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.

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New High Way to Dolpo

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45bb9c7e80680e04d39ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="938"/><figcaption>Photos: ACHYUT RAJ BHANDARI</figcaption></figure>- Achyut Raj BhandariWomen may be treated unfairly by society in one of Nepal’s most conservative districts, but it is they who are at the forefront in linking roadless Humla to the rest of the country.It is mostly women in yellow hard hats you see on the 76km stretch of the Mugu-Humla road that is presently under construction. Humla is the last district in Nepal not yet connected to the country’s road network, and the remote Himalayan district remains economically behind its neighbours.After many years of delays, building of the road is speeding ahead. Construction of the 5.5m-wide road started in Gamgadi of Mugu district in January, and more than half of the 76km stretch is now motorable. At this pace, it will reach Deuli of Humla by the end of the year, ahead of the completion of the other road linking Humla, the Karnali Corridor (see adjoining article).“Our idea is not just to build a road, but create jobs during its construction and uplift the economy of the areas it is serving when completed,” explains Sunil Tandukar, field manager of the Rural Access Programme (RAP) which is supported by the British aid group, DfID.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45be9c7e80680e04d39fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="892" height="511">Some 52% of the workforce is made up of women. This is because RAP has a policy to empower women with employment, but also because many of the villages along the way have seen an outmigration of menfolk to the cities or to India for work.Unlike the indiscriminate road-building spree elsewhere in Nepal, RAP’s other emphasis is to minimise the use of excavators and dozers so as to create more rural jobs. There are now more than 1,500 women workers on the road that is being built at a cost of Rs1.7 billion. Women of Rara Municipality and other villages along the way in Mugu have been earning up to Rs700 a day for the past six months.“Me and my mother-in-law received Rs21,000 each in the first instalment,” says a beaming Jaula Baduwal, 42, of Baam village, who explains that she finishes household chores in the morning and devotes the rest of the day to road work. The money has come in handy to buy clothes, food and school stationery for her children.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45c19c7e80680e04d3a0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">The road-building work has also persuaded Ramkala Baduwal’s husband from migrating to work in India this year. Four members of her family work on the road, earning Rs80,000 since January. “Our men used to migrate to India for work due to poverty. But this year me and my husband are working and earning together. I am happy about that,” says Baduwal. “We women were confined to the kitchen, but this road has given us the chance to come out and earn an income.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/life-and-livelihood-in-remote-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Life and livelihood in remote Nepal</a>, Jocelyn PowelsonLocal elders are overjoyed to see rapid progress on the road. “I had never even dreamed that a road would reach my home, but now it is actually happening. And the villagers got employment too,” says Krishna Bahadur Buda, 64, of Baam. He says he will celebrate the completion of the road by getting on the first bus out to visit Kathmandu.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45c59c7e80680e04d3a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45c89c7e80680e04d3a2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="997">RAP was started in 2000 with the Hile-Bhojpur road, but work stalled during the war. Resuming in 2006, it has provided employment to tens of thousands of farmers as it built roads in Bhojpur, Khotang, Sankhuwasabha and Terathum, and helped organise farmers into cooperatives. In 2011 the successful road-building model was extended to the remote mountain districts of western Nepal.Gori Khadka, 63, is convinced the road will make the lives of next generations much easier. “When we are sick, we can be taken to hospital, and we can take our produce to market,” she says.RAP has ensured that the road also provides long-term income to villagers by providing access to markets. Rara rural municipality has introduced the concept of ‘One Home, One Garden,’ helping villagers to set up apple orchards and vegetable plots.Nandalal Baduwa, elected chair of Ward 14, cannot hide his delight when he says: “Our village has a new slogan, ‘Visit Baam and eat apples for free’.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-karnali/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Karnali</a>, Ramesh Bhushal<h2>Cars in the Karnali</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45cb9c7e80680e04d3a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="663">- Prakash Singh in BajuraHumla is the only district not yet linked to Nepal’s national road network, but not for long.The Karnali Corridor and another road from Mugu district will soon bring the motor car to the Karnali. But even before the road, plastic trash and other detritus of consumerism has already arrived in this pristine yet neglected region.Construction crews are hard at work blasting through solid rock faces along the gorge of the Karnali River, opening up a region that used to take weeks of hard trekking to reach.The Nepal Army has been building the 145km Karnali Corridor stretch that connects Kalikot’s Khulalu with Salli Salla in Humla district. More than 70km of the road has already been opened to traffic even though it is still rough and unpaved.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45ce9c7e80680e04d3a4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="425"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45d19c7e80680e04d3a5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="425">Once a bridge is built over a river separating Bajura and Humla by October, the Corridor will have reached roadless Humla for the first time from the south. The district already has a road from Tibet in the north.Meanwhile, a 24km section from Pilichaur of Bajura to Kawadi of Humla has been opened, bypassing the trail through the notorious Rangebhir, which used to be dangerous even for those on foot.There is a great sense of excitement along the Karnali as locals await the completion of the Rs3-billion road. Previously to reach Humla, they had to walk for weeks, or travel to Bajura and Kalikot districts on flimsy buses along dangerous roads, or pay a hefty airfare.Locals were also forced to pay much higher price for goods, and many have lost their lives unable to access medical facilities on time.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45d49c7e80680e04d3a6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="997">“For generations we struggled to bring basic needs, take our sick to hospital; those days are thankfully over — the door to development has opened,” says the jubilant chair of Himali Rural Municipality in Humla, Govinda Malla.Jeeps and tractors have already started operating on the half-completed, 50km-section of the road from Bajura’s Martadi to Pilichaur. Tourism destinations in Karnali and the Far West, such as Khaptad, Ramaroshan, Badimalika and Rara will now be easily accessible, and hopefully boost the economy and create jobs.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/faith-to-reality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Faith to reality</a>, Ramesh BhushalHowever, the arrival of the road has already started to impact the landscape of the Karnali, which had so far been untouched by modernity.New roadside markets have sprung up every 2-3km along the Corridor in Bajura where vehicles have started operating. Waste from these marketplaces, including plastic and liquor bottles, is being dumped on the riverbank, polluting the clear, green water of the Karnali.

