KATHMANDU, FEBRUARY 15
Every few years, just when one assumes Nepal's monarchy has been safely buried, it rises again like an ancestor refusing to stay in the portrait. The crowds waving royalist flags near Tribhuvan International Airport this February were more a séance than a political campaign. Former King Gyanendra said nothing about returning to power, yet chants of "bring back the King" resounded. That such calls grow louder whenever politics decay should not surprise anyone. In Nepal, disillusionment is constant, and reminiscence is inexpensive.
The reflex to recall the monarchy in times of turmoil is a national habit. It is not an isolated fantasy of a few loyalists but an expression of frustration with the republic's rot. A Kathmandu taxi driver once told me he missed the King because at least we knew who was stealing. It was an honest, if cynical, indictment of a system that replaced one palace with a thousand fiefdoms. His words echo a wider sentiment: citizens weary of petty corruption and political thuggery are not monarchists by conviction, but by exhaustion. They are fed up with paying protection money to mid-level party goons posing as leaders.
This weariness stems from the unravelling of Nepal's political Trimurti, the perpetual Congress, UML, and Maoist leaders. For two decades, they've alternated power, offering only patronage and paralysis. As a result, the republic is now a traffic jam of promises. The people's longing is less for royal splendour and more for order, regardless of its origins.
Such nostalgia for monarchy is not unique to Nepal; it echoes trends worldwide. Throughout regions, fallen dynasties resurface for political theatre: the Pahlavis of Iran call for national rescue, Bulgaria installed its ex-king as prime minister, and Greece's press periodically mourns its monarchy. Though these revivals rarely generate stable politics, they serve as coping mechanisms for citizens exhausted by democratic disorder. Nepal's royalist revival thus fits this global pattern, a craving for predictability masked as patriotism.
The February rallies had all the trappings of rehearsed nostalgia: saffron flags, sentimental slogans, and the recycled anthem of a lost "Hindu Kingdom." Many of those marching were too young to remember the monarchy's inefficiencies. Their memories are borrowed ones, curated by parties like the Rastriya Prajatantra and grievance influencers. They do not want kingship as much as they want certainty. One tyrant, they reason, might be easier to endure than a thousand scheming thieves.
Yet, this nostalgia brings real risks. Entertaining restoration fantasies jeopardises the fragile post-2008 consensus. While the republican constitution is bruised, it remains the only legitimate future. Attempting to reintroduce the monarchy as a cultural symbol risks reopening old wounds of identity and exclusion, threatening to let feudal ghosts haunt the present.
Monarchist leaders recognise these stakes. Their movement offers mainly emotion, lacking concrete blueprints. Despite representing only a small fraction of the electorate, monarchists increase their influence through attention-grabbing tactics. Their narrative draws strength from public despair. Each government failure and corruption scandal adds to this lament. Gyanendra remains silent, turning into a symbol of lost faith in leadership.
More troubling, however, is the silence of those with influence. Nepal's intellectuals, instead of advancing new ideas, dig up vanished epochs and mythic greatness. With each crisis, familiar fantasies of global plotting against Nepal's destiny are revived. For many, claiming persecution is easier than crafting policy, making the nostalgia for heroism a convenient refuge for the powerless elite.
The business elite likewise avoids real engagement. Their political conversations take place in privileged spaces or at late-night gatherings. Though they lament instability, their actions rarely support reform. Their preference for neutrality shields privilege, making the defence of democracy seem futile, as they avoid the responsibilities of active citizenship.
Given this atmosphere, the solution must focus on political renewal, not return. The collapse of the old order presents an opportunity for leadership disconnected from royal yearning or revolutionary rhetoric. The youth-led protests in 2025, at first dismissed as unruly, showed that the new generation refuses to accept dysfunction. Their energy and impatience could be harnessed to rescue the republic from cynicism.
March's elections will test whether that youthful energy can be transformed into real politics. The temptation to romanticise the past will be strong, as reactionary movements offer a simpler message: return to what was. Yet history rarely rewards regression. Once dismantled, monarchies do not regain their former power. Although it has flaws, Nepal's republic remains the broadest system for embracing its diversity and ambition.
Those calling for the King's return imagine him as an ethical guide above politics, but history shows this is a myth. The monarchy shaped privilege and hierarchy that lasted longer than any party's influence. Its comeback would not cleanse the nation, but would mark surrender to fixing what is broken. Ruling by nostalgia is just another form of giving up.
When crowds chant for Gyanendra at Kathmandu's airport, their plea is not for him personally. Instead, they seek relief from disorder, a figure to blame and follow. This confusion makes sense, but it is dangerous. Unlike the monarchy, which enforced order by sacrificing freedom, the republic aims for order through consent. That distinction is vital to uphold.
Nepal's challenge is not resurrecting the monarchy but cultivating responsibility. The republic's imperfections stem from its faulty caretakers, not from the concept itself. It calls for repair, not replacement. Though the republic's flag may not shine as a crown, it belongs to everyone.
The ghosts in the valley will always whisper, but Nepal's path lies ahead, not behind. The country must reject sentimentality and embrace responsibility. Even a flawed democracy is still the only inheritance worth protecting.
Prof. C K Peela is a geopolitical and security expert on South Asia and the Asia Pacific.