Few places in Nepal have been as stripped by art thieves of their priceless sacred art as Itumbahal, one of five main Buddhist monastic enclaves in the heart of Kathmandu. The temple and its surroundings were plundered much more than other shrines across Nepal. The objects were stolen starting in the 1970s and smuggled out to collectors and museums in the West. Now, after 45 years of tireless effort spanning generations, three paubha religious paintings stolen from Itumbahal have been returned from New York. Proof that they were stolen from the monastic enclave came from a photograph taken by Chiniya Tamrakar of the Department of Archaeology (DOA) in 1978 of the Yetkha Baha and Kacha Baha. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250305120352_e477bbb2568977df53a509c68d53a33ac86f0ec532be7d3b542f5bab17fa0db2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250305120352_e477bbb2568977df53a509c68d53a33ac86f0ec532be7d3b542f5bab17fa0db2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1152" height="1650" loading="lazy" alt="Heritage 2"> <figcaption> The three paubha religious paintings stolen from Itumbaha in 1980.</figcaption> </figure>  “This photograph was taken as an inventory-keeping process of the DOA. Who would have thought it would offer such clinching proof of the theft one day,” says Tamrakar of the image that helped establish the provenance of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/new-newa-art">the paubha</a>.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/five-decades-of-lok-chitrakar"> Five Decades of Lok Chitrakar</a>, Shaguni Singh Sakya On 14 September 1980, the three <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/painted-walls-and-pieces-of-history">wall paintings</a> were stolen from Itumbahal: the Chintāmani Lokeśvara with his companion dating back more than 300 years, the 600-year-old Gaganshim Bharo with his wives and Four Supplicants before a Divine Couple from 1704CE. All paintings measure about 1.5m in length. &nbsp; They had been hanging on the wall of the inner sanctum of Itumbahal, itself a sacred site dating back to the 11th century CE, the oldest, largest, and most prosperous enclave in the heart of Kathmandu. They were not for public display except during the month-long Gunla festival every August. It was during this festival that Chiniya Tamrakar had taken the photograph in 1978. The thieves entered the sanctum through a small opening in the wall to steal the three paubha. The next morning priests and caretakers who arrived for daily rituals were shocked. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250305120356_ad7e42d195fdd1db531fb51ff0ce0436c6e184a7c92bcdddedb2fdbbf1096452.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250305120356_ad7e42d195fdd1db531fb51ff0ce0436c6e184a7c92bcdddedb2fdbbf1096452" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Heritage 3 "> <figcaption>Chiniya Tamrakar of the Department of Archaeology (DOA) who took the picture of the paubha in 1978 with Sanjay Adhikari, litigating officer and secretary of Nepal Heritage Recovery Campaign as they tracked the paintings. Photo: SANJAY ADHIKARI</figcaption> </figure>  “This was in the early 80s, and the news <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/wildfire-season-starts-early-in-nepal">spread like wildfire</a>. I was quite young but I managed to tag along with my brother to catch a glimpse of the empty wall,” recalls 68-year-old Prem Tara Shakya. “Sadly, looting was pretty common those days and the culprits got away with it.”&nbsp; The crime was reported to the Hanuman Dhoka Police Station, the DOA and the customs authority at Kathmandu Airport a day after the theft, but the FIR went missing because a mysterious fire broke out in the Police department. Nevertheless, the president of the Itumbahal Sudhar Samiti, Chandra Bahadur Shakya and secretary Swasti Ratna Shakya did not give up. From reporting the crime 45 years ago to trying to track the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sacred-survival">sacred paintings</a> through the internet they have been constantly trying to bring back the holy paintings.