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In any democracy, the ultimate measure of progress is not the charisma of a leader but the strength of the institutions that guarantee freedom, accountability, and justice. History has repeatedly shown us that when democracies begin to worship individuals rather than nurture institutions, the system tilts dangerously toward authoritarianism. Conversely, where institutions are built to outlast personalities, democracy endures even amidst crises.

A strong framework of institutions—such as the Election Commission, the Supreme Court, and Commission for Investigation of Abuse of Authority—should be nurtured to sustain and strengthen democracy. These bodies become the backbone of democratic functioning, which in turn nurtures smooth transitions of power and safeguards constitutional values. Whereas in countries where democracy slid into personality cults, rulers risk turning to ruler-for-life. By centralizing power around oneself and eroding institutions like the judiciary and civil services, the ruler hollows out the very foundations of governance. What follows is economic collapse, rampant corruption, and political instability. The lesson is clear: when institutions are weakened in favor of individuals, democracy becomes hostage to whims rather than laws.

Nepal’s recent political landscape offers a vivid illustration of this dynamic. Balendra Shah—popularly known as Balen—first captured the nation’s imagination when he stood as an independent candidate for Kathmandu Mayor in the 2022 local elections, becoming the first independent candidate ever elected to the position. His victory set off a wave of enthusiasm, particularly on social media, where his profile grew rapidly into something resembling a movement.

As a mayor, Balen gained immense popularity. He rarely spoke to the public and avoided the media, choosing instead to communicate through social media, generating significant online engagement. The former rapper became an enigmatic figure. People wanted to know more about him, but he rarely revealed much about himself. He attempted to clear squatter settlements in Thapathali, used force against street vendors, and openly expressed frustration with the government’s failure to coordinate on waste management—going so far as to order rubbish dumped outside government offices. These actions drew criticism and backlash, but they also cemented his image as someone willing to act where others merely talked. His aura was, by most accounts, unmatched in recent Nepali political history.

That boldness extended beyond municipal governance. He frequently lambasted the major political parties, including the Congress, CPN (UML), the Maoists, and even the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP), and his voice came to embody the frustration of thousands of Nepalis who felt disillusioned with these parties. During the GenZ protests on Sept 8–9 against corruption, nepotism, the social media ban, and other governance failures in Nepal, he expressed support for the demonstrators. He also called former Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli a “terrorist” and demanded that he take responsibility for the deaths during the protests. 

On 28 Dec 2025, Shah formally unified with the RSP, resigning as Kathmandu mayor on 18 Jan 2026 to contest the 2026 general election as the party’s prime ministerial candidate. While RSP chair Rabi Lamichhane retained his formal title, Shah became the party’s dominant public face and the principal engine of its electoral momentum.

The results were staggering. Shah ran against four-time former Prime Minister Oli in the latter’s own stronghold—and won convincingly.  Shah secured 68,348 votes, the highest vote total ever recorded in Nepal’s parliamentary election history. This surpassed the previous record of 57,139 votes set by Oli himself in the same constituency in 2017. Oli received just 18,734 votes, leaving Shah with a winning margin of 49,614 votes. The symbolism was impossible to miss: the new Nepal, it seemed, had emphatically displaced the old.

RSP’s broader performance matched the scale of Shah’s individual triumph. With 12 candidates winning over 50,000 votes each, the party swept the election with a landslide victory, claiming close to a two-thirds majority—falling just two seats short. Balen and his party became a defining force within the very mainstream system he once so loudly criticized.

This victory arrives at a particularly delicate moment for Nepal. In the aftermath of the GenZ protests, the country stepped outside its constitutional framework, appointing a former chief justice as prime minister. It is now on the path back to constitutional order through fresh parliamentary elections. In that context, RSP and Balen represent both enormous opportunity and considerable challenge.

The opportunity is obvious: a party with a sweeping mandate and a charismatic leader who commands genuine popular trust. The challenge is subtler—and more dangerous. Posts are already circulating on social media that deify Shah in terms that should give any democrat pause. Owing to the coincidence of his birth date with Oli’s electoral rise in the early 90s, some have compared him to Lord Krishna, born to end the reign of the tyrant Kansa. It is a flattering myth, but myths of this kind carry real costs in a democracy. When leaders are elevated to quasi-divine status, the institutions meant to check them begin to seem like obstacles rather than safeguards.

