Nepal struggles to cope with the aftermath of the earthquake

Written on request. Originally published on April 29, 2015 in the British Medical Journal Blog, London, UK.

April 29, 2015 It was just another Saturday morning in Kathmandu city. Suddenly, the earth moved. “Earthquake!” I sounded the alarm as I gathered my family and clambered out of the house. Disoriented and panicked, my family and I ran out to a field adjacent to our community of about a hundred houses. I watched in disbelief as the houses lurched back and forth for about half a minute. By the time the earth stopped shaking, hundreds of people had gathered in the field in small groups. Many compound walls had collapsed and dust from collapsed structures rose from the ground. I regained some composure after learning that all of my family and neighbours had also escaped the quake physically unharmed. I turned on my cellphone’s FM radio to take account of millions of other countrymen. My heart filled with dread as news of the devastation started pouring in from around the country. Nepal had just been shaken by an earthquake that measured at 7.8 on the Richter scale. The epicenter was located 80 kilometers away from the capital city of Kathmandu.

The Kathmandu valley comprises three historically significant Nepalese towns: Kathmandu, Lalitpur, and Bhaktapur. These three towns were home to the Malla and then the Shah kings. These kings had built elaborate palaces with temples, courtyards, and waterspouts. Also known as durbars, these palaces dated back to over four centuries. These traditional durbars are mostly made up of wood, bricks, and stones cemented together with a mixture of lime and mud; not unlike many houses in old locales of Kathmandu still inhabited by many people. These durbars and old houses crumbled under the strain of the earthquake in a matter of seconds, killing and injuring thousands of people. My heart skipped a beat when I learned that parts of the Swayambhunath Stupa had also collapsed, trapping some people inside the rubble. Apart from damages to centuries old national heritage sites, many urban and suburban buildings also collapsed. Property developers often overlook national building safety codes to cut development costs. Due to these unsafe practices, these weak buildings also succumbed to the quake, blanketing their inhabitants under the debris. Most sadly, the Government of Nepal commercialized the Dharhara, a nine-storied tower made out of mud and bricks over a century ago, by charging people a fee to climb to a circular balcony for a panoramic view of the capital. Saturday’s earthquake completely destroyed the tower, killing almost two hundred people who had paid to climb the tower.



A faltering emergency healthcare system
The hospitals in Kathmandu were soon overtasked with caring for injured patients and overcrowded with dead bodies. Some of the private hospitals even closed shop after the government instructed them to treat patients for free. The public and private hospitals that remained open moved most of their services outdoors as ominous cracks developed in the hospital buildings. Makeshift camps surrounded the hospitals with relatives holding up saline bottles to sustain the injured. While the injured were being treated in the open space, confused and scared family members ran amok to find medicines, food, and drinking water for them. Some even had to go without food and water because they weren’t lucky to have family members tending to them. Hospitals ran out of medicines and other medicinal supplies very rapidly. As the incident occurred over the weekend, these hospitals were understaffed and only had their emergency services open. As hundreds of injured started pouring in, these hospitals could barely manage to treat them due to the scarcity of medicinal supplies and open space. They even discharged many patients prematurely. The hospital management, with help from social workers and local people, had to borrow medicinal supplies from private pharmaceutical shops. As grid electricity was cut off soon after the earthquake to prevent fires and accidents from fallen transmission and distribution lines, the hospitals were forced to operate on back-up diesel generators or battery packs to power electrical equipment and lights.



The government mobilized the Nepalese Army and Police in rescue and relief missions. However, it was soon evident that they were neither adequately trained nor well equipped to carry out these missions on such a large scale and at so many different locations. The excavators they used for removing the rubble soon ran out of diesel fuel. In the panic and confusion of tending to separate and scattered incidents, the government could not supply additional fuel on time. Soon, these relief personnel started clawing through the debris using bare hands to dig out the victims. As rescue efforts dragged into the cold night, it started to drizzle after midnight, hampering the urgent rescue missions and outdoor healthcare services.

