The mustard fields along the road were in riotous golden bloom as we sped past on a motorcycle to the village of Karjahi in Dang district. It was a crisp autumn afternoon six years ago, and I was riding pillion behind Laudhan Chaudhary with the wind in my face.&nbsp; I was researching the history of feminism in Nepal for the Feminist Memory Project of Nepal Picture Library when I first came across the Karjahi Movement, a struggle for land rights led by Tharu women of this valley in the Inner Tarai of western Nepal.&nbsp; Laudhan had driven all the way down to Ghorahi to pick me up, and we finally pulled up in the densely packed Tharu settlement of Karjahi. A 15-year-old girl was bathing at a public tap. She was completely at ease with herself in a thin, water-soaked petticoat tied around her waist, her hands folded over her breasts. Nearby, a group of teenage boys were boisterously playing cards. Off to one side, a young man was engrossed in a book. He was Laudhan’s eldest son, preparing for his overseer exam. Laudhan left his bike in the yard of his small red mud-plastered house with cow dung patties drying along the walls. As soon as she saw that a guest had arrived, Laudhan’s wife Ashma got busy in the kitchen.&nbsp; Ashma is a familiar name among the women of Karjahi. She was nearly nominated to be a member of the federal parliament in Kathmandu.&nbsp; “Her name was proposed, but she wasn’t nominated by the party,” another woman helping in the kitchen explained, slicing okra with a dull, patinaed chulesi.&nbsp; Laudhan and Ashma had invited to their home other women involved in the Karjahi Movement for land rights to talk about their struggle back in 1980.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023122111124_be55f824019cd114a1b1ed36b270fd7511a821594ed91440b2a37963a94d0438.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2023122111124_be55f824019cd114a1b1ed36b270fd7511a821594ed91440b2a37963a94d0438" data-rendition-name="original" width="1909" height="1409" loading="lazy" alt="Tharu women from Karjahi"> </figure>  Patharkali Tharu peasants in Dang were up in arms against jamindar landowners at the time. Leading the women was Patharkali Chaudhary, and there she was 44 years later, clad in a blue sari, sitting on a stool recalling the evening that a dozen policemen came to arrest her. “I got up from my bed,” she said, leaping up from her stool to demonstrate. She shouted at the police, “Get out of my way, if you are real men” and rushed into her niece Ashma’s room.&nbsp; The police did not dare enter, but shouted from the courtyard: “Open the door, or we’re going to shoot.” Patharkali and her niece were also best friends, and they refused to be intimidated. Instead, she shouted back, “Hey you government dogs, shoot this poor woman in the chest if you dare. Otherwise drop your guns now.” &nbsp; Patharkali picked up a heavy stick and told Ashma to set their two enormous dogs, Nangi and Uduwa, on the police. The snarling dogs ran outside, barking and chased away the police and landowners from the courtyard. Patharkali swung her stick, hitting two nearest policemen and breaking the finger of one of them who had destroyed her plough. “It was at that time that the police gave me the nickname Indira Gandhi because I was supposed to be as fearless as the Indian prime minister,” Patharkali recalls, smiling. “Imagine how much braver I would have been if I had studied more. I would have put those thieves in their right place.”&nbsp; Dozens of police came to the house every day for the next week, and every time, Patharkali chased them away. She had not eaten for several days, but nothing could weaken her resolve. However, police arrested Patharkali’s brother, Thaggu Chaudhary, and she remembers going to the station in Fachakpur to visit him in jail every week. The policeman whom she had beaten, were overheard telling the others: “That’s Indira Gandhi. Let her in.”&nbsp; Even though the police all used her nickname, Patharkali herself did not even know at the time who Indira Gandhi was.&nbsp; “I would threaten to stab and kill them for breaking our plough, no wonder they gave me that name,” she says. “We fought for our rights, and because we fought we got our land back.” Ashma&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023122111120_326263e3c7d018e4c6f8389e357ff47451cbbdd6fabb86d0954495f41c49af5d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023122111120_326263e3c7d018e4c6f8389e357ff47451cbbdd6fabb86d0954495f41c49af5d" data-rendition-name="original" width="587" height="822" loading="lazy" alt="Ashma Chaudhary"> <figcaption>Ashma ChaudharyAsma Chaudhary/Nepal Picture Library</figcaption> </figure>  Patharkali’s niece Ashma remembers that at first the Tharu peasants were afraid of the jamindar who owned the land they tilled.&nbsp; The Tharu worked in the fields all year as sharecroppers but after giving away the harvest there was not enough to feed their families. The farmers knew the importance of land, and valued the soil that gave them sustenance.&nbsp; During the Karjahi Movement, Tharu women including Patharkali and Ashma took part in a protest march to Bijauri, 29km away from where the jamindar families lived.&nbsp; Clashes between police and Tharu farmers continued for weeks in Karjahi. The police would come at night and ransack their homes, fling cooked food into the courtyard and steal the best utensils.&nbsp; In one raid, police arrested Ashma’s uncle Premlal Chaudhary and her brother Ram Prasad Chaudhary. The next day, Ashma went to the police station in Sukuwari village and shouted, “Why did you arrest my elderly uncle who is living his last days?” The jamindar would call policemen ‘sir’, but Ashma had the audacity to shout curses at them. She smiles as she recalls her boldness.&nbsp; “Premlal Uncle and Ramprasad Bhai were handcuffed in the police station,” says Ashma, recalling how the women including Patharkali, Keula, Shanti, Shyamkala, Suskala and Lakshmi (pictured) all yelled at the policemen: “Will you let our people go or will you fight us?”&nbsp; And for good measure, Ashma shouted: “Release my uncle or I will come in and kill you with my bare hands.”&nbsp; The next day there was mediation between the women of Karjahi with the Chief District Officer (CDO) of Dang. The police admitted to stealing household items and food from the Tharu homes. Ashma complained that he had been arrested without a warrant and beaten up. The police were finally found to have been at fault. The officers apologised and agreed to release their relatives. “I was a 25-year-old woman and the police let my uncle go because I threatened them,” says Ashma, now 69. “Later, the police were heard complaining that they had to deal with very powerful women.”