I was in Dhunche, Rasuwa, for four days in the immediate aftermath of the devastating GLOF disaster. Amid the extraordinary devastation and immense human suffering, I saw the Nepali Army working with remarkable discipline, urgency and dedication.
Dhunche had become a hub for search-and-rescue operations and the coordination of relief supplies. Senior Army commanders were working relentlessly, seemingly without rest. Troops remained disciplined, energetic and focused despite the difficult terrain, unpredictable weather and emotional strain of the task. Some had their own family members missing or affected by the disaster. From the ground and from the air, operations continued for days. Army helicopters flew relentlessly from early morning till evening, rescuing people and transporting essential supplies. Ground troops and pilots worked with the grim reality of recovering human remains, risking their own health in the process. I even saw a commander personally involved in the recovery of bodies.
At Kathmandu airport, relief efforts were being coordinated around the clock. I imagine it was much the same at the Army's other hub down at Trishuli, Nuwakot not to mention the meticulous planning, coordination and instructions coming from Army Headquarters.
I could not help thinking this is world-class performance, delivered with remarkably limited resources. But it also left me wondering do we, as a nation, give our Army the recognition, resources and support it deserves?
With a legacy spanning 265 years, the Nepali Army is among Asia's oldest military institutions. It has long been associated with courage, discipline and dedication. But its contribution extends far beyond defending the nation. For decades, Nepali soldiers have served in some of the world's most difficult and dangerous environments as United Nations peacekeepers. They often go where others are reluctant to go, operating in challenging and sometimes highly volatile circumstances. As UN peacekeepers, they are also most trusted and preferred. Nepal's contribution to global peacekeeping has become an important part of the country's international identity and increasingly, of our soft power.
At home, too, the Army has repeatedly demonstrated that it is there when the country needs it most. The devastating 2015 earthquake and the COVID-19 pandemic are two prominent examples. More recently, whether during the Gen Z movement of 2025, the Madhesh unrest of July this year, or the current glacial lake outburst flood disaster, the Army has repeatedly stepped forward, ready to undertake difficult contingency tasks. It is no wonder that public opinion surveys have, time and again, placed the Nepali Army among the country's most trusted institutions, ahead of political parties, the media and others.
What makes the Nepali Army so distinctive? Perhaps it is the training. Perhaps it is the sense of duty and patriotism instilled from the very beginning. Perhaps it is the deeply ingrained understanding that serving the country means being ready to step forward when others are in danger. Whatever the answer, one thing became clear to me in Dhunche - those who undertake such responsibilities deserve better support.
Our soldiers deserve better compensation and the equipment necessary to perform their responsibilities safely and effectively. A meaningful motivation and hazard allowance would be more than a financial incentive; it would be a recognition of the extraordinary risks and responsibilities they shoulder on behalf of the nation. Better conditions would also help attract talented young Nepalis to military service. If we want the Army to continue drawing capable, motivated and highly educated young people, a career in the institution must be seen not only as honourable, but also as professionally rewarding and worthy of the sacrifices involved.
There is another dimension that deserves recognition: professionalism. The Nepali Army operates under civilian control and, at moments of extraordinary national tension, has demonstrated institutional discipline and restraint. The response to the Gen Z movement, for instance, was subject to intense public scrutiny and debate. Whatever one's views of those events, the Army's restraint and avoidance of unnecessary escalation under difficult circumstances reflected a degree of institutional professionalism. This is not to suggest that any institution should be beyond scrutiny. Accountability is essential in a democracy. But there is a difference between legitimate scrutiny and allowing unfounded suspicion, conspiracy theories or relentless criticism to erode institutional morale. We should be able to question institutions while also recognizing their contribution.
The Army rarely advertises its work. Its personnel generally do not seek publicity or loudly project what they have accomplished. They step forward when needed and quietly return to their duties. Behind the scenes, they train, prepare, plan and remain ready for the next call to duty. Perhaps that is why, in moments of crisis, the public instinctively turns to them. A dependable friend is most valuable when times are difficult. The Nepali Army has repeatedly been that friend to the Nepali people.
Having been up close with the devastation and raw pain in Dhunche, I was grief-stricken and carried a very heavy heart. Yet I also left with a profound sense of pride and gratitude.
Watching the Army commanders, officers and troops work tirelessly, I felt something deeper than admiration. I felt that these men and women deserved to know that their country sees their sacrifice. The Nepali Army deserves better because it has repeatedly stood beside the nation when it needed help most. For that, it deserves our recognition, our trust, our respect and our support. We should not wait until the next crisis to remember their worth.
If we do not speak up for those who stand ready to serve us, who will?
Salutes to the Nepali Army.