’re Fighting for Now Is Each Other: Dispatches From the Front Lines of Climate Justice</a> (2015). His forthcoming book, Learning to Live in the Dark: Essays in a Time of Catastrophe, will be published next year.

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What is lost cannot be repaid

The hallmark of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">climate breakdown in the Himalaya</a> is that it does not rain when and where it is supposed to, but pours at the wrong time in areas it ought not to. The trans-Himalayan Mustang region has had successive snowless winters but has experienced heavy monsoon downpours most characteristic of the southern foothills. But local and national governments seem ill-prepared to deal with this anomaly. The lack of readiness was seen in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/smoke-screen">unprecedented wildfires in March-April</a>, which was partly due to a long winter drought. Soon, the monsoon will be upon us and the government appears to be doing little more than quantifying the death and destruction from floods and landslides. On 13 August 2023, Namyak Gurung of Kagbeni in Mustang saw a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-the-seti-disaster">flash flood </a>that he had never seen in his 50-year life. Cloudbursts the day before set off landslides that dammed the Kag Khola, a tributary of the Kali Gandaki. &nbsp; The lake burst, destroying 30 of the 125 houses in the village. A police station, monasteries, bridges, a hospital, and a school were damaged. No one was killed because there were warning calls from people upstream. Nearly a year later, Kagbeni still looks like a war zone and the people dread the coming rainy season.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024052105050_0d7573f0ee787c01a56237486f98b6f2230ca3d3b6a9c778ce16841ba753e94c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2024052105050_0d7573f0ee787c01a56237486f98b6f2230ca3d3b6a9c778ce16841ba753e94c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Kagbeni flood"> </figure>  “I couldn’t leave the place of my ancestors," says Namyak who has relocated to his brother’s place after his two-storied building was destroyed. “I’m now building my new house a long way above the river. But I keep getting nightmares of another flood.”&nbsp; Tenzing Gurung, 36, was rescued from the second floor of her lodge in Kagbeni. Grey sand and boulders still cover the yard and the river now runs through what used to be the gate to her lodge. “I had never thought something like this could happen here,” says Tenzing. “We are scared, but where can we go?” The flood also damaged the local Janashanti Secondary School where two of Tenzing’s sons study. The school needs immediate relocation, but nothing has been done. “I just pray that the next flood doesn’t happen when my sons are in school,” adds Tenzing. Mustang and Manag districts are supposed to be in the Himalayan rainshadow, but <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/himalayan-floods-a-sign-of-worse-to-come">precipitation patterns are changing</a>. Light monsoon rains have turned into destructive torrents followed by long periods of drought. In June 2021, Manang got all of its average annual rainfall of 300mm in just one week. A wall of water, mud, boulders and logs rushed down the Marsyangdi River, washing away the highway, bridges, settlements and other infrastructure in Taal and Chame villages. “We have seen that the trans-Himalayan regions are now getting more rain than before, the whole rainfall pattern has changed,” says meteorologist Rajendra Sharma of the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA). He adds: “In the past, when it rained in Mustang, it happened gently over a period of time but now, we get everything in a day or two. Such heavy downpours increase the risk of floods and landslides.”&nbsp; In the last 10 years, a total of 1,500 floods, 2,500 landslides, and 1,549 high rainfall events occurred across the country and killed 2,141 people, second only to the 2015 Nepal earthquake. Yet the state appears ill-prepared to prevent the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/lost-and-damaged">loss of life and damage</a> — even though not all the destruction can be blamed solely on climate breakdown.&nbsp; “From the Manang and Melamchi floods in 2021 to last year’s Mustang, all of these are weather-related disasters, and the rate of these incidents has increased due to climate change,” says climate expert Dharma Upreti. Although climatologists do not directly blame individual disasters on climate change, they say there is a correlation between rising global temperatures, higher sea surface temperatures contributing to more water vapour in the atmosphere.&nbsp; The Himalaya is also heating faster than the global average due to a phenomenon called ‘Elevation Dependent Warming’. Melting mountains also pose the additional risk of glacial lake outbursts and avalanches.&nbsp; The South Asian Climate Outlook Forum (SASCOF) has projected above-normal rainfall for Nepal this monsoon. And with less than a month before the onset of the rains, Nepal is not prepared. And here in Kagbeni, people have still not recovered from last year’s disaster. The NDRRMA’s primary focus is post-disaster humanitarian aid and relief such as stockpiling food, medicines, tents, electricity supply and connectivity — <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/disastrous-preparedness">not so much on preparedness</a>. “We do not have sufficient resources to manage damage caused by disasters year after year, the local government should step up,” says NDRRMA chief Anil Pokhrel. The lack of preparedness and coordination between line agencies means slow response to floods. Local governments are first responders, but do not have the financial support or technical know-how to deal with disasters on their own. Says district administrator Hom Bahadur Thapa Magar in Kagbeni: “Another monsoon is coming, and given what happened last year, we urgently need to build embankments but we do not have the resources or manpower to do so.”