&nbsp; Ashma is convinced that it was their resistance that allowed the Tharu in Dang to finally get to till their own land.&nbsp; “If I had to do it all over again, I would,” she says, “I’m still strong. If I have to fight again, I will fight.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023122111128_1bb40cff68b63f6f82c535322542523eaf316993652d71cd214f2b2b00f0dfc7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2023122111128_1bb40cff68b63f6f82c535322542523eaf316993652d71cd214f2b2b00f0dfc7" data-rendition-name="original" width="2310" height="1650" loading="lazy" alt="Tharu women from karjahi"> </figure>  Nanachi Nanachi could tell if someone was from a Pahadi hill caste just by smelling them. Or, to be more exact, not smelling them. &nbsp;&nbsp; “We who plough the soil and grow crops, we smell of sweat,” Nanachi explains. “Our bodies all have that odour. Those who do not work on the land do not smell. And those of us who till the soil can also shed blood for our land.” Netralal Paudyal, a Communist leader from Dang, used to tell the farmers of the village to rise up against feudalism. This also inspired the women of Karjahi to fight injustice. But the landowners and the state apparatus were too powerful and some had started losing hope.&nbsp; So, Nanachi started writing and singing songs to build solidarity and give the struggle a boost. Keula Chaudhary played the madal, Indira Chaudhary danced. They sang as they guarded the village from sentry posts for months. The song they sang was: कहा रे उठी जागी किसान दाजु भाइ जबसम्म रहल दि सामन्तीले दुख दिइ उठ जनता उठ जिमिन्दार के विरोध गर्न उठ Where did you stand up, farmer brothers, When they started giving you pain?&nbsp; Rise up, people, resist the landlords. Nirmala, Sita Kumari, Keula&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023122111124_5b63f3156b05697e860cb1a78f79062adba6ba42b3ed72ee2a9d4e4d0805a755.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023122111124_5b63f3156b05697e860cb1a78f79062adba6ba42b3ed72ee2a9d4e4d0805a755" data-rendition-name="original" width="702" height="865" loading="lazy" alt="Sitakumari"> <figcaption>Sitakumari Chaudhary</figcaption> </figure>  Nirmala Chaudhary still remembers the third day of Karjahi Movement when Nirmala and other women were wounded in attacks by the jamindar’s supporters. Nirmala and some of her friends rushed to the nearby villages to plead for help. Nirmala was carrying her child on her back. Sakhi, Belkeshari and Nirmala called upon other women to join the defence. In Karjahi, three or four households belonged to the jamindar. They reached one landowner’s house and recovered all the ploughs and spades that had been stolen from them, and returned home. Nirmala went to the home of one jamindar Ran Bahadur Pachai in Khirite village, climbed up the stairs, grabbed the jamindar’s shot gun, loaded the bullet and fired it. The inhabitants of the landlord’s household all fled.&nbsp; “We knew there was going to be a battle as the jamindar’s forces regrouped,” recalls Sita Kumari Chaudhary, another protester. “We were ready, all of us women fighters. The landlords were shocked that we women were ready to resist. We had no fear at all. We were fighting for our existence.” In the melee that followed, Keula Chaudhary wrested a rifle off the hands of a policeman who was assaulting her and hit him across the face.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023122111124_7a67ccc425be8fe3bdb22988d385c9392dae939ca55c808bd7748418b385067b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2023122111124_7a67ccc425be8fe3bdb22988d385c9392dae939ca55c808bd7748418b385067b" data-rendition-name="original" width="787" height="897" loading="lazy" alt="Keula Chaudhary"> <figcaption>Keula Chaudhary</figcaption> </figure>  Not the marrying kind The memories of struggle from more than four decades ago are still fresh in the minds of the women of Karjahi. As they recalled incidents and anecdotes, the women would complete each other’s sentences. And the alcohol helped. Laudhan’s wife Ashma brought raksi in steel cups and passed them around to the women. They downed the rice spirit in a single gulp. Then, it was Ashma’s turn to continue her story. Ashma was not interested in marrying, and everyone in the village was asking “Why are you not married yet?” Laudhan is the son of Ashma’s maternal uncle. But when the queries about marriage became too insistent and unbearable, Laudhan finally gave up and said, “All right, then, I will marry my cousin.” The uncle’s son and aunt’s daughter therefore became husband and wife. Laudhan and Ashma, like all couples, sometimes have arguments. When that happens, Ashma usually tells her husband, “You are my little brother, behave yourself and listen to me.” And that is how they settle their differences.&nbsp; And unlike other couples, Ashma never had to show Laudhan special respect. “This is the secret of most marriages where women are younger and men are older,” she said. On the other hand, Patharkali (aka Indira Gandhi) got married after her sick mother pressured her into it. But the relationship did not last. Patharkali returned to her maternal home after a year. “I broke a policeman’s arm,” Patharkali says, “do you think I would stand for an abusive husband? There was no way he could be married to a woman like me. It just wouldn’t last.”&nbsp; She felt like a servant in her in-law’s home. And after she left her husband, Patharkali has been in control of her own destiny, a free bird. Nepali women have risen up against injustice and oppression throughout history, but their contribution is less well documented. The stories and experiences of the rebel women of Karjahi are chronicled in the book The Public Life of Women: A Feminist Memory Project with pictures. The women who rose up in the Karjahi Movement do not identify themselves as feminists. They prefer the term ‘existentialist’. They say, “We are existentialists. We fought for our own existence, and the existence of our soil.”&nbsp; There are women in Kathmandu who are international feminists, and one of them when asked about her work replied, “Google me.”&nbsp; But the Tharu women of Dang and other women struggling anonymously every day for their rights are the real feminists of this land. They are not interested in fame or publicity, that is not why they are fighting. Their stories are undocumented and unheard, and you cannot find them in a Google search. &nbsp;&nbsp; Nisha Rai is a journalist interested in Gender Equality &amp; Social Inclusion, Federalism and Health &amp; Education. She was formerly with BBC Media Action. The Public Life of Women: A Feminist Memory Project In English and Nepali photo.circle Nepal Picture Library, 2023 558 pages Rs1,200 (Nepal); &nbsp;INR1,500 (South Asia); &nbsp; $35 (Rest of the World) ISBN 9789937141123

