By Jagadish Dahal

Dashain is not merely a festival for Nepalis. It is a time when families put aside the hardships, stress and exhaustion of the year, return home, reunite with loved ones and celebrate together. It is a time of food, family, tradition and hope.

But this year, Dashain could become a particularly difficult and uncertain period for the people of Kathmandu Valley.

A series of disasters and disruptions has exposed how vulnerable the capital’s supply system remains. The devastating disaster in the Bhotekoshi area has disrupted connectivity. Problems along the Narayanghat–Mugling road, including the collapse around Krishnabhir, have repeatedly affected one of the country’s most important routes into Kathmandu. Roads connecting the capital with the southern border points have also faced disruptions. To the north, transportation through Syaphrubesi and the Tatopani border point with China has also been affected.

These are not merely transportation problems.

When the roads stop functioning, the supply chain stops functioning. And when the supply chain is disrupted, the crisis eventually reaches the kitchen.

That is why the most important question for the government right now is simple: What is its concrete plan to ensure uninterrupted supplies during Dashain?

The government cannot wait for shortages to appear in the market before responding. It must anticipate them.

There is growing concern among citizens about the availability of cooking gas, rice, edible oil, vegetables, meat and other basic necessities. If transportation remains disrupted during the festival season, pressure on supplies could increase rapidly. Prices could rise. Hoarding and artificial shortages could emerge. For low- and middle-income families already struggling with rising costs, this could turn Dashain into an additional financial burden.

This is where the government must demonstrate that it is actually in control.

Unfortunately, there is a growing perception that the government is more interested in communicating its achievements through social media than in communicating its plans for dealing with the problems people are actually facing.

A government can produce attractive videos. It can publish polished graphics. It can use artificial intelligence to create impressive-looking content about its progress. But none of that will put cooking gas into a household where the cylinder is empty. A Facebook post about government achievements will not fill a family’s kitchen when rice, cooking oil or vegetables become unavailable.

The success of a government should not be measured by how impressive its social media presence looks. It should be measured by how safely and comfortably citizens can live during a crisis.

The questions are straightforward.

How much food stock does the country have? How much cooking gas is available? For how long can Kathmandu sustain itself if major highways remain blocked? What alternative routes are ready? Can essential goods be transported through those routes? What arrangements have been made with suppliers and distributors? What is the government’s plan to prevent hoarding, black marketing and unnecessary price hikes?

Citizens deserve clear answers.

They also deserve regular information. In a crisis, uncertainty can be as damaging as the crisis itself. When people do not know whether supplies will arrive tomorrow, they naturally begin to panic-buy. Panic buying creates further shortages and pushes prices higher.

The government’s responsibility, therefore, is not simply to manage supplies. It is also to manage public confidence.

This is precisely where Parliament should be playing a stronger role.

Parliament is not merely a place for passing bills. It is the country’s most important forum for questioning the government, exposing problems and demanding solutions on behalf of citizens. If millions of people in the capital are facing uncertainty over basic supplies just before the country’s biggest festival, this should be a matter of urgent parliamentary debate.

The government should be questioned. Ministers should provide answers. Alternative plans should be discussed. And the public should be told what is being done.

Questioning the government is not an act of hostility. It is a fundamental part of democracy.

The larger danger, however, is not limited to a possible shortage of goods. It is the possibility of deepening public frustration.

The events of September 8 and 9, 2025, demonstrated how quickly accumulated public anger can turn into a political crisis. The protests, which began with Gen Z mobilisation, eventually shook the government itself and raised questions about the country’s political system and constitutional order. The violence, arson and destruction that accompanied the protests must be condemned. But the grievances that brought young people to the streets cannot simply be dismissed.

The lesson is clear: public frustration cannot be ignored indefinitely.

Governments do not necessarily lose legitimacy because of one crisis. They lose legitimacy when citizens repeatedly feel that their problems do not matter to those in power.

If people are forced to spend hours standing in queues for basic necessities, if prices become unaffordable, if essential goods disappear from markets, and if the government offers little more than carefully packaged social media messages, frustration will inevitably grow.

And when frustration becomes prolonged, it can become political.

The Balen government therefore has an opportunity, and a responsibility, to act before the situation deteriorates.

It should immediately prepare alternative supply routes. It should ensure adequate stocks of essential food and fuel. It should closely monitor prices and prevent hoarding and black marketing. It should coordinate with local governments, security agencies, transport operators, traders and border authorities. Most importantly, it should communicate honestly and regularly with the public.

Citizens do not need propaganda. They need information.

They do not need another polished video. They need to know whether essential goods will reach their neighbourhoods.

They do not need promises that everything is fine. They need a credible plan for what happens if things are not fine.

The government’s real test this Dashain will not be in its press releases, social media posts or publicity campaigns.

It will be in the kitchen of an ordinary Nepali household.

Can a family buy rice? Can it afford cooking oil? Is cooking gas available? Can vegetables and meat reach the market? Can people travel safely to their homes? Can families celebrate the festival without fear of shortages and price hikes?

These are basic questions, but they go to the heart of governance.

Dashain should be a time when Nepalis return home with hope, not a time when they queue for hours because the state failed to prepare for a foreseeable crisis.

The government still has time to act.

Open the roads. Secure alternative supply routes. Build adequate reserves. Monitor the markets. Communicate with citizens. And, above all, demonstrate that the government understands what people are actually worried about.

Because ultimately, the responsibility of the state is not to convince citizens that everything is fine.

It is to make sure that they are.