AS 2006 began, the citizens of Nepal had two extremely difficult tasks before them, and optimistic analysts were few. First, the need to crush the autocratic ambitions of Gyanendra, the king. Second, to goad the Communist Party of Nepal (Maoist) out of its destructive ‘people’s war’ to start on the road to open politics. There had been a hint of breakthrough over the second half of 2005 with a chastened Maobaadi leadership having indicated a willingness to consider ‘competitive politics’. This was what gave the politicians of the Seven Party Alliance (SPA) the confidence to work with the rebels to start an energetic people’s movement against the king. Still, it was an open question whether the understanding between the CPN (Maoist) and the SPA would hold, and whether the people would rise.

Rise they did, in Southasia’s first countrywide show of people-power in decades. Over 19 days in April, millions of citizens filled the streets and trails in protest against Gyanendra and for a return to peace. They did this without the benefit of a charismatic leader, each citizen responding to his/her own inner convictions, and with a refined understanding of how only conflict-free democracy could deliver social and economic progress. The people of a country long regarded as a basket case were showing their ability to define their own fight for liberty.

While many explanations can be proffered for the success of the People’s Movement, including the participation of Maoists-sans-arms, the vainglorious actions of Gyanendra, the pulling power of political parties, or the strength of a suddenly omnipresent civil society, it was doubtless the dozen years of freedom and democratic experience following the first People’s Movement (of 1990) that made the population emerge to demonstrate for pluralism. Though those twelve years of democracy were continuously pilloried by the royalists, Maoists and Kathmandu Valley’s upper crust alike, the people at large understood otherwise.

The people had become masters of their fate after the Panchayat regime of King Birendra was defeated. The empowerment of the populace, whether through the medium of local village and district government, forestry user groups, ethnic and other kinds of community assertion, or the spread of the vernacular press and FM radio was such that the citizenry was able to appreciate the importance of democratic stability for progress. A simple enough notion, but that is what energised the second People’s Movement.

 

The democracy that arrived in 1990, then, was the first salvo for people-centred nation building in a country that is actually the oldest nation state of Southasia – having been established by Gyanendra’s 12th ancestor Prithvinarayan Shah 237 years ago. True, the fledgling polity was not allowed to stabilise in the 1990s, as neophyte and often-corrupt politicians misused governmental power and were unable to lead by example. In an un-colonised country that had emerged from the feudocratic, extractive Rana regime as late as 1950, an untested middle class was being asked to get a handle on democratic governance. Meanwhile, there was the royal palace playing a continuously destabilising role amongst the national political parties. Despite all this, the human condition of Nepalis was looking up as the parliamentary system kicked in, when the Maoists started their ‘people’s war’ on 13 February 1996, not against the monarchy but against a democratically elected government.

As the Maoist contagion spread and the parties bickered, fate decided to send the Nepali citizenry through an immersion period of non-stop crises so as better to appreciate and protect the values of freedom. In 2001, with King Birendra and his family murdered by a crazed crown prince, the country entered a five year spiral of violence, political instability and social chaos. The palace massacre was followed by the rapid spread of Maoist violence from the mid-western hills to the Tarai plains and highlands all over. The national army was called out, but its incapacity to tackle the insurgency became evident in its dirty war, which was marked by torture, disappearances and extra-judicial killings.

The five years saw three states of emergency, escalating political turbulence, an economy progressively destroyed, and a peasantry displaced en masse by the insecurity. Throughout, the foolhardy Gyanendra was engaged in a creeping takeover, which culminated in his military coup of 1 February 2005. The national trial by fire came to a close with the routing of the king and his army by the glorious People’s Movement of 2006.

 

Expectations are now high in Nepal that a new constitution will deliver political stability, inclusive governance, and equitable economic advance. There is every reason to believe that this expectation will be fulfilled, with the space of middle-ground politics having been rescued from the gun at the two extremes. The experience of bad times has been useful to plan for the good times ahead, with the half-decade of intense, unwelcome immersion having prepared the political class and civil society to better manage our rediscovered democracy.