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The Karjahi Movement

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/636515029c7e80680e02c187jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>The publication in 1962 of Rachel Carson’s book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Silent-Spring-Rachel-Carson/dp/0618249060" target="blank">Silent Spring</a> drew public attention to how pesticides had killed much of North America’s songbirds. The book launched an international environmental movement.A similar silence has descended upon Kathmandu Valley, as once ubiquitous birds like sparrows and mynahs decline. And ornithologists who have studied this trend say that in Nepal, too, it is the <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/nation/pesticide-laced-vegetables-continue-to-poison,1555" target="blank">rampant use of pesticides</a> that is mainly to blame.“There is a direct correlation between the increase in pesticide use and the decrease in the number of <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4568#.Wo6JEINubIU" target="blank">birds</a> in a neighbourhood,” explains Jyotendra Thakuri of Bird Conservation Nepal (BCN).Pesticides kill insects on which urban birds depend on for food. But there are also other factors at play: traditional brick houses in which sparrows found holes to nest are giving way to concrete façades. Air is being replaced by exhaust fumes. There are few open spaces and vegetation left for the birds.BCN has been conducting urban bird monitoring in Kathmandu Valley and has counted ever-lower numbers of birds each time. Other common birds like drongo, <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7004#.Wo6JB4NubIU" target="blank">egrets</a>, red-vented bulbul, owls and even fruit bats are equally hard to find.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/636515049c7e80680e02c188jpeg.jpg" alt="">The house sparrow, once a bird common in every continent except Antarctica, had to be included in the IUCN list of threatened species in 2002 in the UK after a sudden decline in its population.In India, there has been as much as 90% decline in sparrow populations in several states. There, bird experts have conducted research to find that sparrows are scarcer near mobile phone towers. They believe the electromagnetic radiation repels sparrows and other urban birdlife.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/636515079c7e80680e02c189jpeg.jpg" alt="">“As in India, mobile phone towers could also be one of the reasons sparrows are disappearing in Kathmandu,” says Vimal Thapa of BCN.Crows are the other reason for disappearing sparrows as ravens dominate urban ecology and attack young ones of other bird species. Additionally, crows have proliferated because of the Valley’s open garbage and improper management of wastewater.Since 2010, World Sparrow Day is being observed on 20 March, and this year BCN will be marking the day by urging people to take part in an hour-long sparrow-spotting event in their neighbourhoods in order to spread awareness about their declining numbers.Ornithologist Hem Sagar Baral explains that while sparrows are a worry, there are hundreds of other common urban birds whose populations have declined in recent years, including the drongo, shrike, owls, mynahs and magpie robins.“Birds deserting our towns and urban areas don’t only indicate their dwindling population,” added Thakuri. “It also means the environment we live in isn’t conducive for human beings either.”<hr/>Predator protector<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/636515089c7e80680e02c18ajpeg.jpg" alt="">Sanjay MitraWhen the boys found <a href="http://www.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2018/02/16/mongolian-raptor-in-nepal/" target="blank">an eagle stranded</a> in a field in Rautahat district one night last week, they thought they would take the bird home as a pet. But they noticed that it had an electronic device strapped to its back with wires sticking out, and notified the police.The bird was taken to the District Forest Office where officials found it had been fitted with a satellite tracking device and a ring tag. Nepal’s foremost ornithologist Hem Sagar Baral did some investigation, and found out that the eagle had been ringed as a part of a research project involving Korean and Mongolian conservationists studying the migratory routes of raptors between Central Asia and Africa.Steppe Eagles usually migrate from Mongolia across the Himalaya to Nepal and the Subcontinent and the Arabian Peninsula every winter, flying back in summer to breed in Siberia, Korea and Mongolia. It doesn't fly at night and travels individually. In fact, the species was first described to science from Nepal itself by British resident Brian Houghton Hodgson in 1833 and given its scientific name Aquila nipalensis.This particular eagle was chosen while it was a fledgling in the summer of 2016 and strapped with equipment including a Korean SIM card with battery and solar panel, and an aluminum alloy ring with the inscription: oxnith.lab, nst.biol,mongolia 271. After few days it was set free and it was tracked by satellite telemetry as it flew south across China, over Tibet and the Nepal Himalaya to spend the winter in the Bangladesh and returned to Mongolia in spring last year.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/6365150a9c7e80680e02c18bjpeg.jpg" alt="">This year, the eagle seemed to have made the same trip along the same route and was on its way back to Mongolia when it landed in Rautahat district in southern Nepal last week. Baral said the bird looked sick, and explained that it could have been incapacitated by fatigue, bad weather or could have fed on carrion containing the banned anti-inflammatory veterinary drug, diclofenac, which is lethal to raptors.