In a 10-by-12-foot, single-room hut on the riverbank, 28-year-old Surajmuni lived with her children. At 5:00 a.m., she felt as though she were having a terrifying dream. But it was no dream. Chaos and cries echoed everywhere. Her husband had gone to India to earn money. The police arrived, grabbed her children by the arms, and took them to a safe location.
In Nepali, a mud-, straw-, and bamboo-made bin used to store grain is called a Dehari. Call it a poor person's wealth or savings: once the harsh, biting winter ends, there is relief, and the grain, rice, or corn stored inside the Dehari helps sustain the family. Grain worth about 6,000 Nepali rupees (around 3,750 Indian rupees) can be stored in it.
Ultimately, as the water level rose, Surajmuni had to gather her cattle and flee for her life, casting one last look at the Dehari with tears streaming down her face—with the same agony as a mother sending her daughter away to her in-laws' home.
Some people's Dehari survived, but the grain inside rotted because of the moisture. In Nuwakot, some people saved their grain at the risk of their lives. But across the entire region, houses were buried, washed away, or left stuck in mud. Even the traditional water mills (Ghatta) used to grind grain were not spared.
Now there are two new challenges: Where will people get their grain ground, and how will they preserve it?
The question is: Shouldn't Surajmuni, living on the riverbank, be considered fortunate? And why build a hut made of tin sheets and wooden slats on such a charming riverbank? If one has a home on the Riverfront in Ahmedabad, how grand is it considered! Isn't the Nepal government kind enough to let slum dwellers live on the riverbank?
In Gandhi's Gujarat, under the leadership of a Chief Minister born into a middle-class tea-selling family, didn't we demolish slums in the dead of night—and sometimes in broad daylight—because they obstructed the path to creating the Riverfront?
Six rivers bestow scenic beauty upon the Kathmandu Valley, the capital of Nepal: the Bagmati, Bishnumati, Manohara, Dhobikhola, Balkhu, and Godavari. Along the banks of these rivers, in densely populated slums, 50,000 families live trapped in a crisis of life and death from which they cannot break free.
The leader who once launched a drive, as the “Mayor” of the capital, to remove these slums is today the “Prime Minister” of Nepal. Well, the slums continue to expand. Regrettably, the huts of families living along these six rivers have either been buried under floods of mud, debris, and rocks or washed away.
Nepal's riverbank slums have a long history.
Nepal's land is divided into two regions: the mountainous region and the plains, known as the Terai. Dalits constitute around 15% of Nepal's population. According to official estimates, the Dalit population in the hilly regions is 36.7%, while in the Terai plains bordering India's Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, it stands at 41.4%.
For Nepal, India is the “Elder Brother.” To study how the caste system binds society in the elder brother's country, the King sent five learned scholars. After conducting an in-depth study, they explained the caste system to the King and also pointed out the loopholes they had noticed in it. Thus, Nepal not only adopted India's caste system but also plugged its gaps.
When Maoism was at its peak in Nepal, I had to travel to Dhangadhi, a city in the remote Kailali district, to train Dalit activists. A curfew was in force there from 5:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. and had been for six months. I had to stay in the only hotel, which had just one room.
To get there, we flew in a tiny aircraft operated by Sita Airways, where cracks inside the cabin had been taped together with cellophane tape! Three passengers sat together in the last row, sharing a single continuous seatbelt. The plane landed on a ground made of crushed stones, and I was one of only about five passengers. For security, a police constable sat under a tree holding a baton.
Since transportation facilities were scarce, a few people walked day and night through the mountains to come and listen to me. Government buildings had been destroyed by bombings. Locals warned me against going there, but I reached a village anyway. Though I was a stranger, nearly 400 people gathered to meet me.
Dalit children complained that they were not allowed to sing the Saraswati Vandana prayer at school. Dalits were barred from worshipping the “sacred” Peepal tree—even if it had been planted by their ancestors—and so on. I was only in a position to listen.
Evidence of how this Maoist movement had flared up could be seen in the slums overflowing along the riverbanks. The foot soldiers of the Maoist struggle were Dalits and laborers. Why?
