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 Those of you who are regular readers will have noticed that I was not in the paper last week. When I queried why my column didn’t appear I was told that a two-page sports feature had taken up my, and other, space. Yes, quite true, I had noticed the middle spread was all about sport. “Not all read­ers are interested in football”, I quipped. “It’s World Cup cricket”, came the reply. “Which just proves my point. Period.” So it would seem we are entering five weeks of world class cricket coverage. Which, now that I look closely at the two-page spread, is being held mainly in England.

Despite being British, I know noth­ing about cricket. Or very little about it. I have, over the years, watched the IPL matches out of India. On and off. With interesting names such as Chennai Super Kings and Kolkata Knight Riders and having patrons/owners the likes of Shah Rukh Khan, there is a little more spice (masala maybe?) to watching this cricket league. But it’s mainly the audience’s reactions that I am watching. To me the audiences in India provide more entertainment that those men in various colors running around a field! The cheer­leaders dancing around, pompoms in hand to Bollywood numbers are also fun to watch. And so, just not (English) cricket!

Aside from the IPL, I know as much about Indian cricket as I do about any breed of cricket. But I do know that when India and Paki­stan play, the TV viewing rates go through the roof! Quick men­tion here of the fact India play Pakistan on June 22 in the Cricket World Cup. I might even watch that one—if someone will sponsor me a drink or two!

Meantime, oddly enough, some weeks ago I did meet Jonty Rhodes, a former South African cricket player and fielding coach of IPL team the Mumbai Indians. He, along with West Indies and Afghanistan coach, Ryan Maron, were here in Nepal for a 10-day high performance coaching camp aiming to both train coaches and select a few young players for the national under-19 team. Not only was Rhodes extremely impressed by the level of ability in Nepal, he also stood up for child rights. In the press meet of the Dhangadhi Premier League (DPL) 2019 Rhodes signed a commitment to end child mar­riage in Nepal, put forward by social partner World Vision International Nepal. Bet you didn’t know that Mr Cricket Fan.

Okay so maybe I do know more about cricket than I realized. Per­haps it’s my sporty father. I don’t think he ever played cricket but when I was very young he was the commentator at Gayfield Park, the football stadium in Arbroath, Scot­land. Since we lived in Arbroath at the time, and since he somehow, I don’t know how, was obviously enough of a fan to be a commentator, he supported the Scottish Football League team, Arbroath FC. And still makes an annual trip to Gayfield to support his team.

I remember sitting high up in the commentator’s box on Saturday afternoons. Most probably having an Arbroath pie at half time. Or a bri­die (similar to a pie but shaped more like a big Tibetan Shabaley), coming famously from down the road in For­far. But no, I don’t like football either. Also in Arbroath, my father was a tennis coach at a private tennis club. And no, I don’t like tennis either. See a pattern here?

Anyway, back to the World Cup Cricket, which I will not be watch­ing. For those who got excited to see the schedule printed out in the middle of this publication last week I can only say bah humbug! Just kidding… But some of you were missing me, I know. I’ll see you guys in the bar. And rest of you, cricket loving folks, I wish you few no balls!

 Upon an ‘urgent request’ from Nepal, the Indian Army entered Nepal on 10 March 1952, ostensibly to train and restruc­ture Nepal’s army. Nepal made an official statement saying that it was grateful to the Indian government for sending the officers. But it was branded “foreign interference” by Nepali Congress leaders outside the government as well as by other political forces. The entry of Indian forces into Nepal took place against the back­drop of K.I. Singh’s rebellion (about which I have written in previous issues). The Rana fam­ily and their courtiers wielded enormous power and influence in the army and the upper echelons of the state apparatus. Unhappy with the regime change, many Rana major generals, who had lost their perks and prestige, had resigned voluntarily.

With the ouster of Mohan Shumsher, Matrika Prasad Koirala had become prime minister on 19 November 1951, and the new government was comprised of Nepali Congress leaders and palace loyalists. The Ranas and those under their patronage wanted to destabilize democracy, and the government was scared of them. It was put under the impression that a reactionary plot was a distinct possibility, and it sought an Indian military mission within three months of its formation.

That was the time the commu­nists had come to power in China—something that did not go down well with India and the democratic West. The Congress government in Nepal was made to believe that K.I. Singh could return from China and bring communism along. Afraid of a potential revolt, the government readily accepted the Indian military mission.

King Tribhuvan also agreed to it. Having won back his crown with Indian help, Tribhuvan felt obligated to return the favor. Many believe he accepted the Indian mission to repay India for its support. At the time, Tribhuvan was virtually all-powerful, and the government could not have taken key decisions without his consent. The palace posed no obstacle to the entry of the Indian military mission and the establishment of Indian check-posts on Nepal’s border with China.

