The King didn’t like the song
My village Piskar carries a history of Nepal’s political struggle. On the day of Maghe Sankranti in 2040 BS, a cruel incident took place here, which came to be known as the Piskar massacre. Local farmers who spoke of their experiences and resistance in a cultural program faced extreme oppression. My work attempts to remember that incident.
Ahh, he was screaming in pain
He was asking for water
Ile who fell down in front of me
Was saying: save the country
Bire Thami was throwing stones from the ridge
A bullet pierced his eye, and he fell to the ground
We were bravely throwing stones
The demonic police was shooting nearby
Ile Thami fell down, shot in the dark
He screamed in pain, he was dragged away
Panche reigned in injustice and terror
Many were jailed, many wounded, my heart burned
Let there never be such an incident again in our country
Let us all live in unity, let there be peace
He was screaming in pain, save the country, he said
– He was screaming in pain. Jagat Bahdur Thami
The janavadi (people’s) songs in Piskar village that spoke out to raise awareness despite the cruelty and terror of the Panchayati system, and satirized the feudal lords, were not just meant to entertain, they were instruments that carried the voice of rebellion. Cultural programs had a dual function: developing political consciousness among the people through celebrations. This is what I found notable and powerful: culture can also become resistance.
But, the king did not like the song….
At that time, the regime could not even imagine villagers questioning it through collective song and dance. That is why, on the dawn of Maghe Sankranti, there was police action, guns were loaded, and shots rained down on unarmed civilians. The ground used for fairs and dancing turned into a blood soaked cemetery. But despite the government’s cruel oppression, resistance was not silent.
From a young age, I had been hearing about the Piskar massacre here and there. Some spoke of bullets being fired, some told stories of being homeless and living in caves, and some recounted their experiences in jail. But I did not have the opportunity to understand exactly what happened, and how and why it happened. These incomplete stories remained as unanswered questions in my heart. In this work, I attempt to hear and understand the historical memories of this incident, through the people involved in the incident. I have attempted to remember the villagers’ pain and courage by documenting them in words, images, and sounds.
All that the land holds
The idea of progress brings with it conflicting impulses, promises of better futures shadowed by debilitating losses. These often invisible, unacknowledged, and unaccounted-for losses form the bedrock of the stories in this exhibition. For many of the storytellers, personal histories intersect with larger histories of development, nation building, political repression, and ecological destruction.
From Buipa to Manang, Jhumlawang to Jharuwarasi, Ramhiti to Kerabari, Thankot to Piskar, the sites of these stories span hills, forests, fields, and settlements. Land is a common refrain in these stories. It surfaces as memory, as belonging, as inheritance, as loss, as unhealed wounds. It appears in stories of extraction, speculation, waiting, and endurance.
How do we take stock of all the “collateral damage” that progress keeps depositing on our doorsteps, again and again? How do we unravel its fraudulence? How do we record what we have lost?
Storytelling becomes an act of remembering. Remembering becomes an act of resistance.
Presented as part of the second iteration of the photo.circle Fellowship Program, a six-month-long initiative designed to support our growing community of visual storytellers, this exhibition brings together eight practitioners examining what “bikas” and “samriddhi” mean for Nepali society. It invites deeper reflection on the questions, challenges, and contradictions around the modes of “development” and notions of “progress” being promoted in Nepal today.