When I embarked on my journey to Dapcha, an old town in the Kavrepalanchok district, my purpose was to obtain my citizenship papers. I had no idea my trip would transcend bureaucratic needs and become a moving inquiry into a place where time, tragedy and resilience were entwined.

I took a bus from Banepa at eight in the morning. After an hour’s ride, I could see a neat row of buildings on either side of the long, narrow street, unlike the scattered Tamang and Newar settlements on the way.

Dapcha was once a buzzing market. But today, it is shallow and empty—just a shadow of its glorious past. The buildings that remain still retain Medieval Newa architectural heritage, setting them apart from the modern designs of city buildings. Dapcha has fallen into the crack between shifting times.

It was once the business hub of eastern Nepal and served as the principal commercial centre for the residents of Bhojpur, Okhaldhunga, Sindhuli and Ramechhap districts. People from these districts walked for days to reach Dapcha and buy goods. Locals say Juddha Shumsher had opened this route. Sudil Das Shrestha, a local, describes Dapcha as ‘purba ko dhoka’ (gateway to eastern Nepal).

If we trace the lengthy branch of Dapcha Newa ancestors, it would connect them to Bhaktapur Newas. People from Bhaktapur migrated to Banepa, and later on, seven founding members travelled to Dapcha for the sole purpose of business. The long history of Dapcha Bazar started from a shop on Nanglo.

There weren't any shops further from Dapcha. Every supply from the east got emptied there, and they never had to go any further. The retailers from the valley came there for salt, clothes and grains: daal, tori, gedagudi, bhatmas, ghiu. Some people came all the way from Kathmandu Valley to buy tobacco.

No life elsewhere

Sudil is one of the few people who still owns a grocery shop in the Dapcha. According to him, his father, Yagya Das Shrestha, was employed in the Dhulikhel Land Revenue Office and opened the shop in the early 50s (2008-2010 BS). He had to cross Dapchha Bazar while coming back and forth from his village in Ramechhap, Manthali. He later moved to Dapchha after marrying a local girl and opened a Kirana shop.

After the death of Yagya in 2040 BS, Sudil continues to run the shop to this day. He studied at Shree Krishna Madhyamik Bidhyalaya, just a few minutes away from his home, and never had the urge to leave the village. Unlike himself, he sent his two sons to study at Banepa—one is in grade 12, and the other is getting a bachelor’s degree.

“There used to be a time when people of all ages filled up this road. Nowadays, only a few individuals are seen—mostly children, old people and married women,” says Shrestha.

Sudil explains how difficult it was to supply goods to his shop. People either had to carry the goods by themselves or with the help of bhariyas (porters) or had to wait for the rare passing trucks and ask for a lift. It generally took five days to carry the goods.

Sudil recalls the magnificent Jatra of Krishna Asthami and Devi Bhairav Naach. People from all the nearby villages used to come to see lakhe naach and enjoy the festive moments of Jatra.

The Jatra in Dapcha was more than just a cultural event; it was a lifeline for local businesses like Sudil’s. The bazar came alive as the celebrations approached. People from nearby towns would flock in, and buy a bunch of things—from food to festive necessities.

An uncertain future

Indra Bahadur Shrestha has a grocery shop at Godam Chowk, Banepa. In 1986, he moved to Dapcha Bazar and opened a grocery shop there. He is originally from Timal Hill, just across Dapcha. He and his wife wanted to do something other than agriculture and animal breeding. So they decided to come to Dapcha and open a shop.

At that time, the route buses weren’t a thing, and it was difficult to commute goods due to poor road conditions. But that didn’t stop Indra Bahadur from running his shop. Selling products such as lentils and beans produced in his village, made him a popular vendor there.

“People still come to my shop for the beans. Even people from Kathmandu visit my shop and buy a few kgs when they are passing this route,’’ says Indra Bahadur.

“I was sad to leave Dapcha Bazar, but we couldn’t stay because the market was dead. I saw the horrific (2015) earthquake as a hint to escape and start again.” Dapcha’s population was dense before the BP Highway and the Maoist insurgency, and his business was prosperous. But everything changed after these two events.

Killing fields

People were afraid. Dapcha, like all villages near Kathmandu Valley, was significantly affected by the Maoist insurgency. Kidnappings and murders were common occurrences. Maoist curfews emptied the streets. By sundown, every window and door was slammed shut. People dreaded not the quiet streets but a possible knock on their door.

By the end of the month, Maoists extorted donations. Living a “normal” life as a young adult was quite impossible. Maoists tried to recruit young adults, or they suspected them of being army spies. And the army labelled them Maoists.

Min Bahadur Lama, an 11-year-old boy, died in the middle of a street as he removed a Maoist flag from a pressure cooker. Rati Shrestha had to see the beheaded corpse of his 18-year-old son, Sanat. The story of Arjun Bahadur Lama’s murder grabbed headlines in major publications and media houses. Many more were killed and maimed, and their stories remain untold. On the streets of Dapcha flowed the blood of innocent people.

Caught between the rebels and the police, locals fled Dapcha and relocated to Bhakunde Beshi. Those with means went as far as Banepa and Kathmandu. Due to easy road access to the BP highway, people no longer had to travel uphill to Dapcha. The highway made everything faster and easier for people living in eastern districts.

Sudil watched from the corner of his little shop as thousands of new faces were reduced to only a few familiar ones. He has witnessed all forms of Dapcha Bazar, from the glory days of a bustling market and Jatras, when he made handsome profits, to living in horror and chaos, and now a forgotten village. He observes still, from his small shop, what the roads will lead into the Bazar tomorrow.