Building robust institutions ensures continuity and accountability. Leaders may inspire, but institutions protect. Personality cults may offer temporary stability, but they weaken checks and balances. True democracy is not about deifying a figure—it is about ensuring that no one is above the constitution, and no one is indispensable to governance.

Balen faces a challenge: to meet the sky-high expectations of a people hungry for honest, effective governance. But the responsibility does not rest with him alone. The people who voted for him—and those watching from afar—must also resist the temptation of placing him on a pedestal he was never meant to occupy. He is a representative of the general public in a democratic country. Nothing more, and nothing less. He cannot be above his party. He cannot be above the constitution.

If Nepal—and democracies everywhere—wish to thrive, they must resist the temptation of idolizing individuals and instead invest in the institutions that will safeguard freedoms for generations. After all, it is institutions, not idols, that make democracies durable.

In any democracy, the ultimate measure of progress is not the charisma of a leader but the strength of the institutions that guarantee freedom, accountability, and justice. History has repeatedly shown us that when democracies begin to worship individuals rather than nurture institutions, the system tilts dangerously toward authoritarianism. Conversely, where institutions are built to outlast personalities, democracy endures even amidst crises.

A strong framework of institutions—such as the Election Commission, the Supreme Court, and Commission for Investigation of Abuse of Authority—should be nurtured to sustain and strengthen democracy. These bodies become the backbone of democratic functioning, which in turn nurtures smooth transitions of power and safeguards constitutional values. Whereas in countries where democracy slid into personality cults, rulers risk turning to ruler-for-life. By centralizing power around oneself and eroding institutions like the judiciary and civil services, the ruler hollows out the very foundations of governance. What follows is economic collapse, rampant corruption, and political instability. The lesson is clear: when institutions are weakened in favor of individuals, democracy becomes hostage to whims rather than laws.

Nepal’s recent political landscape offers a vivid illustration of this dynamic. Balendra Shah—popularly known as Balen—first captured the nation’s imagination when he stood as an independent candidate for Kathmandu Mayor in the 2022 local elections, becoming the first independent candidate ever elected to the position. His victory set off a wave of enthusiasm, particularly on social media, where his profile grew rapidly into something resembling a movement.

As a mayor, Balen gained immense popularity. He rarely spoke to the public and avoided the media, choosing instead to communicate through social media, generating significant online engagement. The former rapper became an enigmatic figure. People wanted to know more about him, but he rarely revealed much about himself. He attempted to clear squatter settlements in Thapathali, used force against street vendors, and openly expressed frustration with the government’s failure to coordinate on waste management—going so far as to order rubbish dumped outside government offices. These actions drew criticism and backlash, but they also cemented his image as someone willing to act where others merely talked. His aura was, by most accounts, unmatched in recent Nepali political history.

That boldness extended beyond municipal governance. He frequently lambasted the major political parties, including the Congress, CPN (UML), the Maoists, and even the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP), and his voice came to embody the frustration of thousands of Nepalis who felt disillusioned with these parties. During the GenZ protests on Sept 8–9 against corruption, nepotism, the social media ban, and other governance failures in Nepal, he expressed support for the demonstrators. He also called former Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli a “terrorist” and demanded that he take responsibility for the deaths during the protests. 

On 28 Dec 2025, Shah formally unified with the RSP, resigning as Kathmandu mayor on 18 Jan 2026 to contest the 2026 general election as the party’s prime ministerial candidate. While RSP chair Rabi Lamichhane retained his formal title, Shah became the party’s dominant public face and the principal engine of its electoral momentum.

The results were staggering. Shah ran against four-time former Prime Minister Oli in the latter’s own stronghold—and won convincingly. Shah secured 68,348 votes, the highest vote total ever recorded in Nepal’s parliamentary election history. This surpassed the previous record of 57,139 votes set by Oli himself in the same constituency in 2017. Oli received just 18,734 votes, leaving Shah with a winning margin of 49,614 votes. The symbolism was impossible to miss: the new Nepal, it seemed, had emphatically displaced the old.

RSP’s broader performance matched the scale of Shah’s individual triumph. With 12 candidates winning over 50,000 votes each, the party swept the election with a landslide victory, claiming close to a two-thirds majority—falling just two seats short. Balen and his party became a defining force within the very mainstream system he once so loudly criticized.