When the People’s Movement of 1990 put the political parties at the helm, the country had hardly a civil society worth the name, and public intellectualism was at a premium. Today, not only do we have battle-hardened activists ready to watchdog those who would govern, but the politicians themselves have been put though a trial by fire. The black-and-white battle between good and twin evils – royal autocracy and Maoist violence – is now over, and what has begun is a nuanced discourse to restructure the state through a constituent assembly that delivers a new constitution.

 

For long a rebel force espousing unadulterated violent ideology force-fitted to Nepali conditions, by 2003 the Maoists had begun to scale down their demands to the holding of a constituent assembly. It is not that the 1990 Constitution was as poor a document as the Maoists and some vocal activists would have the public believe. This was the document, resulting from the first People’s Movement, which was the guarantor of the new democratic polity and all the fundamental freedoms which made it possible to envision a new, post-feudal Nepal. However, the Maoists needed an excuse for abandoning the ‘people’s war’, and for their sake it became necessary to jettison the 1990 Constitution, a sacrificial lamb.

There emerged, however, an even more compelling reason to go for a constituent assembly. With the passage of time and the evolving discourse, the many disfranchised communities of Nepal came to hold it as an article of faith that only a restructured state through a new constitution could wipe away the exploitations of history. Thus it was that the train of events culminating in the Jana Andolan 2062-63 (the People’s Movement of April, after the national Vikram calendar) led unequivocally to a new constitution.

The sambidhan sabha which would write the fresh constitution, then, became the focus of the political negotiations and social debates through most of 2006. While it is true, as shown by public opinion surveys, that the demand for the assembly was accompanied by significant lack of understanding among the intelligentsia and citizenry as to its objectives and procedures, it was backed by all significant players as the need of the hour. Among the political vanguard, the assembly has been the target since 22 November 2005, when what came to be known as the 12 Point Agreement was hammered out between the SPA and CPN (Maoist) to jointly fight the king.

 

The goals of the People’s Movement’s were shanti and loktantra, the new term for adopted democracy. (The old term, prajatantra, was rejected for its reference to ‘subjects’.) To achieve these goals, and head for the constituent assembly, it was important to crush the king and bring the Maoists in from the jungle. The first was achieved easily enough over the 19 days of massive agitation (15-24 April), but binding the CPN (Maoist) within the pluralistic process would be more time-consuming and complex. Here was an insurgent group whose leadership had made the momentous decision to abandon armed revolution for competitive politics, but would it be able to bring the fighters and cadre into the process? How would the group be able to tackle the contradictions which would bubble to the surface in the disjunction between what was promised and what was achieved? Above all, the matter had to be handled gingerly so that the CPN (Maoist) did not splinter during the transformation, which would surely lead to a headlong rush to warlordism and general anarchy.

The revival of the Third Parliament, unceremoniously dissolved by Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba in May 2002, was the wholesome outcome of the People’s Movement. The re-instatement of the House was announced by a capitulating King Gyanendra in a midnight televised address on 24 April, in itself an unfortunate event at a time when the political parties could have taken strength from the People’s Movement and announced the revival of their own accord. Nonetheless, this revived House gave national legitimacy and international credibility to subsequent actions to bring the nation state back on the rails after the Maoist and royalist misadventures. Besides backing the government of Prime Minister Girija Prasad Koirala as it set about negotiating with the Maoists, it also adopted dramatic proclamations which clipped the wings of the monarchy and brought the Nepal Army – in principle, to begin with – within control of the civilian government.

 

On 27 April, the Maoists announced a unilateral ceasefire, indicating yet again that their political core had not been diverted by years of violence. Meanwhile, it was important right from the start not to present the abandonment of the ‘people’s war’ as a Maobaadi defeat, and during the semi-secret confabulations in Delhi which led to the Twelve Point Agreement, the decision was taken to refer to the disarmament process as hatiyar byabasthapan, or ‘arms management’.

