A small Tarai town is not the first place one would expect a fashion designer establishing a thriving business.&nbsp; But Keshar Kala Thapa is a proof that with determination all Nepalis can design their own successful careers. Growing up in Rupandehi district in the central plains of Nepal, Keshar Kala was obsessed with clothing and fabrics from a young age. She turned the pages of fashion magazines, fascinated by what the models wore.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/strength-in-numbers-for-female-farmers">Strength in numbers for female farmers,</a> Sahina Shrestha In a household with five children, Keshar Kala’s mother purposely did not buy a television set because it would hamper their studies. But for Keshar Kala, this meant more time to devour the fashion magazines.&nbsp; After her mother finally relented and brought a tv when she was in the tenth grade, the program that Keshar Kala would be glued to would be the Miss Nepal contest.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091148_563024b8afe5e4a5a3eb68f972d9ee573604706b3b546066f687527804ca818d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231123091148_563024b8afe5e4a5a3eb68f972d9ee573604706b3b546066f687527804ca818d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar Kala"> </figure>  “On magazines and on tv, I was spellbound by the clothes people wore, the ramp they walked on. I did not want to dress like them, but wanted to create something even more elegant for others to wear,” recalls Keshar Kala. The family had a small sewing machine in which her mother sewed shirts and skirts, tailoring all their school uniforms herself. Sometimes all five siblings would have to wear the same matching clothes that their mother stitched. &nbsp;&nbsp; “I did not like our matching outfits, I felt like I was a sheep in a flock and yearned to wear more original clothing,” remembers Keshar Kala. After high school, Keshar Kala found out that fashion designing could actually be a viable profession. She begged her mother to enroll her in an institute in Butwal, and even attended classes for a month but had to discontinue due to financial constraints.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091132_f5ee3242b02d2f3a4767f5a8ce6138116da2e3788bef9633d4f2db1fbeb8c2f1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231123091132_f5ee3242b02d2f3a4767f5a8ce6138116da2e3788bef9633d4f2db1fbeb8c2f1" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1859" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 2"> </figure>  She went back to school and graduated with a business degree. Then she gave fashion one more try. She went to fashion school, trained as an apprentice, and then branched out to open her own boutique. Four years ago she registered her training institute. “My friends and family were a bit wary about my decision at first. They couldn’t understand why I would sew clothes when I have a college degree,” says Keshar Kala. “People still do not understand that this can be a viable profession.” &nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life">Weaving the fabric of a new life</a>, Sahina Shrestha Keshar Kala now wants to use her skills to train other women to make them financially independent so that fashion is more accessible to Nepali women. She owns and operates Saffron Boutique and Training Center with her husband, Tej Bahadur Kala in Tilottama. “Every designer wants celebrities to wear their clothes and that would always be an honour, but what I find really fulfilling is designing for everyday women,” she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_b7045e1377f9b2eac480d4d0562c201c6df78ae9ee249ca79e5ceb2134a3094e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231123091136_b7045e1377f9b2eac480d4d0562c201c6df78ae9ee249ca79e5ceb2134a3094e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1636" height="1046" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 3"> </figure>  At the training center, students enroll for six months at a fraction of the price of many other institutes in the area. The couple makes sure each student has their own sewing machine so that they do not have to waste time waiting for their turn working on fabric. &nbsp; “The environment here is different,” says Aashu Thakuriee, who completed her training from Saffron two years ago and has been working with Keshar Kala. “I like the way she approaches teaching. She creates a comfortable environment for students.”&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/honey-money?s=08">Honey = Money,</a> Sahina Shrestha While Keshar Kala is busy instructing the students, Tej Bahadur takes care of their son, picking him up from school and preparing dinner. He is also in charge of all the social media handles of the business and coordinates all the client orders and deliveries.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_7654547be5dbde82f28db99e223eff7d080c7789773c8c699a736408ea1a7ec1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231123091136_7654547be5dbde82f28db99e223eff7d080c7789773c8c699a736408ea1a7ec1" data-rendition-name="original" width="3426" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="keshar kala 4"> </figure>  Tej Bahadur went to South Korea in 2015 as a migrant worker and saw how people of all ages embraced fashion and how quickly the trends changed. He recognised the opportunity in Nepal and when his contract was up in 2020, instead of looking for ways to stay on in Korea, he returned to help his wife in the business. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/staying-home-to-create-jobs">Staying home to create jobs</a>, Sahina Shrestha Keshar Kala’s business degree has been helpful in managing the venture, she makes calculated risks when investing in fabrics and sourcing them, keeping track of inventory and accounting. The couple go to Sunauli in India, source locally in Butwal or make a trip to Kathmandu to buy their own cloth, but Keshar Kala says that finding good quality materials are still difficult.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_8e7e080da1bfef63a312e88e231e90c847bb6044f66a4e230744e98dd7b4ac12.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231123091136_8e7e080da1bfef63a312e88e231e90c847bb6044f66a4e230744e98dd7b4ac12" data-rendition-name="original" width="3357" height="2120" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 5"> </figure>  The couple now wants to expand the business and create clothes that can compete with the imports from other countries. They also want to ensure employment for trainees who cannot afford to set up their own business and make designer wears available for women locally.&nbsp; Says Keshar Kala, “Fashion enhances the inner beauty of people. And everyone from housewives to professionals deserve to feel beautiful.”