During this visit, I learned that in this region, writing only a “surname” on official certificates was not enough because the same surname could be found across multiple castes. For further clarity, one had to add Pani Chalne Jati (a caste from whom water can be accepted) or Pani Na Chalne Jati (a caste from whom water cannot be accepted). “Pani Chalne Jati” meant a caste whose water would not “pollute” others!
Democracy settled in Nepal in 2006. Monarchy temporarily ended in 1990, but over the next 15 years, the Maoist conflict, two civil wars, and the King regaining power created ongoing uncertainty. Now, the foundation of a constitution has been laid.
Learning from India's Constitution, Nepal drafted a progressive Constitution in which untouchability practiced on the basis of sub-castes is also declared a “crime.”
During the monarchy, land ownership rested with the King. Land was granted under titles such as Birta, Bakshish, and Jagir to sycophants and influential people.
In pre-independence India, in states such as Punjab, Dalits were barred from owning land because, according to the Manusmriti, their role was only to “serve” the upper three varnas. Consequently, despite Dalits forming 32% of Punjab's population, Dalit land ownership across Punjab stands at just 3.5%.
A similar situation arose in Nepal. In Nepal, the top 5% of people own 37% of the nation's land, while the bottom 74% own just 15%. Dalit land ownership in Nepal is a mere 1%. Among Dalits in Nepal, the proportion of landless people is 75%.
Under these circumstances, what livelihood options remain for Dalits?
The indigenous Tharu tribe living in the western plains, constituting 6.2% of Nepal's population, had been tilling the land for years, but their ownership rights were never registered. Possessing special immunity against malaria, these people lived in the dense forests of the plains where others could not survive.
Following a long campaign in the 1950s that eradicated malaria, large numbers of people from the mountain regions migrated there and, over time, had these lands registered in their own names.
In Nepal, there is a term signifying social identity: Kamaiya. In Gujarati, the equivalent term is Vethiya (bonded laborer). A Kamaiya's job was to cultivate grain on a landlord's land. This was a hereditary system in which the children of a Kamaiya inevitably became Kamaiyas.
In the Dhangadhi region that I mentioned earlier, 10,000 Kamaiyas were freed from slavery in the year 2000 due to Maoist influence. On July 17, 2000, the government declared the Kamaiya system illegal. In five districts of that region, 30,000 families were freed from this hell.
However, the government implemented no rehabilitation program for these liberated individuals. All assurances and promises remained trapped within the pages of constitutional and legal documents. In 2024, on the 24th anniversary of Kamaiya Liberation, out of 27,570 registered Kamaiyas, only 2,375 had received small plots of land.
Landlords drove them off the land. Seeking shelter and basic sustenance, these people settled along the riverbanks.
Another similar custom that forced Dalits into bonded labor was the Hadiya system, which existed in the far-western hilly regions. Burdened by debts incurred through high-interest loans for basic survival, these people were freed in 2008 when the government declared the Hadiya practice illegal.
The 20,000 freed Hadiya families possessed no land, no vocational skills or training, and no social support in the name of brotherhood. Out of sheer desperation, many abandoned their freedom and accepted slavery under landlords once again. Those who remained settled along the riverbanks.
In the plains of eastern Nepal, another bonded labor system is known as Haruwa-Charuwa. One who tills the master's land is a Haruwa, while the children who herd the master's cattle are Charuwa.
Out of Nepal's 77 districts, 942,000 people across 12 districts are victims of this form of slavery. Forty-five percent of these Haruwa-Charuwa have no written agreement with their masters. If they fall ill due to their hardships, not only are their wages deducted, but they are also verbally abused. This practice is still awaiting a formal “prohibitory declaration” from the government.
In Limbdi, in Gujarat's Surendranagar district, I heard a new word for the first time while visiting a fellow activist's house. The area was named “Mafatiyapara.”
For those who have no land for housing and reside on government land, the proud culture of glorious Gujarat uses the term Mafatiya (freeloaders), as if everyone else in this country descended directly from heaven!