Amid fears of K.I. Singh and China as well as a counter-revolu­tion from the Ranas, the Matrika Prasad Koirala government felt the acute need for training and restruc­turing the Nepali army. The gov­ernment’s formal decision states, “Our freedom is sacred to us. Safe­guarding our newly won democracy from internal and external threats requires a well-trained and modern army. To meet this objective, we welcome our neighboring country India’s assistance.” (Nepal Gazette, 14 April 1952).

About a month prior to the pub­lication of that statement, Indian army officials had visited Nepal to discuss the matter with their Nepali counterparts. Nepal Gazette states that the Indian military mis­sion came here with the consent of the head of the Nepal army. It further says, “The Nepal govern­ment decided to invite a team of 20 Indian army officers and their staff. The Indian government has kindly accepted Nepal’s request to pay their salary.” The Indian contingent would later expand.

Some argue that the Indian army personnel were in Nepal to help with the building of the Tribhu­van International Airport and the Tribhuvan Highway. But the Indian army officers appeared more eager to become Nepal’s de facto rulers than to train the Nepali army. They started concocting various agen­das to call Nepal’s prime minister, ministers and high-level officials for meetings.

Many did not like the attendance of PM Matrika Prasad Koirala in the meetings they summoned. But such attendances gradually became reg­ular. It wasn’t that the arrival of the Indian Army attracted no public crit­icism. In fact, there was widespread criticism of “foreign interference” from even within the ruling Con­gress. The entry of the Indian mili­tary mission was also seen as a plan to gain command of Nepal’s foreign and defense policies.

The next column in the ‘Vault of his­tory’ series will discuss the duration and the political implications of the Indian military mission in Nepal

 The Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES), which assesses the state of biodiversity and the ecosystem services it provides to society, last week released a report stating that one million species are at risk of extinction. They estimate there are 5.5 million species of insects, of which 10 percent (500,000 species) are threatened. In addition, there are 2.5 million species of animals and plants (but not insects), of which 25 percent (500,000 species) are threatened. (This 25 percent figure is estimated from IUCN Red List assessments.)

Whatever the numbers, which will surely be hotly debated among conservationists, biolo­gists and industrialists for years to come, it is clear that the volume of animal and plant life all over the planet is declining in alarming numbers.

Humans are the main culprits. Their industrial agricultural prac­tices which tolerate only mono­culture and aerial applications of toxic herbicides and pesticides, huge cities of concrete, massive toxic emissions from fossil fuels, millions of tons of toxic plastic objects which break down into a soup of microplastic in the water­ways, pharmacological waste, and a dizzying array of chemicals used in daily life are contaminating every millimeter of earth, water, sky and air.

And then there is the hubris of a human-centric worldview where the planet is viewed as terra nulla for humans to colonize. Every other species must make way, or die if need be, for our smallest needs.

Nepal may feel separate from these discussions. And yet we cannot afford not to be part of this global dialogue. Our shops are full of pesticides. Our water­ways are full of plastic bottles. Our supermarkets are full of beauty products and cosmetics contain­ing innocent sounding ingredients which cause endocrine disrup­tion, leading to a “thyroid” health crisis. Our chickens are full of last resort antibiotics.

When I visited Jumla in 1993, I was 20. With just a junior techni­cal assistant from the NGO that had hired me to write a report about its work in Jumla as a guide, I made my way across the dis­trict for six weeks. Chicken were kept in close proximity to sleep­ing areas, and people were often so disturbed by the pests on the birds they sprinkled DDT onto their beds before going to sleep. I was offered some DDT to sprin­kle on my bed, which I politely declined. Lecturing people on the harm created by this practice was useless—they felt there was no alternative if they wanted a good night’s sleep.

I often think about this dis­turbing memory and wonder how many of the cancers occur­ring in Nepalis are triggered by agro-chemicals. There was a young woman I met at the Nepal­gunj airport on that trip who was ravaged by breast cancer. More recently, I was in Dhulikhel when an elderly lady on a bus told me she was undergoing treatment for cancer. She was obviously sick, and I wondered how much of the beautiful landscape outside was scarred with invisible poison.

We have been made to believe Western science and its inven­tions are the height of intelligence and infallible wisdom. Yet how can a worldview that encourages people to keep making danger­ous chemicals and compounds with not a single thought about its end result be ethical, rational or wise? In Eastern philosophi­cal traditions (different strands of Jainism, Hinduism and Bud­dhism) the ethical consequences of harming another life is front and center in every action we take. How could we have been made to believe that this “sci­ence” which keeps inventing one toxic killer substance after anoth­er is not just a way of thinking we must all adopt on a global level, but indeed the only way? What made us so deluded we have no effective way to push back at this genocidal regime and say: “No, we refuse to adopt a way of life which is murdering a million spe­cies on earth”?