Soon the earth shook over and over again with more earthquakes. These aftershocks, which were slightly smaller and lasted for just a few seconds, frightened millions of affected people into thinking that the worst was not over yet. Moreover, rumors that a bigger and more devastating earthquake was going to follow soon after spread like wildfire throughout the country. In the absence of an official emergency communication system to disseminate correct information to the citizens, such rumors were fueled through online articles and word of mouth. As terror took siege of the valley, most affected people chose to spend the night in makeshift tents even though their homes had suffered only minor damages. It was evident within a very short time that Nepal was not prepared to deal with a natural calamity of this scale. The situation worsened after most people, still well equipped with resources to continue with their day-to-day lives, started demanding temporary shelter in addition to other relief materials. However, the government maintained that relief supplies such as water, medicine, food, and waterproof tents were in short supply and made available only for people who had lost their houses and family to the quake. No relief came for millions of scared people spending the night outside in the cold and rain.



The neighboring rural districts of Sindhupalchowk, Gorkha, Lamjung, Rasuwa, Dhading, Nuwakot, and Kavre suffered a worse fate. As rural houses were made of rocks, bricks, lime and mud, many of the scattered settlements were wiped off the map. Landslides resulting from the quake and the aftershocks blocked the rural dirt roads leading up to these scattered settlements. Compared to the Kathmandu valley, the rudimentary medicinal facilities in these rural areas are housed in a shack and lack even basic medicinal supplies. These horrendous conditions were bought to light only a month before the earthquake, when villagers in the district of Jajarkot fell sick and more than twenty-five people died of a mysterious illness. It took the government more than two weeks just to collect blood samples and determine that the villagers were suffering from swine flu. The Jajarkot incident illustrates the ineffectiveness of rural healthcare system in treating the earthquake victims. Therefore, aerial supply of relief material seemed the most viable option to deliver relief materials as well as to airlift the injured to hospitals in the district headquarters. However, due to a scarcity of air ambulances and other helicopters, many of the injured were left without any help for the first night. The survivors relied on each other to organize rescue efforts and gathered food and water they could find to survive through the cold and wet night. Some affected rural areas have not been provided healthcare services even four days after the earthquake.

Slow and inefficient relief

On Sunday morning, many countries including India, China, UK, and the USA announced relief packages. However, it was evident that all these separate relief efforts from the international community lacked coordination from the government, who did not have a viable system to manage the influx of foreign supplies and relief personnel. Although earthquake survivors in and around the valley started calling in for food, water, and tents, the government could not even deliver the relief materials that were stocked at the airport in Kathmandu. Twelve hours after the earthquake, the government had only counted fewer than a thousand dead. By Tuesday, three days after the earthquake, the government confirmed that more than 5000 were dead and around 9000 were injured. This number is steadily rising as the rescue and relief efforts continue and more dead bodies are recovered from the rubble. Many Nepalese volunteers with sufficient local knowledge have now flocked to help rescue and treat the injured, which has slightly improved the healthcare and relief situation.

Thousands of scared inhabitants are now fleeing the capital and other affected areas to less affected parts of the country. Transportation syndicates are overcharging travelers by up to ten times to take advantage of their urgency to evacuate. Most shops remain closed even on Wednesday, four days after the disaster. In the absence of adequate supervision by the government, several businesses are exploiting this situation by selling urgent supplies such as food and drinking water for exorbitant prices. The government has been unable to restore basic services such as food markets and residential water supply, which would have helped an estimated eight million affected people to return to their day-to-day life and restore a semblance of normalcy to the capital. There is a scarcity of running water because water supply pipes have burst in many parts of the country. Even in normal circumstances the Nepalese depend heavily on liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) for cooking and heating due to a chronic shortage of electrical energy and daily scheduled power outages. During this crisis, people are running out of LPG to boil water for drinking or cooking food. Most petrol pumps have remained closed till Wednesday and there are long queues of automobiles at a few pumps that are open. Because Nepal lacks sufficient morgue facilities to store dead bodies, they have been put out in the open and only some of them have been covered with sheets. Although the government has announced mass cremations to avoid disease spreading, many bodies still remain under the ruins. The government has also been unable to collect household waste, which lies strewn over open fields and in the streets. Some communities have come together to organize waste collection and disposal in their locality by burning or burying the waste. However, such efforts have been organized in small scales and most public spaces and streets are still littered with waste. Now, that the initial shock of the earthquake is dissipating, the slow realization is setting in that widespread disease might spread from waste and human remains.