Throughout 2006, after the April movement, the population was treated to a series of agreements between the SPA and the CPN (Maoist) which brought the rebels step by step closer to setting down their arms and joining the government. As the Maoists inched towards disarmament, the SPA leaders rose to the occasion to allow the CPN (Maoist) seats in the interim government and interim parliament that had to be emplaced after an interim constitution was promulgated – and all of this required before the country could move towards the constituent assembly.

The stature achieved by Girija Prasad Koirala for not having flinched in the fight against the king as so many of his peers did, and the decision he took as far back as 2003 to engage with the Maoists and seek a solution, made him the central figure during and after the People’s Movement. Though he could not be described as charismatic from the public relations perspective, PM Koirala’s ability to bring together the Nepali Congress and the six other parties in the SPA through sheer power of six decades in politics, helped create a bulwark against which the Maoists were forced to com-promise despite their high-decibel polemic that much of civil society romanticised.

At the same time, PM Koirala was able to serve as a single voice for the alliance of seven parties on issues that mattered, making concessions where required but standing firm on matters such as the laying down of arms vis-à-vis the rebels joining the cabinet. The role of 52-year-old CPN (Maoist) Chairman Pushpa Kamal Dahal (‘Prachanda’, born 11 December 1954) complemented that of the octogenarian Koirala, showing flexibility with the SPA even while keeping the commanders and commissars united under his leadership. The Maobaadi supremo’s extraordinary skill in modulating his speech, from his cadre and commissars, to Kathmandu’s intelligentsia to New Delhi’s political class, clearly played a role in ensuring a surakschit abataran, a ‘safe landing’ for his insurgency.

 

While the Nepali players can certainly take pride in setting an example for conflict-resolution and the settling of insurgency, the role of international diplomacy cannot be dismissed. For example, the US ambassador in Kathmandu was constantly pilloried for raising uncomfortable questions regarding Maoist weaponry, but that was more the legacy of his equivocal pronouncements during the 14 months king’s rule than anything wrong in what he was saying now. But he also seemed to be serving as a fall guy for the New Delhi position on the matter of rebel arms, which, if uttered by Indian diplomats, would have sparked automatic rejection in Kathmandu.

Indeed, from all subsequent events including the conciliatory tone adopted lately by Chairman Dahal and his cohort on India, it becomes clear that the positioning of New Delhi on the need for the rebels to give up the gun if they were to join the interim state structures seemed to have played a major role in the evolving rebel amenability on the negotiation table. It should not be forgotten that low key efforts by United Nations envoys were also a crucial aspect of the attempts to bring the Maoists above-ground. The final achievement on that score was when India relented and agreed to United Nations involvement in monitoring the ‘arms management’ process, which gave a fillip to peace-making in Nepal.

 

The country-wide menace of Maoist militia, coupled with the marauding ways of Gyanendra, had shrunk the practice of politics to near invisibility across the 75 districts of Nepal. Unfettered campaigning for the assembly polls would be the best way to open up the democratic space amidst the expectant populace, but for this there had to be a credible process of setting down rebel weaponry. With the king and army defeated in the April upsurge, it was urgent for the Maoist leaders to convince their fighters to submit to ‘arms management’.

With no prospects of capturing state power through the gun, and international and regional geopolitics arrayed against them on that count, the Maoist commandants turned out to be susceptible to Chairman Dahal’s cajoling. Even though it took many months before the Maoists finally signed the document that officially ended the ‘people’s war’, on 21 November 2006, the sheer passage of time was necessary for the highly motivated Maoist fighters to reconcile themselves to a future quite different from what had been laid out in the CPN (Maoist) manifesto.