“The eagle is recovering at the Central Zoo and once it is ready, we will let it continue its journey to Mongolia,” Baral told Nepali Times.The most plausible explanation for the grounding of the Mongolian Steppe Eagle in Nepal is that it could have fed on diclofenac-laced carcass.<a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17991#.Wo6JOINubIU" target="blank"> Over 90% of the vultures and eagles in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh</a> and Nepal were killed by the drug in the last 20 years. Although the drug <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13131#.Wo6JQoNubIU" target="blank">was subsequently banned</a> throughout the region in 2006, Baral says there are other nonsteroidal drugs still being used on livestock that harm vultures and eagles.Bird Conservation Nepal (BCN) has set up a chain of seven ‘<a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/vulture-restaurant,1163" target="blank">vulture restaurants</a>’ across the Tarai and mid-hills in an effort to provide the birds of prey with uncontaminated meat.Jyotendra Thakuri of BCN says that areas with strong community conservation programs in Nepal have seen vulture and eagle populations either stabilising or rising in numbers.<hr/>Frequent fliers<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/6365150c9c7e80680e02c18cjpeg.jpg" alt="">Jyotendra Thakuri<a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/nation/proposed-change-to-lumbini-masterplan-threat-to-Sarus,4090" target="blank">Loss of wetlands</a>, pesticide use and hunting along migratory routes have led to a sharp drop in the number of <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2341#.Wo6PUoNubIU" target="blank">birds wintering in Nepal</a>, an avian census last month has confirmed.The census was carried out 6-22 January in Kosi Tappu, Chitwan, Bardia and 50 other protected water bodies and lakes across Nepal. <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/bird-census,4194" target="blank">Preliminary data shows a decline</a> in both the number of water birds as well as the variety species spotted (see graph below).“Each one of the water dependent bird species, both indigenous and migratory, is declining steadily in Nepal,” ornithologist Hem Sagar Baral said. “In fact, one in every five birds in Nepal is listed as a threatened species, compared to one in every eight globally.”<a href="https://imgur.com/o4WkRpW" target="blank"><img title="source: imgur.com" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/6365150e9c7e80680e02c18djpeg.jpg" align="middle"></a>Nepal is home to 888 species of birds, of which some 212 are migratory and 168 of them are on nationally threatened list.  <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921" target="blank">Migratory birds</a> use Nepal’s lakes and rivers as stopovers on their traditional migratory routes.“Nepal is an important stopover for many species, some birds stay on, while others fly on to India, Sri Lanka and Africa,” said Vimal Rimal of Bird Conservation Nepal (BCN). “Numerous migratory species also stop in Nepal when returning north.”The Steppe Eagles that was found in Saptari last week was on its flight back to Mongolia probably after wintering in Bangladesh. The Himalaya is not a barrier for the raptors, water fowls and cranes as they navigate with inbuilt magnetic sensors along traditional migratory routes. Their lungs and muscles have adapted to flying up to 7,000m.<a href="https://imgur.com/Wg3vdLa" target="blank"><img title="source: imgur.com" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221104141132/636515119c7e80680e02c18ejpeg.jpg"></a>Scientists are now using satellite telemetry to collect information on migration timing, speed of flight, route and stopovers along the Central Asian Flyway which traverses the Himalayan mountains. Data show that waterfowls use three main corridors across Nepal to migrate between Mongolia through Tibet to India: across western Nepal, over Chitwan and through the Kosi Valley.Bar-headed geese, for instance, have been tracked by satellite on overnight flights lasting more than 18 hours from Rajasthan over western Nepal to lakes in Tibet. They stay close to the terrain to take advantage of updrafts, and then when they need to go over mountains ride the jet stream to push them more rapidly to their destination. They undertake return journeys in autumn before the jet stream resumes so they don't have headwind. Ruddy shelducks also migrate to and from the Kosi Tappu sanctuary up the river to the Tibetan plateau and further northward towards Siberia.However, all major birding sites like Kosi Tappu, Chitwan, Pokhara, Taudaha, Shuklaphanta, Bardia and Ghodaghodi have recorded fewer sightings in the recent years, both in winter and summer. Migratory bird species common to Nepal until early 2000s like Eurasian curlew, Pallas’s fish eagle, Caspian tern, Baer’s pochard, Eurasian spoonbill and Hodgson's bushchat (left) have not been sighted here since the turn of the century, whereas some residents birds have now become visitors.   Until a decade ago, Taudaha used to see up to 2,000 birds in a year, many of them migratory water birds. But this winter the bird count showed less than 150 individuals. Locals lining the perimeter of the lake with concrete to make it a picnic spot could be one reason for the decline.Said Jyotendra Thakuri of BCN: “Habitat loss, use of agro-chemicals, pollution, climate change and haphazard urbanisation are the contributing factors for the decline and loss of many bird species in Nepal.”

