<h2>Mana Maya Maharjan, 104</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513010_8e2792e47d30382975b9ccb19b3cb7be790572f4a09c2fe37221f17aba44f13a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024011513010_8e2792e47d30382975b9ccb19b3cb7be790572f4a09c2fe37221f17aba44f13a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 Earthquake survivors NT"> <figcaption>All photos: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Mana Maya Maharjan starts her day with an hour-long puja, chanting mantra and blessing family members. She ends the day the same way. Mana Maya’s wizened face bears testimony to a long and full life during which she has witnessed many ups and downs. But the most striking memory is still of the Great Earthquake of 1934 that killed over 8,519 people across Nepal. “It was the day after Gya Chaku Sanlu,” recalls Man Maya, who was 14 years old then. “I heard shouts from all around. The ground started shaking violently. I don’t know if I walked or fell out of the house.”&nbsp; She leaned on the wall which now is the Madan Smarak School in Pulchok. Her father was out in the fields, and he told the family later that the ground opened up and closed several times. He himself was nearly swallowed by one of these fissures. “A lot of people died, many people were trapped. Houses collapsed,” says Mana Maya, relating how her family and neighbours stayed outdoors for weeks afterwards. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/building-back-better-and-quicker">Building back better (and quicker)</a>, Shrijan Bahadur Malla  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513010_1ee5e6e6a3cae3fcc69ea3430f023352bae91d2a512aa5c2946e1217be566fce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024011513010_1ee5e6e6a3cae3fcc69ea3430f023352bae91d2a512aa5c2946e1217be566fce" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 Earthquake survivors"> </figure>  The Rana regime distributed money for reconstruction, but her family did not take it because they thought it was a loan and they had no way of paying it back. Seven years later at 20, she got married and had three sons and three daughters. She now has nine grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Her oldest and youngest sons have died, while the youngest daughter is settled in the United States. Mana Maya’s husband died 46 years ago.&nbsp; She was reminded of the 1934 quake in 2015 when Kathmandu shook again. But she knew it was not as strong as the big one.&nbsp; Man Maya has had four janku, the Newa ceremony that celebrates long life because in those days most people died young. After four janku, the elderly attain the status of divinity.&nbsp; “I’ve never had to visit a hospital in my life until a few months ago,” says Mana Maya who was living by herself until four years ago, cooking and going about her daily lives. “Even the doctor told me he has never met someone who has had four jankus!” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/90-years-after-90-f2pohkih">90 years after ’90</a>, Sonia Awale <h2>Asta Maya Bajracharya, 102</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513014_b47630f85501445f567b2a3f4293a40cfa61d24e73ea6bcb3f4bc72ed695125f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024011513014_b47630f85501445f567b2a3f4293a40cfa61d24e73ea6bcb3f4bc72ed695125f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 Earthwuake surviors NT"> </figure>  One month before the 1934 earthquake, people were saying they heard a lion roar. They said it was a bad omen. This is Asta Maya’s earliest memory of the 1934 earthquake. She was playing with her friends in front of her house in Patan when crows and pigeons started flying about and then the ground lifted everyone up and threw them around.&nbsp; “Soon, the houses started tumbling down all around us,” recalls Asta Maya whose little brother, mother and older sister were buried under the rubble of their house. Her father, who was a priest attending a puja ceremony, came back running, one shoe missing, when he heard the news. Asta Maya remembers even the small details. “He started digging right away with his bare hands, but it was too late for my six-year-old brother. He had no injuries we could see on him but he didn’t live,” says Asta Maya who was the youngest among the daughters. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/jajarkot-survivors-show-collective-resilience">Jajarkot survivors show collective resilience</a>, Durga Rana Magar  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513014_ab3a0bb04625b9779059d5993d0cf3eb95b2308d2d62421c6678554e52566496.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2024011513014_ab3a0bb04625b9779059d5993d0cf3eb95b2308d2d62421c6678554e52566496" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 Earthquake survivors NT"> </figure>  At 18, Asta Maya was married off and bore 13 children in all, but only seven survived to adulthood: three daughters and four sons. She lost her husband 54 years ago, but has two dozen grandchildren, one and a half dozen great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandson. She also clearly remembers the 2015 earthquake, and running to the courtyard next to Swotha, where a temple had already toppled over.&nbsp; The family all slept together in one ground floor room but Asta Maya, having lived through 1934, was not as scared.