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BOOKS REVIEWS:
BLOOD AGAINST THE SNOWS
ACCORDING to a legend as old as the Kingdom of Nepal, Prithvi Narayan Shah, the warrior king who first united the country, was preparing for the final assault on Kathmandu when he came across a holy man. As custom demanded he offered the guru a bowl of curd. This was duly eaten -- only to be immediately vomited back at the king, with the command to eat the mess. Narayan Shah refused and threw the bowl of sickness back at the holy man. The sage became enraged and cried out that if the king had swallowed his pride, and just one mouthful of the filth, his every wish would have been granted. As it was, Narayan Shah would indeed go on and conquer Nepal but he and his descendants were cursed. Raising his vomit-spattered hands in the air, the holy man prophesied there would be 10 generations of Shah kings -- one for each of his 10 fingers and thumbs that had been defiled -- and then the dynasty would be no more.
The prophecy came true on June 1, 2001. It was then that Crown Prince Dipendra, crazed with drugs, drink and thwarted ambition, burst into a royal reception with high velocity machine guns and pistols and proceeded to slaughter his father, his mother, his sister and any other members of the royal household he came across. Then he shot himself. Probably in no other country in the world are the ancient and the terrifyingly modern so closely intertwined. Despite blowing off part of his own head Dipendra lived long enough to be declared the new king. After all, he was divine.
Jonathan Gregson's excellent book tells the history of Nepal from the guru's prophecy to the present day. Though published relatively soon after the massacre, it is no rushed-out-quick piece of opportunistic voyeurism but, rather, a most carefully written and insightful commentary on one of the most enigmatic kingdoms in the world.
Clearly Gregson knows his subject very well. In a country that has put great efforts into shunning the outside world, he was the only non-Nepalese writer to have interviewed the late King Birendra in the years before his tragic death.
Blood Against The Snows takes us into this remote kingdom and reveals something of the mysteries lying at its heart. Here is a country whose aristocracy lived a fairytale existence between massacres. They would dress in Napoleonic uniforms thick with gold braid and wear helmets encrusted with diamonds, emeralds and pearls. So that the plume would hang in the accepted courtly manner, it had to be made from the tail feathers of a rare variety of bird of paradise found only in distant New Guinea.
The outside world was kept outside. When the Duke of Edinburgh visited he was invited on a tiger hunt which, given his position on many wildlife charities, would have been a public relations disaster. No concession was given to the sensibilities of the Western world and so the ducal trigger- finger was encased in a diplomatic plaster instead.
As there was no road link with India, the Rolls-Royces and Cadillacs imported by the Rana elite had to be carried by teams of porters over two mountain ranges before they reached the capital. Then thousands of labourers were employed to build a few miles of tarmac road, 'so that the notables could show off their latest acquisitions'.
The royal astrologer claims to have predicted the outbreak of the Gulf war in 1991 right down to the dates and times of the first attacks. When a dreadful warning came in spring 2001 -- the statue of the god Bhimsen was found to be perspiring -- the priests and soothsayers dealt with the crisis. King Birendra himself tried to do his part by sticking to his recent decision to smile when being photographed. He was an incarnation of the god Vishnu, and this was a considerable concession to modernisation. A few months later he was dead.
A history book this may be -- but it is utterly fascinating and a compelling read.
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