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A designer by design

Collectivisation may have earned a bad reputation because of Stalin’s policies in the 1930s that led to widespread famine in the Soviet Union, but in Nepal today it is becoming a way for <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465">women farmers to work together to make up for the absence of men</a>.&nbsp; Sumitra Karki had been observing the worrying trend of young men moving to the cities or abroad, and in the absence of farmhands more terrace fields were fallow. In recent years, even the women had started leaving to take care of their grandchildren in the cities.&nbsp; Baglung in the lap of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/power-to-the-periphery">Mt Dhaulagiri in central Nepal</a> is the district with one of the highest proportion of out-migration of young men. In the scenic village of Galkot, tucked amidst forested mountains in the back of beyond, women like Karki who stayed behind have taken over farming.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_b461d5de822910754893904e0af877fed6d492f4fa5db816e97ae9445a9ff979.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231007041028_b461d5de822910754893904e0af877fed6d492f4fa5db816e97ae9445a9ff979" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="973" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/women-and-water">feminisation of farming in Nepal </a>is an example of necessity being the mother of invention, so that women who barely grew enough to feed their families now make up the shortfall with money sent home by their husbands abroad.&nbsp; “Farming was not productive at all,” says Karki. “The women had to wait for the menfolk to send home money even to buy and wear bangles. What kind of a life was that?” But Sumitra Karki had other ideas. During a visit to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life">Palpa</a>, she had seen women engaged collectively in agriculture to grow more food and cash crops by putting fallow fields to good use. On return, she put forth the idea at a mothers' group meeting, but the other women did not quite grasp the concept.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041024_46bb7e5e8d1150cf582ec86200d4251f356f8c3a5d65970701f310c715430e27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20231007041024_46bb7e5e8d1150cf582ec86200d4251f356f8c3a5d65970701f310c715430e27" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="976" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  “They had not seen what I had seen. There is a difference between seeing with our own eyes and listening to someone describe it,” she explains.&nbsp; But Karki did not give up, and a few years later the mothers' group applied for a government grant to grow vegetables and onions. The women realised the power of working collectively, where two and two became more than four. Encouraged, the women formed the Melmilap Ekikrit Krishak Samuha collective farmer’s group in 2019 with eleven members and Karki as president. Today, the women of the Dudilabhati settlement of Galkot who were once confined to household chores and dependent on remittances, are growing valuable vegetables, including unseasonal ones in greenhouses.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/access-to-water-changes-the-face-of-rural-nepal">Access to water changes the fac of rural Nepal</a>, Anita Bhetwal “It is easier to work in a group,” says collective member Nirmala Gurung. “We get to learn from each other and it also makes the work more fun when there are more of us.” For Nirmala, there is another reason to be happy: seeing her income rise, her husband has returned from the Gulf.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_0c8f1db51ac2c35a3f6eee625f19e92fa8555612683531f05913ef917eb1d349.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20231007041028_0c8f1db51ac2c35a3f6eee625f19e92fa8555612683531f05913ef917eb1d349" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="980" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  Nita Gurung is also happy she joined: “The collective farm has given us a sense of collective security. Sumitra has been a good guide and coordinator.”&nbsp; Besides vegetables, the women also leased 5,000 sq m to grow millet this season, a native crop which is falling out of favour because it is more labour intensive and has been displaced by rice and wheat. But Karki wants to make this a model farm for the revival of the nutritious and climate-hardy indigenous crop. “We want to give priority to what was traditionally grown here and make an income from that,” she says.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_2e9e160febce9226a1d13373e646d0ed56ef6fa20b49cfb412f6ce02a5aa4926.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231007041028_2e9e160febce9226a1d13373e646d0ed56ef6fa20b49cfb412f6ce02a5aa4926" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="931" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  Agriculture in Galkot used to be subsistence, with low yield on steep terrace farms, dependence on rain, limited market, risk of natural disasters and wild animal raids. All these factors have been exacerbated by the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya">impact of climate breakdown in the Himalaya</a>. The first major challenge for the women’s collective was Covid. All members of the group tested positive, the market closed down and lots of vegetables went waste. Not one to give up, Karki took charge as soon as she recovered and started posting photos of vegetables on her Facebook page during the lockdown.&nbsp; The group no longer sells vegetables through social media posts, but has developed contacts in the municipality to take their produce to market.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/agroecology-nepal-s-answer-to-climate-change">Agroecology, Nepal's answer to climate change</a>, Zachery Barton Growing up, Karki never thought she would ever be a farmer-entrepreneur. She had wanted to be a staff nurse. But when she was in Grade 9 at the age of 17, she was married. A year later, her oldest son was born.&nbsp; “Although my in-laws and husband were supportive, I couldn’t go back to school because I wanted to bring up my son myself,” says Karki who missed going to school. When her oldest was in Grade 4 and the younger boy was pre-school, she joined private classes and passed the school exam.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041032_82f1f0457fda1c8561b9397c800811b21ccaf01d039a3f1a375199b7e4529a4d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20231007041032_82f1f0457fda1c8561b9397c800811b21ccaf01d039a3f1a375199b7e4529a4d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="986" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  In those days, her husband Padam tried his hand in farming, running a rice mill, poultry and running a shop, Sumitra was always by his side, learning the ropes. There was just one thing she wanted to change: society knew her as someone’s wife, daughter-in-law, sister. But she wanted to carve her own identity. “Setting up a collective farming group has given me my own identity,” she says. “Now people know me as Sumitra Karki,” she says with visible pride. The seven women in the group work together in the fields, dividing time between their own plots and the group’s collective farm. The men come in as consultants and help with physical labour when needed. Profits are equally divided between the women, with some amount going into a savings account to buy seeds, or lease more land. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/back-to-the-future-of-farming">Back to the future of farming</a>, Anil Chitrakar Karki is aware that running a successful business needs time, but making an agro-business work takes even more effort because of prices, weather, and other changing variables. But the women find their strength in numbers, and this cushions them from hurdles along the way.&nbsp; “Women are often left behind in our society. But when we gain financial independence our voices are heard in the family and larger community,” explains Karki. “So my dream is to add more women to the collective and make them financially independent. For farmers like us, there is no better way.”&nbsp;