It is going to be a long and arduous task for Nepal to recover from this disaster. The next few days will be crucial for the government to restore a semblance of stability for the majority of affected people by reinstating basic services such as food, water and energy supply. Simultaneously, the government must efficiently manage the influx of foreign personnel and relief materials to provide healthcare and relief supplies to the injured and homeless. It must immediately announce and distribute relief packages for people who have lost their family members and homes. In the long run, it must ensure that building codes are implemented rigorously and open spaces are mandated inside urban areas. It must also establish well-equipped healthcare facilities in rural areas, which often suffer the most during such disasters. Finally, there remains the less urgent but important task of restoring the heritages so that Kathmandu valley and other affected areas do not lose centuries old historical sites. Most importantly, Nepal must learn the importance and necessity of an emergency preparedness system from this unfortunate experience. Although such programs exist on paper, the government must actively pursue disseminating emergency preparedness information to the public and conducting timely drills so that Nepalese people as well as the government are well prepared the next time such a natural disaster will inevitably strike again.

Power Exchange between Nepal and India

Originally published on November 06, 2014 in Kantipur Daily Newspaper, Nepal. 

NOV 06, 2014 Conspiracy theories about the recently enacted Power Trade Agreement (PTA) between Nepal and India epitomise the pervasive political confusion of our times. It is not uncommon to find people blaming the Government of Nepal (GoN), among many others, for signing this ‘controversial’ PTA, which will allow electricity from Nepal to be sold to India. Even reputed newspapers have published opinion pieces by experts who claim that Nepal is gearing up to sell electricity to India despite being yet unable to meet its internal demand. To see beyond the veil of rumor and misconception, it is important to look at the figures of electricity trade between Nepal and India.



Lopsided trade
In the fiscal year 2013-14, the Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA), the GoN-owned energy utility, imported 1,072 million kilowatt-hours (kWh) of electricity from India. To put this in context, 1 kWh of electricity can light a 40 watt incandescent bulb for about 24 hours. In contrast, the NEA exported only 3.32 million kWh of electricity to India. That is, Nepal imported about 325 times more electricity from India than it exported. And the sad thing is, rather than exporting electricity to India, importing will increasingly become a trend. Compared to the previous year, this year’s import of electricity from India has increased by 35 percent whereas export has shrunk by 8 percent. The NEA has forecasted that it will have a surplus in the national grid, also known as the Integrated Nepal Power System (INPS), only in the year 2017. Even this projected surplus is dependent on the timely completion of the 456 megawatt (MW) run-of-river Upper Tamakoshi Hydropower Project.

Unlike storage plants, run-of-river plants do not have storage dams for stocking water; therefore, they are subject to seasonal flows in the river. Most hydroelectricity plants are implemented by installing more than one turbine-generator set. Installing multiple sets offers the advantage of running the plant at partial capacity in case one or more sets have to be shut down. For a turbine-generator to work efficiently, a minimum water flow must be available. During the dry season, from January to April, when water flow in Nepal’s rivers is at its minimum, the reduced water flow is adequate to only run a few turbine-generator sets. Therefore, in the dry season, the Upper Tamakoshi Hydropower Project will only generate about one third of its stated capacity of 456MW. This holds true for most hydroelectricity plants in Nepal, as all of them are some variation of run-of-river type, except for one: the Kulekhani Storage Hydroelectricity Project, which comprises of the 60MW Kulekhani I and its 32MW cascade plant called Kulekhani II.

Export when wet, import when dry
Thus, Nepal will have a surplus, if ever, only in the wet season, from June to September and the shortage in the dry season looks to continue for many more years to come. Therefore, it is essential to sell the surplus to India during the wet season and buy electricity from India during the dry season. India, the third largest producer of electricity in the world, has an installed electricity generation capacity of 253 gigawatt (GW), which is about 325 times larger than Nepal’s installed capacity of 0.78GW. More importantly, India’s thermal and nuclear electricity plants, which have stable power outputs throughout the year, account for about 70 percent of its total electricity mix. Whereas Nepal’s run-of-river hydroelectricity plants, which have seasonal fluctuations in power output, account for about 82 percent of its total electricity mix. Therefore, it is extremely important that Nepal has a PTA, along with cross-border transmission links, with India for electricity trade between these countries to flourish.