&nbsp; “I was healthy and strong until Dasain-Tihar festival this year,” quips Asta Maya who went into shock earlier this year when a 23-year-old grandson died in an accident. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/shaking-things-up">Shaking things up</a>, Editorial&nbsp; <h2>Sanu Nani Bista, 97</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513014_6e647d8ede7faac412b6b069161956722acff535ea8a40257c6d3bacfec66242.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2024011513014_6e647d8ede7faac412b6b069161956722acff535ea8a40257c6d3bacfec66242" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 earthquake survivors NT"> </figure>  Although she is not a Newa Sanu Nani speaks Nepal Bhasa fluently: “Ji nyara uble, boni manmaru, mhiti jakke ya,” she exclaims. “I was five then when the earthquake struck, I didn’t like studying, only liked playing.” She grew up in Dhalache near Sundhara at her mother’s Newari household. It was here she experienced the earthquake 90 years ago. “I remember lifting my trousers to run with my friends as the ground shook and the houses fell,” recalls Sanu Nani, who was seven then. Her mother was buried under the collapsed house of a neighbour, while her father was away at his job in Singha Darbar. She pleaded with soldiers to help find her mother. Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/in-a-disastrous-state"> In a disastrous state</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513014_439151b529673ec117f2a7d6a67c76afb72b3f7d0938877d267fd07605090c39.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2024011513014_439151b529673ec117f2a7d6a67c76afb72b3f7d0938877d267fd07605090c39" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="1990 earthquake survivors NT"> <figcaption>Sanu Nani with son.</figcaption> </figure>  They managed to dig enough to uncover her face and when Sanu Nani identified her, they left the rest of her family because soldiers had more people to dig out. Her mother was injured and bloodied all over, and had to be taken to the hospital but she recovered. Half of the family house was destroyed, but they managed to rebuild. One of the family members got Rs100 for reconstruction and bought 0.5 hectares in the Patan suburbs. But when the Rana regime came to collect what they borrowed, they were not able to pay back and were jailed. They were eventually let go and pardoned. Sanu Nani was married at 14 and gave birth to three sons. Her husband and the oldest son have both died. She has four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. At 97, she is still very much active and goes to the neighbourhood Ganesh temple every day, and keeps herself busy in her garden. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-temple-restoration-after-1934-quake">Kathmandu’s temple restoration after 1934 quake</a>, Nepali Times <h2>Sukucha Mahajan, 100</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240115130116_29f6adc7a2903b03dcde3696ad904cd45ad00234cf4b2fcb5017b3746ac22ead.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20240115130116_29f6adc7a2903b03dcde3696ad904cd45ad00234cf4b2fcb5017b3746ac22ead" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="1990 earthquake survivors NT"> </figure>  “I was 10 and was visiting my mother’s maternal home,” says Sukucha of the 1934 earthquake with his eyes tightly shut. “All of a sudden we felt a shaking which got more intense and dust rose up to the sky.”&nbsp; Sukucha was a farmer all his life. He lost his wife several years ago, and because they were childless adopted a sister’s orphan “I’m the oldest but the gods have kept me alive still, I don't know why,” says soon-to-be 101-year-old Sukucha who is slender in build as his name suggests, which literally means ‘thin'. He breaks out into an old Nepali song as neighbours in their Gabahal residence this week tell us he likes his music and dance. “I used to sing and dance so much when I was younger,” adds Sukucha who now has a hard time moving even with a walking stick but does not like people helping him either. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lessons-still-not-learnt">Lessons still not learnt</a>, Editorial  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024011513018_977475471752bed298464fc4f0150891c226dd31dbbd485667e3540d379babad.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="2024011513018_977475471752bed298464fc4f0150891c226dd31dbbd485667e3540d379babad" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1021" loading="lazy" alt="1990 earthquake survivors NT"> </figure>  Says Sukucha’s 59-year-old nephew: “My parents died early on, he raised me when I was young and it’s like now I’m raising him. He is not an uncle to me but my father.” After the 2015 earthquake, the family of nine had spread out in the tent in the courtyard along with neighbours but Sukucha did not join them because he said he was not scared.&nbsp; Sukucha, despite his frail form, circumambulates the shrines in his courtyard. Then he has breakfast with a shot of aila, the Newa rice spirit. He takes the alcohol three times a day, but never on an empty stomach.&nbsp; He has no chronic ailments and in his last medical check-up assisted by the community, he got a clean chit once again, as he always has for he past 100 years.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/rebuilding-kathmandu-after-the-1934-quake">Rebuilding Kathmandu after the 1934 quake,</a> Alina Bajracharya