&nbsp; In 2003, Stephen Truax Eckerd, the coordinator of Imagin Asia Family Programs at the Smithsonian Institution came to Nepal to research the exhibition Himalayas: An Aesthetic Adventure. He came to Itumbaha and left replicas of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14649">the paubha</a>.&nbsp; Chandra Bahadur Shakya from Itumbahal wrote to Eckerd about the theft of the paubha to stop them from being exhibited. He also wrote to the government asking for necessary steps for repatriation, and also requested the New York-based art dealer with necessary information on the three stolen paubha.&nbsp; The missing paintings were now publicly displayed, and their location was established. The in-situ photograph taken by Chiniya Tamrakar was a proof of their original belonging, authenticity, and the fact that they were stolen from Itumbahal.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025030513030_a7fad1ab2aa0103daaf5d61a85e5d29eaeff90577c1258373f3397982cebe942.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025030513030_a7fad1ab2aa0103daaf5d61a85e5d29eaeff90577c1258373f3397982cebe942" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Heritage 4 "> <figcaption>Other deities which were repatriated with the three paubha.</figcaption> </figure>  In 2006, an official letter certifying that the paintings <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-wants-stolen-antiquities-returned-from-france-xu6ux85s">were indeed stolen</a> and not sold by Itumbahal was sent to Bhesh Narayan Dahal, curator and investigating officer at the DOA in Kathmandu. Swasti Ratna Shakya who had witnessed the crime scene, got the DOA, the Police, and Customs involved on behalf of his father who died in 2003. &nbsp; Sanjay Adhikari, litigating officer and secretary of Nepal Heritage Recovery Campaign, tracked the paintings and numerous online meetings with Chiniya Tamrakar, Itumbahal officials and the District Attorney Manhattan and FBI in New York were conducted. &nbsp;&nbsp; Repatriation is a lengthy process and involves years of correspondence, research, finding proof and deciphering clues.&nbsp; After the District Attorney of Manhattan acquired the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Christie-removes,257">stolen paintings</a>, they were handed over to the acting Consul General of Nepal Chakra Kumar Subedi in New York last week. This was then handed over to Bijay Man Singh and the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/street-vs-guthi-bill"> Newa Guthi </a>in New York who raised the funds to get the three paubha as well as 20 other deities flown back to Nepal.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-deities-in-transit">Nepal’s deities in transit</a>, Anita Bhetwal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025030513030_acda40b43a29b18481f5b1f50715dc5acf860356769146d3f9bc1f3c1983d27c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="2025030513030_acda40b43a29b18481f5b1f50715dc5acf860356769146d3f9bc1f3c1983d27c" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1536" loading="lazy" alt="Heritage 5 "> <figcaption>District Attorney County of New York and Consulate General of Nepal in New York during the handover ceremony.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025030513030_47965c5f499b29c3c006e3770daa8a8cfab234f320726cfc9ec25f43089aed91.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="2025030513030_47965c5f499b29c3c006e3770daa8a8cfab234f320726cfc9ec25f43089aed91" data-rendition-name="original" width="1019" height="1028" loading="lazy" alt="Heritage 6 "> <figcaption>Nepali officials with the repatriated paubha at Kathmandu airport this week. Photo: SANJAY ADHIKARI </figcaption> </figure>  The repatriated artifacts were all handed over to Saubhagya Pradhananga and Sarita Subedi of the DOA on Tuesday – exactly 44 years, 5 months, 20 days from the time they were stolen.&nbsp; Bhagwan sarana, a greeting in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-bhasa-on-google-translate">Nepā Bhāsā</a>, means in the Holinesses’ feet. What is the essence of such a greeting when the much-revered gods and goddesses are found in museums, or someone’s living room?&nbsp; Saraswati Rashmi Shakya is a PhD candidate at the Central Department of Buddhist Studies of Tribhuvan University.

