One of the more peculiar aspects of Nepal's decade-old internal conflict has been that, for the past few years, the autumnal Dasain festival has heralded a brief pause in the fighting. In deference to general public sentiment, the rebel Communist Party of Nepal (Maoist) has declared unilateral ceasefires, while the government has responded in spirit, even if not always with formal announcements. The importance of Dasain to Nepal lies not just in its religious significance, although it is the major yearly festival for the dominant, mid hills Hindus. More importantly, it is the time for hundreds of thousands of Nepalis to make the annual trip (or trek) back home in order to catch up with their families. The ceasefire declarations by the revolutionary atheists are greeted with relief by the multitudes that make their living far from home; many Dasain plans would otherwise remain sadly tentative, were it not for the brief respite.
As if on cue, again this year the Maoists announced a ceasefire on the cusp of Dasain, once again to the relief of the general population. Previous years, however, have seen the temporary cessation attributed specifically to the festival. This year's message was different, as was its three-month timeframe. There was no mention of Dasain in the 3 September statement to the press by the CPN (M) chairman, Pushpa Kamal Dahal ('Prachanda'). Rather, it declared that the ceasefire was motivated by "a deep sense of responsibility" to finding "the democratic political way out" and satisfying "the aspiration of peace of the Nepali people … with an aim of doing away with doubts remaining in some circles about our movement."
Disregarding the obligatory nod to the people's long-standing "aspiration of peace", the statement is instructive for two reasons. First, for a group that set out to establish a "new democracy" on the ruins of a "semi-feudal, semi-colonial" Nepal, it is a remarkable turnaround that they would now be so eager to prove their democratic credentials. Second, after having harangued the international community variously as hegemons and imperialists, the statement's "some circles" clearly targets the political parties, as much as it does any external forces that need to be placated with a peaceful visage by the revolutionaries.
Much has been written about the all-round failure of King Gyanendra's government, with him as chairman, which has been running Nepal since the 1 February royal coup. But more than eight months into the crisis precipitated by the royal takeover, it is equally to the discredit of the Maoist leadership that the revolutionary movement has yet to make any gains from the disarray of the mainstream political forces. As the major benefactors from a palace-parties schism, some meaningful attempts by the rebels to reach out to the political parties (in a manner acceptable to those politicians) could have resulted in a fairly unified anti-royal front. Granted, the political parties opposed to the king's direct rule are a disparate lot with varied agendas, but they are united in their opposition to royal activism and in their eschewing of violence to achieve political ends. If there has been an inability for a quick understanding between the political parties and the rebels, the onus must be placed at the door of the latter. Three-quarters of a year after King Gyanendra's coup, there has been no movement towards an agreement on how to take on the ambitious monarch, whose main claim to legitimacy at present seems to be the bayonet strength of the Royal Nepal Army (RNA). Like the onus, the urgency is also on the Maoists. It is the insurgents who will lose out in the long run if they dilly-dally in convincing either the political parties or the international community (most importantly India and the US, where the latter has refused to consider the Maoists a legitimate political actor) that they plan to revert from being a militaristic to a purely political organisation.