Soon, monsoon

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95439c7e80680e05dbf9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3500" height="2625"/><figcaption>Franz Frei at his exhibition in Taragaon Museum. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>For decades, Franz Frei’s drawings used for adult literacy classes in Dolakha sat in his late mother’s attic in Switzerland. Now 43 years later, the former Swiss Development Cooperation employee has brought the drawings back to Nepal.As students, Ulrich Burtscher, Thomas Türtscher and Raimund Wulz made meticulous colour-coded architectural drawings of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4988#.Xb-8z9Iza70">Ghyaru village in Manang</a>, detailing their elevation, water supply, building use and shop density. After 30 years, the trio has returned to Nepal the sectional drawings of the slope and scale of the buildings and their relationships to each other, along with sketches and photographs.After decades of being scattered across Europe, such archival material that provide valuable insight into Nepal’s culture is being brought back by former researchers and students. This return of knowledge is an initiative of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/towers-in-stone-niels-gutschow,1762">Niels Gutschow</a>, an architectural historian and adviser at the Saraf Foundation, who himself worked at the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19496#.Xb-8k9Iza70">Bhaktapur Development Project</a> in the 1980s.It was Gutschow who convinced Frei to dust off the metal canister he had custom-made in Patan to carry his original drawings when he left Nepal in 1977. The zinc cylinder, which resembles a time capsule, is now in the Taragaon Museum with its decades-old baggage tag of Swissair and the drawings still intact. The canister is spot-lit at the centre of Frei’s exhibited works, surrounded by the artefacts it held in safekeeping for over 40 years.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95479c7e80680e05dbfajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="569" height="657">“How many chickens do you see?” When asked this in 1976, villagers responded, “One”. Frei then realised that the ovoid blob on the far right of the chart was not a chicken but an abstraction of a 3D reality into a perspective -- a concept introduced to Europe in the 15th century. Frei learnt from these mistakes and took pains to avoid repeating such miscommunication. The Saraf Foundation is working to procure, exhibit, archive and digitise such research material of foreign artists, photographers, architects and anthropologists who worked in Nepal in the second half of the 20th century.Frei came to Nepal in 1976 as staff of the Swiss-funded <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=496#.Xb-9ONIza70">Integrated Hill Development Project</a> in Dandapakhar village of Dolakha, to conduct adult literacy classes for Tamangs in the area. He made black ink sketches to illustrate Devnagari words, but soon realised the villagers did not ‘see’ images in a way Western experts took for granted. Lines in the pictures and perspective reduction were not understood, and Frei’s sketches were utterly confusing to his grown-up students, some of whom looked at them upside-down.This reminds Frei of the story of how pygmies from dense Congolese rainforest, when brought to the open savanna in Kenya mistook a distant herd of buffaloes for insects. Having never looked that far  before, the vast depth of field that people in the plains took for granted was magic to the pygmy – as they approached the buffalo, the ‘insects’ grew bigger and bigger.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95499c7e80680e05dbfbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2232" height="2556"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Similarly, a malaria prevention initiative projected images of mosquitoes on the wall to illustrate to villagers how the disease is transmitted. After the slideshow, the people were glad they would never be afflicted with malaria because “we don’t have such big mosquitoes here”.Frei uses the anecdotes to critique his own work in Nepal, and how he found out how pictorial literacy is learnt. Later, he started using stylised depictions of everyday objects using the drawing techniques of local thangka painters as reference.In Manang, architecture students Burtscher, Türtscher and Wulz had no common language to communicate with the Manang-pa with only a compass and tape measure drew the physical environment. Nearly 30 years later, they are valuable records of the ‘anonymous architecture’ of a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Manang-will-prosper-from-its-new-road,2749">Manang village before tourists and the road arrived. </a>Gutschow had to use all his powers of persuasion to get Burtscher to part with his drawings and bring them back to Nepal. Eventually, recognising how their work has developed a cultural significance, the trio agreed to surrender their drawings for safekeeping – admittedly keeping their favourites.Klaus Kette worked on several survey missions in Mustang as an artist and his work is striking, allowing visitors to grasp the feeling of a place, recognition of a face, even if the lines that make the impressions are imprecise, gnarly whirls of movement. We journey through city streets, stop at landmarks, experience unknown interiors, survey remote landscapes, and come face to face with strangers.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a954c9c7e80680e05dbfcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="843" height="603"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a954f9c7e80680e05dbfdjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1031" height="730"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95529c7e80680e05dbfejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1009" height="725"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In Kette’s swirling hand, in the Austrian trio’s maps, or in Frei’s Dolakha drawings we see what we know. Beyond that, when our eyes open there is magic and wonder. These young scholars depicted a hidden world – and whether we see it as magic depends on the rules and lines of perception behind our own ways of seeing.At the very least, the works have come home.The Taragaon Museum Lecture Series-7 Exhibition Till 14 November at <a href="http://taragaonmuseum.com/">Taragaon Museum</a><a href="http://taragaonmuseum.com/">http://taragaonmuseum.com/  </a><a href="http://thesaraffoundation.org/">The Saraf Foundation</a>

