For decades, the national anthem of Nepal was of the kind that made citizens cringe. "Sri maan gambhir…" sung to a Western martial tune that had nothing in common with the Southasian folk or classical traditions. Against a backdrop of Western instruments, it sang praises of the incumbent king, wished him eternal enhancement of status, and hoped that the population would expand hither and yon. The average Nepali was always envious of the Indian anthem, for the fine lilt of "Jana Gana Mana", the words and music defined by the great bard of Bengal (no matter that it was originally a paean to George V, to welcome him to Calcutta on 27 December 1911).
The recent misadventures of the autocrat Gyanendra – 12th in line after the unifier/conqueror Prithvi Narayan, who created the oldest nation state of Southasia nearly two and half centuries ago – irrevocably destroyed the kingship's image among the people of Nepal. It also made the old national anthem suddenly and thankfully irrelevant. And that, finally, was how an embarrassing, uninspiring tune and text, which had been a burden throughout Nepal's modern era, was definitively hurled out the window.
Amidst the political turbulence since the People's Movement of April 2006, while the polity was busy adjusting to the Maoists in government and addressing a series of identity-led agitations, a competition was held to draft a new national anthem. The lyrics eventually selected were that of Byakul Maila, a man of hill ethnicity (Rai), in a society in which acts of literary creativity have tended to be the monopoly of the caste groups. An allegation that the lyricist had had some form of cohabitation with the former royal Panchayat regime did the rounds for a little while, but in the end was evidently allegedly forgiven – after all, there are few in Nepal could not be tarred in this way if required.
"Saya thunga phulka haami"… the lyrics of the new Nepali national anthem speak of the country being a bouquet of a hundred varieties of flowers, in plains, hill and mountain; with multiple cultures, tongues and faiths; an 'advancing nation' made possible by the blood of ancestors, and so on and so forth. The wordings are adequate, if a touch prosaic, but regardless are a welcome release from the stupefying lyrics of the old anthem – though the allusion to 'blood' in the new lyrics, which refers to a heroic rendition of Nepali history, with its underlying indication of conquest and subjugation, will be jarring for some, including me. But the music is dramatically uplifting, composed by the living icon Amber Gurung, the great musical impresario who came to Kathmandu from Darjeeling during the early 1960s at the invitation of King Mahendra.