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Following my craze for angling and having taken a crack at Sun Koshi, Tama Koshi, Tamur, and Arun in east Nepal, way back in 2010, I set my sights on the formidable Karnali River in far-west Nepal—my first ever to the mighty river. Karnali outstrips other significant rivers in Nepal as the longest (507 km), fed by the glacial waters of the sacred Mount Kailash in southwestern Tibet. The massive river then cuts across the Chure hills (the Siwalik range) to our great Terai plains and into India as Ghagra. The big day arrived, and I finally set off solo to Nepalgunj, a 55-minute flight from Kathmandu, with an array of fishing rods, a bag crammed with tackle—and soaring expectations, in quest of the most coveted gamefish, Golden Mahseer. I planned to set my base in Thakurdwara, Bardiya National Park, and try my luck fishing the Babai River first. The ultimate assault would be the magnificent Karnali at Chisapani. Following a filling lunch of dal-bhat at my friend Ashok's, he drove me in his pick-up truck to Thakurdwara, 75 km from Nepalgunj, on the Mahendra East-West Highway. He suggested I take his motorbike along, as hired vehicles in Thakurdwara were cumbersome to find and expensive. I jumped at his offer. My heart sank when I looked at the bike. “No worries, Ravi. Don’t go for its shabby look. It works just fine and won't let you down,” he said. With the bike hoisted aboard the pick-up, we drove off. After Man Khola (river), we left Banke District behind and entered Bardiya District. Shortly, dense mixed hardwood forest with towering Sal trees converged on both sides. Before long, we were motoring down the Bardiya National Park territory. Next, we took a fork at a roadside shanty town called Ambassa and, navigating past a bucking ride on a dirt road, arrived at Thakurdwara, a sleepy town those days. The BJC (Bardia Jungle Cottage), I checked in, was just a stone’s throw away from the Bardia National Park entrance.The quaint resort featured small mud, thatch, and bamboo cottages with cool and cozy rooms. “No cement, not a single brick was used to build them and the design is exclusively a Tharu (an indigenous ethnic community) concept,” said Khadka, the owner; thatch grass (khar) completed the roofs. Following some refreshments, my friend soon left for Nepalgunj, and I enjoyed the temperate evening, helped by a breeze in the delightful garden chatting with Mr. Khadka. Despite a restless night, with nocturnal nightjars calling out their spooky chuk, chuk, I got up early the next morning for the day's angling. I left for the Babai River with my guide Sitaram Chaudhary, a local Tharu, riding pillion on the motorbike. The highway appeared near-deserted save for a bus or a truck roaring past. We zoomed past flitting sightings of langur monkeys and an occasional herd of chital deer by the wooded roadside. At one spot, a peafowl frightened the living daylights out of me as it tore across the road to cross—too close for comfort. After a one-half hour, we arrived at the Babai River bridge. I peered down the bridge, which also served as an irrigation weir, and to my excitement, spotted a gharial and a mugger crocodile lazing on the river’s sandy banks. The next sight made my mind boggle. A huge gharial with gaping jaws stalked patiently on a school of tiny fish. The fishlings were bounding over the incline of the sluice gate, trying futilely to slither up the slippery slope, only to drop back into the water—and some unfortunate ones into the gaping jaws. Whoa, an ingenious gimmick! We parked the bike at the park gate and walked along a forest path through thick woods with tall grasses and shrubs. The jungle was still except for the rustling sound that our feet made on dry fallen leaves. A shrill note of a peafowl sounded nearby, followed by others in a chorus. Then a spooked chital stag belled close at hand. After a half hour, we descended to the river, our fishing spot for the day. I lost no time and cast my first rod baited with a live small fish Choudhary had netted by the banks and let the rod rest. With a second rod, I began my cast- and-retrieve with a metal lure. With no shade, the day turned scorching with stifling heat as the sun bore down on us relentlessly, but regardless, I kept hurling my lure like clockwork. At two in the afternoon, Choudhary reminded me we had to have lunch. Starved, as we munched on our packed lunch of egg-fried rice and cucumber salad, I kept a wary eye on the tip of my first rod, on my toes to pounce at the slightest jiggle. After lunch, I renewed my casts as the baited rod languished—no bite. After five o’clock, as the shadows lengthened, I began to waver. Time was slipping away as park rules allowed us to remain only until sunset. Even Chaudhary looked baffled at the total blankness. At six, with the sun almost skimming the distant Babai waters, we called it a day and retreated through the forest to our parked motorbike. Albeit the sun was down, visibility remained in the gloaming. After cruising past a military check post, at Sainabar, I saw something from the corner of my eye hanging out at the forested roadside. Curious, I made a U-turn to check. My hunch came true. There stood the crowning glory of the jungle—wild elephants. The