Strength in numbers for female farmers

Palpa is famous for its Dhaka weaves, but Pabi Sara Rajali did not know this when she first ran away from home to come here more than 20 years ago. From a Magar household, she did not even speak Nepali.&nbsp; She had grown up in the mountains, herding livestock, fetching firewood, doing household chores. She often wondered what the outside world looked like and wanted to earn money to escape her little village. A cousin worked as a weaver in Tansen and proposed to take Pabi Sara with her. Her parents opposed the idea, so she ran away.&nbsp; Life in the bustling market town was different from her mountain village. She not only had to learn to weave, but also a new language. But with her cousin’s help, she quickly picked up both. “It wasn’t an easy job, but at least I had some money of my own,” remembers Pabi Sara. “In my village, I didn't even get to see money, here I could wear what I wanted and eat what I wanted.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/staying-home-to-create-jobs">Staying home to create jobs</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_917427d1a45990a3646f2fa68a49586ca0f8bcb2fdc66c50cfe67595d6eca496.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230721200744_917427d1a45990a3646f2fa68a49586ca0f8bcb2fdc66c50cfe67595d6eca496" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1265" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> <figcaption>All photos: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Pabi Sara met Chandra Bahadur Rajali, who worked as a technician at the weaving centre. He had come from Gulmi at the age of 12 to spin threads and worked his way up to weave and fix machines. They got married in 1999, and a year later, their first daughter was born. But their combined salaries were not enough to provide for the family of three. So, while Pabi Sara continued weaving, Chandra Bahadur took up a construction job. But that did not pay well either, and they opened a butcher shop in the bazar. Even that did not work out. So, Chandra Bahadur decided to try his luck abroad. He took a loan and went to Dubai. The earnings there were not as good as expected, and the work in the desert was hard. In three years there, Chandra Bahadur saved just enough to pay back the loan to his recruiter. “I thought that I’d be able to make the same money at home while living with my family, so I came back,” he says. In Palpa, he went back to working at the dhaka factory again. He realised that because so many young men had migrated for work, there was a labour shortage and wages had improved. The fabric that had been a part of Nepal’s national dress had started gaining popularity and the demand for Palpali dhaka had surged. Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/milking-every-opportunity">Milking every opportunity</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_52229a8d9ac98b115b1eb0a062d1796b0e25620bcc2135e1930ee100dc4a844f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230721200744_52229a8d9ac98b115b1eb0a062d1796b0e25620bcc2135e1930ee100dc4a844f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1433" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  Dhaka fabric originated in southeast Asia and came to Nepal through then East Bengal during the British days, which is why it is still called ‘dhaka’. Experts have traced the patterns and colours of Nepali dhaka to Bangladeshi jamdani dhakai. The dhaka tradition in Palpa can be traced to the late 1950s when Ganesh Man Maharjan traveled to Dhaka where he saw saris made from the muslin. He learned the process and set up the first factory in Tansen. The fabric became emblematic of the country’s identity when King Mahendra made it mandatory in the 1960s for government officials to wear dhaka topi.&nbsp; After 17 years of weaving dhaka for others, the couple decided to strike off on their own. Today, Pabi Sara and Chandra Bahadur's New Sangharsha Dhaka Udhyog is one of the 32 small-scale dhaka businesses in Palpa. They borrowed money, bought a plot of land, and struck a deal with a factory owner who was closing down and bought five of his jacquard looms. “Getting the looms was not enough, we needed stands, threads, and that too added to the cost,” says Pabi Sara. They named their company Sangarsha Dhaka Udhyog, a nod to the many struggles they had in life. But the struggle was not over: while both had the weaving and mechanical skills, they did not know enough about management.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/life-in-a-pickle/" target="_blank">Life in a pickle</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_b917b152bf28b262ac1adef0e22782165f945a9df1b9d64981602b57e38d71b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230721200744_b917b152bf28b262ac1adef0e22782165f945a9df1b9d64981602b57e38d71b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1462" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  In 2016, Pabi Sara got selected for the Women Rural Enterprise Acceleration Project where she learnt the basics of running a business and was among the top five entrepreneurs in the district. Things were slowly starting to look up for the couple. Before the pandemic hit, they expanded to 11 looms and even set up a showroom in the bazar. But the factory remained closed during the lockdowns, so did the showroom and they faced severe losses. Then a landslide damaged a part of the factory and four of the looms.&nbsp; “It felt like our backs gave out,” recalls Pabi Sara. The couple did not have the money to pay interest on their loans or taxes to the government. They decided to shut down for good. “We went around asking for help from the municipality and government offices but maybe because we are small people with no political connections no one listened to us,” says Chandra Bahadur. Desperate, the couple sold corn and other vegetables by the highway, carrying the sacks on their backs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230722030732_395843c7b6e8d30db91d8cae34af1612bc891572b36695e16d01a7930c124f78.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230722030732_395843c7b6e8d30db91d8cae34af1612bc891572b36695e16d01a7930c124f78" data-rendition-name="original" width="926" height="535" loading="lazy" alt="Tansen"> </figure>  When the world started getting back to normal in 2021, they renovated the shed and registered the company again. Things seem to be finally falling into place, and they now employ seven women on six looms and sell everything they produce from the factory itself. On average, the company has a turnover of Rs200,000 a month. “There is a huge demand for dhaka in the market but we have not been able to meet it,” says Chandra Bahadur. “We don’t have enough space to add more looms. But we do not have the capital to expand either, and there are loans to pay off.” Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/money-grows-on-trees-here/" target="_blank">Money grows on trees here</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_bfd8c3dfbd37278b891a82366c9a5985bdd382363173f210cecb53fe5af1e983.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20230721200744_bfd8c3dfbd37278b891a82366c9a5985bdd382363173f210cecb53fe5af1e983" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1860" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  While uncertain about financing, the couple is confident about the quality of their weaves. The thinner and tighter the threads, the better the design and quality of the fabrics, and Pabi Sara makes sure the weavers all hit hard to make firm knots. Since they have risen up the ranks themselves, they know that happy workers make better products, and take good care of the staff. Rambha Devi Saru was one of the first women to join the company ten years ago. She learned to weave from Pabi Sara herself, and has been working with the couple ever since. Her husband worked in Malaysia and is now in Saudi Arabia. “I was just wasting my time at home. But since I started working here, I feel like I am contributing to the household as well. It makes me happy,” says Rambha. Pabi Sara empathises with that and is pleased she can help other women gain financial independence. “If I had just turned to my husband to provide for me, I wouldn’t be where I am today. So I encourage them to join us. We want to help them in any way we can,” she says. She adds, “We want to scale up and hopefully create a sustainable business. If one day, our daughters decide that they don’t want to work for someone else, I want them to at least have this business to fall back on.” Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pigs-fly-and-fish-climb-trees">Pigs fly and fish climb trees</a>, Sahina Shrestha