This victory arrives at a particularly delicate moment for Nepal. In the aftermath of the GenZ protests, the country stepped outside its constitutional framework, appointing a former chief justice as prime minister. It is now on the path back to constitutional order through fresh parliamentary elections. In that context, RSP and Balen represent both enormous opportunity and considerable challenge.

The opportunity is obvious: a party with a sweeping mandate and a charismatic leader who commands genuine popular trust. The challenge is subtler—and more dangerous. Posts are already circulating on social media that deify Shah in terms that should give any democrat pause. Owing to the coincidence of his birth date with Oli’s electoral rise in the early 90s, some have compared him to Lord Krishna, born to end the reign of the tyrant Kansa. It is a flattering myth, but myths of this kind carry real costs in a democracy. When leaders are elevated to quasi-divine status, the institutions meant to check them begin to seem like obstacles rather than safeguards.

Building robust institutions ensures continuity and accountability. Leaders may inspire, but institutions protect. Personality cults may offer temporary stability, but they weaken checks and balances. True democracy is not about deifying a figure—it is about ensuring that no one is above the constitution, and no one is indispensable to governance.

Balen faces a challenge: to meet the sky-high expectations of a people hungry for honest, effective governance. But the responsibility does not rest with him alone. The people who voted for him—and those watching from afar—must also resist the temptation of placing him on a pedestal he was never meant to occupy. He is a representative of the general public in a democratic country. Nothing more, and nothing less. He cannot be above his party. He cannot be above the constitution.

If Nepal—and democracies everywhere—wish to thrive, they must resist the temptation of idolizing individuals and instead invest in the institutions that will safeguard freedoms for generations. After all, it is institutions, not idols, that make democracies durable.

Arundhati Roy goes:Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing. 

Social movements usually rely on collective imagination to claim that “another world is possible”. For the people involved in social and political movements, this “another world” is imagined as a just, fair, and equitable society, where everything is orderly and harmonious. The same idea I found while talking to a couple of GenZ during their recent demonstration against corruption, misgovernance and social media ban in Nepal.

Nepal has witnessed multiple social movements aiming toward a collective desire to sustain democratic values, freedom, equality, social justice and accountability. The people’s movement of 1990 ended the absolute monarchy and established a constitutional monarchy, whereas the popular movement of 2006 dethroned the monarch and established constitutional supremacy. These movements drifted the nation away from authoritarian control and toward self-determination and freedom.

However, despite these uprisings, Nepal has not got the corruption-free and just society that the citizens fought for. When one regime fails, another adopts the same old system instead of dismantling the corrupt system. Many leaders who rose from the movements later became a part of the institution, where the ideals of justice got absorbed into party politics. One prime example is the leaders of the Maoist revolution, who joined mainstream politics after the 2006 movement and eventually became enmeshed in political power struggles by forgetting the ethos of the revolution.

Despite the re-imagination of a corruption-free society, Nepal got caught in a downward spiral because Nepali politics has long run on corruption. When the political ideals enter the political realm, they encounter power hierarchies and systemic corruption. The collective dream of an ideal state cannot survive the messiness of governance. Corruption or inequality isn’t just in “bad leaders”—it’s embedded in political and economic systems, social hierarchies and even thought processes. It is because human behavior, vested interests, and cultural norms are tied to the very injustices they want to change. 

Another reason why corruption thrives in Nepal is because the supposed opposition is nothing more than the government’s shadow. There is an absence of genuine opposition. Instead of holding the government accountable, the opposition has colluded in the same practices, which leaves no real voice for the checks and balances essential for a healthy democracy.

Social movements, then, act as critical mirrors of society. They show what is intolerable, highlight the problems in the existing society and demand something radically different. These movements turn imagination into political energy and invite society to re-imagine itself. Moreover, they help people imagine a better world together and take action to make it happen. Yet, justice and corruption-free governance are not single-issue goals. They require transformation at several levels—economic, cultural, political and personal. Different movements emerge to tackle different angles of this complex problem.