In Nepal women hold up more than half the sky

<figure><img width="1400" height="934" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111144/6368e25f9c7e80680e033323jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Stuck: Children are eager to learn as they begin schooling, but soon feel stuck because the nearest school with grade 6 is 4 hours away. </figcaption></figure>Binita Dahal in BBC Nepali, 28 MayIt takes the whole day to reach Syamrang from the highway in Chitwan: four hours by jeep and five hours walk across rugged mountains. Approaching the village, there are people and children in ragged clothes. The elderly look listless, and there are young children carrying baby siblings.These Chepang villages do not have roads, electricity, education or health. On the next ridge is the village of Kanda, where eight villagers died eating poisonous mushrooms ten years ago. Houses destroyed by the earthquake have been roughly patched up with metal sheets.Syamrang’s only school has two small classrooms crammed with students – one room has children from Grade 1-3, and other has students from Grades 4 and 5. The damaged classrooms are being repaired, but it may take years.Most students drop out after Grade 5 because higher classes are four hours walk away across jungled mountains. Some keep repeating Grade 5 because there is nowhere else to study.Dilmaya Chepang repeated Grade 5 for three years, reading the same textbooks over and over so she would not forget how to read, and got married soon after. Today, at age 35, she already has three children who go to the school she went to.“Grade 6 was too far away, it is a difficult walk up and down mountains and through forests, so I just kept going to the same class and left school,” says Dilmaya, who is still so passionate about education that she teaches younger children in the light of a feeble solar lamp.After a day of working in the fields and collecting fodder in the forest, young women gather at the school to be taught how to read and write by Dilmaya. “I myself can barely recognise the Nepali alphabets, but this gives me a chance to keep studying myself,” says Dilmaya.She says the village and the school have not changed since she was a child. Dilmaya’s eldest daughter Ujeli is repeating Grade 5 just like her mother. There are women who went to the same school who have become grandmothers at 39.Almost all villages in this area bordering Chitwan and Dhading have the same problem that stems from remoteness and neglect.Nothing has changed here in 50 years, the school is older but its quality has not improved,” says Jhyapu Bahadur Chepang of Syamrang’s school management committee. Child marriage has not gone down, even though there are more girls than boys enrolled. Twenty-one students are enrolled in Dungbang Primary School here, of which 16 are repeating Grade 5. Atibal Praja is the principle of the very school he himself attended. He worked hard, completed his SLC and now is an exception as the only villager with higher education.“We have tried to talk to the government many times to send more teachers for higher classes, but no one listens,” he says. <figure><img width="1400" height="934" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2639c7e80680e033324jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bimala Gurung has been a teacher at the school for the past 12 years, and says she hasn’t seen much change in living standard in the village in that time. “When I first came, the village was dirty, there was illiteracy, no health post, there was child marriage,” she says, “the village is still dirty, there is still illiteracy, no health post, and child marriage.”The only big change is that the young men now leave the village to work abroad. With the money they send home, some families now have mobile phones.The main reason nothing has changed is because the school stops at Grade 5, and many girls get married off soon after, thinks Jhyapu Bahadur Chepang. “The problem is lack of awareness because of lack of education,” he says.

Stuck in Grade 5

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…