herd of 12 to 13 tuskers were foraging right next to the highway in a small clearing barely 30 ft. away. As elephant encounters are rare in the wild, I was thrilled to bits at the prospect of taking some snapshots at such close quarters. With the engine killed and both riders still straddled over the seat, I lunged for my camera slung over my back. Just then, my guide Sitaram Choudhary seated behind, fidgeted, and I lost my footing before I could train my lenses on the herd. The bike pitched and slid down to one side, but I held on with one foot from toppling over and heaved it straight up. Seeing us dawdle at the roadside so close, I noted some commotion amidst the herd. Then Sitaram panicked. “Sir, we best not stop here . . . it’s not safe at all. They can attack any moment; if they do, we have a fat chance of escaping,” he muttered into my ears. Guess what! As I hurriedly took a couple of shaky shots, the Alpha male, its ears pinned back, charged, and the rest of the herd followed suit. That triggered the warning bell in my head. I frantically kicked the starter pedal. Holy smoke! It failed! With my heart in my mouth, I furiously tried again—and thank heavens—on my third attempt, the engine sprang to life, and we shot forward, hell for leather. At some distance, I turned my head back to look. The storming tuskers had stopped after chasing us several paces but kept eyeing us suspiciously. Back at the lodge in Thakurdwara, my guide Sitaram without beating about the bush, said, “Sir, I was all set to ditch you and dash for the thick woods—the only way to flee when chased by wild elephants, had you stalled a little longer.” [email protected]  

Closed shutters, ‘shop on sale’ and ‘to-let’ notices are on display almost everywhere in Kathmandu. These scenes at business hubs to nooks and crannies point toward an economic crisis that started in the country after the coronavirus pandemic, only to deepen in the wake of international tensions like the Russia-Ukraine war. While traveling around Kathmandu for a field report, this journalist went a bit beyond those shut shops, ‘to-let’ and ‘shop on sale’ notices in a bid to fathom the crisis better. Be it a khaja ghar owner, a grocer, a readymade clothes seller, or a street vendor, everyone was waiting for customers. Many of them were playing games on their mobile phones, some were chatting with fellow shopkeepers, many were dozing off, while a few were calling passersby in a desperate bid to sell their goods. Many owners of these outlets have been finding it hard to pay the rent, leave alone make a decent profit. Delayed rental payment has become quite common. A message displayed on a landlord’s cellphone highlights the hardship thus: “We will probably transfer it (the rent) to your account this week. Sorry for the delay and thanks for your patience.” A brief conversation on the phone between the landlord and the tenant makes it amply clear that none of the tenants pay the rent on time. High price rise in the market Rameshwor Raam (60), a shoemaker from Sarlahi, Bagmati Municipality, has been making a living in this city for more than 30 years. Raam says eking out a living has never felt this difficult. Market prices have spiraled up, but customers need the services at earlier rates, he observes: People bargain hard…. They need to know that things have become really expensive. “Profit margins are quite low. But what option do I have other than carrying on with this profession despite a meager income? Plan for closure Shyam Shrestha (40) runs a Newari Khaja Ghar at Shantinagar. He says  daily income from his business has declined after the coronavirus pandemic. “Before the pandemic, the daily earning used to be about 10-15000 per day. Now, it has gone down to Rs 4,000/day,” Shrestha says. “The situation of the country is not good. A conducive investment climate is lacking. There’s no certainty that your investment will yield profit. Market prices have been skyrocketing making it difficult to run a business.” Shrestha, who returned home after working abroad for six years, thinks he won’t be able to give continuity to his business if the situation does not improve. What is the way out then? Heading abroad, once again. That’s what Shrestha has been thinking about, of late. “One has to take care of their family, educate their children, raise them properly…. These are not normal times…. With rising costs of living, things are getting really tough here.” Many people like Shrestha have returned to the country over the years, only to find the going tougher here. After working abroad for 14 years, Raju Dhakal (33) returned home with the aim of doing something within the country. He set up a retail shop—Jamuna Store—at Budhanilkantha. But the going has not been easy for Dhakal, what with the pandemic and the ensuing economic crisis. With the business hardly making any profit, the youth has made up his mind to sell the shop and move to Dubai. “I had planned to upgrade my shop as a wholesale store. But a grim economic situation has spoiled the plan. The business has gone down so much that I am finding it hard even to pay the rent,” Dhakal laments. ‘Shops on sale’ notices make it amply clear that a lot of shopkeepers in the city are trying hard to sell their shops for want of profit.