Homo sapiens—Latin for “the wise man”—was the name given to humans to indicate their ability to think. Scientists often boast intelligence marks humans out from other beings who cannot think with the same cognitive complexity. Our cognitive abili­ties are far superior to any other species on earth, the scientists assure us. They’ve done the stud­ies, so they should know.

And yet how could we be an intelligent species if we’re destroying the very basis of what makes us alive—the web of life which sustains us on earth—all destroyed with no end in sight? We may have the military, indus­trial and chemical arsenal that no other animal has. But then no other animal attacks its own basis of life the way Homo sapiens has so successfully done, with the help of science and technology.

Does this mean we are not as intelligent as we think we are? Does it mean we are missing a chip—the ecological quotient chip that all other animals come so beautifully equipped with? Will we manage to decimate the whales who survived for 2.5 mil­lion years? Will we kill even the cockroaches, the ultimate survi­vor? Are we bringing the web of life crashing down, all the while clapping at our own brilliance? Perhaps it is time to change our name to Homo insapiens—the foolish human species.

 General Nara Shumsher Rana was aghast when he heard K.I. Singh’s plan to oust the king. Singh had made Rana swear on the Gita to keep the plan a secret. But the vow did not stand a chance in the face of such an enormous conspiracy. When Rana revealed the plan to King Mahendra, the monarch said to him, “I didn’t think Singh was such a bad egg. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” A few days later, Mahendra dissolved Singh’s cabinet.

Singh claimed he was made a victim of a conspiracy because he wanted to take action against those who plundered state coffers. He was trying to initiate a property audit by setting up a ‘Transaction Examination Commission’, which the palace had okayed. But his government was dissolved before he could do so. He had also tried to legally challenge his defeat in the 1959 general elections, including by inviting Indian legal experts to Nepal, again to no avail.

K.I. Singh desperately wanted to be prime minister again, but the palace—considering his rebellious nature—did not oblige

K.I. Singh was among the first politicians to welcome the December 1960 royal coup against the elected government. He was happy and optimistic about the downfall of the multi-party system and the advent of the Panchayat regime. Singh considered the parliamentary system ‘inauspicious’.

Although he was arrested in the royal coup, he was released after eight days. As a reward for his support to the Panchayat regime, King Mahendra nominated him as the chairperson of the Royal Council, a post that Singh had coveted. Singh also wanted to be placed higher in the political hierarchy than the deputy chairperson of the royal cabinet. According to Surendra Pratap Shah, then Royal Council Secretary, Singh asked King Mahendra whether he would be above “that sanyasi” in the hierarchy. (Singh was referring to Tulsi Giri.) Mahendra replied, “Each person is important in their own place. You will preside over the Royal Council, which Giri will attend. But he will be above you in hierarchy.” (Nepal Weekly, 23 October 2011).

Singh had been declared chairperson of the Royal Council, but before he took the oath of office, he announced his resignation, saying, “I cannot work under such a sanyasi. I would rather not be the chairperson.” The palace did not take Singh’s resignation favorably. Public expressions demanding action against those who defied royal edict were also being voiced.

Singh became disenchanted with the Panchayat regime when he could not get what he wanted. In February 1964, he announced a Satyagraha (passive resistance), arguing that corruption had worsened under the regime, that people were imprisoned without trial and that citizens were declared anti-national and barred from entering the country. This posed a challenge to the regime, which responded by arresting Singh.

He served a two-year prison sentence, after which he again joined the royal regime—first by entering local politics in his home district of Doti and subsequently by being elected a member of the National Panchayat. Singh desperately wanted to be prime minister, but the palace—considering his rebellious nature—did not oblige.

On 9 July 1979, he resigned from the National Panchayat and began advocating a multi-party system in the run up to the May 1980 national referendum. He made fiery speeches and left no stone unturned to discredit the Panchayat regime, going so far as to sling mud at high-level Panchas and accuse particular individuals of being ‘smugglers’ and ‘characterless’.

But after the referendum produced a victory for the Panchayat system, Singh saw that the days of the regime were not numbered. And he contested an election to the National Panchayat from the district of Rupandehi, where he had once waged a democratic rebellion. He won with flying colors, and was even considered a strong candidate for prime minister. But the palace wanted to continue with Surya Bahadur Thapa, as a reward for his role in the Panchayat’s victory in the referendum.

K.I. Singh died of cancer on 4 October 1982 while undergoing treatment in Bangkok. He was 75. In his political life, he received many appellations, such as ‘revolutionary’, ‘rebel’, ‘dacoit’, ‘capitulator’, ‘compromiser’ and ‘opportunist’.

The next column in the ‘Vault of history’ series will discuss the Indian military posts set up on the border with China, partly to contain K.I. Singh who was thought of as close to Beijing