So far, we have established that last year, Nepal imported over 300 times more electricity from India than we exported to them; the electricity shortage in the INPS and necessity to import electricity from India will not end any time soon; Nepal’s meager installed generation capacity is predominantly comprised of run-of-river hydropower plants, which can only generate about one-third of their rated power in the dry season; and India’s huge installed generation capacity is predominantly comprised of thermal and nuclear plants, which have stable power outputs throughout the year. Therefore, the PTA has opened the doors not just for exporting electricity to India but rather for importing more electricity from India to alleviate Nepal’s persistent shortage of electricity which has crippled its industry and the daily lives of its people.

However, the open trade in electricity with India has also brought new challenges. It comes as no surprise that Nepal is addicted to Indian oil, which runs its automobiles, industries, and marketplaces. Last year, Nepal’s import of fossil fuel and natural gas alone exceeded its total imports by 1.5 times. Even in a state of energy crisis, with loadshedding often up to 18 hours a day during the dry season, Nepal has failed to implement the mechanisms necessary to utilise and develop its huge potential in hydropower. Now, given the ease of satiating Nepal’s ever-growing thirst for energy by importing Indian electricity, will the country ever be able to expedite hydropower development at home? Or will it instead settle for a new addiction: an addiction to Indian electricity?



The Renegade: a short story in Nepal

Originally published in the October 2014 (Dashain special) issue of the ECS Living Magazine, Nepal. Story Editor: Prawin Adhikari.

Sishir was curled on the dirt like a discarded fetus. Flies buzzed around the wounds on his swollen face and his mouth tasted foul, of blood rusted to a metallic bitterness. His eyelids were puffy from the grime of dirt and blood collected in his eyes. He couldn’t wipe his eyes because his hands were tied behind his back. He saw two blurry red blobs in the distance, pacing at the periphery of his consciousness. The river roared behind him, never letting him forget the mortal thirst that had been gnawing at his spirit for hours now. He whimpered into the dust, pleading for a drink. After a few minutes, one of the red blobs floated over to him. The boot to his groin didn’t surprise Sishir, but his whole body convulsed in pain.


At twilight the day before, Sishir had been lying flat on his belly on a stone platform some twenty-five feet above the waterfall. His broad face was closely shaven. He had among his monastic possession a straight razor, sharp enough for him to take pride in. But his dirty black hair spilled over his forehead and ears and carelessly and fell over his eyes. This was good disguise when he had to run from one camp to another, a ragged look that helped him evade detection. Thick eyelids hung heavily over the narrow slits of his eyes, beneath which a small upturned nose started abruptly and ended in plump, wide lips. He wore faded green fatigues and a pair of worn, grayish-black military boots pried off captured or killed prize: he didn't know.


A clump of thick brush camouflaged him and the platform well. A few feet away a twenty feet wide stream plunged a hundred feet down a cliff and into a deep pool at the bottom curtained by a pearlescent waterfall. A perennial mist hung over this pool. Turbulent rapids continued downhill with renewed vigour. Beside the pool, a quarter-mile stretch of narrow dirt-road curved around the waterfall, went over a hillock and led to the outskirts of the camp where his comrades lived, where his faith and conviction were fed and put to bed.


Sishir trained his binoculars down the road. The sun was setting; details would be lost soon. It would take a specially trained pair of eyes to pick out army fatigues from the disguise the surrounding brush made possible. A mist rose from the waterfall and snaked around the hill, enveloping the hill and obscuring the road on it. The platform provided the perfect bird’s-eye view to sniper the ambition out of RNA scouts on the road. This was the only path around the waterfall and upriver towards their camp.


He heard a birdcall from below, a familiar signal. He hung the binoculars on a short stump, threw the thick coil of knotted rope over the platform, slung his rifle over his shoulder and climbed down.