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Back where they belong

Exhibition showcases contemporary Nepali Thangka and Paubha painters <figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101152/6368d62d9c7e80680e03146bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="930"/><figcaption>Muna Photos: Michael Gordon</figcaption></figure>Walk into most <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-the-art,671" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Paubha</a> or Thangka shops in Thamel or Durbar Marg, and you will probably hear a story about Tibetan monks grinding stone pigments high in the Himalaya. ‘Exotic’ spirituality has become as much of a brand as Iphones used to Instagram it, but in reality most of these paintings are produced by Tamangs, Gurungs, and Newars using inexpensive poster colors in warehouses around Boudha and Bhaktapur.The painting factories may not seem ‘authentic’, but for the artist it puts food on the table. The demands of economic survival and the need for cultural preservation create new terms of authenticity for paubha and thangka.Thangka and paubha were originally ritual objects for Vajrayana Buddhists. Many would like to separate what is sacred and what is sold, but this is a false distinction. The paintings always involved financial transactions.However, as secular art collectors and tourists buy more of them, profit drives commodification.Tularam Lama has been painting for over 25 years, yet he is still at the mercy of gallery dealers who do not share their profits with artists.“We are compelled to sell cheap,” says Lama, who founded the Nepal Association of Thangka Artists. He still strives to maintain artistic integrity, teaching Tamang students to paint with inexpensive pigments as well as to understand the tradition's cultural heritage.Some painters use the market to build connections. Bhim Thapa, manager of Tara Thangka Center in Thamel, donates 25% of his sales to his community in Sindhupalchok. Prior to the earthquake, Thapa’s sales supported orphan children and women’s education. Today he focuses on basic necessities like blankets and food. "Thangka is not about perfect iconography, says Thapa, “to help is my dharma.”At the other end of the spectrum, internationally renowned <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2014/10/05/devoted-to-painting/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lok Chitrakar</a> paints with traditional mineral colors and works with scholastic rigour. He will be the first to gently remind you that paubha and thangka are not the same thing.Paubha was developed by the Newars of Kathmandu Valley in the 7th century. Nepali Princess Bhrikuti is said to have taken some of the images with her when she introduced Buddhism to Tibet 1,300 years ago. Over centuries, Tibetans developed their own stylistic code known as thangka. After the exile of the Dalai Lama in 1959, Tibet and its people gained increasing global popularity. Today, many tourists flock to Nepal as a surrogate for Tibet, hoping to find the monasteries (and thangkas) they saw in TinTin in Tibet and National Geographic documentaries.But what they find may defy expectations: Lok Chitrakar’s use of Hindu gods like Ganesh as icons of Newari Buddhism is not just an artistic choice, but a testimony to Nepal’s unique religious coexistence.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6309c7e80680e03146cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="889">For many, however, maintaining these traditions is oppressive. Historically, thangka and paubha were made by men, but today the field is changing thanks to women artists like Muna Moktan. For her thangka means not just employment but also empowerment. She supports her family and a school of aspiring Tamang artists (mostly girls) with her paintings.“Women need to find a way to live on their own means, and I found it through thangka,” says Moktan.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-the-art,671" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The art of gods</a>, Tsering Dolker GurungSonam Dolma guides (rather than ‘teaches’) students in ritual pursuit of perfection.Many painting production centers now use transparent plastic overlays to rapidly reproduce outlines. Sonam’s students at the Tsering Art school use black wooden boards thinly coated with ghee and dusted with white chalk- to repeatedly draw until outlies are memorised, “by hand, mind, and heart.” The painters begin and end each day with prayer, to remember the true purpose of their craft.One of Sonam’s top students, Karma Rinchhen Gurung, paints to strengthen his practice as a Buddhist monk. At 15, he entered Samten Ling Monastery, and like his monastic vows, his painting brings him freedom through discipline. He considers his practice meditation, focusing his mind and brush on a single point. People often ask if he paints to make money. He himself wonders: “Am I doing this for dharma or for economic reasons?” Many students at Tsering Art School, including monks, paint for private dealers to afford living in Kathmandu.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Illustrated-history-of-chitrakars-nepal,3655" target="_blank" rel="noopener">An illustrated history of the Chitrakars</a>,  Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6329c7e80680e03146djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="986"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The foreign interest in thangka and paubha has also encouraged artistic individuality. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3915#.WvP2AH_BXIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tenzin Norbu</a> comes from a 400 year old lineage of thangka painters.Each new generation <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/The-world-beyond-thangkas,3139" target="_blank" rel="noopener">broke away from the stylistic trends</a> of their predecessors. Norbu now illustrates modern Dolpo life and has shown around the world from the Rubin Museum in New York to Luxembourg Gardens in Paris. His ancestors never signed their paintings, believing in the collective accumulation of merit. Norbu now champions his distinct style as an emblem of personal entrepreneurship.For some, the craft is a way of maintaining cultural and spiritual lineage. For others, redefining not only what is painted, but who gets to paint affirms the rapid democratisation of the art from. To all artists, the paintings are a means of sacred survival, providing both sanctuary and subsistence.Sacred Survival, an exhibition of seven contemporary thangka and paubha artists 11 to 21 May, Siddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal Curated by Michael Gordon.

Sacred survival

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

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

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

sacred-art

Back where they belong

Sacred survival

The Himalaya is not fragile

My father’s son

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

Sacred seed feeds boom