Weaving the fabric of a new life

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d0a9c7e80680e0c964fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"/><figcaption>PHOTOS: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>Karna Maya Pun could have been anything in her life: a landowner, a migrant worker in Korea, or an emigrant to the UK.Perhaps even a nurse, or a teacher. Instead, she is a farmer in Nepal and has no regrets.With her husband Jag Bahadur Paija, she runs the Garar Ekikrit Pashupankshi Tatha Krishi Farm in Tilottama, carving out a niche rearing organic fish and running a modern pig farm.“It would have been easy for me to sell a plot of land or live abroad, but that isn’t a life for me,” says Karna Maya. “I want my children to learn that people should live by virtue of their own hard work, and the best way for them to do that is by seeing us do it.”Every morning, rain or shine, the couple wakes up at 4AM to tend to the 100 pigs in the farm and the three fish ponds. They have to clean the pig sty, fill troughs with leftovers, aerate the ponds, and feed the fish. Then, they check the fry in the fish nursery.By the time all these chores are done, it is usually early afternoon. But for Karna Maya and Jag Bahadur, the workday is just beginning.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dont-give-up-on-nepal-it-has-lots-to-offer/">Don’t give up on Nepal, it has lots to offer</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d0d9c7e80680e0c9650jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d109c7e80680e0c9651jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d129c7e80680e0c9652jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d169c7e80680e0c9653jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1075" height="640">“I started tilling the soil at a very young age, and for a long time that is all I knew how to do,” says Jag Bahadur, whose parents thought his time was better utilised in the field than in the classroom, so he never really studied seriously at school. For him, farming is a return to his roots.Following the footsteps of the men in his family, he tried for the Indian army. And, although he was selected, he dropped out after finding the environment oppressive. “We had to obey orders and agree to everything, even if they said pigs can fly and fish climb trees. That was not the life for me, so I quit,” he recalls.In 1995, like many others from his village, he went to Qatar to seek his fortune. For the young man from the mountains of Myagdi, working outdoors in 48°C heat was difficult. He did not know the language, and it was hard to deal with management. He broke stones outdoors all day with his calloused hands.One day, he found someone’s folder with a wallet and documents. He took it to the office, where the staff was impressed by his honesty. He got a reward and was given an opportunity to train as a driver for the managers.“I was the only one who had two jobs in the company: an office boy and a driver. It was easier than having to do physical labour out in the heat,” says Jag Bahadur.After five years in Qatar, he returned to Nepal and married Karna Maya. Thirty-five days after the wedding, he was on a plane again. This time to Korea.Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/life-in-a-pickle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Life in a pickle</a>, Sahina Shrestha<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d189c7e80680e0c9654jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="587" height="391"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d199c7e80680e0c9655jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="657" height="420">Karna Maya and Jag Bahadur in 2006. Photo courtesy: Karna Maya PunKarna Maya also had a difficult childhood in Myagdi. There was no school in her village, no road and no hospital. Collecting fodder for the animals would take the whole day as she had to walk hours to fetch water.“All we knew in the village was that men either went abroad to work or took the livestock up to high pastures in summer,” recalls Karna Maya. “There wasn’t much to do there.”One evening, Karna Maya’s mother was returning home with a load of grass on her back when she fell off a cliff. By the time the villagers rescued and brought her home, she was dead. Her father who worked in the Indian Army came home, collected the five children, and took them to India where he enrolled them in school.Karna Maya had never attended class and, even though she was older than most other students, she tried to learn what she could. After retiring from the army, Maya's father left again for Sikkim for work. She completed high school from Jhansi in India and returned to Nepal hoping to enroll in nursing school. But her Indian certificate was not recognised: so, she started teaching.Then, one day, she saw a stranger with a thick mustache in her village. She remembers joking about his looks with her cousins. Soon, that man became her husband and nine months later their daughter was born.Karna Maya’s in-laws wanted her to stay home and look after the family, but money was tight. So, in 1997, she flew to Korea for work. At Seoul airport, Nepali migrant workers were collected and taken to a warehouse, where representatives from their companies picked them up. “I cried when I saw this. It felt like the goat market where people came and picked up animals for slaughter,” she remembers. “Some left in cars, others were silently led off by their employers.”Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/money-grows-on-trees-here/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Money grows on trees here</a>, Sahina ShresthaAlthough she was in the same country as her husband, the couple lived and worked in different cities. Jag Bahadur was undocumented, so it was not possible for them to meet frequently. Karna Maya worked in Korea for four years before returning to Nepal. Two years later, Jag Bahadur followed suit.“In Korea, I realised Nepalis went on a ‘D3 visa’, dirty, difficult and dangerous, especially if they were working illegally,” says Karna Maya.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d1b9c7e80680e0c9656jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="960">Jag Bahadur’s father, a retired British Army Gurkha, and mother were preparing to settle in the UK. But the couple refused to go with them. “We are not well-educated and the most we could expect to do once we got there was wash dishes or work in someone’s house. I felt like we could do better if we stayed back,” says Karna Maya.But having lived abroad for so long, they did not know anyone in Nepal and did not have enough capital or skill to start a business. Jag Bahadur once again went abroad, this time to Abu Dhabi. His salary of Rs30,000 was barely enough to cover expenses at home.Karna Maya opened a clothing store but, since she had to take care of the house and children, her shop remained closed during the peak hours. She called her husband back to Nepal and the two discussed their next move.Jag Bahadur wanted to buy a twelve-wheeler truck and drive it around the country. Karna Maya and the family opposed the idea.“There was a time when we did not even have Rs500 in our pockets. People looked at our house and land and refused to believe we did not have money for daily expenses. Those were the most difficult days,” says Jag Bahadur. Meanwhile, Jag Bahadur’s parents in the UK kept asking the couple to relocate too. “They called me mad for staying on in Nepal, and accused me of making my husband lose his mind as well,” says Karna Maya.Out of work and in desperate need of money, the two decided to use the land they had. Sitting idly at home was not an option, neither was selling land because they thought that would make them lazy. After considering the options, they dived into farming.The first year they invested Rs100,000 to grow wheat and maize but after a whole year of working in the fields they made just Rs10,000 in profit. They decided to start fish farming, but, since they couldn’t afford to hire workers, they dug the ponds and ferried pipes themselves.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/proud-to-give-back-to-nepal/">Proud to give back to Nepal</a>, Nepali Times<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d1e9c7e80680e0c9657jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d219c7e80680e0c9658jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="166" height="168">Without experience they suffered initial setbacks, but today they earn Rs70,000 a month selling fish to markets in Bhairawa, Parasi and locally. Earlier this year, they added pigs to their farm and constructed a modern sty that ensures a cleaner environment and healthier animals. They have extrapolated a yearly income of Rs500,000 once the pigs are ready.There are big plans: a biogas plant that uses pig slurry and farm waste, and buying a vehicle to ferry produce to market. They are also focusing on their children’s education.In August, their daughter Linda left to pursue higher education in the UK. And, while not busy with school, they involve their 10-year-old son Linus in the business so that he feels ownership of the farm and aquires skills to fall back on.“Our previous generations taught us that our only option was to go abroad, but we want to teach our children that there are many opportunities here in Nepal,” says Karna Maya. “I will only go abroad for my daughter’s graduation."Jag Bahadur says from nearby, “I won't go even then. It’s too busy here on the farm.”Read more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-to-save-my-sisters-life/">Saving to save my sister</a>, Nepali Times

