Suman, my taxi driver back to the Katmandu Guest House, is a history student when he is not driving a cab. Finally, I have found someone who is prepared to speak his mind. He points out that Nepal has seen worse crises: at times the monarchy’s feuds with pretenders have reduced the kingdom to a few hundred square miles of the Katmandu Valley, but this is an exceptionally resilient country. ”You have been trekking here?” he asks. ”Then you have used the thousands of miles of steps my people have carved out of the Himalayas by hand. This is the land of Shiva, the most powerful of the gods. When do you have to be at the airport?”
”In about two hours.”
”I will drive you. I will give a discount of 50 rupees, but you will listen.”
”O.K.,” I say, after I fetch my bag from the guest house. ”What?”
Suman does not say anything until we are really quite close to the airport. Then: ”Eight years of communist insurrection but we ordinary Nepalis only went crazy once — do you know why? I will tell you. We went crazy after King Birendra was murdered because at first we were sure it was a coup. Why? Because King Birendra was saving us from democracy and the people knew it.”
”Saving you from democracy?”
”Certainly. If we are not very, very careful, democracy in Nepal will mean urban feudalism, the country will be run by the same half-dozen families as run it now, who will join forces with Indian and Chinese businessmen. The people would not be able to find freedom in the countryside anymore. Why do we have to go through the robber baron period — because you did?
”King Birendra understood this and wanted full democracy to come slowly, after all the proper institutions were in place. Our beloved king was our only defense against capitalists and communists both.” Suman has grown so excited he suddenly turns self-conscious. ”Are you shocked?”
I think about that. ”No, Suman,” I say, ”I just wish I could patch you through to the White House.”

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