Early Nepal drawings come full circle

Here in Dho Valley, in the arid mountains of northwestern Nepal, the only sounds used to be tinkling yak bells and the flapping of wind on prayer flags. Now, there is another one: the throb of internal combustion engines.
Chinese motorcycles roar down the dusty trails of once quiet Dho, and the growl of an excavator can be heard from across the valley. It will not be long before the Sumo pickups arrive from the district headquarter in Dunai, which itself was recently connected to Nepal’s road network.
During his <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/president-xi-in-kathmandu/" target="_blank">state visit to Nepal last week, Chinese President Xi Jinping</a> said Nepal would go from being landlocked to‘land-linked’, and promised to help build better road access across the Himalaya from Nepal to China. This is what ‘better connectivity’ looks like here at ground zero in Dolpo.
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One of Nepal’s priorities for trans-Himalayan connectivity is the Kali Gandaki Corridor from the Tarai, through Mustang to the Korala checkpoint at the Chinese border. The new road from Marim Pass on the Tibet border to Dunai has now reached Dho and Chharkha.
On parts of the road that are already motorable, motorbikes &nbsp;noisly overtake trekking groups spewing clouds of dust as they climb the trails. Neither the trekkers nor lodge owners are happy.
“They go so fast, they are noisy and irritating. It is dangerous for school children and older people — it will kill someone one day,” grumbles Tenzin Gurung, a monk at the Sitcho gomba.
Across the road however, a younger trader is excited about the road since it will provide easier access to the market and bring down the cost of food.
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Such ambivalence has accompanied Nepal’s rapid road-building spree in other parts of the country like <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nation-road-from-nowhere-to-nowhere,549" target="_blank">Tsum</a>, Manang and Mustang. But perhaps nowhere has the change from no-road to road been as dramatic as here in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dazzling-dolpo/" target="_blank">Dolpo,</a> which was the last district in Nepal &nbsp;not linked by road.
Over on the other side of Mo La pass, at 5,021m, an excavator is clearing a switchback down the rocky slope that follows the trekking trail, which itself followed the ancient trading route from Dolpo to Mustang.
Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/bon-voyage/" target="_blank"> Bon voyage,</a> Sonam Choekyi Lama
“The weather is challenging, it is windy and cold on the pass, and we have to bring the diesel up by mule from Mustang,” says excavator operator Padam Bahadur.
Those who own lodges and depend on trekking groups for income are opposed to the road. Even if it is built, they say it should not destroy the traditional trading routes and trekking trails.
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Says Sonam Lama, an architect who fought a losing battle to prevent the road to his native Tsum Valley: “These hiking trails should not be replaced by roads. We should try to find an alternative motorable road.”
The dozers are also ploughing across holy chorten and mani walls. The excavator driver, who is from Piuthan, says he had to “relocate” a mani wall because it was obstructing the road alignment determined by the surveyor.
Read Also: &nbsp;<a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/stairway-to-heaven" target="_blank">Stairway to Heaven</a>, Kunda Dixit
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Villagers in Chharkha ask why Dolpo should not follow the example of Kagbeni, where the road to Lo Manthang bypassed the old cobble-stone streets of the town to preserve its heritage. Indeed, Dolpo seems to be making the same mistake as other parts of Nepal.
With little oversight by local or national governments, it looks like change is too big and too quick for Dolpo to handle.
“There is no reason why the road had to follow the trekking trails, go through the villages and destroy our holy shrines,” says Ramprasad Sherchan, owner of the Muktinath Hotel in Kagbeni. However, Sherchan now sees potential for more trekkers going to Dolpo via Mustang since the district will be more accessible.