Sonia Awale

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Memories of the Great Earthquake

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6019c7e80680e096741jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>All photos: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>As a rebuilt Dharara is set to be inaugurated by Prime Minister K P Oli on Saturday, Sanjib Shrestha’s eyes are fixed on another structure – the ruin of the original tower from which he was pulled out alive six years ago.Shrestha looks out from a tea shop across the street and recounts the events that haunt him to this day. More than 70 people were killed when the 7.8 magnitude earthquake brought down the historic tower just before noon on 25 April 2015.Originally from Ramechhap, Sanjib came to Kathmandu to work. The youngest of five children, he had been living in Basantapur with his brothers and sister-in-law. On 25 April, Sanjib completed his morning shift at a restaurant in Pulchok, where he worked as a waiter.“It was Saturday, and I had plans to spend the day with a friend,” says a soft-spoken Sanjib. The friend was <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Surviving-Dharara,2222" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Surviving-Dharara,2222&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1619147048846000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGISnSgdE-DjtAOFmQTx92VoNkVbg">Ramila Shrestha</a>, with whom he was out <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/surviving-the-fall-from-Dharara,2865" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/surviving-the-fall-from-Dharara,2865&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1619147048846000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEuq7vQV15c-iDb_nHfuLa1dhG6kw">on a secret date that day</a>.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6049c7e80680e096742jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="559" height="278">“We met up, but had not decided where to go, and as we passed Dharara, Ramila wanted to climb the tower because she had never been up there before,” he recalls.They bought tickets and climbed the steep spiral stairs, and there were many people going up and down. On the balcony, it was so crowded that the two just held on to the railing, and took in the view of Kathmandu below them.Suddenly, Sanjib felt as if the tower was swinging. He thought the height was making him dizzy. What happened next is hazy, he remembers a sensation of falling, and asking rescuers what had happened before losing consciousness.When he came to, he was on the cement pavement outside Bir Hospital, surrounded by other wounded survivors. Blood from a cut on the  forehead had mixed with the dust, and made him unable to open his eyes. Miraculously, he had survived a vertical 61m fall with just a broken hand, while many others did not make it.It was late evening when he was taken to the National Trauma Centre with other wounded people. He had lost his phone, so could not call his relatives and friends. A Nepal Army soldier lent him his phone to call his brother.Sanjib’s brothers did not know he had taken the day off from work, and when they came to the hospital they could not recognise him at first because of the dust and injuries.Sanjib spent the next 15 days in hospital, and after being discharged went back home to Ramechhap where the family home was partially damaged and he slept out in the open with his parents because of the aftershocks.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6059c7e80680e096743jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500">His wounds got infected, and he had to return to hospital in Kathmandu. He found another job in a restaurant where he was working until the Covid-19 lockdown last year.  He resumed working at the same restaurant after the lockdown.“I still have nightmares sometimes, and I wake up in cold sweat,” says Sanjib, but he is overcoming his fear, and it does not bother him to walk up to the ruins and look at the spot from where he was rescued.Workers in hard hats are preparing the site for the prime minister’s inauguration of the new tower, and some are taking selfies.“I can’t tell if it is because the new structure is wider,” says Sanjib, looking up at the newly-built Dharara, “but it somehow looks smaller than the old one.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6089c7e80680e096744jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Actually, the new concrete tower is broader than the old brick and mortar one that collapsed. Its balcony is bigger, and at 79m it is 18m taller.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/should-dharara-be-rebuilt,2355" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/should-dharara-be-rebuilt,2355&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1619147048846000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGBNam2kjY00_tJQsp0aT3JnIomOA">Bhimsen Thapa</a> built two minaret-style towers at the entrance to his palace in 1832. But both of them collapsed in the 1833 earthquake, and only one was rebuilt. That one had been restored after coming down again in the 1934 earthquake, only to collapse again in 2015.Sanjib looks up at the new tower, and says, “I would like to climb it again when it is open to visitors. I will not be afraid.”