In Nepal, a similar identity for such people is Sukumbasi. What is called a “7/12 extract” as proof of ownership in Gujarat is called a Lal Purja in Nepali. The revenue office, Malpot, issues it. Anyone without a Lal Purja is a Sukumbasi.
In India, the BJP has given them a new identity: “infiltrators” (Ghuspaithiya). Aren't we all infiltrators on this earth?
Surajmuni, with whom I began this article, is a Sukumbasi, as are thousands of her neighbors. Whenever a natural disaster strikes, Sukumbasi are the first to suffer. Out of Nepal's population of 29 million, about 14% to 17% are landless.
There is a common belief that people ought to buy their own plot of land. In Nepal's capital, Kathmandu, the price of one Ana of land is around 3,000,000 Nepali rupees (approximately 1,880,000 Indian rupees). One Ana of land is 342.25 square feet—less than a third of a Guntha.
What do the Sukumbasi earn?
Calculating in Indian rupees, masons and construction workers earn Rs. 500–600 per day; ragpickers earn Rs. 200–250 per day; women doing house-cleaning work in bungalows earn Rs. 3,500 per month; and street hawkers earn Rs. 300 per day.
For such people, living in a single 10-by-12-foot room called a Tahara on the riverbank is the only affordable option.
What is the future for the children of Sukumbasi?
When I worked in the villages of Bhal, the sole reason people had more children was that, at a young age, the children could help earn money. In Nepal, Sukumbasi think in exactly the same way, and children enter the workforce by the age of 12.
In India, politicians and religious leaders encourage population growth to secure their own longevity.
Literacy in Nepal stands at 76.2%; in contrast, among Sukumbasi children, the rate is about 10 percentage points lower than the national average. Malnutrition among Sukumbasi children under five years of age is reported at 45%.
For a Sukumbasi mother, buying two eggs to provide nutrition for her children versus buying a kilogram of rice to feed the entire family presents a harsh dilemma, as both cost the same.
The food-security guarantees and ration-shop system found in India do not exist in Nepal. Such a system exists only in 23 hilly districts where people endure extreme hardship. Yes, during festivals, the government opens centers at fairs where the poor can buy grain at subsidized rates.
However, revolutionary guarantees of citizens' rights can be found in Nepal's Constitution: every Nepali citizen has a right to housing, and eviction from any place can occur only through legal means.
Unfortunately, these provisions have failed to translate into reality.
Since the first commission was set up in 1952 to implement land reform, 22 commissions have been established. Yet, up to 2013, no more than 46,600 Bighas of land could be allocated to 150,000 families.
Years ago, in Gujarat's villages, I saw that to bail out an accused using land as security, the landowner had to present land-ownership papers in court. If you do not even have a foot of land to stand on, your social status becomes worthless.
After coming to power, the Maoists have not been able to achieve much regarding land reform either.
In 2001, during the emergency, many huts were destroyed. After the permanent end of the monarchy in 2006, slum dwellers received some constitutional protection.
Four months ago, in the last week of April, rumors of slum clearance along the Bagmati riverbank began echoing. But the issue is massive, as an estimated 2.2 million people reside there.
Today, a devastating situation has unfolded in Nepal. Unfortunately, very little is written about the distress suffered by riverbank dwellers during natural disasters.
Every life is valuable, and every life is equally so.
News of a spiritual guru weeping over his followers or supporters trapped in this disaster during their spiritual pilgrimage to Mansarovar can be seen, but hardly anything is discussed about the painful lives led by thousands of survivors struggling every day.
With a crucial 40-kilometer section of the Prithvi Highway connecting Kathmandu, along with 19 bridges, destroyed, obtaining daily essentials has become extremely difficult for the poor.
Isn't making the quality of life of the underprivileged a little more humane a task of no less spirituality?
Amid all this, one question remains:
Why do ordinary people still call a river that often causes widespread devastation “Mother”?
If anyone wishes to study this subject in greater depth, I recommend reading the highly insightful article by Binod Dhakal in Nepal News.
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*Human rights defender
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