Pigs fly and fish climb trees

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e39c7e80680e0c02ddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2851" height="1901"/><figcaption>All photos: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>The mountains of Palpa in central Nepal are famous for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-heads-to-toes/">dhaka weaves</a>. Besides the colourful handcrafted fabric, Palpa is now also the centre of lemon cultivation in the country, thanks to an enterprising couple.Goma Bhandari with her husband Hum Nath run the Bhandari Lemon Farm in Kutedanda of Tinau Rural Municipality which does not just supply lemons to surrounding market towns, but grows saplings to encourage others to switch to this cash crop.Over the years, the two have cultivated a piece of land that was considered too arid for farming, and made money grow on trees.“If you are disciplined, have a support system and the drive to continue pushing forward, nothing is impossible,” says Goma, who is fondly known in the area as ‘Kagati Didi'.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QgKeNuFA1IFor someone who did not even know the ABCs of farming till the age of 19, Goma has come a long way to carve a niche in Palpa’s booming <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19349#.YqNa845BxpQ">agro-business</a>. She was raised in a family that valued education, even for girls.Busy with school, Goma never had to work in the fields. At her maternal home in Riddhikot, she was the youngest of the three siblings and her father, a schoolteacher, made sure she completed high school.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e69c7e80680e0c02dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="166" height="168">Over 20 years ago, she married Hum Nath, who was a teacher in a local government school. His salary was not enough to support the new family with two children. Goma wanted to find a salaried job but with ageing in-laws much of the household chores fell on her shoulders.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e79c7e80680e0c02dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2738" height="1826">She would help her father-in-law in the fields, as he patiently taught her the basics of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/back-to-the-future-of-farming/">farming</a>. In the terraced farm at the edge of a hill near their home, the two would work the soil to grow maize, millet, buckwheat as well as vegetables.When her first son was born a year after marriage, Goma knew she had to do something to augment the family income. By now, she had enough confidence to know that farming was the way forward.“I asked my father-in-law what if we planted two saplings instead of one. He laughed and said that it wasn’t about the number but the care we give to it that yields fruits,” recalls Goma.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221eb9c7e80680e0c02e0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2497" height="1665">Taking all she had learned from her father-in-law, she tried her hand in commercial farming, producing vegetables like cauliflowers and tomatoes and fruits like litchi and mangoes.This brought in decent earnings, but it was hard work. There was no irrigation, and the monkeys would raid the crops by day, and rabbits and deer would destroy it at night.“I often thought what the use was of working so hard for months only for all of it to be eaten by wild animals. We had to look for alternatives,” Goma says.There was an old lemon tree at the edge of their field that her father-in-law had planted decades ago. It did not need much water, nor did they need to tend to as carefully as the other crops. Yet, the tree would yield enough lemons to earn up to Rs10,000 every season.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221ef9c7e80680e0c02e1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2707" height="1805">Goma and Hum Nath studied the lemon market and did some back-of-the-envelope calculations. “We found out there was a huge demand, but Nepal imports millions of rupees worth of lemons every year from India." The couple was sure they could meet at least a part of the demand locally.So, in early 2013 they planted ten saplings along with the other vegetables. The acidity and sourness in the fruit and the thorns in the plant meant that the animals would not destroy it. It also did not require much care or water which made it perfect, explained Hum Nath.Neighbours laughed at them, and the family was not happy with the decision. They all expected the couple to fail.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221f69c7e80680e0c02e2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3162" height="2108">But Goma added more lemon saplings, and by the third year, they were selling their first harvest in the market in Dumre and Butwal. Today, her lemons go to Chitwan, Kathmandu, Pokhara and further afield.“No one believed me at first. My in-laws were very worried. As a woman it was difficult navigating the market. But the quality of my produce spoke for itself,” says Goma. “And once things started picking up, our parents were very proud. I am happy they got to see us succeed before they passed away.”And now, people who once mocked the Bhandaris have started planting lemon themselves. Goma has sold over 10,000 lemon saplings. Annual sales of lemons have crossed 9 tonnes, giving Goma’s company a profit of over Rs1.2 million two years ago.They also sold 150 litres of concentrated lemon juice to test the market, and they want to add that and lemon pickle to the range of value-added products on offer.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221fa9c7e80680e0c02e3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2075" height="1383">“Farming is not easy but if you work hard there are good returns,” assures Hum Nath. The couple’s oldest son has enrolled in a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture on a full scholarship in Bhairawa. Their younger one is also majoring in science.When she is not busy on her farm, Goma spends time in community work. She has served as the chair for a local women’s agricultural cooperative, as well as in the management committee of two local schools.“For the society to progress it is important that women come out of their homes and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/women-hold-up-more-than-half-the-sky/">take ownership of the space around them</a>,” says Goma. “This can only happen when they are financially independent and develop leadership skills.”She worries about cheaper saplings and lemon from India, but the couple is confident that with economies of scale they can compete. Goma says much of her success is due to her husband and family.Adds Palpa’s famous Kagati Didi: “If my in-laws and husband were not supportive, I would not be where I am today.”This is the first in the series Striking Roots, where we feature the stories of entrepreneurs from across the country. If you know someone whose story needs to be shared, email us as editors@nepalitimes.com

Sahina Shrestha

Money grows on trees here

Fenerbahçe Beko won the Turkish Airlines EuroLeague finals in Abu Dhabi, held 23-25 May, defeating Monaco 81-70 in the final. Olympiacos, who defeated Panathinaikos 97-93, finished the series in third place. The Most Valuable Player (MVP) of the final match, Nigel Hayes-Davis from Fenerbahçe Beko, received a prize of 1,000,000 Miles&amp;Smiles from Turkish Airlines’ Chief Commercial Officer Ahmet Olmuştur. The carrier has been the title sponsor of the Turkish Airlines EuroLeague, a top tier tournament, since 2010.