New High Way to Dolpo

The dawn air in Muktikot is dewy as the sun sets over the horizon in the mountains of western Nepal. A sad farewell song drifts across the village from a mud plastered house.&nbsp; Rani BK sings a half melody, half lament: “I feel like my own hands are being cut off as you leave.” She is bidding farewell to her youngest brother, 37-year-old Ranne, his wife Akashe. They are going to Bangalore in India to find work. Neighbours gather quietly in the gathering light, some wiping their eyes, others joining in song. “Please, don’t cry,” Ranne says softly. “These tears will haunt us on the journey.” Migration is not new to Muktikot, but the tears are. For decades, nearly every household here has sent its men to India every winter to work. They return in spring to plant their crops.&nbsp; What is new is that women like Akashe BK are now also going, and for longer periods. The couple is leaving their two of their children behind, and will be away for at least five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Daughter and son left behind with Rani BK after departure.</figcaption> </figure>  Ranne has been a daily wage labourer since he was 17, moving across Nepal and different parts of northern India. This journey is different — it will be to southern India.&nbsp; He had borrowed Rs50,000 from a local lender to cover the travel cost, hoping to recoup it from his earnings as a security guard. Aakashe plans to work as a household helper.&nbsp; “We would not go if we have a choice,” Aakase says quietly, her eyes fixed on “We are forced to leave our children. We cannot afford to educate them, there is little to eat here, no water, no work, no electricity.” Their daughter Sitala, 12, and son Dipson, 10, put auspicious red tika on their parents’ foreheads. Aakase sobs as she asks relatives to look after their children and their house.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Departure of Ranne BK.</figcaption> </figure>  “We may return by the time you finish school,” Ranne tells Sitala, who is in Grade 6. Sitala stands forlorn by herself, not saying anything. Across Muktikot, women who once stayed back to raise children and manage households now join their husbands in India to support families in these remote mountains of western Nepal.&nbsp; Unnati BK, 30, and her husband Barune BK decided to migrate to India after their home was damaged by landslides in 2021 and the family was nearly killed. The arid farms did not produce enough food as rains failed. “Nothing grows here,” says Unnati, who is also leaving for Bangalore with her husband, along with Ranne and Akashe.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Unnati BK</figcaption> </figure>  After 54 families lost their homes in landslides four years ago, the district administration has set aside Rs500,000 for families including Unnati and Barune. But although nearly complete, they have received only Rs175,000 each. Unnati had realised and told her husband that if they stayed in the village, their sorrows would multiply. So they planned to leave, hoping that a little extra hardship in India would allow them to pay for the education of their three children, who are 11, eight, and six years old. “We chose Bangalore because relatives told us it is easy to find jobs there for both men and women,” Barune says. They plan to leave their children with Unnati’s parents for now, and later send them 250km away to Kailali to attend school.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Landslide four years ago caused 54 families to lose their homes.</figcaption> </figure>  More than 75 couples from 350 households in Muktikot have left for cities like Mumbai and Bangalore in the past three years alone, leaving behind their children either with their in-laws or in the Tarai cities where they go to school. Ajay Kumar BK, chair of the rural municipality of Muktikot says, “There is a clear intention to leave the village altogether.” &nbsp; Diksha BK, 25, has three sons aged six, three, and one. Her husband Dhirjan works in Surkhet. She and her husband have given up on Muktikot, saying they see no future there. DISASTER-PRONE Muktikot is populated mostly by Dalit families, and used to be named Dumkot after a derogatory term used by higher caste people for Dalits. During the Maoist conflict, many Dalit boys joined the guerrillas and the rebels renamed it Muktikot, meaning ‘freedom’.&nbsp; The village clings to a steep mountain flank wrinkled with rain-fed farm terraces. Many of the men who have left for India have never come back, and now even the women are leaving. The 2020 Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan of Bajura identifies Muktikot as a disaster-prone area, making its rain-fed agriculture vulnerable to droughts. The denuded slopes above are at risk of landslides.&nbsp; The 2021 International Migration in Nepal report counted 13,482 people migrating to India from Bajura alone that year. There are an estimated 3.5 million Nepalis living and working in Nepal — mostly from the western mountains.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Houses being built under resettlement plan.</figcaption> </figure>  National Environment and Equity Development Society (NEEDS) Nepal found that 70% of households in Sudhurpaschim Province have had at least one member migrating to India at some point in their lives. “Female migration used to be low, but there is now an observable trend of women migrating for work from Sudhurpaschim,” says Prakash Madai of NEEDS Nepal. However, anthropologist Jeevan R Sharma says female migration is not new, what is different is the scale and duration of women migrants. Increasing demand for part-time household help in India makes it a pull-factor for Nepali women from the rural west to enter the informal workforce. “Women used to go only when opportunities arose, working for half a year to maximum two years, and frequently going back and forth,” says Sharma. “The potential rise is likely due to the need for greater income driven by rising cash-based expenses for health, education, food, and purchase of consumer goods.” COST OF LEAVING “Previously people struggled for basic needs, and we did not have the money or the roads to travel to Kathmandu, which is why most people went to India for manual work,” says Kartik Kami, 60, of the rural municipality. “Migration trends have changed because both men and women can make money washing, cooking, and cleaning in cities. Soon, there will be no one to conduct weddings or funerals, only children will remain.” While women from other parts of Nepal began participating in foreign employment three decades ago, women from traditional Sudurpaschim families are only now venturing into the Indian labour market. “This surge is filling a labour vacuum in India created when its domestic migrants shifted their focus to Gulf countries,” explains historian Yadab Devkota. Yet, research paints a social cost. A 2020 study found that children of migrant parents suffer loneliness and neglect due to the absence of parental care and love. Children fall back in studies, and girl children are burdened with excessive workload managing the household and siblings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Sitala BK, daughter of Ranne and Aakashe.</figcaption> </figure>  The emotional toll is manifested in anxiety, stress, depression, and in some cases, suicide, especially for those whose mothers have migrated.&nbsp; “The significant shift towards couple migration is driven by families making difficult and high-cost decisions in the hopes of breaking the cycle of poverty,” says Arjun Kharel at the Centre for the Study of Labour and Mobility (CESLAM ). “Migration remains primarily a strategy for subsistence rather than development, it is a calculated family decision made in the absence of local opportunities.” Migration to India remains largely invisible to the Nepal government. The country’s foreign employment framework does not extend to migrants going to India. And because they travel through the open border, they are not regulated by formal systems.&nbsp; There is no accurate count of how many Nepalis are working in India, or of Indians in Nepal. According to the Indian Population and Housing Census, there are 600,000 Nepalis working in India, but this is a gross underestimation.&nbsp; A study by Aapti Institute describes Nepali migrants in India as ‘liminal’ neither fully protected as citizens nor recognised as foreigners there, exposing them to exploitation and risk.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Ranne and Aakashe's last night at home.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali migrants in India are not covered by compensation if they fall sick and or if die, unlike migrants to other overseas destinations who can receive compensation of up to Rs700,000,” notes labour migration expert Saru Joshi. The recent draft National Labour Migration Policy 2025 of the Ministry of Labour, Employment, and Social Security offers a flicker of hope for migrants to India with provisions for welfare, social security, and mental health support for families left behind. The draft also mandates better data collection of the movement of people.&nbsp; It is unlikely that these initiatives will make any difference to the people who remain in Muktikot. Many like Ranne and Akashe are likely to go to India for work. “If I had only two or three children, I would take my wife to India too,” says Jaya BK, 46. But he has seven children, including newborn twins, whom he has stayed behind to help his wife look after this time, rather than leaving for Uttarakhand in winter like he usually does.&nbsp; With the support of Internews' Earth Journalism Network.

