Across Nepal, from the mist-laden rural hills to the bustling city squares, a once-fading chant—‘Bring back the King, save the nation”— is undeniably growing louder, re-entering the national discourse with renewed vigour. It is tempting for many to dismiss these burgeoning sentiments as mere anachronistic cries from a handful of “royalist nostalgics.” However, I urge a more considered response: not one of mockery or dismissal, but of profound reflection. As an individual who does not advocate for the monarchy's reinstatement, let me state unequivocally: I do not believe that restoring the crown is Nepal's panacea. Yet, I am equally convinced that feigning contentment with the current political system is a far more perilous path.
The call for the monarchy’s return does not materialize from a vacuum; it is a direct, visceral reaction to the pervasive frustration and disenchantment citizens harbor towards our contemporary democratic institutions. The foundational promise of a fair, inclusive, and accountable republic has been fractured time and again. Endemic corruption, entrenched nepotism, relentless power-mongering, and a stark absence of national vision have carved out a significant political void. In this vacuum, the idea of monarchy—however imperfect past it may have—re-emerges, not merely as a memory, but as a potent symbol of order, stability, and perceived leadership.
I offer this perspective as someone born and raised during the Panchayat era — a period in which Nepal was governed under a party-less system led directly by the monarch. My connection to that time runs deeper than personal memory; my family was closely intertwined with the system itself. Many of my immediate families were firm supporters of the king and actively engaged in state affairs. The monarchy, to me, was not merely a symbol of tyranny as it is often portrayed today — to me, it embodied national unity, a sense of order, and a cultural legacy that we deeply respected and upheld.
And yet, I wholeheartedly welcomed Nepal’s transition—from absolute monarchy to a constitutional one, and ultimately, to a federal democratic republic. I was, and remain, a firm believer in the ideals of democracy: freedom of expression, elected representation, social justice, and individual rights. Democracy, when authentically practiced, is indeed the superior form of governance. Over the intervening years, however, I have borne witness to the systematic distortion, dilution, and, in far too many instances, the outright abandonment of these very ideals.
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Those who once vehemently opposed the king, decrying the monarchy as “autocratic” and “tyrannical,” have, in their ascent to power, proven to be disconcertingly similar. If anything, many of our contemporary political leaders exhibit a more pronounced self-interest, a greater intolerance for dissent, and a more profound lack of accountability than the monarchs they supplanted. The anticipated culture of democracy has failed to flourish; instead, a culture of manipulation, opportunism, and pervasive impunity has taken root. We have not matured as a republic; rather, we have regressed into a partisan state, governed by a political elite increasingly estranged from the populace it purports to represent.
What is the tableau of our nation today? We see political parties functioning more as exclusive private clubs than as genuine public institutions. We see leaders who regard power as an entitlement and politics as a birthright. Parliamentarians often demonstrate greater fealty to party oligarchs than to the Constitution or their constituents. Critical voices are systematically stifled, vital institutions are politicized, and the national interest is routinely sacrificed at the altar of short-term personal or partisan gain. Alarmingly, all this unfolds not under a monarchical regime, but within the framework of a democratic system—a reality that amplifies the disquiet.
Thus, when citizens cry “Bring back the King” they are not merely summoning an individual’s return. They are articulating a profound disappointment with the current state of Nepal's democracy. They are voicing an exhaustion born of persistent chaos and confusion. They are recalling a period, however flawed, that offered a semblance of order, where institutions commanded respect, and where leadership, though centralized, was at least perceived as sincere. While we may contest their conclusions, we cannot, in good conscience, ignore the underlying reasoning.
Yet I remain firm in my conviction: the answer does not lie in returning to monarchy—neither in form nor in symbolism. Nepal’s future cannot and should not hinge on the restoration of a singular, centralized seat of power. Instead, our hope must rest in the deliberate and courageous strengthening of the democratic institutions that form the backbone of a truly functioning republic. This task calls for more than passive defense of the status quo; it demands the moral clarity to confront our system’s deep-seated failures and the political will to correct them.
We require deep, courageous constitutional amendments—not to dismantle democracy, but to finally imbue it with the structure, stability, and integrity it so desperately needs. We must architect robust mechanisms to prevent the abuse of power, reform electoral processes to prioritize merit over money and muscle, and ensure that political parties are internally democratic and publicly accountable. Crucially, we must cultivate a leadership ethos where public service is paramount over personal enrichment, and where authority is earned, not inherited.
Equally important is how we engage with dissent. Too often, those who express nostalgia for the monarchy are summarily dismissed as anachronistic, irrelevant, or inherently anti-progress. Yet many of these voices emerge not from blind loyalty, but from deep disillusionment — citizens who feel betrayed by unfulfilled promises of a republic they once believed in. Their perspectives are not only valid, but essential. Likewise, not every critique of democracy amounts to an assault upon it. At its best, such criticism is an expression of commitment — a belief that democracy can and must do better. It is a declaration that says “We, the people, deserve better than this.” And indeed, we do.
This is not a binary choice between monarchy and republic. It is, more fundamentally, a question of our collective willingness to improve the system we have. The republic is an ideal worth preserving—but only if we confront its failings with honesty and commit seriously to its reform. Merely waving a flag or reciting constitutional articles is insufficient. We must elevate the standards of our political discourse, the integrity of how we elect our leaders, and the rigor with which we hold them accountable once in office.
In essence, the answer lies neither in “Bring back the King” nor in passive acceptance of "Let things be." The true imperative is: “Let’s make democracy work—as it was always intended to.” Let us resist the allure of romanticizing the past, but equally, let us not shy away from confronting the stark failures of the present. Let us refrain from insulting those who are disillusioned, and instead, extend an invitation for them to become active participants in forging something better. If we are genuinely committed to Nepal's future, we must transcend partisan divides, nostalgic yearnings, and comfortable denials—and commence the arduous, yet indispensable, work of national renewal.