 

For having participated in the People’s Movement and contributed to its high charge, it was important for the CPN (Maoist) to have a role in an expanded, hybrid legislature. It was also important to bring the CPN (Maoist) into structures of government in order to prevent their return to violence and ensure political stability during the extended transitional period – sankramankaal – before and after the assembly elections. With this understanding, after April, the SPA politicians and Maoist leaders engaged in months of marathon negotiations, which resulted in a series of agreements and understandings between end-May and end-December. They started with a code of conduct, and led through various extensively publicized highs and lows to a comprehensive peace agreement, and onward to agreement on the text of an interim constitution, which paved the way for Maoists joining the government en route to the constituent assembly polls.

A 25-point code of conduct was signed between the Maoists and the SPA on 25 May, under which the two sides promised among other things to uphold human rights, stop extortion, shun the use of armed force, and not obstruct the free practice of politics and campaigning. In this and all other agreements preceding and to follow, elaborate show was made for the provisions to apply to both the government and the Maobaadi, but this was a face-saving device meant to assist the rebel leaders vis-à-vis their fighters and followers.

The Nepal Army, as a participant of the royal adventurism, was properly subdued and did not have any standing to raise obstacles to the negotiations process. For their part, the Maoists remained within the most important stricture of the code of conduct by suspending all armed action, but over the following months they continued to abduct school children for indoctrination exercises, extort in the name of ‘taxation’ and ‘levies’, prevent political activities by the various parties, and activate ‘people’s courts’ to carry summary justice.

 

Following the code of conduct, an agreement termed the Eight Point Understanding nearly derailed the pluralistic process. Signed on 16 June, the deal was pushed through by Maoist leaders playing at brinkmanship at a time when PM Koirala was severely weakened with a lung ailment. While proposing the drafting of an interim constitution, the understanding decreed the disbandment of the sitting Parliament without making adequate arrangements for a credible replacement. For being a decision taken when the gun was very much in the Maoist hands, and amidst continuing threat of violence, abductions and extortion, the understanding raised an alarm within the SPA rank and file. Amidst the reaction by parliamentarians and others, the outcome of the agreement was ultimately diluted, even though a farcical project to write the constitution draft was allowed to go through – which soon got bogged down for want of political directives on key aspects of state restructuring.

The experience of the Eight-Point Understanding seemed to have sobered the Maoist negotiators about the limits of populism, and finally negotiations began in earnest. Meanwhile, the SPA stalwarts came around to engaging the Maoists in good faith – there could be no reneging on the promise of a constituent assembly, for example, and a show of magnanimity was required if the rebel leaders were to have something to show their flock for abandoning the ‘people’s war’. The stage was set for serious discussions for ‘arms management’ on the one hand, and on the other, the adoption of the interim constitution and the arithmetic required for the rebels presence in the legislature and cabinet. All this, to lead towards the constituent assembly, whose date was ambitiously set for Jestha 2064 in the Vikram calendar (mid-May to mid-June 2007).

 

On 9 August, a five-point joint letter was sent separately by the government and the Maoists to the United Nations Secretary General. It invited the organisation to help in monitoring and verifying the ‘arms management’ of the rebels, who were to be located in designated cantonments, and confinement of the national army in barracks. The UN was also asked to help with the constituent assembly elections. Thereafter, on 9 November, a political understanding was signed between the CPN (Maoist) and the SPA, which finally decided on the number of seats that the rebels would hold in the 330 seat interim parliament and in the interim cabinet. The generous principle employed was to allow the Maoists roughly as many berths in the legislature and cabinet as the two main parties, the Nepali Congress and the CPN (UML).

Finally, on 21 November, a Comprehensive Peace Accord was reached between the rebels and the parties, a full year after the signing of the Twelve Point Agreement in Delhi. With that, the CPN (Maoist) agreed on paper to give up violent politics and the ‘people’s war’ was finally over. The Maoists were committed to place their guns under supervision – in a formula that allowed them to place the weapons in containers with their own locks but monitored by United Nations personnel. This opened the way for adoption of the interim constitution, and the reconfiguration of the House and cabinet. It was agreed that the decision on the monarchy (whether to keep it or abolish it) would be taken in the first meeting of the constituent assembly.