Mass migration from Muktikot

The car’s trunk was crammed with boxes and suitcases, almost to the roof, and I was just waiting for the inevitable heart-wrenching screech or thud from underneath as I feathered on the accelerator, trying to cross through the infamous Daunne uphill section of the East-West Highway in an MPV.&nbsp; But to my surprise, the ground clearance of 170mm did not fail. Daunne, roughly 15km long, is the landslide prone ridge between Narayanghat and Butwal section, which is perennially affected by traffic jams, thanks to ongoing (and never ending) road expansion. Traffic jams here can be tens of kilometres long. On a November 2025 trip to Bhairawa it was dry enough to wade through the dreaded Daunne where the choice on the ‘road’ is either mud or dust (or both).&nbsp; The BYD M6 MPV EV borrowed for the journey claimed a range of 440km and 580L of space at the back in an almost 4.7m long form factor.&nbsp; On board were two family members and my five-year-old dog, Kulfi (pictured) who needed frequent stretch breaks for his paws. Stopping to charge the car was most certainly not on my to-do list. Within the first 20km from Koteswor, there were already multiple DC chargers along the roadside. They were fast chargers usually between 30 to 60kWs capacities, meaning a charge to 80% would take on average less than an hour. Nepal now boasts over 1,200 charging stations, each station is often equipped with multiple charging guns. This was a stark contrast to the harsh reality of charger anxiety I faced a couple of years in our family car, the Hyundai Kona. Back then, on the way back from Pokhara there was only a single charging gun at River Side Resort in Kurintar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013104014_d36a1ed529caa0b67424699407da8b42b51f4a4b63dd6dbeb662b0ab513b77a8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026013104014_d36a1ed529caa0b67424699407da8b42b51f4a4b63dd6dbeb662b0ab513b77a8" data-rendition-name="original" width="2652" height="984" loading="lazy" alt="Page 5 map"> </figure>  These were only fast AC chargers of speeds up to 6kWs, unlike today’s much faster DC chargers. This meant the car would take multiple hours to hit the 80% mark -- and the charger would sometimes (shockingly, and without explanation) be out of operation. No one to ask questions, and no one to answer either. While I never needed to charge my EV on the way to Pokhara from Kathmandu, my precautionary nature never allowed me to climb into the Valley via Naubise without a charge. One bad accident, some sort of natural disaster, and you knew the roads would be clogged with traffic and shut down for at least a couple of hours.&nbsp; Fast forward to the present. My mind was at ease. Even if one of the charging stations was crowded, there was conveniently another one 15 minutes away. But the BYD M6 did not require any of that anyway.&nbsp; Not only did it traverse the rough highway from Kathmandu to Mugling, and then onward over the Daunne pass with ease but because the car was heavy and low, it handled high speeds and corners like a champ.&nbsp; Foot down on the accelerator and it climbed to triple digit speeds without breaking a sweat. Put your foot relatively harder on the brakes and it would equally shed its momentum, all the while being economical. After multiple quick stretch stops for Kulfi, and a proper one hour lunch break, I had arrived at Bhairawa before nightfall, still with around 100km of range left in the car and most importantly, with all the luggage intact.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013104018_1cc05d858d14f0b83fcf586c7270be003f462d60cd19934218e271d59fef3496.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026013104018_1cc05d858d14f0b83fcf586c7270be003f462d60cd19934218e271d59fef3496" data-rendition-name="original" width="1384" height="808" loading="lazy" alt="Bye-bye range anxiety NT"> </figure>  ROUNDTRIP A week later, my return trip to Kathmandu saw an additional passenger and even more luggage – but once again, I arrived back in Kathmandu with ease: both the M6 and Nepal’s charger infrastructure had exceeded my expectations and needs.&nbsp; This 600km drive to and from Bhairawa from the mountains around Kathmandu to the Tarai plains, with not-so-smooth hilly terrain in between, highlighted not only how far electric vehicles have evolved but also showed how far the charging infrastructure (once a major irritant during the Covid years) had come.&nbsp; EVs in Nepal are no longer niche products; they are available across budgets and segments, ranging in form factor from micro city commuters and family hatchbacks to compact SUVs, pickups, and even full-size MPVs.&nbsp; One noticeable improvement on the highways is that the charging infrastructure has grown from a scattered and company-installed. NEA units along major routes have now converted into full-fledged, round-the-clock networks that allow flexibility and convenience to those of us who like to enjoy our times on the road.&nbsp; What once felt like a gamble, now feels like momentum — and the road ahead for electric mobility in Nepal looks smoother. &nbsp;&nbsp; Arnav Upadhyay reviews automobiles and promotes road safety under the handle Casually Annoyed Driver on Youtube, Tiktok and IG and this monthly column Drive Line in Nepali Times.

