24 Years Since the Royal Massacre: A Nation Still in Search of Its Soul
In the evening calm of June 1, 2001, silence fell over a nation. Nepal, nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, witnessed one of the darkest nights in its history — the Royal Palace Massacre. King Birendra, Queen Aishwarya, Prince Nirajan, Princess Shruti, and other members of the revered Shah dynasty were killed in cold blood within the sacred walls of Narayanhiti Royal Palace. Crown Prince Dipendra, who was declared king while in a coma, passed away two days later. For those two dark days, Nepal had a king who lay between life and death — a painful symbol of the nation’s confusion and grief. The tragedy shattered the royal line and left the nation adrift.
The royal palace, once a symbol of unity, became the scene of an unthinkable tragedy. The entire nation plunged into shock and sorrow. Radios fell silent, prayer flags fluttered without wind, and millions stood in disbelief. For many of us, even as children, the pain was real and unforgettable. The heart of Nepal had stopped for a moment. A chapter of history was torn out overnight.
I was only seven years old, yet I remember the heavy silence in our home — the tears in the eyes of grown men who had never wept before, and the fear that followed. It was more than just the death of a king; it felt like Nepal had lost its soul. King Birendra was a leader who walked close to the people, respected across all sections of society. His calm leadership and balanced approach had kept the nation steady during difficult times. His sudden death left behind not just a throne, but a vacuum of trust and hope. Something sacred had broken.
And since then? Nepal has walked a long, thorny path — a path lined with promises, protests, and pain. Movements rose, the monarchy was abolished, and a federal democratic republic was declared — but not out of collective clarity. It was shaped more by backroom deals and power games than by the will of the people. The throne was toppled, but what replaced it was not the democracy we had hoped for, but a messy mosaic of power-hungry factions.
We were promised change — a better Nepal built on equality, development, and dignity. But as time passed, that hope slowly faded. The same political faces have rotated power for over two decades, repeating old slogans while failing to deliver real progress. While they argue in Parliament halls, Nepal bleeds. Corruption infects every institution. Youths flee — not out of choice, but out of despair. The brain drain continues. Our villages are full of mothers with tears and fields without farmers. Hope has been replaced by remittance. Pride, by passport lines.
Meanwhile, the ruling parties often point fingers at the past — especially at the monarchy — to escape responsibility for present failures. They use the royal massacre — a deep national tragedy — as a cheap political tool to defame the monarchy. They casually call for “further investigation,” not out of sincerity, but to create confusion and suspicion. For two decades, these same leaders have held power, yet done nothing real to investigate the massacre. Their silence in office and noise in opposition shows they never cared about truth — only about using it to protect themselves and discredit others.
They erase history, insult the legacy of figures like King Birendra, and portray themselves as saviours while public trust continues to erode. They silenced the past — not with truth, but with convenience. Statues were pulled down, street names changed, and history rewritten. Respect for the monarchy, once the embodiment of unity, tradition, and dignity, is now mocked by ruling elites who thrive on division and distortion.
But we, the people, remember. We remember a monarch who was respected across political lines — a king who walked with humility, spoke with wisdom, and loved his nation deeply. The tragedy of June 1 was not just a family loss — it was a national wound.
Even worse, national figures like King Prithvi Narayan Shah — the founder of modern Nepal — have been insulted. Statues removed, his name sidelined, his legacy questioned. These attacks on Nepal’s history are not accidental; they are part of a larger effort to break national unity and rewrite identity. It is painful to see those who claim to protect democracy use power to erase the dignity of our past.
As a citizen, it hurts to witness this. I see no honour in the halls of power today — only a hunger for position, hands stretched for foreign aid, and leaders fighting over chairs while the nation bleeds youth, brain, and hope. And yet, no one protests. No one demands dignity. No one dares to say — we were better once. But we remember. And one day — maybe one day — truth will rise. From the ashes. From the silence. From the people who still believe in dignity, duty, and Nepal.
As we mark this day, let us not forget the dignity of the past nor the dangers of forgetting history. Let us honour those we lost by demanding honesty from those in power today. Let us find the courage to rebuild — not just our politics, but our national character.
It is time to reclaim our story — not with hatred, not with revenge, but with truth. With honest memory. With the courage to look at history not through red-tinted flags, but through the eyes of those who lived it — and lost something precious. Because the soul of a nation cannot be built on denial and blame. It must be built on truth.
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