Kathmandu's silent spring

It was pure drama: the political transition in Madhes unfolded by the dawn’s early light. At around 4AM on Monday, Province Head Sumitra Subedi Bhandari quietly departed Janakpur saying she was headed to Kathmandu for health reasons.&nbsp;
Outgoing Chief Minister Jitendra Sonal, whose coalition had begun to unravel, even saw her off, asking supporters to clear the road for her motorcade.
But an hour later, instead of continuing on to the capital, Bhandari stopped in Bardibas on the East-West Highway. There, as the sun started rising over the misty plains, she administered the oath of office to Saroj Kumar Yadav of the CPN-UML, invoking Article 168(3) of the Constitution.&nbsp;
Bhandari is also a member of the CPN-UML. The provision she invoked is typically used only after coalitions fail under Article 168(2), and the timing and location of the swearing-in have since drawn scrutiny.
Bhandari was subsequently relieved of her duties, and former National Planning Commission member Surendra Labh Karna was sworn in as the new Madhes province head on Tuesday.
Sonal had formed his government barely a month ago, with the backing of 56 provincial lawmakers but it became evident he would not secure the 54 votes needed to survive a confidence motion.&nbsp;
Several lawmakers in his coalition publicly signalled they would abstain. Still, the seven-party alliance that opposed Yadav’s appointment argues that the Province Head, who is the highest constitutional rank in the provincial structure, acted prematurely and under pressure from central UML party command.&nbsp;
A coalition of seven parties, including the Nepali Congress (NC), had been urging the Province Head to invite them to form a new government under Article 168(2). At the same time, the UML, which had been holding demonstrations outside the Province Head’s office in Janakpur, was calling for the formation of a minority government under Article 168(3).
The alliance of the seven parties that included the NC and Maoist Centre took to the streets. By mid-morning, protests had escalated outside Madhes Bhawan with cadre vandalising both the Chief Minister’s office and the Province Head’s office.
This was the third government in Madhes to fall since the 2022 provincial elections, and it follows a similar pattern. The previous Chief Minister Satish Kumar Singh of the Janamat Party, resigned before a scheduled confidence vote after losing the support of his own party and others including NC and LSP.&nbsp;
His resignation unfolded amid nationwide GenZ protests against corruption, demanding accountability and reform. The recurring instability points to a structural tension in Nepal’s federalism.&nbsp;
Provincial politics remain closely tied to alliances shaped in Kathmandu. The withdrawal of support by parties like the NC and Maoist Centre in provinces often reflects national-level calculations rather than provincial priorities.
As a result, the Provincial Assembly is repeatedly consumed by survival of the coalition instead of governance. Development work stalls. Budget execution slows. Public frustration grows. In a province that was at the forefront of the movement for federalism to counter what is seen as neglect, apathy and discrimination by Kathmandu, the sense that the system may not delivering on its promise is becoming increasingly pronounced.
If federalism is to be strengthened, provincial governments must be able to function with a degree of autonomy that currently exists more in principle than in practice. Otherwise, the perception that federalism is costly, unstable, and ineffective will continue to expand, providing fertile ground for anti-federal sentiment that is already gaining traction.
Earlier examples such as the NC General Secretary Bishwo Prakash Sharma in January calling for a new government in Madhes led by his party demonstrates how the central party leadership deliberately intervenes in provincial affairs. His remarks came during campaigns for bi-elections in Madhes when former CM Singh had been in office for six months only.&nbsp;
Likewise, in early June 2024, the federal coalition in Kathmandu shifted from a Maoist Centre and NC to form a new alliance between the NC &nbsp;and the UML. Within a day, coalition negotiations in Madhes changed to mirror this.
UML leaders publicly stated: “The issues at the federal and provincial levels will be resolved together.” This indicated that the realignment in Madhes followed national party decisions rather than provincial deliberation.
The events that unfolded in Madhes are a reminder that federalism in Nepal is still in transition, and that its success depends on political actors honouring the constitutional framework.

Chronic instability in the Madhes

New and old, businessmen and former diplomats, engineers and academics — they have all been trooping to the Election Commission to register political parties ahead of the Sunday deadline.
Till press time Thursday, five new parties had been registered and 21 new parties were in the process of applying. Behind the scenes, new parties are head-hunting, well-known figures are shopping for parties to join, while older parties are splitting or uniting to form new united parties.