Bye-bye range anxiety

On full-moon nights in October and the Nepali New Year in April, hundreds gather to worship at the sacred pond of Mai Pokhari in Ilam. According to legend, the pond was born thousands of years ago from the union of the holy Mai and Tamur rivers in eastern Nepal. Another story tells of an elderly couple whose death gave rise to a life-giving pond meant to quench human thirst. The nine corners of the pond are each believed to house a goddess capable of granting health, fertility, good harvests, and protection from landslides and storms. In every version, one message is constant: when people polluted the water, the goddess moved away. Fear of losing her protection still shapes how people treat the sacred water body today. Besides ponds, wetlands are areas that are saturated with water, permanently or seasonally, including marshes, swamps, and bogs – representing some of the world’s most biologically diverse ecosystems, with distinctive soil, plants and animals. In 2008, Mai Pokhari earned the status of a Ramsar site – a wetland of global importance – for its ecological significance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mai Pokhari"> <figcaption>Mai Pokhari in Ilam. Photo: JITENDRA RAJ BAJRACHARYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  Its mid-elevation broadleaved forests provide habitat for many epiphytic orchids that grow without soil, attaching themselves to trees, and protected species such as the white-rumped vulture (Gyps bengalensis), leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis) and Eurasian Otter (Lutra lutra). For the people of the area, this is more than a wetland. It is a living mother, an ancestral guardian, and at the heart of their cultural identity. But long before it was recognised internationally, it was already being protected through belief, respect, and traditional knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next. This pattern of faith-based stewardship is repeated across the Himalaya. Spirituality has shaped conservation in ways no law ever could. Fishing, hunting, and polluting wetlands and rivers are strictly forbidden, not by force but by faith. When erosion threatened the pond in the 1930s, villagers planted pine trees along its edges. As forest degradation increased, the community organised itself, establishing community forests in 1992 and 2001. In 2004, the area surrounding the pond was formally recognised as a religious forest –- a recognition based on local devotion rather than outside instruction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="Map of wetlands in Hindu Kush"> <figcaption>Map showing four wetlands in the Hindu Kush Himalaya. Source: RAMESH KATHARIYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  In the lowland forests of western Nepal, lies Ghodaghodi, a wetland complex consisting of large and shallow oxbow lake with 13 associated marshes and meadows surrounded by tropical deciduous forest on the lower slopes of the Siwalik range along the southern edge of the Himalaya. These wetlands and forests serve as a critical wildlife corridor between the lowlands and the Siwalik, supporting several globally threatened species of plants and animals, and rare wild rice. To the people who live around it, especially the Indigenous Tharu, Ghodaghodi is alive – a sacred presence shaped by gods, ancestors, and centuries of belief. The name Ghodaghodi, which means horse and mare, carries ancient memories. Elders tell stories of divine beings who once moved through the landscape in animal form, leaving behind a lake infused with spiritual powers. The waters are believed to be the dwelling place of gods and goddesses, particularly Lord Shiva. This belief has shaped how the wetland is viewed: not as property to be owned, but as a holy space to be respected. Each year during the festival of Agan Panchami, thousands of pilgrims gather at Ghodaghodi, walking barefoot along forest paths with offerings of flowers, fruits, milk, and water. Polluting the water or harming its creatures is believed to invite misfortune. These unwritten cultural rules have conserved the wetland for generations, long before it was declared a wetland of global importance. In the central highlands of Bhutan lies the Gangtey-Phobji in a wide glacial valley. The Ramsar site is the prime wintering habitat for the globally vulnerable, black-necked crane (Grus nigricollis).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Black necked crane"> <figcaption>Black-necked crane in Phobji. ALEX TREADWAY / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  An annual festival at the Gangtey monastery welcomes the arrival of the cranes in November. Locals revere the birds as sacred messengers, and they are believed to bring blessings and prosperity. It is these beliefs that have helped preserve Bhutan’s flagship Ramsar site. In West Sikkim, the Khachoedpalri wetland was declared a Ramsar site in 2025. This Himalayan high-altitude wetland ecosystem and its surrounding temperate forests provide critical habitat for many species of flora and fauna, and the wetland serves as an important habitat and stopover site for migratory birds. But more importantly, it has religious significance as a pilgrimage site and is revered by both Buddhists and Hindus as a wish-fulfilling lake. It is these values that have supported its conservation from time immemorial. These wetlands are recognised internationally as Ramsar sites for their ecological and other attributes. However, the very cultural practices that preserved these wetlands, along with new external pressures, now threaten them. Many are now increasingly under threat due to growing human intervention – including misplaced practices such as the ritual release of exotic fish by the faithful. Some religious bodies now advise against these practices. Many others are drying out, silting up, or polluted by upstream activity. As these changes intensify, there is concern that not only biodiversity, but also the cultural practices and spiritual values tied to the wetlands may begin to fade. As we mark this year’s World Wetlands Day on 2 February with the theme ‘Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Cultural Heritage’ it is a reminder that wetlands are not only ecosystems – they are rich cultural spaces. Traditional knowledge and belief systems have quietly conserved these wetlands for centuries, showing that when people revere nature, protection becomes a way of life. It is this profound connection, where culture nurtures ecology that we must safeguard to ensure neither wetlands nor the heritage they hold fade away. Sunita Chaudhary is the Biodiversity Lead at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).

