If ever there was proof that the gods dabble in the tourism business, Uttar Pradesh is it. The Indian state is poised to welcome a record 1.3 billion tourists this year, thanks to a surge in pilgrims that has Ayodhya and Varanasi bursting at the seams. The numbers are so staggering that even the most optimistic hotelier would blush. Meanwhile, just across the border, Nepal sits on a mountain of empty hotel rooms and untapped potential, waiting for the next planeload of wealthy Westerners who are probably more interested in sipping lattes in Tuscany than trekking up to Janakpur. The irony is almost divine.
Here's the thing: Nepal doesn't need to reinvent the wheel or build a Himalayan Disneyland to double its tourism inflow. The answer is staring us in the face, wrapped in marigold garlands and chanting "Jai Shri Ram." Ayodhya's pilgrims are not just tourists-they're on a quest, and that quest doesn't end at the newly consecrated Ram temple. The story, as every Indian schoolchild knows, continues north to Janakpur, the birthplace of Sita and the site of her legendary wedding to Ram. It's a spiritual journey begging for a cross-border sequel.
Meanwhile, Nepal's Prime Minister KP Oli has been on a divine mission of his own, repeatedly claiming that Ram was born in Nepal. It's a clever geopolitical gambit, shifting the spotlight from pressing issues like employment and service delivery to a celestial debate over divine birthrights. While pilgrims seek spiritual solace, politicians seem more interested in scoring points in the game of heavenly real estate, where the birthplace of gods becomes a tool for earthly power plays. It's a distraction worthy of a myth itself, diverting attention from the tangible needs of the people to a celestial tug-of-war that leaves vital governance hanging in the balance.
Imagine the scene: millions of Indian pilgrims, having paid their respects in Ayodhya, are whisked away in comfortable coaches or direct trains to Janakpur, where Nepal's temples, ponds, and sacred sites await. The infrastructure is already in place-Nepal's hotel industry is practically bursting at the seams with overcapacity, and new properties are springing up faster than you can say "room service." While Uttar Pradesh is scrambling to build 100,000 new rooms to house its tidal wave of visitors, Nepal's hoteliers are left twiddling their thumbs, wondering when the next big thing will arrive.
The beauty of this opportunity is its simplicity. Nepal doesn't have to wait for deep-pocketed Westerners or Japanese retirees on spiritual gap years. The Indian middle class is vast, devout, and ready to travel-provided you give them a good reason, a seamless journey, and a bed that doesn't squeak. The so-called "luxury" market that Nepal's tourism bosses love to chase is a mirage. For years, they've moaned about not attracting high-spending tourists while simultaneously failing to create high-end products that anyone wants. Boutique trekking lodges and overpriced resorts might impress a handful of Instagram influencers. Still, they do nothing for the millions of pilgrims who would happily spend their rupees on a clean room, a hot meal, and a little spiritual enlightenment.
And speaking of rupees, let's talk about the game-changer that is UPI-the Unified Payments Interface. With UPI now live in Nepal, Indian tourists can pay for everything from temple donations to momo lunches with a tap of their phone. No more fumbling for cash or getting fleeced at the money changer. It's frictionless, it's familiar, and it's precisely what the modern pilgrim wants. If Nepal's hoteliers and restaurateurs can't see the value in that, they might as well hang up their prayer beads.
The real genius lies in linking up with Uttar Pradesh and creating a seamless Ramayana circuit that feels less like a border crossing and more like a spiritual homecoming. Joint marketing, direct transport, and a little imagination could turn Janakpur, Lumbini, and other Nepali sites into the logical next stop for Ayodhya's millions. It's not rocket science-it's common sense. And yet, Nepal's tourism mandarins seem content to wait for the following Lonely Planet recommendation, while the real money walks (or rather, prays) right past their doorstep.
Now, let's talk about Nepal's curious obsession with "high-hanging fruit." For decades, the country's tourism strategy has been a masterclass in aiming high and missing low. The focus has been on luring the elusive, big-spending Westerner-those mythical creatures who, it is assumed, will descend from the skies with pockets full of dollars, ready to splurge on luxury lodges, helicopter rides, and curated experiences. The reality? These tourists are few and far between, and the competition for their attention is global. Nepal's mountains are stunning, but so are those in Switzerland, New Zealand, and Patagonia. The high-hanging fruit is not just hard to reach; it's being plucked by someone else.
Meanwhile, the low-hanging fruit-millions of Indian pilgrims eager for a spiritual adventure-dangle within arm's reach. But rather than reaching out, Nepal's tourism bosses have spent years lamenting the lack of "quality" tourists, as if volume and value are mutually exclusive. It's a baffling strategy: why ignore the neighbour next door who wants to visit, in favour of the distant guest who might never come? The fixation on high-end products has led to a kind of creative paralysis, where the industry waits for inspiration instead of innovation. There's no shortage of ideas for luxury; there's a shortage of ideas for scale.
Of course, there will always be those who scoff at the idea of chasing volume over "quality." But let's be honest: a whole hotel is better than an empty one, and a million pilgrims spending modestly will always beat a trickle of luxury seekers who might not even show up. The multiplier effect is real-every extra pilgrim means more jobs, more investment, and more life in Nepal's tourist towns. The infrastructure is ready, the spiritual connection is ancient, and the technology is in your pocket. All that's missing is the will to act.
Prof Peela is a South Asia and Pacific regional geopolitical and security expert
