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 CURRENT ISSUE DEC 31, 2001  

REPORTER'S DIARY: ROYAL MASSACRE

Crowning Gory

A protective king. An adamant queen. And a prince of death. Sumit Mitra was in Kathmandu to piece together a massacre redolent of medieval times.

  Reporter's Diary
OTHER REPORTER'S DIARY STORIES

Indo-Pak Summit
Royal Massacre
Coke Tales
India Fashion Week
11 September
The War In Afghanistan
Kumbha Mela To Sri Ravi Shankar The No Ministers
Gujarat Earthquake
Ball Tampering

On June 2, when we arrived in Kathmandu barely 15 hours after the grisly carnage at the Narayanhiti Palace that had decimated an entire line of the Shah family ruling Nepal for 233 years, I felt lost as the plane landed at Tribhuvan Airport. The driver of the car I hired could be coaxed to carry us to the hotel with a hefty incentive. Yet he was so grumpy all along that I feared he'd suddenly park the car and disappear. The roads were empty, except for a few army trucks trundling by. At the hotel reception, we were told of a 24-hour curfew about to set in.

IN WORDS AND DEEDS: As a gesture of grief, men tonsured their heads

Fact was a still bigger casualty. The Indian TV networks had just Deputy Prime Minister Ram Chandra Poudel saying the carnage was perpetrated by Crown Prince Dipendra, 29. But Dipendra was on life support system. His parents, King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya, were dead, together with sister Shruti, brother Nirajan, and many other royals. A curfew had dried up all sources who could have thrown light on what might have had occurred over a dining table across a kilometre-long periphery of high iron-spiked walls. The problem was to locate anyone who'd attended the dinner at Tribhuvan Sadan and was alive. None of the survivors were prepared to talk.

My saviour from the Himalayan silence was Ramesh Nath Pandey, the king's representative on the Raj Parishad (State Council) who shared umbilical links with the Narayanhiti Palace. He used his royal network and drew back and forth in time to reproduce an excellent cause-and-effect picture of the tragedy. Of a king who'd been too protective about his son. A queen who'd held the memories of centuries-old royal feuds so close to her heart that she'd not let her son make compromises on honour by marrying into enemy family. And a son who pressed the trigger of an assault rifle on his parents and relatives with desperation made lethal by alcohol and drug.

That's the stuff good stories are made of. The pity is, the mountain kingdom was too swaddled-up in the royal mist to own up that kings are men and the crown doesn't fit the head of a murderer.

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