Shristi Karki

Had a great fall, and lived

Laxman Ranjit walks on past the Kasthamandap, one of the Valley’s oldest buildings, from which the city gets its name. There are days when he stops by it briefly. The structure that dates back to the 7th century is in scaffolding as it is being rebuilt after being destroyed on 25 April 2015 earthquake. It was here that Ranjit, his wife Nilu and five-year-old son, Aryan, found themselves during a blood donation drive when the earthquake struck. When the earth started trembling, and the wooden beams and columns of the structure started to shake, Ranjit immediately clasped Aryan to his chest and leapt out of the balcony. He saved his son’s life, but could not save his wife Nilu, whose body was pulled out of the rubble with nine other <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/The-fall-of-Kasthamandap,2234">blood donors who died</a> that day at Kasthamandap. A national level athlete, Ranjit had had the presence of mind and the agility to pick his son up and jump out as the ancient structure collapsed behind them, breaking his leg at several places during the fall. “I never thought Nilu would die,” he recalls. “As they rushed me to hospital I was in excruciating pain, but I remember thinking they must have taken her to hospital as well.” When the dust from the earthquakes had settled, Ranjit suddenly found himself a widower, a single father, left to care for his son and an ageing father. He would spend several months recuperating at the National Trauma Centre, undergoing surgery and counselling. Every time Ranjit leaves his home in Chikamuga in the past six years, he has had to walk past Kasthamandap, and this has become a constant reminder to him of that tragic day. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5cf9c7e80680e09672fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"> Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</div> Laxman is a torch bearer of the Ranjit clan, which has to perform the Majipa Lakhe ritual mask dance during the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-celebrates-yenya/">Indra Jatra festival</a> every year. Aside from that, he also leads a parallel mortal existence as a policeman and a national level weight lifting champion in the feather weight category. In <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/getting-behind-the-divine-mask/">his guise of the Majipa Lakhe</a> he used to put on a memorable performance every year, making him the undisputed, celebrated member of the clan of masked dancers. But 25 April 2015 changed his life. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5d39c7e80680e096730jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="559" height="278"></div> The days in hospital were an awakening. He recalls how impatient he was to get out into the world again, and how he would walk around the wards, raising the spirits of other injured survivors like himself. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5d49c7e80680e096731jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3000" height="1933"> </div> “There was this bahini who had injured her back. I said to her, you have a life ahead of you, look at me, I lost my wife, I have a child and I might no longer be able to do my job. It is the spirit that keeps us alive, life is not over,” he recalls. Ranjit was not going to let a broken leg strap him, and he knew he would have to don his mask and go back gyrating into the Indra Jatra throng. He missed being behind the ferocious mask, the flowing brocade frock, with the bells clanking around his waist, and dashing through the streets without restraint. He also missed his life as an athlete. Even while recovering from his injury, the next Indra Jatra saw him supporting his brothers who were upholding the responsibility of performing the mask dance. And that is when he met Amrita Maharjan, who he would eventually marry. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5d79c7e80680e096732jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="853"> Phoot curtesy of Laxman Ranjit.</div> “I had heard about what he had been through,” Maharjan tells us. “We met through a cousin. I finally saw who the lakhe really was, and he was a child.” As Amrita spent more time with the father and son, she understood that she would soon have a role to play in their lives. They had a small wedding on the side of Aryan’s Bratabandha ceremony last year. “She has filled a void in our lives,” says Ranjit. “Nilu left me because I spent too much time at work. I will try to spend more time with my family now.” Ranjit is now back to work as the red-haired masked demon at Indra Jatra. He says, “Once I wore my gear, I was the lakhe. My body found the rhythm again.” Because of his injuries, the 41-year-old finds that he can no longer compete as a weight lifter and is considering other professional options. “I could remain a policeman until I retire and wait for a pension, but that will not be enough to give my son a good education,” says Ranjit, who has turned down offers to cameo as Lakhey at national events. Ranjit is troubled by the projection of lakhe as characters in YouTube videos, which have been criticised as cultural misappropriation. “There’s nothing wrong with culture. One needs to understand the history of the land and its connection to the people first,” he says. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5db9c7e80680e096733jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="798"> Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</div> Like all boys in the Ranjit clan, someday Aryan will inherit the mask and fiery attire, which the family regards as a source of strength, but until then the father hopes to build his son’s emotional resilience. “The spirit of the lakhe is indomitable, it does not cower down to anything. The demon is actually a representation of who we are as humans,” Ranjit explains. “We fall, but we have to rise and we have to keep going. It is all about will power.”