Madhav, a short, pudgy man, held the rope for Sishir to climb down quickly. Jwala, a disaffected Magar from Gorkha who fancied himself as good a sharpshooter as Sishir, looked up at the platform with impatience. Madhav was an older version of Sishir. He still had most of his grey hair. A few whiskers stuck out from beneath his short, upturned nose. As the head cook of the camp he had his perks. His singlet vest, stained yellow-brown with splatters of turmeric and blood of the occasional game from surrounding forests, was pulled taut over a protruding belly: a dimple at the navel stared ahead like a puzzle. He wore trousers that had faded to alternating shades of blue. Jwala quickly climbed up the rope, took the rifle and fiddled with the scope, pointed the weapon at the approach around the hill.


"I have great news," Madhav said, beaming at Sishir after letting go of the rope. Madhav told him the news, hesitating around the borders of his words. Sishir shook his head in dissatisfaction. Sishir wasn't sure if it was good news: if the Supremo was coming to the camp, Sishir had to be more vigilant. But the burden of peering past the crosshairs and waiting for the time impulse takes to race from reason to action, the itch to pull the trigger at a target that he'd recognize as an enemy, was too much. After a heated discussion, Sishir made a run for the camp. Madhav dawdled behind Sishir shaking his head almost as if he knew this is how his nephew would react.


After a minute of sprinting through the jungle, Sishir came to their camp in a clearing in the woods by the riverbank. He ran to the Commander’s tent pitched to the back of the clearing. He slowed down by the entrance and nodded to the sentry in front and walked inside. The Commander was at his small wooden desk, looking over some paperwork with his round reading glasses hanging low on his nose. The Commander looked up and Sishir called him to the empty chair on his left. Sishir sat down, observing the Commander while trying to catch his breath.


The Commander’s long face was covered in pockmarks, except for his bulbous nose, which was red, scribbled with purple veins, and shiny. Even at his old age, the Commander had a full head of black hair that curled in. The Commander blinked his eyes hard every time he shifted his finger down the column of the previous month's expenses for the camp – he didn't count very fast, but he always counted every paisa, and that was common knowledge. He clicked his tongue whenever he found an errant entry, and sat up in his chair to solemnly redress the error.


"War is expensive," said the Commander before closing the file. "Did you register movement?" he asked.


"Quiet as usual, Commander," replied Sishir.


"That’s good, but we must always be vigilant, especially now that the feudal state is promising to cooperate," said the Commander.


"Madhav told me we are going home. He said we have become victorious," said Sishir, watching the Commander’s reaction closely.


"You heard right. The war is over," said the Commander. But the slow, burdened manner in which he scratched his nose didn't signal enthusiasm or elation of victory.


A rooster crowed somewhere in the camp, mistaking dusk for dawn. Sishir grasped the edge of his chair’s arm tightly.


"But, comrade, how can it be over yet? The feudal army has us holed up in this godforsaken forest. We need more men, and RPGs to bring down their helicopters," Sishir said without patience.


"A message was radioed in this morning from the Supreme’s office. He has assured us that there will be no more helicopter attacks. The government has agreed to sit for a talk. This war has been long, Sishir – they are just as tired of it as we are, and probably more scared. We've lost everything worth losing, except our lives and our convictions. They sit atop piles of material wealth that they have stolen from others. They know that they cannot defeat us in the jungles. So, they want to cut us a deal now." He paused for a moment, then smiled disarmingly, "We’ve completed the first phase of the revolution. Our orders are to obey the cease fire and wait for further orders."


"If they cannot win, why should we fall back, comrade? It would be foolish to compromise now. Compromising now would make us traitors to the cause," Sishir said. He was not going to stand around mutely while his revolution was being sold off.


The Commander banged the table angrily with his fist. "Don’t make the foolishness of thinking this was my doing," he said impatiently. "I’m just have my orders, and you should do the same."


"The Supreme must have been tricked by those aristocratic bastards," Sishir kept his anger in check.


The Commander said patronizingly, "The People’s Party has grown powerful and resourceful. We have made it powerful through our revolution. The Supreme is confident that we can take over the state by playing at the game of the status-quoists, by entering elections. We will march into Singha Durbar without firing a shot."


The Commander smiled before speaking again. "We’ve fought our battles, Sishir. Now it’s our time to rule. The Supreme has promised me office in the next government. You and Madhav will be under my wing. This is a great opportunity for us."