“It is reason for optimism that people are enthused to form new parties,” notes political analyst Indra Adhikari. But, she adds, this does not mean that despite the celebrity status they will win votes and succeed in politics.
The outlier in all this are the Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, which are still licking the wounds after being swept out of power by the GenZ protests in September. Neither are too keen on elections because of the prospect of losing badly.
Former prime minister K P Oli is the most recalcitrant, and seems to want to scuttle elections so Parliament will be reinstated. After announcing that he was stepping down, the NC’s Sher Bahadur Deuba has had a change of heart in Singapore and is gunning to restore Parliament.
Neither party and their leaders have shown any remorse for the 8 September massacre, or understood the outrage on the streets against their decades-long incompetence and corruption. &nbsp;
Among those registering parties are various GenZ youth groups and family members of those killed during the September protests. Notable among the new parties certified this week was Gatishil Loktantrik Party (गतिलो) backed by Buddha Air founder Birendra Basnet and led by sociologist Dinesh Prasai. Dharan Mayor Harka Sampang’s Shram Sanskriti Party is also registered.
Energy and Infrastructure Minister in the interim government Kulman Ghising has backed the Ujyalo Nepal with former secretary Anup Kumar Upadhyaya as its chair. Ghising has been playing coy about his political ambitions, and is planning to resign from his cabinet post before elections.&nbsp;
Ghising had been talking to Rabi Lamichhane’s RSP about joining, but that negotiation failed. Former RSP lawmaker Sumana Shrestha was supposed to join Ghising, but pulled out following Ghising’s reluctance to resign from government.
Ghising has much public support because he is credited with ending power cuts as head of the Nepal Electricity Authority, but is now getting flak for being unwilling to give up his ministerial portfolios while still wanting to contest elections. &nbsp;
Ujyalo has hit other snags. GenZ activist Tashi Lhazom, who was considered for a Cabinet position last month but was dropped by Prime Minister Sushila Karki, has said she is not in Ujyalo despite being listed as a Central Committee member. Another member has said that he will not be a part of Ujyalo due its “a lack of political culture”.
Even though Nepalis from across backgrounds and professions are eager to participate in the country’s new political landscape, there are doubts about the structure of their parties, ideology and electoral platforms.&nbsp;
Hurriedly set up parties without a shared philosophy have less chance of political influence and longevity. For example, the RSP was formed just months before the 2022 polls to become the fourth-largest party in Parliament, has lost its momentum, and its leader is in jail.
“Parties like the RSP, which did some positive work after being elected, have still not been able to establish a clear ideological roadmap or organisational structure,” Adhikari says. &nbsp;“It is easy to form parties, the real work goes into building an institution, which is the hard part”
Meanwhile, despite expectations of increased and inclusive youth participation not just at the polling booths but also on the ballot, only a few GenZ-led parties are applying at the Election Commission. They include the Rastriya Pariwartan Party and the Rastriya GenZ Party Nepal. Most other parties are led by men in their 40s, even in their 70s.&nbsp;
Analysts note that despite hopes of young blood in politics, Nepalis are still inclined to trust those with experience, as evidenced by GenZ’s choice of Sushila Karki to succeed KP Oli as Prime Minister after the September protests.&nbsp;
“So it will be difficult for young Nepalis without prior political experience to lead parties and it will be even more difficult for them to cultivate enough public trust to get votes,” says Adhikari.&nbsp;
Then there are the old political players, who have been breaking up and making up new alliances. Resham Chaudhary quit his Nagarik Unmukti Party and registered a new one.
Last week, Puspha Kamal Dahal’s Maoist Centre, and Madhav Kumar Nepal’s Unified Socialists merged along with smaller leftist parties to form the Nepali Communist Party (NCP). Disgruntled former UML members like Bhim Rawal have also joined the NCP. On the other hand, Janardan Sharma has fallen out with Dahal and is going his own way.&nbsp;
Even though the NC, UML and NCP show little sign that they have learnt their lesson and will be turning a new leaf, they still have the party organisation and vote banks to fall back on at election time in the runup to 5 March. &nbsp;
Says Adhikari: “At the end of the day, Nepali society remains hyper-partisan. And although the newly-formed parties and their popular candidates may give older leaders a run for their money, established parties will still benefit from their solid vote base.”