Turkish Basketball

In the black and white photograph, General Wangdu smiles broadly in front of the dusty cactus garden in Kathmandu’s Annapurna Hotel. With an ill-fitting jacket and shaggy hair he looks benign enough, but this was the last leader of the Tibetan freedom fighters who led the resistance against the Chinese from their remote mountain hideouts in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/comings-and-goings-in-mustang">Mustang</a>. Five months later, Wangdu was dead. Snapped in March 1974, I had only recently arrived in Nepal. How did I meet this legendary fighter? Possibly with his devoted camp follower, Lynne Klapecki, and probably in the Om Restaurant near Freak Street which was the preferred <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/hippie-trail-nostalgia-in-kathmandu">hippie hang-out</a>. Om Lobsang and his brother Yeshe were <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/earthquake-brings-back-memories-of-camps-for-tibetan-refugees">refugees from East Tibet </a>whose cafe offered a friendly welcome and<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/momo-loco"> the best momos</a> - they became my in-laws after I married their eldest brother Tenzin, but that was a decade later.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_4573b34282b0f5395c007243d6bef12c7ba76bfd520419e994cdcea048d795a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025052403054_4573b34282b0f5395c007243d6bef12c7ba76bfd520419e994cdcea048d795a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1583" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Photo: LISA CHOEGYAL</figcaption> </figure>  Wangdu’s English was enthusiastically rudimentary, but even riding around town with him on the back of an aging <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-new-motorbike-museum">motorbike</a>, he was a commanding presence. Always flanked by armed outriders, impressive scars marked his forearms and a pistol hung from the cord around his neck. A charismatic guerrilla leader, Wangdu was celebrated by his followers for his tough commitment and respected for his measured pragmatism. He seemed so young to have shouldered such a responsibility of command, leading hundreds of hardened <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/50-years-after-the%20raid-into-Tibet,1012#google_vignette">Khampa combatants </a>through what had been a particularly <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/heavy-snowfall-over-nepal-himalaya">brutal winter in Mustang</a>, the last bastion to hold out against the Chinese invasion of their Tibetan homeland.&nbsp; The freedom fighters of Tibet, known as the Chushi-Gangdruk, had emerged to resist the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/territorialism">Chinese takeover</a> of Tibet during the 1950s. Estimated to be 80,000-strong at the time of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-or-who-after-the-dalai-lama">the Dalai Lama</a>’s final escape to India in 1959, the sheer number of Chinese deployed into Tibet eventually forced the Chushi-Gangdruk to retreat to Mustang, From this high Himalayan stronghold, they continued cross-border raids on the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) throughout the 1960s.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_8a4a935ba25ae79dc3a63bb5c14626927020e5ec098093c45ccb9a5982e009fd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025052403054_8a4a935ba25ae79dc3a63bb5c14626927020e5ec098093c45ccb9a5982e009fd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1114" height="676" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Guerrillas known as the Chushi-Gangdruk emerged to resist the Chinese annexation of Tibet during the 1950s. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>  Their Kathmandu base was a small discreet lodge in a back lane near Rani Pokhari. Sipping sweet tea from a blue mug with a chipped lid, I sat bemused in a corner of the Mustang Hotel room whilst Wangdu and his cohorts received a battered brown suitcase from their CIA connection, a tousle-haired American in a leather jacket. Heaved onto the dingy bedspread that covered the thin mattress, it was clicked open to reveal piles of neatly stacked dollar bills.&nbsp; I cannot think why Wangdu allowed me to witness this handover but I was clearly no threat, a newly arrived world traveller with no understanding of the stakes nor any Nepali or <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/tibetan-music-in-nepals-sacred-valley">Tibetan language</a>. Despite armed guards in the corridor,Wangdu radiated confidence and bravado, and there was a practiced familiarity to the tense transaction. This deadly dance for many years had been funded by the Americans, tolerated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-kingdom-within-a-republic">Mustang’s residents</a>, and permitted by King Mahendra and the Nepali authorities who it suited to turn a blind eye.&nbsp; But Mahendra died in 1972, and times were changing. Richard Nixon’s ping-pong diplomacy thawed the cold war and signalled a fresh entente with China. Nepal’s yet-to-be-crowned <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/if-birendra-was-alive-nepal-could-still-be-a-monarchy">King Birendra </a>was under pressure to curb the irritating incursions against the PLA launched from the Nepali territory of Mustang. Keen to appease his northern neighbour, on several occasions the King summoned Wangdu for peace talks but, despite increasingly overwhelming odds, Wangdu refused to surrender.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_a8efd5cfb92cd997bd7cb74296a936fef46e2f7428f9cd642b03f1ac4ea11ecb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="2025052403054_a8efd5cfb92cd997bd7cb74296a936fef46e2f7428f9cd642b03f1ac4ea11ecb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1055" height="885" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>General Wangdu flanked by two Tibetan resistance fighters in Mustang in the 1970s. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_75969125a745847a2ef82b6fe8b9106c0b21a116d85b8efdf5d2ee89a347bb31.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="2025052403054_75969125a745847a2ef82b6fe8b9106c0b21a116d85b8efdf5d2ee89a347bb31" data-rendition-name="original" width="1044" height="792" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>King Birendra with General Wangdu (right in dark glasses) taken in 1974 possibly in Mustang after one of their few attempts at negotiation. Photo courtesy: RAJRNDRA KUNWAR</figcaption> </figure>  While I naively rode pillion around Kathmandu in the spring sunshine, Wangdu was in the midst of what turned out to be his final round of negotiations with the Nepal government. Refusing to cease hostilities with the Chinese, Wangdu must have suspected the cost of his decision, making his cheerful smile in the photograph all the more poignant and brave. It was only much later that I appreciated the significance of the moment. Wangdu had been sent to replace the first resistance leader in Mustang, Baba Gen Yeshe, a much derided corrupt character who stole money meant for his troops and exploited fleeing refugees by seizing their treasures. Baba Gen Yeshe never forgave Wangdu,and sought revenge in May 1974 by betraying him and his commanders to the Nepal authorities. Renewed Chinese incursions from the north, active PLA collusion with the Nepali forces under the new King, and treachery from within the Chushi-Gangdrukranks combined to seal their fate.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_e0987a7c90d76431b0d7d5e6115ebfe3dbda7ab939e5941e079c18d722e884c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2025052403054_e0987a7c90d76431b0d7d5e6115ebfe3dbda7ab939e5941e079c18d722e884c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1400" height="769" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>British television journalists George Patterson and Adrian Cowell embedded themselves with Khampa guerrillas and accompanied them from Tsum Valley on a cross border raid on a Chinese Army convoy in 1964. Photo: ESSAYS ON NEPAL / SAM COWAN</figcaption> </figure>  Mikel Dunham, renowned author of Buddha’s Warriors, writes: ‘It is possible that Wangdu was waiting for some cue from the Dalai Lama’s government-in-exile in Dharamsala, India. It is equally possible – during that last, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-human-cost-of-nepal-s-yarsa-gold-rush?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR31-Cqw8oyIwMPzf_35e4Skr0ululJvLf3_vDkzHn-AYG2h8uPw2rqqErg_aem_tGVn5coY1-jA7fze_xqhew">desolate winter </a>– that he made the decision to go out in glory rather than admit defeat. Over the last fifteen years, Wangdu had experienced Tibet’s organized resistance being squeezed and shoved around by every conceivable outside force.&nbsp; First they had been pushed out of their own country by the PLA; then they had been refused sanction while on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/borderlines/nepal-india-trans-boundary-bonds?fbclid=IwAR0PpJ5zUEbwdug3g_U3ar6FUugngRY0S8Tl2v_7wqzrsHmXWcXsKjvL4t4">Indian soil</a>; then they were abandoned by the Americans because, apparently, Nixon wanted to make friends with Wangdu’s mortal enemies, the communists; then they had been betrayed by the vampiric Baba Gen Yeshe – a Tibetan and, even worse, a fellow Khampa; and now, finally Wangdu’s army was being evicted by the Nepalis. One thing was certain: Wangdu was a warrior. To imagine Wangdu simply giving up and settling down in the pacific squalor of a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/elderly-left-in-bhutan-refugee-camp">refugee camp </a>was unthinkable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_8fc1ffef4ae751628b90ae781b66e11e51e4fdde2787207c9042efbee345ce49.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025052403054_8fc1ffef4ae751628b90ae781b66e11e51e4fdde2787207c9042efbee345ce49" data-rendition-name="original" width="500" height="746" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>The much derided Baba Gen Yeshe, the first Tibetan resistance leader in Mustang, who betrayed Wangdu for personal gain. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_b1d833cdb00d3ac4416b844d8730475cd88c238caaaf8da69889a584eea229a3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_21" data-image-id="2025052403054_b1d833cdb00d3ac4416b844d8730475cd88c238caaaf8da69889a584eea229a3" data-rendition-name="original" width="500" height="656" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Aditya SJB Rana of the Royal Nepal Army whose team ambushed Wangdu and his cohorts at the top of Tinker Pass in Darchula, West Nepal. Photo courtesy: GAUTAM SJB RANA</figcaption> </figure>  By August 1974 the game was up. Wangdu and six of his exhausted party were killed on their horses by <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7270">the Royal Nepal Army</a> on the brink of escape. The officer in charge, Aditya SJB Rana, cleverly predicted their route into India after they failed to silence a police radio in Yari. A carefully laid ambush trapped them near the summit of the Tinker Pass in Darchula,at 5,000 meters the highest military operation of its time. Wangdu’s body was helicoptered to Kathmandu, and a big show made of the royal Nepal victory.&nbsp; The Tibetan armed insurgency against China had reached its end.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250524030520_3ff9c6fc85a65bc9a2c3afe9736d9f5f9413de752e790a5d9dca0981ea94f9b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_23" data-image-id="20250524030520_3ff9c6fc85a65bc9a2c3afe9736d9f5f9413de752e790a5d9dca0981ea94f9b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> </figure>