Pratibha Tuladhar

The spirit that is fire

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCjJUL0hZmgIt was a warm Saturday morning three years ago when Rasmila Awal walked over to a nearby shop to buy provisions, leaving her four-month-old baby Sonish and 10-year-old daughter Sonia at home. The baby was asleep and Sonia was watching tv when the whole building started rattling and shaking.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca619c7e80680e02f309jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="130" height="101"/>Sonia remembers plaster falling from the ceiling and a big gash appearing on the walls. Instinctively, she ran out of the house, remembered she had left her little brother inside, rushed back in, picked up the baby and was trying to get out <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/05/13/tears-of-joy/">when it collapsed</a> on top of them.She tried to hold on to her little brother, but as the walls came down on top of her, she lost her grip on the baby and was knocked unconscious.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca619c7e80680e02f30ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>At the shop, Rasmila felt the ground swaying and knew immediately that it was an earthquake. She ran back, and crumpled on the ground when she saw her house in ruins with the two children inside.“My feet were shaking, I couldn’t get up, I wanted to scream for help, but no sound came out of my mouth,” Rasmila recalls. The neighbours immediately started digging, and soon saw a girl’s leg sticking out of the debris. Sonia was alive, but unconscious.The rescuers dug some more but couldn’t find Sonish. The ground shook restlessly with aftershocks as night fell. Rasmila kept a silent vigil even after rescuers gave up the search, and neighbours prepared to sleep out in the open.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca649c7e80680e02f30bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Just then, she heard a feeble wail from beneath the ruins. Army rescuers were called in, and after digging right through the night, they finally brought out Sonish, covered in dust but with barely a scratch on him. He had been <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/23/the-baby-who-lived/">under the rubble</a> for 22 hours.“I cannot describe that feeling of relief, I hugged him tight, all my prayers were answered,” remembers Rasmila. The baby started sucking his thumb, and looked around seemingly to ask what the fuss was all about.Three years later, it is Sonish who runs to the door when he hears the bell ring. He is a playful and inquisitive boy, and is excited to have visitors.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca689c7e80680e02f30cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Rasmila’s husband is a truck driver and is out most of the day. The family is still homeless, and live with the two children in one rented room. There is talk of land being appropriated to widen the road, so the house has not been rebuilt.The Nepal Army, which helped in the rescue has given Sonish and Sonia <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/04/24/scholarship-for-miracle-baby/">scholarships</a> till they go to college. After he finishes primary school, Sonish will attend the Army’s high school in Sallaghari.Rasmila says the iconic photograph of Sonish by Amul Thapa brought the family fame, but not much else. However, she feels blessed: “At least I have both my children, and we are together.”<h3>Amul baby</h3><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca6b9c7e80680e02f30djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="806"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Amul Thapa was in his newsroom in Baneswor when the building started shaking violently. His reporter’s instincts kicked in, and he grabbed his camera bag and rushed to Dharara where 60 people had been killed when the tower collapsed.“Instead of taking pictures, we were helping rescue people from under the rubble,” Thapa recalls.Only then did he decide to call home to find out how his family was doing in Bhaktapur. They told him about the great damage in the town, and how there was one house that had collapsed trapping children underneath the rubble.“The soldiers were digging frantically and the family was standing around weeping and praying. It didn’t feel right to be taking pictures, so I went home,” Thapa says.Next morning, he went back to the collapsed house. The soldiers were still digging because they could hear the boy’s cries from beneath the debris. At about 10am, they found four-month-old Sonish Awal trapped underneath a wooden beam, which had actually protected him as the walls and floors collapsed all around.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca6f9c7e80680e02f30ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1100" height="660"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Thapa clicked away: Rasmila’s tears of sorrow had turned into tears of joy, the baby was covered in dirt as he was extricated carefully from the rubble, and finally the now-famous photograph of rescue soldier Dipak Rai holding Sonish up amidst applause and relief which made it to the folding front page of Nepali Times and Himal Khabarpatrika that week (above).Says Thapa: “I was able to tell the story of the child and the family to the whole world. My photographs made Sonish famous worldwide, and the story did the same for me. It was not just a picture, it symbolised hope and survival.”Thapa often visits the family and helps in any way he can. He now works for Naya Patrika.Read Also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/23/the-baby-who-lived/">The baby who lived</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/survivors-of-2015-Nepal">Not so lucky</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/headline/Miracle-baby,2987">Miracle baby</a>, Smriti Basnet

