Nepal’s monarchy, abolished in 2008, remains a subject of nostalgia for some and a political football for others. Yet, its restoration faces formidable barriers rooted in prophecy, Hindu tradition and the cold realities of modern politics.

Central to this discourse is Guru Gorakhnath, a semi-mythical yogi of the Nath tradition and a revered figure in Hindu tradition whose divine imprimatur is said to have shaped the rise and fall of Nepal’s monarchy. This interplay of faith, history and power offers a lens through which we can understand why the crown is unlikely to return.

Guru Gorakhnath’s prophecy

Hindu belief holds that Gorakhnath, acting as a conduit of divine will, blessed Prithvi Narayan Shah, the 18th-century unifier of Nepal, with a monarchy destined to endure for 11 generations. This prophecy, widely accepted among royalist adherents, reached its terminus with King Dipendra Shah, who briefly reigned in coma in 2001 after the royal massacre that precipitated the monarchy’s decline. Dipendra’s ascent marked the 11th generation, and the subsequent end of the Shah dynasty in 2008 is seen by many as the fulfilment of Gorakhnath’s wish.

Hindu philosophy reinforces this narrative: Nothing transpires against God’s will. The monarchy’s collapse, marked by a constituent assembly’s abolition of the throne, aligns with this deterministic view. For believers, the end was not a mere political accident but a divinely ordained conclusion. Former King Gyanendra Shah, who succeeded Dipendra only to lose the crown, faces a theological conundrum.

Any bid to restore the monarchy could be construed as a rebellion against this cosmic order—an affront to the very principles that once legitimised his family’s rule. From this perspective, the push for restoration is not just impractical but sacrilegious.

Erosion of the tantric foundations

The monarchy’s establishment was not solely a matter of prophecy; Nepal’s tantric traditions buttressed it. Kathmandu’s Shaiva and Shakta practitioners, devotees of Shiva and Shakti, played a pivotal role. Their practice of rigorous sadhana—tantric rituals aimed at harnessing divine energy—imbued the monarchy with a sacred aura and distinguished it from secular governance. When Prithvi Narayan Shah declared himself “Hafu Raja”—a half-king acknowledging divine supremacy—he cemented this fusion of temporal and spiritual authority, aligning his rule with Nepal’s cultural and religious identity.

Yet, according to Nepal’s tantric community, the monarchy’s downfall stemmed from a gradual abandonment of these Hindu tantric traditions. Over generations, the Shah kings drifted from the strict observance of Shaiva-Shakta disciplines. Tantrics argue that this deviation disrupted the monarchy’s divine sanction, leaving it vulnerable to political upheaval. The 2001 massacre, where Crown Prince Dipendra is said to have killed much of the royal family before committing suicide himself, is often cited as a grim manifestation of this spiritual crisis. By the time Gyanendra ascended in its aftermath, the institution’s sacred moorings had eroded, rendering it defenceless against the rising tide of republican sentiment.

This tantric perspective frames the monarchy’s end as a consequence of internal decay rather than external force alone. They contend that the loss of divine protection was not reversible by political means as it reflected a deeper breach of the covenant that Gorakhnath and his followers established. Restoration, in this view, would require not just political will but a revival of tantric fidelity—a prospect that seems fanciful in Nepal’s secular, modernising landscape.

Limits of external influence

Amid debates over restoration, some royalists have looked to Yogi Adityanath, the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh and a prominent figure in the Gorakhnath Math, for salvation. Adityanath’s connection to Gorakhnath fuels speculation that he might champion Nepal’s royal cause. As a staunch Hindu nationalist and a yogi of the Shiv sect, he wields considerable influence in India’s religious and political spheres, making him a plausible ally in the eyes of optimists.

However, this hope misreads both Adityanath’s priorities and his fidelity to tradition. The Gorakhnath Math, which he heads, reveres the prophecy as sacrosanct. For Adityanath to intervene in Nepal—whether through political pressure or symbolic support—would contradict the very edict his guru set forth: That the monarchy’s lifespan was finite. Such a move would undermine his credibility as a Nath adherent, exposing him to accusations of hypocrisy within his own spiritual community.

Moreover, Adityanath’s focus remains firmly on Indian politics; consolidating Hindu identity and governance in Uttar Pradesh takes precedence over meddling in Nepal’s affairs. Expecting him to spearhead Nepal’s royal revival is less a strategic calculation than an emotional leap, lacking evidence of his intent or capacity.

The political reality

Beyond the realm of prophecy and ritual, the monarchy’s fate now hinges on politics—a domain where the divine will give way to human agency. The 2006 people’s movement, Jana Andolan II, toppled Gyanendra’s autocratic rule with a force that combined mass protests, political unity and international pressure. The subsequent declaration of Nepal as a federal democratic republic in 2008 was not a fluke but a reflection of deep-seated public discontent with the royal overreach, exacerbated by Gyanendra’s ill-fated direct rule from 2005 to 2006. Reversing this requires a political counterforce of equal or greater magnitude, which will be an uphill battle in a nation where democratic institutions, however flawed, have taken root.

Gyanendra’s prospects depend on his ability to mobilise the people. He could, in theory, enter the political fray—forming a royalist party, rallying supporters and contesting elections to gauge his mandate. Yet, he has shown little inclination for such a gambit. Since his ouster, he has lived largely as a private citizen, issuing occasional statements but avoiding the gritty work of grassroots organisations. Without a coherent strategy to rebuild public trust and counter the republican consensus, his ambitions—if they exist—lack traction. The nostalgia for monarchy, evident in sporadic rallies or social media campaigns, falls far short of the unified, sustained effort needed to upend the status quo.

Illusion of alternative paths

Dreams of restoration through non-political means—be it divine intervention, tantric resurgence, or foreign influence—amount to little more than fantasy. The phrase “eating khuwabi pulau,” an idiom for chasing an impossible dream, captures this delusion. Nepal’s monarchy, once a pillar of its identity, has been relegated to history by forces too entrenched to reverse without extraordinary political capital. The 2006 movement’s legacy and the exhaustion of Gorakhnath’s prophesied timeline leave little room for miracles.

Nor can the monarchy’s cultural resonance alone resurrect it. While Hinduism remains Nepal’s dominant faith, the secular state enshrined in the 2015 constitution reflects a broader societal shift. Restoring a Hindu monarchy would face resistance from political elites and a populace wary of returning to absolutism. The tantric and divine arguments, compelling to some, hold limited sway in a discourse now dominated by democratic norms and pragmatic governance.

Nepal’s monarchy is unlikely to return not because of a single factor but a confluence of them. Gyanendra’s hopes, if he harbours them, rest on a political mobilisation he has yet to undertake. The crown remains a relic—its restoration as improbable as conjuring a feast from the ether. For Nepal, the future lies not in reviving the past but in navigating the challenges of its republican present.