Where culture meets ecology

Balendra (Balen) Shah’s <a href="https://www.facebook.com/balenOfficial/posts/pfbid0zAnJsVzFZPPLquqBoV414Mq8mBtMRbSpqoLGpEVYdgwNfGeksnLSkT4VWyLe5Afpl">first Facebook post in 2012</a> was a rap song about his school days. In many other YouTube videos, a younger beardless Shah raps in expletives-ridden X-rated perfornances.
Fourteen years later, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/snowbalen">Shah was elected mayor of Kathmandu</a>, resigned, and is now challenging a former prime minister in K P Oli’s home turf of Jhapa-5. This battle is not just about one constituency, but Nepal’s future political trajectory post-September.
But who is this man? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@BalenShah">Shah rapped</a> about social issues and injustices ridiculing the establishment with profane lyrics. He crossed all boundaries, emerging as an iconoclast who has gone from critiquing the government to governance.
After announcing his candidacy for mayor of Kathmandu in 2022, people began digging into his<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zek-Cgr8Mg4"> rap battle</a> against Litl Grizl on YouTube called Raw Barz, pioneered by the legendary rappers Yama Budhha and Kolin Rana.
Started in 2010, in its five-year run, Raw Barz worked to give underground voices a stage to turn wordplay into reputation and rhythm into recognition. Sacar and Uniq Poet were the first to partake in the rap battle.&nbsp;
Stinging lyrics and verses fired like friendly warnings were the ingredients that gave early Raw Barz its restless energy. Every line felt like a challenge, every performance like a small arena, where lyrics and delivery decided who held the floor. The crowd was lively and responsive.
“When I saw Balen, it was love at first sight,” recalls Girish Khatiwada, one half of the duo Girish Pranil (GP) who is regarded as <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2788">Nepal’s first rapper</a>. “Balen is lyrically versatile, with a sharp ear for language and a strong command of the technical elements of rap.”&nbsp;
Girish used to judge alongside Shah and Lay Zy on Nepal’s first rap reality show, Nephop ko Shreepech. The mentors for the show were Mr D, Easi 12, Kavi G, Dayjen and Vyoma, all rooted in Raw Barz.&nbsp;
This legacy was shaped by Yama Buddha in the 2010s, of a space that nurtured Nephop as an emancipatory culture, allowing young voices to break free from social silence, rigid norms, and limited platforms for expression.
Shah’s debut single, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cV5pgrkDkY4&amp;list=RDcV5pgrkDkY4&amp;start_radio=1">Sadak Balak</a>, released in 2012, became a foundational underground track on his official YouTube channel. In it he sings about the system that neglects a street kid facing social adversity, and demonstrates his knack for seamlessly combining music and art with social commentary.
The same year, he released Tathya, about media manipulation, corruption, and representation. In another <a href="https://www.facebook.com/balenOfficial/posts/pfbid02s9Y6MmKc5GKHJReuu4Hgq6XKNEuVtVpXQZXz8uH7kHAKXPAdTS8xDRumoNBsxFsAl">Facebook post in 2013</a>, he wrote a rap-like verse:
‘Balen mero nam, kaapi kalam le ladchhu mah,
Hatiyar ko kaam, sahitya le nai garchhu mah,
hamro desh ko shaan, ghatera achama parchu ma,
aam Nepali bavana ko pratinidhitwa garchu mah.’
Rough translation: I fight with pen and paper, weaponise literature and art to glorify Nepal, representing the aspirations of the Nepali people.&nbsp;
Also in 2013, Balen strove for political awareness and launched <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqUlEi6uV3c&amp;list=RDaqUlEi6uV3c&amp;start_radio=1">Prahari Pratikaar </a>featuring Nibhaal, a ‘lyrical protest’ against police brutality. It was his response to a rule that forbade young men from letting their hair grow.&nbsp;
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZfKqojCmeg">Balidan</a> released in 2019 became a hit on its re-release on YouTube a year later with 12 million views. It was a call to truth, accountability, and a criticism of corruption.
CRITICAL LYRICS
Shah’s socially critical lyrics took direct aim at an apathetic state and resonated with millennial youth at the time. Propelled by the social media reach of RONB, Balendra Shah was elected mayor of Kathmandu, beating candidates from powerful established parties.
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCJRnlXy6SM&amp;list=RDlCJRnlXy6SM&amp;start_radio=1">Nepal Haseko </a>with 10 million views on YouTube became the anthem of the September GenZ protest, propelling 35-year-old Shah himself the torchbearer of youth aspirations.
“We used to hang out. It was around the time when Raw Barz came out,” remembers Manish Sharma, a close friend of Shah. “We later worked together on the campaign ‘We for Constitution,’ which was about urging the government to issue the Constitution of Nepal.”&nbsp;
He adds: “One might call him a rapper, but I prefer to call him a poet. His lyrics were a strong part of his art.”&nbsp;
Rapping is built on a set of skills that closely resemble those required in politics: timing, improvisation, argumentation and rhetoric, audience awareness, and sarcasm. A rapper must know when to strike a line, how far to push an argument, how to read the mood of listeners, and how to frame words so they leave an impact.&nbsp;
Shah’s first address in Maithili at Janakpur last week on his campaign trail for the March election had all of these skills combined.&nbsp;
This is not unlike New York City mayor Zohran Mamdani whose early life as a rapper under the name Young Cardamom helped shape his political instincts and debate performances.
Rap is not a bedtime story, it is a document of contemporary society. It is often debased for its &nbsp;foul language, something even Shah has been accused of in his older songs. But rap does not simply talk about violence or rage, but <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/hip-hop-as-a-way-of-life">it is a reflection of our society</a> and what exists within: conflict, corruption, ambition, survival.
“Shielding children from rap lyrics might protect innocence, but engaging with it critically can build awareness,” says Girish Khatiwada. “Rap is simply an art form like any other.”&nbsp;
The rap culture is getting stronger. ST MAN’s Cinema featuring Somea is already closing in on the five-million-view mark on YouTube, while Purple’s Bhatbhatey Ma featuring Gwala hit five million in a month.&nbsp;
If anything, Nepali hip-hop is not slowing down, it is accelerating, fully aware that people are tuning in, and Shah’s legacy looms large in all this.&nbsp;
Shah was asked <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxI-8DVWIQQ">in an interview</a> at the World Association of the Major Metropolises in Brazil last year on how he would want to be remembered as a mayor, to which he replied: “I would love to be remembered as an honest guy, rather than a musician or an engineer or a mayor.” &nbsp;
 