The run of agreements came to a close when the text of the interim constitution was agreed upon by the two sides in the wee hours of 16 December, which when promulgated by the sitting House would finally signify the demise of the Constitution of Nepal 1990. While a bare-bone interim document would have been enough, the Maoist desire to create a fait accompli on many aspects delivered a 168 article document that has gone into details best left to the constituent assembly. On the other hand, some of the populist slogans that were sought to be fitted into the interim document were let go by the Maoists in the process of negotiation.

 

Besides putting a stamp of approval on all the agreements entered into since the People’s Movement, the interim constitution envisages a parliamentary system of government whose goals are towards decentralization and inclusive governance where disfranchised communities can begin to ‘own’ their country. One significant departure of the interim constitution is that it wrests all powers of head- of-state away from the king and places it in the hands of the prime minister. On the other hand, denying the Maoist demand that the king be made redundant in the document itself, a decision on this was deferred to the constituent assembly.

In the negotiations and agreements leading up to the interim constitution, the political parties were generous towards the Maoists as a rebel force whose political strength among the people was as yet untested. This was done for the greater good of preventing further bloodletting, and also to allow the Maoist leadership the space to claim victory among their followers. It remains to be seen how pragmatic the comrades will be in government and in the House, even discounting the loud rhetoric they will doubtless have to use to cover for all that has had to be unloaded in this return to parliamentary politics.

 

Looking ahead, the interim period before the polity slides into the regular rhythm of general elections and government-formation is going to be more extended than anyone had anticipated – the interim constitution itself stipulates a two-year life for the constituent assembly unless otherwise extended, and as of this writing it is an open question whether the assembly polls will be held before June 2007 or in autumn of that year.

While the royal regime was dispatched with relative speed, it took more than eight months after the People’s Movement for the CPN (Maoist) to be included in the government. Ahead lies the logistical challenge of holding the assembly elections through a mixed system of direct elections and proportional elections, after first updating voters’ rolls that have been gathering dust for nearly a decade.

Beyond these logistical challenges, the political class and civil society are confronted with the substantive task of understanding the grave issues that are up for discussion and decision, such as reservations, affirmative action and other possible responses to historically defined social discrimination in order to create an ‘inclusive’ state; the inherited centralised state vis-à-vis a federated structure, and what kind of federalism or self-government; and the place of monarchy if it is to have a place at all. The greatest challenge is to ensure reasoned debate that cuts itself away from the populism of past months, which has been of such utility to the Maoists in their flight into above-ground politics.

 

While the two great tasks of subduing the king and bringing the CPN (Maoist) in from the darkness of the jungle has been achieved with success in the distance travelled from the People’s Movement of April 2006 to the establishment of the Interim Parliament in December 2006, the interim government will have great hurdles to overcome beyond organising the assembly elections. The task for social activists and political players alike now will be to maintain a level of stability in the polity, so that critical thinking can have a role in the discussions and debates, allowing an informed populace to vote into power responsible politicians and parties who will write the new constitution.

Aside from preparations for the assembly elections, there will be the challenge of delivering good government during the lengthy interregnum, during which time too the people expect the delivery of services and maintenance of law and order. Since long before April 2006, the state has been virtually absent from the countryside, and the people are desperate for action. Indeed, the populace has high expectations in the era of peace, and it will not want to wait for the interregnum to play itself out before seeing movement in state administration, development activities, economic revival, rehabilitation of the human and physical infrastructure, and – above all – the re-establishment of law and order through state mechanisms including the Nepal police, central district officers and various line ministries.

