Up Close and Personal - Kingdom Near Clouds : Nuzhat Shahzadi

June 1st 2001. The world was shocked as they learned about the massacre of the royal family in Nepal. King Birendra, Queen Aishwarya and seven other royal family members were killed. The Crown Prince Dipendra who was accused of the mass shooting was in a coma due to a self-inflicted gunshot in the head. He was declared as the king but died three days after the carnage. King Birendra’s brother Gyanendra was sworn in as the king. There were many rumors and myths surrounding the killings––political motif was one of them . . .

The Royal Palace - now a museum

This happened just three months after I joined UNICEF-ROSA as a communication officer and to head the regional “Meena” girl-child project. The day after the tragedy was far worse. We all stayed home as advised by UNDSS and our security officer, Luc. The country was shut down. Debilitating fear gripped the nation.

As night fell on June 2, I could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance.

I lived alone in a large, three-storied house in Budhanilkantha on the outskirts of the Kathmandu valley close to the mountains, amongst wilderness. It was the last house on a hilly-lane, with almost no neighbors.

My Gurkha guards (paid by office) were on twenty-four hour duty, in shifts. Maoist insurgency was gradually gaining momentum in recent months. Luc was concerned for my safety.

However, my colleague Ashok and his family lived at walking distance from my house. He was on an official mission overseas at the time. Ashok’s wife Abha, was home with their three daughters. Abha and I were walking partners. Close to midnight she called me on the landline. It was the infancy-period of mobile phones.

Abha gave me a chilling news––she heard that to aggravate the chaos, insurgents/opponents of king Birendra had put poison in the main water tank that serviced all the residences in the entire valley and the outskirts. My house was built over a natural spring––I used its sweet water. Only my garden was watered by the main water tank-source. Abha was terrified as she thought she and the girls had drunk the “poisoned” tap water and used it in the cooking. As we spoke we heard the guns––on and off, breaking the silence of the night.

I will always remember that night . . . a strange moonlit night . . .bathing the distant Himalayas––it looked surreal . . . Abha’s daughters were sleeping. I had to be strong. I told her we would keep on talking on the phone till it’s morning. No sleeping. Every thirty minutes she would wake up the girls, make them drink bottled water––use the bathroom while I stayed on the phone. Most internationals kept backup supplies of bottled water and other essentials.

Nepal was in utter confusion. We didn’t know what was happening . . .

We finally fell asleep at early dawn. We spoke through the entire night––the rumor wasn’t true. Everyone survived. Abha and I became close friends from then on.

Nepal was the only Hindu Kingdom in the world. People liked King Birendra. But inequity and inequality, discrimination and poverty in the tiny nation were fuelling grievances against the monarchy. The armed struggle started in 1996 between the Nepalese communist party (Maoists) and the government. The Maoists wanted to overthrow the monarchy and establish a peoples’ republic. After the royal massacre a short-lived ceasefire was attempted which ultimately failed.

The nation changed drastically overnight.

When I first arrived, it was a different Kathmandu. The colors, flowers, whirl of prayer wheels and cheerful voices filled the air . . . I remember––one day after office we were stuck at a traffic jam for an hour while going back to my hotel (Radisson). Gaeni ji, our office driver informed me that the king was visiting his concubine down the road and so it was locked down . . . I was amused and surprised. It didn’t seem to bother anyone . . . it was “mountain-lifestyle,” I thought.

As Maoist insurgency grew stronger, tourism was impacted and the economy suffered. There were protests, killings in the darkness of the night. One morning, a dead body of a young insurgent was discovered close to my house. Juvenile boys began joining the rebels due to extreme poverty. Only essential staff attended in-person office while many worked from home for security reasons. Office car pool was used for staff pick up and drop. On early mornings, government forces combed the streets for anti-personnel landmines. There were regular break-ins at houses. While all these were going on, Nepal television kept broadcasting the “Meena” films––courtesy of Nepal country-office and our colleague, Sharad Ranjeet.

The village around my house, at the foot of the slope was rumored to be full of Maoists. I never had a break in. I heard from informal sources that my house was guarded by the Maoists . . . I was not an outsider–– I was the “Didi” (sister) who made “Meena” films and provided “tika” or vaccines to their children. 

I was UNICEF!