Party Time

You do not have to be a climate expert or atmospheric pandit to claim that Nepal is not pulling its weight on the grand narratives of the Anthropocene. As a heavily populated ‘country-on-an-incline’ from the Tarai to the Himalaya, Nepal is a thermometer of global warming.&nbsp; Its people are human witnesses to environmental and climate breakdown, but remain mute observers to the unfolding crises. Nepal should be leading the pack at the COP30 climate conference in Belém, backed by science and lived experience. But it is doubtful that two of the most crucial climate-related subjects central to the culture, economies and human wellbeing in the Himalaya and South Asia will be discussed at the summit that started this week in Brazil.&nbsp; The first topic that should be raised at COP is Black Carbon or the South Asian Brown Cloud, made up of tiny suspended particles in the air. This is not just a transboundary health hazard, there is now enough science to make the case that Himalayan snowmelt is accelerated significantly by the albedo effect that makes ice melt faster because of reduced reflectivity. But Kathmandu has not been able to make governments near and far listen. In 2014, I wrote a short piece published in Outlook magazine explaining why India’s Prime Minister Modi looking northward from a SAARC Summit retreat in Dhulikhel was unable to see the Jugal Himal range barely 30km away. His view was obscured by the pollution layer arriving from as far away as Lahore with substantial contribution from the Delhi region. That summit itself was an opportunity for Nepal to inform the Indian and Pakistani prime ministers that much of the haze, smog, dust and soot that settles on our slopes was generated in Sindh, Punjab, Punjab, Haryana, Western UP and Delhi NCR, carried by prevailing westerly winds up to the Himalaya. The forest fires within Nepal as well as Kathmandu Valley’s pollution contribute to the haze, but the shroud that suffocates the region through autumn, winter and spring is mostly transnational. Last year, these anthropogenic fine aerosols actually curled over the Bay of Bengal and invaded the airspace of Sri Lanka and Maldives.&nbsp; Even as the soot particles accelerate glacial melt and impact everything from infrastructure to public health, the most visible effect is on tourism. Nepal’s economic future is based on tourism, and much of this relies on being able to see the snow mountains. Why should travellers go to Pokhara if they cannot see the Annapurnas?&nbsp; Hoteliers in Nagarkot have started a campaign: ‘Visit Nagarkot 2025: More than Sunrise and Sunset’. While clever, the slogan is a response to the acclaimed Himalayan vista from Everest to the Annapurnas from the hill station, now obscured by the brown curtain of haze for most of the year. As the bellwether country of South Asia when it comes to the climate crisis, Nepal must build diplomatic confidence to reach out to the governments of Pakistan and India even in their present state of antagonism. Kathmandu must launch ‘haze diplomacy’ for its own sake and for the region.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113001132_16c9941da7b31c1d4683c06dc0f8a572803240701270606848851f915140329c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251113001132_16c9941da7b31c1d4683c06dc0f8a572803240701270606848851f915140329c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1005" height="695" loading="lazy" alt="permafrost"> </figure>  IMPERMANENT FROST&nbsp; Permafrost is understood mostly as a phenomenon of the Arctic, Antarctica, Siberia and Alaska. Mountains elsewhere did not figure, though it was natural for the ground to freeze all year round at high altitudes.&nbsp; In the Himalaya, besides the snowfields and glaciers, frozen moisture binds rocks and stabilises slopes. But global warming is melting the permafrost that used to cement mountain flanks, including boulders, sand and scree slopes. Some of the debris (गेग्रान) did tumble down, but much of it remained entombed on high, thanks to permafrost. Pokhara Valley and the Seti River reaching all the way up to the base of the Annapurnas, is the best place to observe this dance of geology between gravity and the mountain range. Rubble from the collapse about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-the-seti-disaster">700 years ago of paleo-Annapurna IV </a>created the sediment field on which Pokhara is situated today. However, much of the debris from the crumbled mountain is still lodged up on and around Annapurna IV, but the binding is loosening with the warming earth. A <a href="https://www.icimod.org/event/analysing-permafrost-in-the-hindu-kush-himalaya-using-open-access-tools/">2024 report by the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD)</a> indicates that global warming is thawing the permafrost across High Asia. Among the unintended consequences of climate breakdown is that mountains and moraines are collapsing, with <a href="https://www.icimod.org/press-release/everest-region-a-hotspot-of-cryosphere-linked-hazards-icimods-new-study-on-nepals-2024-thame-flood-confirms/">cascading impact</a> that includes glacial lake outburst floods, reduced groundwater recharge as well as winter flow in the Ganga, Indus and Brahmaputra. No one has calculated the total volume of rubble locked in by permafrost across the Himalaya. Despite the increased risk, there is accelerated construction of highways, hydropower projects, housing and tourism infrastructure across the Himalaya. While the COP conferences discuss rising oceans and receding glaciers (without doing much about it), Himalayan permafrost has been melting unremarked. In their path-breaking September 2024 <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-not-so-permanent-frost">article in Nepali Times</a>, Wilfried Haeberli and Alton C Byers argued that the extreme events of the past few years that led to mountain and moraine collapses, unleashing destructive debris flows downstream, were the result of melting permafrost. Haeberli and Byers suggest that the avalanches and floods including those of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Anatom-of-a-Himalayan-tsunami,1330">Seti (2012)</a>, <a href="https://www.icimod.org/article/understanding-the-chamoli-flood-cause-process-impacts-and-context-of-rapid-infrastructure-development/">Chamoli (2021)</a>, Birendra Tal (2023), <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2772883825000251">Sikkim (2023)</a>, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/climate-breakdown-linked-to-thame-flood">Thame (2024)</a>, <a href="https://himat.org/publication/byers-rockfall-induced-2019/">Barun (2017)</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/drones-to-the-rescue-in-melamchi">Melamchi (2021)</a> were the result of the thawing of frozen ground. They say that the collapse of the lateral moraine on the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sikkim-flood-is-warning-to-nepal">South Lhonak glacial lake</a> in Sikkim on 4 October 2023 that swept away more than 100 people, destroyed the $1 billion Chungthang Dam as well as houses, roads and farms far downstream, was also caused by cloudburst on a lateral moraine that had lost its permafrost adhesive. There will be permafrost sceptics, as there have been climate change deniers. But it is time to wake up to the reality that the Himalayan peaks are no longer the immutable sentinels as regarded by humanity since prehistoric times.&nbsp; Modern society has pumped so much greenhouse gas into the atmosphere that now even the mountains are giving up. And we have not even begun to think about the bacteria and viruses locked away in the permafrost up the slope.&nbsp; Loss of permafrost adds to the cumulative impact of climate breakdown, including extreme weather events, drought and cloudbursts, heat waves in the plains affecting lives and livelihoods, creating mass migration, social unrest, and upending politics and geopolitics. The government and polity of Nepal have a duty to themselves and the larger humanity to wake up to the climate breakdown. The Sagarmatha Sambaad conclave organised by the Government in May failed to emerge as a pulpit for global warming and associated ills. Our political class, bureaucracy and academia should make up for lost opportunities to rise to the occasion and take the lead.&nbsp; Kanak Mani Dixit is writer, commentator and founding editor of Himal Southasian.

