While discussing Bajhang, I am reminded of Shiva Sandesh from Bara district. A few months ago, he was transferred to Bajhang in connection with his job. For Shiva, who grew up in the plains of Madhesh, this transfer was more a matter of worry than an opportunity. Distance from family, unfamiliar language, different lifestyle and the rugged mountainous terrain—everything was new to him. He used to feel, “I don’t know which corner of the country they have sent me to”.

But after reaching Bajhang, his perception slowly began to change. One day, he said on the phone, “By living in our own area for so long, we become trapped in a kind of echo chamber. We think the world is only as much as what is in front of our eyes. We never get the opportunity to see and understand other geographies”. Perhaps, he was right.

A person from Madhesh reads about the Himalaya in books, sees it on social media and gazes at it in tourism posters. But the real experience of the Himalaya cannot be contained in any picture. It is felt in the cold morning air, seen in the distant glittering snow peaks and heard in the silence of the mountains.

Sandesh saw the Saipal Himalaya up close for the first time. He experienced the spiritual peace of Khaptad. Standing on the banks of the Seti River, he felt that it was not just a flow of water but a living music of time. Within just a few months, he realised that Nepal cannot be understood only through one’s own district or region. To understand this country, one has to go among its mountains, its rivers, its forests and its people.

Bajhang influenced him so deeply that he even wrote a song about its natural beauty. It was not just one person’s emotional experience, but the experience of seeing one’s own country with new eyes. We often come to know of Bajhang through news of poverty, inaccessibility, landslides, migration and deprivation. All of this is true, but not entirely. In that same Bajhang, nature has also generously bestowed its bounty. There is the grandeur of Saipal, the spirituality of Khaptad and the mesmerism of the Seti River. There are immense possibilities in medicinal herbs, agriculture, animal husbandry and hydropower. The region is also rich in terms of biodiversity and cultural diversity. It is said that Bajhang has the largest Himalayan (above 5,000 metres) land area.

The irony is that the geography which nature has adorned with so much beauty is, today, strained under the pressure of soil erosion, displacement, climate crisis and unscientific development models. And, perhaps, this is why Shiva’s story becomes important. Because sometimes the real value of a place is not explained to us by its permanent residents, but by an outsider. Someone who has seen that beauty for the first time, and whose eyes still hold wonder.

But the Bajhang that Shiva Sandesh fell in love with now stands before a difficult question—will we be able to save the nature that made this geography so beautiful, or will we, in the name of development, keep cutting its very roots? In Bajhang, a mountain is not just a mountain. It is a field, a home, a memory. But today this mountain is slowly sliding from its place. The rains come, and the soil flows away. The river swells, and settlements are washed away. Roads are built, and the mountain breaks.

In the remote areas of Bajhang, soil erosion today is not just a geographical problem; it is the failure of politics, economics and development philosophy. Here, along with soil, people are also flowing away. Fields are being destroyed, settlements are emptying, and the youth are leaving the mountains in search of employment. The erosion of the mountain is not only the erosion of the earth—it is also the erosion of society.

In the past few years, road construction has been made synonymous with development in Nepal’s mountainous districts. In election speeches, roads have become the biggest promise. For local governments, road construction has proved to be the easiest political display. In many places in Bajhang, dozers were run without adequate geological study. The natural structure of the mountains was cut without understanding it. No drainage system was built. The result is that as soon as the rains arrive, the roads start breaking, along with parts of the mountain. The same roads that were meant to connect people are, in many places, becoming the reason for destroying villages.

Landslides have emerged as a new tragedy, not merely as a natural disaster, but as the result of a concept of development that does not value local knowledge and considers environmental costs as anti-development arguments. Discussions on climate change often happen at international conferences. Big leaders give speeches on carbon emissions. But the harshest face of its impact is visible in districts like Bajhang. The farmers here have seen the changing nature of the weather. Sometimes there is very little rain, sometimes suddenly so much that both fields and homes are washed away. Traditional water sources are drying up. The farming cycle is being disrupted.

The irony is that the people who have contributed the least to causing the climate crisis are paying the highest price for it. The farmer of Bajhang neither runs multinational industries nor owns large factories that emit carbon. Yet the brunt of climate change falls on him first. This is the local face of global injustice.

When a mountain slides, in official language, some families become ‘displaced’. But displacement is not just about changing houses. When a family leaves its village, it also leaves behind its fields, its shrines, its neighbourhood, its social identity and a part of its history. When one meets landslide victims in Bajhang, one understands why people struggle so hard to go and settle in the flat Tarai from the mountains. Landslide victims may be just numbers in government files, but in real life, the displaced are refugees of memories.

Saving Bajhang does not mean only saving the mountains. It also means saving a development vision in which nature and humans are not adversaries but partners. We need development that understands nature, respects local knowledge and keeps geography safe for future generations. If development, while making life easier, destroys the very foundations of life, then it is not progress. Therefore, for Bajhang, the question is not just about more budget or more projects, but of more wisdom and more accountability.

That is why the story of Bajhang is both a warning and an opportunity. A warning that ignoring the limits of nature comes at a very high cost, and an opportunity that there is still time to find a new balance between development and the environment.

Shiva Sandesh wrote a song about Bajhang. But the story of Bajhang is not just that of one song. On one side, there is the glow of Saipal, the peace of Khaptad and the music of Seti. On the other side are sliding mountains, flowing soil and uprooted homes. One wrote a song, the other left home. Perhaps, the story of Bajhang lies somewhere between these two. Because when the mountain breaks, it is not just stones that fall—sometimes the beauty of a country also diminishes a little.