Sishir didn't think the Commander was talking much sense. "This is treachery to the motherland. I can’t stand for this," he said, going red in the face.


"The Supreme will be here tomorrow morning. You can tell that to his face," said the Commander resignedly and returned to poring over his paperwork. Sishir knew the conversation was over. He picked up his rifle and stormed out of the tent.





After leaving the Commander’s tent, Sishir walked straight to the canteen at the mouth of the clearing, downriver from the Commander’s tent. Madhav was squatting next to a lone burning clay stove after finishing the cooking for the night. Sishir sat next to him. Madhav started blowing on the dying embers. But when he went to a corner to arrange freshly washed dishes in a plastic bucket, the milk in the small pot on the stove boiled over, falling into the fire with a hiss.


"I will not stand for this," said Sishir, intently watching the reawakened fire which now lapped up at the pot. "We have a war to fight. How can we go home now? If we turn back now, everything we stand for will be lost forever," he said.


Madhav added some tealeaves and sugar to the milk. They sat silently, watching the froth of milky tea settle down in the pot. Then Madhav spoke. "If you are born a man, you have to make difficult decisions, many times in a life. Only a lucky man has easy choices. For others – if you choose this, there is trouble; if you choose that, there is trouble. But, if you don't choose, someone else will come and snatch it away from your hands. Only time can judge whether a man chose rightly." He reached out in the dark to touch Sishir’s arm and said, "I’ve made my choice."


Tears streamed down Madhav’s face and ran down the furrows of his face. Sishir loved his uncle like his own father. He couldn’t bear to see him weak, vulnerable. Madhav had put all his faith in the revolution. The government and its army had taken everything else from him. And now the Supreme was trying to snatch away his last chance at redeeming his dignity, reclaiming personhood, which had been denied to him and his people.


"I’ve made my choice too, uncle. I would rather die than remain a part of this sham," said Sishir, and walked over to the tub of dishes. He picked out a kitchen knife. The blade was long and slender, the tip was sharply pointed, just how Madhav liked to slit and scrape a chili. The handle was long enough to provide a steady grip. He tucked the handle under his waistband and hid the blade under his shirt. He then picked up two steel cups and walked back to Madhav.


Sishir handed Madhav the cups and said, "How about some hot tea?"






The next morning, the Supreme arrived and was stationed at the Commander’s tent. A dozen of the Supreme’s bodyguards surrounded the tent. Each one of them wore neatly pressed khaki pants and shirts. Every other one of them carried an AK-47. They looked much more suave, well-fed and disciplined than the guerilla warriors. Two guards stationed at the tent’s entrance were frisking anyone who wished to enter the tent. Sishir leaned back against a tree and watched them closely. After inspecting them for five minutes, he started walking towards the entrance. The guard without a gun called him over. He thoroughly patted Sishir down, running his clammy, warm fingers along Sishir's waistband, searching for concealed weapons.


Sishir walked to the end of the tent where the Supreme was seated. The Supreme was a rotund middle-aged man. He had parted his dark hair on the left and pushed it towards the right to hide his balding head, and kept stroking his hair intermittently. His thick grayish-black moustache was trimmed perfectly. A bodyguard with an AK-47 was standing to the Supreme’s right and the Commander was seated to his left. As soon as the Commander saw Sishir, he waved him over. He was expecting Sishir. Sishir pushed through a throng of guerilla soldiers, who had come to talk to their Supreme, and stood beside the Commander. "Supreme, you remember Sishir?" asked the Commander. The Supreme looked up at Sishir, hesitating before giving Shishir a generic smile and nodding in acknowledgement before continuing to talk to the others. "He has a keen eye for spotting scouts on the road. In fact, if it weren’t for Sishir, we would have been attacked many times," said the Commander, trying to get the Supreme’s attention.


The Supreme was now looking at Sishir, leaning forward and squinting with interest. "So, what do you do after you catch the traitor?" the Supreme asked. Sishir strode to the table and leaned forward, obsequiously bringing his face close to the Supreme while running his fingers gently down the table’s bottom until his fingers brushed the cold metal of the knife. He pried the knife out surreptitiously.


