By Narayan Prasad Mishra
Just as forests and jungles are delightful and captivating to humans, so are rivers, streams, ponds, lakes, waterfalls, and seas. Although our country does not have a sea, we do have rivers—large and small. Even though there are no very large rivers in the Kathmandu Valley, rivers such as the Hanumante, Khasangkhusung, Manohara, Bagmati, and Bishnumati have made the valley no less charming and enjoyable.
From birth to death, the rituals, religious practices, and sacred traditions we observe are deeply connected to these rivers. Our major temples, monasteries, and religious sites are located along their banks. The ancient ghats, temples, rest houses, and public shelters found along these rivers reveal the river-based civilization of our country.
As a resident of Bhaktapur, my life gradually changed when I joined the service of Tribhuvan University. During that time, we were provided with residence at the Tribhuvan University faculty housing in Sundarighat, Chobhar. Thus, since 1970 (2027 B.S.), I have been living along the Bagmati River. In 1969 (2026 B.S.), I had purchased land near Balkhu, by the Bagmati River, and around 1973/74 (2030/31 B.S.), I built a house there and moved from the faculty housing. From then on, I became a permanent resident of the Bagmati area. I have closely observed the nature, character, and behavior of this river. It is not just one form of a river—the Bagmati in the dry season, when very little water flows; the Bagmati in the monsoon, filled to the brim from one bank to the other; and the Bagmati in times of heavy rain and floods, taking on a fierce and terrifying form—I have seen all these states equally. Yet, it has never crossed its boundaries. In my 54 years of living there, its floodwaters never once entered my home or land.
It may be difficult for many today to believe that even until the early 1970s, the Bagmati was clean and pure, and the residents of Balkhu drank water from the Bagmati and Balkhu rivers. There were no wells nearby Balkhu Chowk, nor any public taps. We were among the first to construct a well in that area.
Sundarighat—true to its name (“beautiful ghat”)—must once have been extraordinarily beautiful. Likewise, the area known today as Balkhu Chowk, then called Hanangulu, with only a few houses along a narrow motorable road to Kirtipur and Chobhar, was no less beautiful. The confluence of the Balkhu stream and the wide Bagmati River created a serene, peaceful, and enchanting environment. Unlike today’s polluted Ring Road area, there was no smoke, dust, or noise.
We were permanent residents of this tranquil and scenic place. My wife Shanti Mishra, my daughter Pragya, and I considered ourselves fortunate to live there. Visitors—family, relatives, and friends—were mesmerized by its beauty and also considered us lucky. Even workers who came for various tasks were amazed by the beauty of Balkhu and the Bagmati, often remarking that it felt like beholding Lord Narayan himself.
The lush green trees along the riverbanks were home to various birds—colorful kingfishers, cranes, egrets, kites, vultures, and many more. Today, the pleasant environment of the Bagmati region feels like a dream, uncertain whether it was ever real.
In this context, I would like to share an interesting anecdote. In those days, there were few foreigners in Kathmandu, and few agencies helped them find rental homes. A foreigner once placed an advertisement in The Rising Nepal, seeking a small bungalow in an open area with a garden, trees, and a view of the Himalayas. Only a postbox was provided as the contact.
Since his description matched our house perfectly, we wrote to him with details and our phone number. After he called, we arranged to meet at the Bagmati Bridge. Upon seeing the house, the garden, the nearby paddy fields, the clean Bagmati River, and the Himalayan view from the north, he immediately agreed to rent it. He even gave us advance rent so we could quickly complete a small cottage in the compound and move there ourselves. This was the magic of Balkhu and the beauty of the Bagmati.
However, in recent decades, under the name of democracy, the country has been driven by party politics, leadership cults, arbitrariness, nepotism, dishonesty, deception, and corruption. Politics has come to mean lies and exploitation. As a result, the country has declined, and so have the rivers of Kathmandu Valley.
Unplanned settlements, haphazard road expansion, and direct discharge of sewage into rivers have destroyed them. Worse still, under the direction of the Kathmandu municipality itself, garbage has been dumped and buried along riverbanks, and roads have been built over it. Politically connected individuals and so-called squatters have occupied encroached riverbanks. The government has turned a blind eye, and even in the capital, the law has not been enforced.
Instead of fearing eviction, these encroachers have behaved like rightful owners, constructing concrete houses and shops. Political leaders—even prime ministers—have supported such illegal activities for their own interests. As a result, the once-beautiful Bagmati has become a foul, sewage-filled river, making the surrounding settlements unlivable due to the stench. Foreign visitors now cover their noses upon arrival.
Due to encroachment, only one-third of the river remains for water flow; roads and settlements have taken over the rest. Consequently, riverine areas are frequently flooded.
As a result, the flood of September 28, 2024 (Ashoj 12, 2081) not only entered my fields but also my house. The reason was not just heavy rainfall, but that the Bagmati no longer had space for its floodwaters to flow. The Balkhu area, once attractive to locals and foreigners alike, became a no-go zone for living.
In this context, the recent efforts by the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) and Mayor Balen Shah’s administration to remove squatters and restore river civilization in Kathmandu Valley deserve appreciation. Those political parties and leaders who misinterpret squatters’ rights to incite public unrest for selfish interests should be rejected by patriotic citizens.
At the same time, the government must take responsibility to provide proper housing for genuine landless people who have been forced to settle along riverbanks for survival. This is not just a duty but an obligation, and the government has already acknowledged this. However, if all those who migrate to cities in the name of being landless are allowed to settle there permanently, it will encourage further migration and encroachment. To prevent this, land should be provided, as far as possible, in the original home districts of such individuals.
Strict laws must also be enforced so that anyone who falsely claims to be landless by hiding property elsewhere faces penalties, including confiscation of both old and newly acquired land. This must be clearly communicated and documented in advance. If this can be implemented, perhaps the problem of cheating and deception may be reduced. Otherwise, once again, the benefits meant for the landless may fall into the hands of fake squatters. There are still people alive who have seen, heard, and know that even government employees and officials in the Kathmandu Valley have, by lying and concealing property held in their own or their ancestors’ names, wrongfully claimed and enjoyed housing benefits in places like Kuleshwar Housing and other government residential facilities. Therefore, the government must remain vigilant.
Despite opposition from anti-development and self-serving political forces, there is little doubt that the current government will continue its efforts to restore river civilization in the valley. For this great and commendable work, the patriotic people of Nepal must express their gratitude to the current government.
narayanshanti70@gmail.com
About the author: A non-partisan writer of several books and numerous articles in Nepali and English; former Chief of the Office of the Tribhuvan University Service Commission, Nepal; and a senior citizen in his mid-eighties.
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