When the political ideals of the 2006 movement failed, Nepali youths began questioning the lifestyles of politicians’ children. Their brandishment of wealth and an elevated lifestyle, while commoners were forced to migrate to other countries in the Gulf and beyond for meager earnings, were intolerable. The country ran on remittance, and the citizens struggled for a decent life with basic education, health and other services. In such a situation, seeing the children of politicians living a lavish lifestyle agitated the masses. Using social media as a liberal platform, #Nepobaby and #Nepokid started trending. The ban imposed on social media added fuel to the fire, paving the way for the protest to move from digital platforms to the streets. The death of 19 young people on Aug 25 escalated the protest. In the aftermath of the protest, the buildings of all three bodies of the government—legislative, executive and judicial—turned into ashes and Nepal got its first female prime minister.

Even after the appointment of a new prime minister, the struggle towards a corruption-free state is far from over. It is just a stepping stone. Prime Minister Sushila Karki, a former Chief Justice, has many challenges to tackle. To uproot corruption is not an easy task, as corruption isn’t only a top-level problem—it has normalized into everyday practices such as bribes for jobs, favors in bureaucracy and informal payments.

Despite multiple movements emerging for the same end, a corruption-free state remains elusive. As a result, the same “end” is pursued repeatedly—it is never final, but always in process. The “failure” is actually a part of the utopian condition. Ruth Levitas calls utopia a method: it continually critiques, imagines and pushes boundaries, but does not deliver a once-and-for-all solution.

The necessity of multiple movements shows that utopia is alive—it keeps re-emerging wherever injustice persists. Nepal may not achieve its dream of an ideal corruption-free nation anytime soon. But the repeated protests, movements and revolutions are democratic processes that keep the possibility of achieving that end alive. That utopian dream remains somewhere out there on the horizon. For now, the achievement of movements like this lies in realizing democratic values and unifying voices against injustice. It reminds us that the citizens are the watchdogs and protectors of democracy.

Any family devoid of love among its members is a broken family. Such a family lives in a newly built house with a defective central beam near a burial ground. The house is cold, but their hearts are colder. Their existence is as cold and isolated as the graveyard nearby. When a family becomes dysfunctional, who is to blame? Is it the parents who couldn’t nurture their marital relationship with love, respect, and friendship? Or the stars, planets, and their misalignment? When no amount of prayers and religious rituals can dispel the coldness of the house, when the ties holding them together get coated in ice and become just as brittle, how will the heat enter the house and the hearts? Basanta Basnet’s new novel, Simsara, grapples with the complexities of one such family.

Basnet launched his third book (Second novel) Simsara recently at Nepal Academy. His literary journey began with 72 ko Vismaya (Dismay of 2015), a non-fiction work that delved deep into Nepal’s turbulent post-transition period of 2015. Through this book, Basnet examined the events of profound historical significance, Madhesh Movement in the Tarai, the process leading to the drafting of the constitution under the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal, the four-and-a-half-month embargo imposed by the Indian government, and the 2015 earthquake, which significantly influenced the politicians' efforts to draft the constitution.  Basnet's second book, Mahabhara, explored the themes of love between a Tamang boy and a Limbu girl, set against the political climate of late 90s and early 2000s Nepal, as well as the influences of religion and social foundations. Just as Mahabhara, Simsara is set in the eastern hills of Nepal. It revolves around the complexities of familial relationships and emotional isolation, highlighting how dysfunction within a family can reflect broader societal issues.

In an interview with Suraj Subedi, Basnet claims that our personal experiences aren’t merely personal but are deeply political, as they shape our perspectives. The author sketches his characters based on his personal experiences, knowledge, and imagination. In a dysfunctional family, children, despite being neither the cause nor worthy of blame in any way, are the ones who suffer the most. Sambat, a teenage boy, finds himself at a crossroad as his parents’ relationship deteriorates. He can neither go back to enjoying his childhood nor can he shoulder the responsibilities of an adult. An adolescent in its true sense, Sambat resists the overwhelming challenges of adulthood and yearns to hold onto the playfulness and innocence of childhood. Yet, his resistances are personal, and the majority of it takes place on a mental and emotional level.

The chasm between hearts 

As the length of the lessons Sambat is given to read aloud diminishes, the distance between his parents’ hearts widens. He is forced to navigate this distance but fails to do so. When his life gets chaotic and everything he holds dear begins to fall apart, he attempts to find solace in daydreaming. One day, when Ishvi visits his home accompanying his father, young love buds in his young heart. Sambat then fantasizes a life with Ishvi and leaves the other half of his bed for her every night. Growing up in a dysfunctional family, he hopes to create a healthy family of his own. But fate has something else in store for him.