म नेपाल हासेको हेर्न चाहन्छु
नेपाली को मन नाचेको हेर्न चाहन्छु
म नेपाल हासेको हेर्न चाहन्छु
नेपाली खुसिले बाचेको हेर्न चाहन्छु
[Verse 1]&nbsp;
अत्याचार, आक्रमण, अपराध, असमझदारी
विकल्प बिहिन, बिदेशी बैंक भन्छ भिखारी
शिकारी नेता, अभिनेता बन्छ क्रान्तिकारी
बिगारी केटाकेटी, भोको पेट रेटि सिपाही
अविवाहित चेलीबेटी, बोकि पेट खेपी पिटाइ
बिताइ रात, कुटाइ घात खाएर शरीर बिकाइ
देशको माटो नै मिठाई ठानी मैदान त्यो युद्ध को
गिद्ध थियो जो देशको लागि, भक्त झै प्रसिद्ध भो&nbsp;
निशब्द भो अवशेष बाकी, चोखो बोली जो सित थियो&nbsp;
सिरजफ्त भो देशब्यापी आत्मघाती जो पबित्र थियो&nbsp;
आफ्नो प्राण को आहुती, आफ्नै ज्यान को बिभुती&nbsp;
लाई हिडेका सहिद को केवल नामावली बिभुसित&nbsp;
कुण्ठित पिडामा डुबेकी आमालाइ के काम बिदुसी&nbsp;
गरिब लाई दुई छाक नै खुसी, सरिफ लाई चाहिन्छ कुर्सी&nbsp;
आमा कै सारी बेचेर धनाढ्य संगै छ पुजी&nbsp;
गोजि भरी भारु, भरौ भरेर भारती को रोजि म
[Chorus]&nbsp;
म नेपाल हासेको हेर्न चाहन्छु...
[Verse 2]
देश एउटा सुन्दर बगैंचा होस, रंगिचंगी फुलहरु
हरेक लाई समान गलैचा होस, सादर हरेक मुलहरु
अनुकुल, प्रतिकुल हरु चिन्ता गर्ने भावना होस
सामुहिक खुसी बिनाको के फाइदा त्यो चाहना को
औचित्य के त्यो कामना को एउटा हासो फुट्न लाई
उद्धेश्य लेउ, एक हौ हरेक हात हरु जुट्न लाई
गरेर अब देखाउ, कालो अतीत लाई मेटाउ
पालो हाम्रो हो भेटाउ, कल्पना गर शान्ती को
सपना देख्ने कै पूरा हुन्छ, जागृति नै क्रान्ति हो
विपना मा बाटो खुल्ला हुन्छ आकृतिको सालिक को
नसोच्नु तिमी मालिक हौ र मिहिनेत गर्ने नोकर हो
तिमिले ठोक्कर खानेछौ मानव मानवता बेगर को
एकपटक कारण बनी हेर अरुको सानो हासो को
उसको मुस्कान मा रमाइ हेर निस्वार्थ प्रेम साचो हो
यो खाचो हो मायाको, पूरा भए नेपाल हास्नेछ
एक आपस मर्म बुझिदिए हरेक क्षणमा बाच्नेछौ
&nbsp;[Chorus]&nbsp;
म नेपाल हासेको हेर्न चाहन्छु...
English translation:
I want to see Nepal smile.
I want to see the hearts of Nepalis dance.
I want to see Nepal smile.
I want to see Nepalis living happily.
[Verse 1]
Oppression, attacks, crime, and confusion,
No alternatives, foreign banks calling us beggars.
Predatory leaders turn into actors, posing as revolutionaries.
Corrupted children, hungry stomachs, wounded soldiers.
Unmarried daughters, carrying pain, beaten and burdened,
Nights spent enduring violence, bodies sold after suffering.
The nation’s soil treated as sweet sacrifice, a battlefield of war,
Those who devoured the country were praised like saints.
Silence remains, truth buried, purity erased,
Suicide glorified, martyrdom commercialised.
Sacrifices reduced to lists of names,
What comfort is that to a mother drowning in grief?
For the poor, two meals are happiness; for the elite, power is the goal.
Selling a mother’s sari to build wealth,
Pockets full of Indian currency, living off others’ labour.
[Chorus]&nbsp;
I want to see Nepal smile…
[Verse 2]
Let the country be a beautiful garden with colorful flowers,
Let there be equality, respect for every face.
What is desire without shared happiness?
What is hope if no one smiles?
Come together, erase the dark past,
Our turn has come, imagine peace.
Dreams come true when awakening becomes revolution.
Do not think you are the master and others your servants,
Without humanity, power collapses.
Create smiles for others, that is true love.
If we understand each other, Nepal will smile.
[Chorus]&nbsp;
I want to see Nepal smile…

kagbeni