Monika Deupala

Bhaktapur's Miracle boy at 3

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

If you were raised in Nepal, you must have picked up its unique set of vocabulary: आन्दोलन, चक्का जाम, बन्द, राँके जुलुस, आफ्नो मान्छे, हाम्रो दल, कर्फु and many more words connoting political protest.
We became familiar with the acrid smell of burning tyres, and eyes smarting from tear gas. And yet, everyone speaks of another revolution in the making. Not by desire, but by suffocation.
We heard speeches about नयाँ नेपाल, but the New Nepal never arrived. The governance system changed, but it did not reflect on people’s lives — except for those close to centres of power. The state is still unreachable and is not bothered about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/matter-of-life-and-debt">victims of loan sharks</a>, cooperative scams and other injustices.
Politicians continue to speak in sound bites, but fail to deliver. They have mastered the game of pointing fingers towards an external enemy and convincing people that they are never at fault. The political narrative is so disconnected from the actual analysis of the problem that suffocation doesn’t go away after every revolution.
No genuine effort has been made to deliver at all, which is why there is a palpable sense of disillusionment in the air forcing us to seek another revolution, even if Nepal may not be able to afford it.
How has the current system successfully held power, even if the public is deeply frustrated? How is it that for three decades we continue to be led by the same faces, who have time and again, proved to us that they may be great politicians but not national leaders?
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/improving-internet-governance-in-nepal">My experience at the epicentre of politics</a> has led me to identify three cultures that have enabled political parties to keep a tight hold on power: acceptance, silence and dependency.
We accept things the way they are. We use fatalistic phrases like “नेपालमा यस्तै हो” or “नेपालको कानुन दैब जानुन”. While this resilience enables us to rise back up from devastating calamities, it is also a reason for our compliance with the status quo.
Despite so many ‘revolutions’ that have led to significant reforms, these phrases keep getting reinforced, to the point that the upcoming generations have made it their lingo.&nbsp;
This acceptance is not a symbol of law-abiding citizens, but citizens living in fear of those in power, unable to ask the whys and why-nots.
Innovation suffocates in this culture of acceptance of the status quo. This is manifested in remarks like “but we don’t have any laws for this,” or “we don’t have the capacity to implement this”. An innovator or entrepreneur therefore has to spend that energy to become a political lobbyist, often educating and convincing the bureaucracy.&nbsp;
Remember when locally assembled <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/designed-and-made-in-nepal">Yatri motorbikes</a>, despite having willing customers, had to suffer to secure license numbers because of a lack of regulations? Instead of creating new laws, the government kept chanting the “We will promote Nepal-made goods” mantra, leaving entrepreneurs in a labyrinth of bureaucracy. The weight of acceptance of the law lies heavily on innovators. Fatalism is a tactic used by those in power to generate mass fear in society.
When we accept, we become silent. This is a pervasive phenomenon. We are trained to keep quiet, lest we ruffle feathers, burn bridges, or not get the help we need in future. We know, yet we don’t speak.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bureaucratic-hurdles-in-researching-nepals-bureaucracy">Bureaucratic hurdles in researching Nepal's bureaucracy</a>, Daniel W Edwards
Here is one example: the 2021 census shows that the number of baby boys born for every 100 baby girls is 112. This is a clear indication of female foeticide because of boy preference in society.
Despite such horrifying realities, there is finger-pointing within the government between the Ministry of Health and Population with the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the citizen level, we know those who are involved in killing girls. Yet, we don’t speak up. The Nepal Medical Council reports state that despite this gender imbalance at birth, there is no indication of any action.
But why would anyone speak against one's own fraternity, no matter how vile the act is?
When we accept and keep quiet, we become dependent on those who yield power. From getting our government procedure completed on time to getting transfers, to accessing any of our legally protected rights as well, we are forced to depend on our networks of चिनेको मान्छे people we know by blood, village, relations, political affiliation.
The culture of dependency has been the established way in Nepal. If you drive a two-wheeler or four-wheeler, and you get into a small accident, you will be asked to sort it yourself, dialing up the most powerful person you know. It becomes a competition of who knows who.
Recently I was told that there were calls from the Ministry of Health and Population and another from the Prime Minister's Office for just one medical position in a private hospital. Each was pushing its own candidate. Guess which candidate got the position.&nbsp;
The dependency of people is not on the laws or the state, it is with people in power, a reliance on the network of somebody who knows somebody, including those not officially in power.
These cultures are deeply ingrained in our heads, and in society. Collectively they form a vicious circle that helps those in power to retain power. This is not the society we want to live in.
Then, what do we do as a collective to break away from this? How do we break away from the cultures of acceptance and silence that have created this dependency? What can we do to ensure that our children do not have to learn the jargon of आन्दोलन before they learn about the state?
These are the cultures political parties need to shed rather than use them to perpetuate their power. This is what <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/an-alternative-to-alternative-politics-in-nepal">alternative politics</a> needs to be about.
Sumana Shrestha is a member of Parliament’s Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee and represents the Rastriya Swatantara Party.

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