Sambat’s emotional maturity is portrayed in the internal monologues he delivers. The depth of his internal dialogues with Ishvi surpasses his physical age. In his monologues, he becomes an adult. In his actions, he reverts back to a child. Sambat never gets to hear the end of the story between “Payuu” and “Goman” trees. However, he is a testament to the end of his story with Ishvi and of his parents’ stories. Both of these stories get an ending he could never anticipate.

The shifting political landscape 

Set in the Illam district of the late nineties, the novel also depicts the social and political weather of the time. The change in social and legal systems and the power dynamics between the government and the Maoist party are presented in the novel. While sparks of the Maoist revolution provide a viable environment for the setting of the novel, the author doesn't fully take advantage of it and limits the exploration of the political aspects. Even so, while establishing the clash between two legal systems: The Jana Adalat (The People’s Court) of Maoists and the court system of His Majesty’s Government of Nepal, Basnet exhibits his extensive background in journalistic writing. This approach is parallel to his writing in Mahabhara, where he practices objective reporting and presents the information as neutrally as possible.

Other characters

While the first half of the plot is dominated by Sambat's perspective, the second half introduces the viewpoint of a range of characters who envelop him like an umbrella. Yet, Sambat's views remain dominant throughout, as he serves as the central beam of both the umbrella and the narrative. However, he lacks the strength to become the central beam of his family. 

Simsara is the story of a house with a defective central beam. With a flawed central beam, the foundation of the house begins to falter. In the novel, just as the structural beam of the house, the pillar of a family is flawed in its representation. The patriarchal societal framework posits male as the head of the family. Even so, Mandakranta, his mother, is the unfaltering pillar of Sambat’s life. 

“My mother is like a walnut: hard on the outside, soft on the inside,” states Sambat. Mandakranta’s hardness symbolizes her resilience. Her struggle is not directed against a specific person but is a fight for justice. Her strength and wisdom are presented in the final chapter of the book, where she exhibits the strength of character by being compassionate and empathetic. However, despite having enough space for Mandakranta’s character development throughout the novel, she is denied a voice of her own. While even the beam expresses its thoughts, Mandakranta’s perspective remains unvoiced, despite her being one of the strongest characters. 

Just as strong as Mandakranta is, Dhanroop, Sambat’s father, is a weak character. Even with his position as the male head of the family, his lack of integrity and inability to stand his ground weaken his outlook. So much so that not even his newfound religious inclination could prevent him from bearing the burden of the consequences of his actions.

Finding warmth in fractured bonds

Even though the narrative expression seems repetitive somewhere in the middle, Basnet has stood tall in the challenge of a fiction writer to make his characters seem real. The metaphor of the house as a cold and isolated space parallels the characters’ emotional isolation. And the narration sets a departure from the often-overlooked strength of women in traditional societies. Simsara, like his earlier works, draws on the theme of division. While 72 ko Vismaya is a melting pot of top-down (Government) and bottom-up (Martyr’s family) approaches to looking at the Madhes Revolution, Mahabhara echoes the narrative of personal dreams trained and transformed by the political upheaval. Likewise, Simsara is a tale of how familial structures and power dynamics influence individual lives, particularly those of children, entangled with societal and political contexts.

Simsara is a story of distance: between Ishvi and Sambat, between Payuu and Goman, between Dhanroop and Mandakranta, and between Khawa and Simsara. But that’s just the beginning, not the end. As the characters navigate these distances, Sambat dives into the depths of his own heart and emerges into adulthood. Meanwhile, in her heart, Mandakranta ignites a warmth strong enough to heat the cold house. Likewise, Simsara has the potential to captivate its readers this winter with the simplicity of its language and the depth of its content.

“Gaun Aayeko Bato (A road to a village)” is a story following the advent of a roadway to a remote village in the eastern hill of Nepal. It presents the social changes brought by this infrastructural development, particularly in the lives of Maila Rai, a bamboo weaver, and his family. The movie begins with the worship of the bus that has reached the village for the first time followed by the inauguration of the “Lahure Store.” With it begins the marketization of the village, whose primary victim is Bindre, Maila Rai’s son.

