The sun was rising gradually through the hills in rural Nepal. The chirping of birds and the occasional moo from a cow interrupted each other's silence early in the day. A slight chill in the air hinted at the promise of a sunny day ahead.
Lakshmi was the mother of a middle-class family in her mid-thirties. She kneaded the chapati dough and kept track of the boiled milk on the burning stove. In the corner room sat her husband, Ram, sharpening his sickle for his day in the fields. Their children, nine-year-old Shrawan and six-year-old Suhana were asleep under thick blankets in the next room. Lakshmi looked out the window at the hills beyond. Lakshmi had grown up in this village, as had her parents and their parents before them. The land was everything to them—more than a source of living; it was a part of their identity.
Nepal is always a place of opposites—an abundance of high, snow-clad mountains and deep valleys, of wealth and poverty, of old traditions and new ideas. However, in the past few years, the situation has been reversed. The notion of modernization even penetrated the most remote parts of the countryside, giving people both hope and despair at the same time. In a hurry to reach another world, the government initiated a series of massive development projects. These changes were a mixed blessing and a curse for families like Lakshmi's. The new road that was built through their village afforded a direct connection to the market, and they could trade their produce easily. However, it also brought in outsider developers, business owners, and tourists who were fast at exploiting the land and its people. Through a fast-tracking modernization quest, the government started to take over land for development. Farmers were being forced to give up their ancestral lands under pressure to accept prices that were far lower than what the lands deserved. Those who refused faced legal battles that they could not fight because of a lack of resources. The deep sense of community that bound villages together over generations was fading. Ram was always a man to be proud of. The land was the heritage of his ancestors, and he intended that his children would inherit it. However, the new policies had virtually barred small-scale farmers, himself included, from earning a livelihood. The cost of cultivation had risen, and the yield had come down. What used to be bearable fields for feed grains are now too poor in fertility, even for self-support cultivation for the family.
Ram looked afraid as he watched the government official and developers walk through his fields, discussing building a resort. They spoke of progress, jobs, and wealth for the village, but all Ram could see was the loss of his land and heritage.
"We don't want your money," Ram said firmly. "This land is our home."
The official smiled, but his eyes were cold. "The country needs to move forward," he said. "You can't stand in the way of progress." Ram felt powerless. Deprived of his land, his family had nothing, despite the law being on their side. The thought of losing everything filled him with dread. The villagers started coordinating, hosting meetings, consulting lawyers, and reaching out to NGOs and activists. However, the government showed no mercy. The government forced families to sell their land, and they harassed and intimidated those who resisted.
Helpless, Lakshmi observed her lifelong village vanish before her eyes. The fields that had once been green with crops were now barren, waiting to be turned into luxury resorts and shopping complexes. The village was changing, but not in the way the government had promised. Ram grew more despondent, spending long hours in the fields, staring at the land that would soon no longer be his. Lakshmi tried to comfort him, but she too felt the weight of the impending loss. Their children, Shrawan and Suhana, sensed the tension but did not fully understand it. They saw their parents arguing more often. Their father's once robust frame was now bent with worry. The carefree days of their childhood were slipping away. The government's eviction notice was the last straw for Ram and his family. A 30-day notice was circulated to leave the property. The notice was just a formality since the decision had already been made. The resort would be built, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Ram refused to leave. "This is our land," he said. "We have nowhere else to go."
But the government was not interested in their pleas. On the day of the eviction, police officers arrived to enforce the order. Ram stood in front of his house, refusing to move. The officers, following their orders, dragged him away. The sight of their home being destroyed horrified Lakshmi and the children. The officers tore down the walls that had sheltered them for years and took away the land that had sustained them. They had nothing left except the clothes on their backs. The village was unrecognizable. Where once there had been fields of wheat and rice, there are now construction sites. The developers moved in quickly, eager to build their resorts and shopping malls. The promises of jobs and wealth quickly faded from memory. The villagers who had sold their land had little left, as they had already spent their compensation on necessities.
Trying to find employment, Ram and his family relocated to the city. However, the city did not treat them well. Ram had always been a farmer, so he had trouble getting a job. Lakshmi started working as a maid, but her pay was insufficient to provide for the family. Shrawan and Suhana had no choice but to leave school and find employment to make ends meet. Now fractured, the formerly proud family was no longer together. Ram had despair because he could not deal with losing his land and dignity. He spent his days daydreaming while meandering around the streets. Even though Lakshmi was having trouble, she attempted to keep the family together. A deep sense of despair had replaced the hope that had once filled their hearts.
Lakshmi's tale was not the only one. Thousands more families in Nepal were destined to meet the same end. The government's modernization drive had not been without a price. For many, the prospect of development had become a nightmare. The highest bidder would now purchase the land that had previously supported the inhabitants. The nation's spirit was being destroyed along with the conventional way of life. Instead of bringing wealth, the development projects were meant to bring about poverty and displacement instead. Instead of bringing wealth, the development projects brought about poverty and displacement because the money meant for the nation was concentrated in the hands of a few people, and the promised employment never materialized.
The nation's social fabric was being ripped apart, and the gap between the affluent and the poor was growing. The government was preoccupied with creating the new Nepal it envisioned, and as a result, it ignored the pain of its people. The discourse of development drowned out the voices of the oppressed and their cries for justice. The nation was evolving, but not positively.
As the years went by, the resort that was constructed on Ram's property gained popularity among travelers. The government praised it as a success story, and the developers profited millions of dollars. However, Ram and his family had to pay a high price for their prosperity. Growing up far from the farm that had once been their home, Shrawan and Suhana lived in the city. They were unaware of their parents' strong ties to the land and the profound sense of loss that accompanied its demise. They were stuck between the old and the new, alienated from their roots, and adopted into a new generation.
Ram never got over his loss. He died in silence, a shattered man. He was buried by Lakshmi at a little cemetery outside the city, far away from the hills he had cherished. Her tears were directed at him, their lost lives, and the future that had been robbed from them. She pondered how this had happened as she stood by his tomb. Despite all of their promises, the government ultimately took everything. She reasoned that it didn't have to be this way. There was an alternative course that would have honored the land and its inhabitants, struck a balance between history and development, and placed a higher priority on the community than money.
However, that path was never taken. And now, it was too late.
Lakshmi went back to the city with a grieving heart. Although she was aware that she could not undo what had happened, she also understood that she could not keep quiet. She started speaking up and sharing the experiences of those who had met the same end as her. She joined a group of activists working against the government's policies of exploitation and displacement, advocating for the rights of indigenous people and farmers. Lakshmi had a long and challenging path ahead of her, but she was unwavering. Though she had lost her husband, her farm, and her way of life, her soul remained intact. She was aware that there were still numerous fights to be fought in the pursuit of justice.
She thought of the hills that had once been her home as she peered out over the metropolis. Though the land vanished, the memory of it persisted. She would always remember it as a reminder of what had been lost and as a glimmer of hope for what may yet be salvaged. She thought that it didn't have to be this way. And it may yet be different, it might.