"I usually like to take them captive and make them talk about how much money is enough to betray their motherland," said Sishir. The Supreme laughed at his witty remark. The Commander and the guerillas followed suit. Sishir was grinning stupidly.


"But this time, I am not going to allow that luxury," he said before leaping at the Supreme with a brutal battle cry. His knife was aimed right for the Supreme’s heart.






Madhav looked on from the canteen, watching Sishir heaped like a lump of dirt by the riverbank. The Supreme had sent two of his own guards to keep watch. Sishir’s face had been pulped into a bloody mash. The Supreme was making an example of him for sure. The others had told him what transpired in the Commander’s tent.


When Sishir had leaped to stab the Supreme, the Supreme’s bodyguard had thrown himself at Sishir. The knife had dug deep and stuck in the guard’s left shoulder. Without a weapon at his disposal, Sishir had then tried to strangle the Supreme. The guards surrounding the tent had all come running inside after hearing the commotion. While a few of them marshaled the confused guerillas out of the tent, the rest of them had pulled Sishir off the Supreme and then beaten him. The Commander was red in the face from anger and embarrassment. He had been quick to show he had nothing to do with this treachery and had promised to make an example of the renegade.


By mid-afternoon, an uncomfortable hush had fallen over the camp. Sishir’s execution was scheduled for the evening. No one in the camp approved the execution of one of their own, but they had been wise enough to stay out of sight. Madhav walked over to the two guards and handed each of them a plate heavy with rice and buffalo meat brought for the Supreme's visit. The guards had not eaten since the unfortunate incident and Madhav noticed one of them swallowing spit as he tried to mix the hot rice and chunks of meat.


The cook let them dig into their food before saying, "Brothers, this fool is destined to die." He said pointing to the lump by the river. "The punishment for his cowardly act can only be death, but even a dying man deserves a drink of water. Let me take him to the river and give him a drink." The guard, his mouth full and moving rapidly to avoid being burnt by the rice, looked at Madhav from head to toe. Madhav stood there, shifting from one foot to the next until the guard grunted and turned away to focus on his food.


Sishir could see a red blob walking over to him again but this time there was no boot to the groin. He was helped to his feet and walked into the river until the water was up to his knees. He smelled food, he smelled his uncle's approach, and with that he was transported through the years to his childhood when he loved to bury his face in his mother's sari, searching it for the smell of smoke and cooking and milk and sun-warmed grass. Sishir’s ears were ringing but he could make out his uncle's voice. "You might die in the river, but you are surely a dead man in the camp. Don’t be afraid. Let the river take you," said his uncle. Madhav untied the rope around Sishir’s wrist. He then heaved him into the middle of the river where the rapids. The river hurled Sishir towards the waterfall at lightning speed. By the time the two guards put their plates down and ran towards Madhav, Sishir had disappeared down the waterfall.



 


Sishir woke up to a nudging boot to his shoulder. The river had robbed him of his clothes. The ringing in his ears had disappeared and his vision was much clearer now. The river had washed away the bloody grime, but his face was still swollen beyond recognition.


"Hey! Get up!" the owner of the boot was saying loudly. He looked up to see two men dressed in a different shade of green fatigues.


"Where did you come from?" asked the owner of the boot. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. His face was covered in war paint, a camouflage pattern in shades of black and green. He carried an M16 and a half-dozen grenades hung from his belt.


The soldier pointed the rifle at him and repeated his question. Sishir obediently pointed a finger towards the hilly jungle.


"Are you a villager? Why did they beat you?" the soldier asked.


"My uncle. They have my uncle," he mumbled.


"Who’s got your uncle?" the soldier asked.


He whispered the Supreme’s name.


"What did you say?"


He pointed to the jungle and said the name clearly this time.


The owner of the boot spoke to another soldier behind him. The other soldier looked a lot like the first one, but he was taller and carried a large backpack on his back with a radio transmitter hooked to a battery pack.


"Radio the battalion that we have a big fish to land today. And bring the Medicine Kit. I think we might have found our scout."

Nepal - Scaling up electricity access through mini and micro hydropower applications : a strategic stock-taking and developing a future roadmap