 

For all that the Government of Nepal has to do, it is yet to be seen whether a disparate cabinet with an ageing prime minister as a pivot, and with centrifugal forces of the various parties including the barely-gentrified CPN (Maoist), will have the motive power to build steam. The onus would seem to lie with the Maoists, whose leaders and cadre alike have to wean themselves from using the threat of violence to get their way. The populism that has marked Pushpa Kamal Dahal’s rhetoric – such as the dangerous proposal to create ethnic homelands as part of the federal proposal – in past months will have to rapidly give way to a sober appreciation of the art of the possible. The hope, in any case, is for a rapid transformation of the Maoists from a militarist rebel force into a political party, one which fought the state as the enemy but now is asked to own the government totally.

As a part of the state, the Maobaadi will have to promote the revitalisation of the very police force they fought for a full decade as the dushman, and work to rebuild the very bridges and telecommunications that they were blasting with explosives till a year ago. The demand for accountability for both state and Maobaadi excesses and atrocities will not go away, and this is likely to be a major challenge for the rebels in their makeover trajectory. The skill with which Pushpa Kamal Dahal has handled the contradictions associated with the Maoist transition thus far leads one to believe that he will be adept at doing so in government as well.

 

Perhaps the biggest challenge to securing a stable government during the period leading up to the assembly will be poll-related polarisations that are bound to surface. The very political parties who are in uncomfortable embrace in government will have to be competing on the political maidaan, and the main players themselves probably do not know what is in store for them. For example, will the CPN (UML) and the CPN (Maoist) arrive at an understanding even while their manifestoes have them seeking the same ideological space, building on identical demographic bases? How easily will the CPN (Maoist) cadre be able to unload their reliance on violence?

Even with the Maoist regulars in their assigned cantonments under UN supervision, won’t the Maoists militia still be able to use threat of violence during the campaigning period – with or without the gun? To keep society on the track during this period of national healing, the broad civil society including the bar, media, academia and rights activists will have to keep careful watch of the evolving scenario and guard against a descent to violence or anarchy. The political players, too, will have to work by a code of conduct that sets high standards during the run-up to the assembly polls.

Even while wondering whether the Maoists will play by the rules, there is the ever-present possibility that reactionary elements will be looking for opportunities to conduct social sabotage, destabilise the political process, and take advantage of any chaos that may develop in the days ahead. Gyanendra, the king, doubtless harbours hopes that an extended period of anarchy will provide opportunity for a comeback. Besides the players within Narayanhiti palace, attempts at sabotage may see participation from unreconstructed royalists within the Nepal Army, Kathmandu’s former power elites, and cultural extremists that lean towards a royalist brand of ‘Hindutva’.

 

While the place of kingship – whether to eliminate it or to limit it to a ceremonial role already demarcated by proclamations of the Parliament – will be decided upon by the constituent assembly, the very presence of Gyanendra as king seems to make the future of monarchy tenuous at this stage. Such was the nature of his take-over, and the contempt he showed to the public between his ascension to the throne and his defeat in April 2006, that he has lost all trust among Nepali citizens. And while the pull of tradition might still have a significant portion of the populace wanting to retain a monarchy, the political class that has seen successive kings devour democracy is largely willing to let that tradition go. The very presence of Gyanendra as king, therefore, can be seen as a liability for the continuance of monarchy in Nepal. The facts that are known of the wild and violent son, Paras, make the future of the Nepali kingship even more tenuous.

Whatever plans Gyanendra may hatch while he remains in the Narayanhiti palace, the fact is that monarchy is already irrelevant as a political force. It is important, therefore, for the political forces to concentrate on the task at hand, which is to provide good government during the transitional period and to efficiently organise the constituent assembly elections, if at all possible during the stipulated time in early June 2007. An inability to complete the task before the monsoon will push the elections to mid-autumn, which will simply extend the interregnum and increase dangers of derailment or reactionary mischief.