The Last Days of the Khampa

Starting 17 September Turkish Airlines will fly daily to Seville, one of Spain’s major tourist draws. This is Turkish’s sixth destination in Spain after Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, Malaga, and Bilbao. Seville is in the Andalusia region on Spain’s south coast with a rich Moor history. There are approximately 30,000 Nepalis living in Spain.&nbsp;

Turkish to Seville

The newly-formed Himalayan Art Council is set to launch Nepal’s National Art Protection Platform that seeks to preserve <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-history-of-heritage">Nepal’s unique cultural heritage </a>using<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/artificial-censorship"> AI-powered tools</a>. The Council seeks to safeguard <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-art-going-places">Nepali art works</a> from neglect, theft and counterfeiting as well as preserve existing artwork and celebrate living masters by giving them a cultural space to continue the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sacred-survival">sacred art traditions</a>. "We are introducing a new digital platform designed to preserve, verify and elevate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">Nepal’s art for generations to come,</a>” says a statement from the Council, adding that the digital platform will use AI told for authentication and blockchain to keep track of works of art. Artists can now be protected by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/ayo-ai?fbclid=IwAR1uwmTVq4gUB70ljfRezjzukD9ArWXPuMnUikopeQ8PoiZMjicToPSwhKE&amp;=1">AI tools</a> that detect forgeries, identify their work even when unsigned, and ensure they receive proper recognition and credit. The archives will be searchable with translated inscription and interactive guides. Says curator Meena Lama: “AI and blockchains are tools that give us the power to detect fakes and identify unsigned paintings and track every piece. With these tools we can restore trust, secure authorship and give artists the dignity they deserve.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum."> <figcaption>Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum.</figcaption> </figure>  The Council is also holding an exhibition of Nepali cultural masterpieces with 50 historical <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-the-art,671">thangka and paubha </a>by past masters and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">contemporary works by current artists</a>. This curated collection is a living tribute to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/when-yaks-go-so-does-culture">Himalayan culture</a> with economic depictions of deities, mandala and sacred narratives. The exhibition at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-portal-into-patan-s-past-and-present">Patan Museum</a> also provides an opportunity to meet painters and custodians of art and culture. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/golden-deities">Golden deities</a>, Sewa Bhattarai ‘The exhibition is only the first step in a long journey to ensure that Nepali art is no just seen but fully understood, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Narratives-of-Faith-and-Memory-Remembering-the-Lost-Sculptures-of-Kathmandu-exhibition,987">protected and remembered</a>,’ the Council says. Artist Kailash K Shrestha of Artudio has spent decades promoting thankha and paubha traditions because of their beauty and devotional meaning. But he also says artists are underpaid, exploited and ignored. He adds, “AI and blockchain are not just buzzwords, they are powerful tools that can protect Nepal’s artists from fraud, verify authenticity and build a permanent record of provenance.” Traditional Art Exhibition Till 17 May Patan Museum

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