Climate of tragedy and apathy

The very first frame in The Lama’s Son starts with a vision of Shangrila and the quest of a mythical utopia in the Himalaya when the rest of the world is crumbling away. It is also the personal search of filmmaker Kesang Tseten, but what he finds there are adherents of the Bon Po faith clinging to the last remnants of a culture as it erodes away like the sandstone cliffs of Mustang. “It was while editing the documentary that the story became distilled: how does what we see in the high Himalaya relate to the notion of the Shangrila idyll that especially the West ascribed to them,” asked Tseten during a recent trip to Kathmandu from Berne where he now lives. He continued: “Often and perhaps rightly criticised as an orientalist construct, I wondered if there was any basis at all to the Shangrila notion, and I hung the film on that idea.”&nbsp; Tseten takes us to the vast visas of Mustang and Dolpo, a landscape of his Tibetan ancestors. This is as much an intimate documentation of families on Nepal’s Himalayan rimland torn between remoteness and globalness as it is about Tseten’s own quest for rootedness.&nbsp; We start from Lubra, a 3,000m village in Mustang the 15 households of which follow the Bon faith. Lama Tsultrim is from a 900-year-old lineage of the animist faith and an exponent of the tradition that is slowly being subsumed first by Buddhism and now modernism. For Tseten, the material is familiar, and not at all exotic as it is for non-Nepalis and indeed for many urban Nepalis. Bon, founded in Tibet, predates Buddhism, but over time, the two religions have come to resemble each other.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113111156_ecf8148fbaa17b93c81ddfa3ed244bed266e3ef6af0cd5e6ca7b64c181b97d45.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251113111156_ecf8148fbaa17b93c81ddfa3ed244bed266e3ef6af0cd5e6ca7b64c181b97d45" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="The periphery cannot hold NT"> </figure>  ‘Both believe in karma, rebirth, and that humans can become enlightened. Nature and spirits are predominant in Bon, and rituals are what keep them benign and alight,’ says Tseten, who rarely narrates in his documentaries. “This is not really a personal film as such, but it has a point of view,” Tseten said. “I decided to have a voice-over on this one and cast my presence in the film.”&nbsp; Lubra's Lama Tsultrim is called upon to perform rituals from Kagbeni and other villages, but there is no one to continue the tradition after him, which is passed from father to son. Lama Tsultrim’s son (hence the title of the film) is a sushi chef in New York and has been gone for 20 years. “The Lama is like a setting sun, his son should come back and take over his father’s responsibilities,” says a local youngster chatting with friends. “If he dies tomorrow, where do we go? We can’t just light butter lamps ourselves to the gods.” It is not only the Lama’s son who has left. The village is nearly empty, and more are planning to leave. One of them is Chimi, a teacher who will be joining her fiancé who is an Uber driver in New York. Her brother is already in Hong Kong. In Lo Manthang a local is back home for a three-month vacation after being in New York for 12 years. A shopkeeper was in Japan for several years, and has returned. “Everything has changed, our language, our tsampa, our religion. We used to work and live together, now the children live separately,” says a middle-aged woman. “There are roads now, and vehicles stop right outside our house, but what’s the point? No one stays home.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113111156_47b4c4984fa33e42791b16dba1f078aaa7f9d8bd51ca3bfd5415b436c3a0bf2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251113111156_47b4c4984fa33e42791b16dba1f078aaa7f9d8bd51ca3bfd5415b436c3a0bf2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="The periphery cannot hold NT"> </figure>  Like most of Tseten’s films, The Lama’s Son is an honest documentation of a place and people whose lifestyle, culture and heritage cling precariously to the past. In Dri village we come across local women filling their buckets with water. Tseten asks them why the village is so empty: “Where is everyone?” The women reply that they are “here, there and everywhere”. Then it is their turn to ask Tseten about where he lives and what he is doing in their village. Migration is a recurring theme in Tseten’s documentaries from We Corner People, In Search of the Riyal, or Saving Dolma. His previous film Diversity Plaza documented the lives of Nepali and Tibetan emigrants in Jackson Heights in the borough of Queens in New York.&nbsp; Diversity Plaza was shown at DOC NYC in 2023, and The Lama’s Son will be one of only two Asian films shown next week at one of the biggest documentary film festivals in the world.&nbsp; “The Lama’s Son is not loud, not attention grabbing but intimate, so I was surprised they chose a quiet film for a big, flashy event,” Tseten told us. In Lama’s Son, we also see how climate breakdown is impacting Nepal’s trans-Himalayan regions. Lama Tsultrim shows us the aftermath of a recent glacial flood that swept away houses and fields. The debris-covered farms are as hard as cement.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113111156_c82126a3c2dc4577b99beb9bef20aafa16f532a3f41e59caea17c93914c59fff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251113111156_c82126a3c2dc4577b99beb9bef20aafa16f532a3f41e59caea17c93914c59fff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="The periphery cannot hold NT"> </figure>  The nearby village of Dhey at 3,900m is a high and dry cold desert. Farmers get one crop in a year, but the springs have gone dry and there is no snow in winter. So they are relocating to New Dhey, closer to the road. We follow Kesang Tseten to Samling in Dolpo, which at 4,200m is another Bon village. Locals are preparing for the Walchu festival in which Lama Sherrab carries out elaborate rituals to appease spirits that can turn malevolent. But unlike Lama Tsultrim in Lubra, Lama Sherrab has a community of lamas to help him, including two sons, one of whom will eventually take on his role. We move on to the adjacent village of Bicher and listen in as locals talk about how despite being dirt poor, they thrive in scarcity and are resilient. “We wear sheepskin, eat stew and yak meat, and drink wine. But we are very poor, we have nothing. Look at how dirty our clothes are. We may be dirty, but we have few illnesses,” says one. But even here in Upper Dolpo, a week’s walk from the nearest road, things are changing. There are mobile phones, readymade clothes and instant noodles.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113111156_d1472165cfa9ffa6edbf72de59167e8cbddcc2bf4a7928f7830e099966259a78.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251113111156_d1472165cfa9ffa6edbf72de59167e8cbddcc2bf4a7928f7830e099966259a78" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="The periphery cannot hold NT"> </figure>  At the Walchu ritual, Tseten watches men and women with hand-woven blankets and down jackets sing and dance after the main ceremony. He narrates: “Bon is sustained by a way of life that fosters a fine but fragile balance between nature and people, where humans come before gods. This is what lies at the heart of Shangrila if there is such a thing.” The film then takes us half-way around the world to a Bon centre in New York, but (spoiler alert) the eponymous Lama’s son never appears. He did not want to be filmed, but it makes for a more powerful portrayal of the life of emigrants forever trapped between two worlds. “Bon villages may be in danger, but the Bon has spread widely across the world,” narrates Tseten, a director who likes to call his storytelling ethnographic, and avoids coming to an apt conclusion. Lama Sherrab’s words after the Walchu ritual is a perfect segue:&nbsp; “Whether you say om mani padme hum (in Buddhism) or matri mi yu (in Bon) they are the same. When you go up, it’s the same heavenly realm. If you go down, it’s still the lord of death who awaits. There isn’t a separate heaven and hell for Buddhists and Bon, it has to be the same for both.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312110_82817ef48840bb6baa1732d5b0b90c90ead2f9bd9eb0c289940fa61d8058de8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025111312110_82817ef48840bb6baa1732d5b0b90c90ead2f9bd9eb0c289940fa61d8058de8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="7087" height="10004" loading="lazy" alt="The Lama's Son NT"> </figure>  The Lama’s Son by Kesang Tseten, 2025 Shunyata Films To be screened at DOC NYC 16 November at 2:05PM local time, Online: 17-30 November Details <a href="https://www.docnyc.net/film/the-lamas-son/">here</a>.

urban-birds

The Karjahi Movement

Kathmandu's silent spring

Chronic instability in the Madhes

Party Time

Climate of tragedy and apathy

The periphery cannot hold