‘Gaun Aayeko Bato’ depicts the unbidden invasion of consumerism and capitalism into the remote corners of the country tailing along with roads and buses. The notions of consumerism and capitalism climb the shoulders of their sister idea of development bolstered by the neoliberal projects. Maila Rai sacrificed his land and labor to pave the roadway to the village. However, as the materialist goods enter the village in those buses, his skills are rendered useless. His bamboo crafts are soon replaced by industrial goods produced in an assembly line, forcing him to seek out alternative means of production. Moreover, overlooking the conflicting timeframe of the events in the movie, coca-cola and noodles can be viewed as the representatives of consumer culture. Bindre’s demands for these items as bribes to attend his school highlights how smoothly consumer culture worms its way into the lives of people.

In addition, as depicted in the movie, infrastructure development is just one facet of capitalist and industrial colonization. Our lives and societal norms are inflicted by technological colonization in addition to industrial and capitalist colonization. As we navigate our way into the new terrain dominated by technology, the technological assimilation into the cultural and social framework is a challenge faced by today’s society. And not even the remotest villages have remained unaltered by this paradigm shift. Living among machines and accepting them as a part of our social fabric was the inescapable reality of the late twentieth century. In a similar vein, the twenty-first century is remodeling itself to accommodate Artificial Intelligence as a part of social structure. Although Maila Rai’s village is far from the introduction of Artificial Intelligence and is just getting in touch with the twentieth century’s innovations like television and smartphones, the pathway cannot be much different for it.

The movie seems to consolidate neoliberalism and brings to the fore its effects on social hierarchy and the rise of defeatist mentality in the people belonging to the lower social standing. At times, Maila Rai is overcome with grief for not being able to provide a respectable life for his family resulting from his unwillingness to be a part of the labor migration leaving his beloved wife and his son behind. As is true of many people in this country, labor migration to the gulf countries stands as the necessary evil harnessed to bring prosperity and wealth to the household, and along with it social recognition. However, be it intentional or resulting from a no-choice situation, workforce migration consolidates the pessimistic attitude of the people who fail to follow that path.

“Gaun Aayeko Bato” is a story of transition, its conflicts and challenges, as the old order and model of our societies are disintegrating and new realities are being constructed. There’s a dichotomy between the indigenous modes of survival and the nationalist ideas of development. The modern notion of development doesn’t provide the necessary space to the indigenous skills and ways of life. While their skills undergo redundancy, the nation fails to tackle this situation. Social policies can mitigate it through retraining and redeployment. The need of the authority to rethink about the future of work and to include indigenous knowledge systems into the developmental framework can be learned from the movie. We have moved past the agricultural revolution, industrial revolution and the corporate revolution. The next revolution will be technological. Yet, similar to the past revolutions, the technological revolution will entail a social revolution, and we should be prepared for this transition.

Nonetheless, the resistance exhibited by Maila Rai against the forces of slavery is highly commendable. Rai discards the illegal way of making money suggested and supported by the capitalist people and follows his skills, although resulting in a failure. This act of resistance is true of many indigenous communities in different parts of the world. Social resistance as such question the existing power structures, mobilizes public opinion, brings attention to the social injustices and systemic problems, and fosters a sense of solidarity, thereby pressuring the policy makers to address the concerns raised by resistance movements.

However, the movie falls short in exposing the social dynamics of the village. As most of the plot revolves around the family dynamics of Maila Rai’s family, the role of society at large isn’t given enough space in the movie. The family often seems detached from the society, particularly in the events following the devastating fate of Bindre’s life, which obviously was a bit overstretched for dramatic effect. This detachment makes the story come off as fragmented. Moreover, despite having the elements required to turn it into a triumphant movie, it is forced to be a tragic one. The financial aspect of the production and the likeliness of the audience to savor the emotionally tragic storyline could be the determining factor.

All things considered, “Gaun Aayeko Bato” is a good watch. It can contribute to the ongoing discussions regarding the notion of development, social resistance, the future of work, technological assimilation, and many such ideas, while simultaneously initiating new discussions pertinent to our social construction. Also, the outstanding acting of Dayahang Rai as Maila Rai, Pashupati Rai as Maili Rai, and Prasan Rai as Bindre Rai is an icing on a cake.