 

In the post-Jana Andolan months, Nepal has been a cauldron where the dissatisfactions generated over historical period and in the modern era have bubbled to the surface. There is a churning underway in the country, where unspoken truths are being expressed and any and every community is raising its fist in demonstration and dissent. This process will be even more charged in the campaigning process, and the eight political parties in government are the medium to hear and respond to these voices. While the relatively more vocal hill ethnic groups and Tarai communities will doubtless be heard, there are many other groups by faith, region, language, caste, and even altitude, which will find their voice and unity in the days to come. These will include the heretofore silent Muslims who make one of the most marginalised larger communities of Nepal, or the Bhotia communities of the northern rimland, or the Dalits from all over including those of the Tarai who are less heard.

The only way not to get disheartened by the enormity of the problems ahead on the road to restructuring the state through the new constitution, is to look back at what was achieved during 2006, from the defeat of the king at the hand of the people to the surakschit abataran of the CPN (Maoist). If the Nepali people had enough faith in democracy to challenge an autocrat by a mass movement, and enough circumspection to keep their faith in peace despite a decade’s armed insurgency, then they are fully capable of ensuring stability while preparing for the assembly elections.

Additionally, a population which can fight so determinedly for liberty is more than capable of understanding the choices before it in the constituent assembly process. While the middle class interlocutors in Kathmandu might well be carried by the populism of the moment, the people at large live close to the ground and they know what is good for them. It is on that basis that they will cast their ballots.

 

On every lip today, there is the call and expectation of a Naya Nepal, and there is no doubt that the country has the economic resources and the human potential to achieve great heights. The burden of history, however, is heavy: for two centuries, Nepali peasants have fled their exploitative hillsides to go to Mughlan – the plains of the Indus-Ganga – to serve as mercenaries or menial labour. Today, they continue to migrate out of hill and plain, beyond even India to Malaysia and the Gulf. They seek survival elsewhere as a potentially productive motherland has had its economy continuously diverted and human security relentless devastated. Hope is now pinned on the constitution that is to come from the constituent assembly exercise, that it will restructure the state and energise the economy so that the possibilities of the land are at last realized.

There are reasons to keep one’s hopes high. The encounter with royal autocracy, military takeover, and Maoist violence has sobered up the political class and civil society. The citizenry is aware, empowered and able to distinguish between political offerings. Already, in the weeks after the Comprehensive Peace Accord, a loosening up of the body politic has been evident – police posts are getting re-established, destroyed infrastructure is being reconstructed, political parties are organising in the villages at long last, and melas and haath bazaars are being revived. All this has happened without the state’s intervention, with citizens taking matters into their own hands.

The decibel level will be high in Nepal in the days ahead, but the sound of gunfire will be absent. Nepalis will get a new constitution, by peaceful means. The diversity of the population will be represented. The horrific and continuous exploitation of the land and population by Kathmandu satraps will end. No one believes it will be easy, or that it will not be confusing, or that it will not take a long time. Everyone knows that the constitution- to-come will only be as good as its implementation – but the country is on track to becoming something it has never been before, calibrated to the needs of the common woman and man. Nepal can, perhaps, be the model country of Southasia, using its diversity of population, its fitting economy of scale, its proven ability at grassroots empowerment, and its continuous history of two centuries and more, to generate a momentum as a nation state like no other in the neighbourhood.

For this we needed peace and democracy, and now we have both. On the trails of rural Nepal, the normally cheerful people had over the last decade of internal war learnt to keep their eyes to the ground and not ask the stranger the most natural questions – where are you from, where are you going, what do you do? But in the last few weeks, after the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Accord on November, the gleam has returned to the Nepali eye. Once again, the lady walking home from the pandhera (spring) with the water container balanced on her hip, will look at you in the eye as you pass by. She will ask brightly, as she used to in a nearly forgotten past, ‘who are you, dai? Where are you going?’ Shall I reply, ‘Baini, I am going to the Naya Nepal.’