Om Rijal is a Nepali novelist and poet who is known for his folk literature. One of his well-known works is his novel ‘Hataru’, which sheds light on the native culture of the Karnali province of Nepal. Some of his other notable works are ‘Yarsagumba’, his poem collection, and ‘Rudai Bagdaicha Mugu Karnali’, a travel memoir. Babita Shrestha from ApEx talked to Rijal about what inspires him to write where he also talked about some of his works. What inspired you to become a writer? I was brought up in Dullu, Dailekh, which is well-known for its folk customs. I grew up hearing folklore, and stories. The Damai community sang folk tunes frequently which we still hear today. As a result, I have a strong connection to folk culture and tradition. I think that is the key source of inspiration. I wanted to incorporate the native culture I grew up witnessing in my writings. My love for participating in poetry recitals and contests dates back to my school days. My first poem, ‘Ghaita’ was published in one of the local newspapers which fueled my enthusiasm to write. Do you stick to a particular theme while writing?  I lean toward poetry, essays, and novels. I’ve also written two fiction novels in Nepali. In most of my works, I try to reflect on Nepali people, culture, and nature. I actually had this idea during my travels to various parts of Nepal, especially Mugu and Karnali. It gave me a new perspective on the diversity on Nepali people and culture. Hataru is one of your most celebrated works. Can you tell us a little about it? In contrast to my previous works, ‘Hataru’ was written with an ambition rather than just out of fascination. This book depicts the folk civilization of the Karnali province a century ago. In this book, a mother tells her child about how she overcame life’s adversities. It was a story I heard from an elderly woman in one of the villages in Karnali. Sunkesa, the protagonist, represents every Nepali woman who has managed to stand strong despite facing everyday difficulties and harassment. For me, Hataru is like a cultural archive of the Karnali province. I collected different stories from villages, experiences of men and women and the culture of that period. From Hataru, people can explore the treasures of Karnali, which, I think, has been neglected in Nepali literature. I stayed in Karnali for three and a half years. I realized that the Damai community has contributed the most to Karnali’s civilization. It took a lot of effort and time to understand every aspect of their culture and traditions. For instance, I spent 12 days trying to record just one song. It’s a song called ‘Karko’, that they sing during funerals. It was hard to document each and every aspect of their culture. But I enjoyed working on this book. Despite the many obstacles, it was worthwhile. What sort of feedback and criticism have you received for your works? I got a lot of recognition because of Hataru. It was written in Dailekh’s local language which used to be spoken a century ago. For instance, in that language, jiya means mother, bauju means father, bu means grandfather and buwa means grandmother. I have incorporated archaic language through all of my characters, which has been criticized by non-native readers. I agree that it’s not a smooth read for everyone. However, Haturu is a valuable resource for folk literature reference and research. What books do you recommend to aspirant readers? Literature that promotes culture is useful for readers in general and can be very helpful in understanding diversity and civilization. They provide in-depth knowledge that motivates you to refute unfavorable viewpoints. There are several amazing works that have promoted the language, history, and folk culture which remains at the top on my reading list. They are ‘Karna’ by Dr. Naba Raj Lamsal and ‘Sumnima’ by BP Koirala. I suggest they start by giving these books a read. Rijal’s picks Sumnima by BP Koirala ‘Sumnima’ is a novel written by BP Koirala. The book was published in 1969 by Sajha Prakashan and it tells the story of a Kirat woman and a Brahmin boy. Koirala wrote the book in eight days during his imprisonment at the Sundarijal jail. Karna by Dr Naba Raj Lamsal ‘Karna’ by Dr Naba Raj Lamsal is one of the books among his three epics—‘Karna’, ‘Dhara’, and ‘Agni’. The epic takes Karna, the sidelined Mahabharata hero, as the central character, and retells the story from a completely different viewpoint.

The three major parties—the Nepali Congress, CPN-UML and the CPN (Maoist Center)—have reached an understanding to get the Bill on Constitutional Council (CC) approved through the Parliament, apart from agreeing to form a special committee for inter-party discussions on the long-pending Truth and Reconciliation Bill. With the CC Bill stuck, the council tasked with making appointments in constitutional bodies, including the Supreme Court, has not been able to hold its meeting, stalling the process for the appointment of the Chief Justice. Monday’s meeting at Singhadurbar between Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal, Congress President Sher Bahadur Deuba and KP Sharma Oli, chair of the UML, the main opposition, delved into the CC Bill. The three leaders agreed to end the prevailing constitutional void by getting Parliament's approval for the Bill. Tabled in the House of Representatives, the TRC Bill has drawn fire from victims of the decade-long Maoist insurgency as well as the international community for its ‘lenient provisions intended to grant blanket amnesty in serious cases of human rights violations’ by seeking to get it approved through a fast-track method. Lawmakers from different parties have forwarded more than 30 proposals in the lower house seeking amendments in the TRC Bill and stalling the Dahal-led ruling alliance’s attempts to get a swift parliamentary nod. The UML in particular has been standing against the efforts to pass the Bill through fast track, demanding serious discussions on the legal instrument and incorporation of the conflict victims’ concerns. Prime Minister Dahal’s recent remarks about ‘shouldering partial responsibility’ for the insurgency-era killings had triggered protests, once again reminding the parties how sensitive the issue is. The top leaders have agreed to form a 15-member parliamentary special committee for facilitating discussions on the TRC Bill.