United less by a shared vision of the future than by a collective rejection of the immediate past (1990 - 2025), the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) has never quite reconciled its two commanding figures: Founding chair Rabi Lamichhane and its ‘senior leader’ and Prime Minister, Balendra Shah. They remain yoked together by necessity rather than joined by temperament. Little wonder, then, that when Shah travelled to Lamichhane’s Budhanilkantha residence for a four-hour huddle, it instantly became the chief preoccupation of political reporters in the metropolis.

Contrary to the breathless speculation in the popular press, it is highly unlikely that the first 100 days of the Shah administration, the petty bhagbanda of constitutional and political appointments, or the plight of evicted squatters topped their agenda. It is even less plausible that the tragic self-immolation of a Dalit rider from Mugu Ganesh Nepali, or that of Bibek Mandal, a highly educated teacher from Sarlahi, prompted these two strongmen of contemporary politics to reflect on the political economy of despair or the social psychology of the country’s restless youth.

What more plausibly triggered their late-morning-to-early-afternoon anxiety was the sudden and stark fragility of their own regime, exposed just as the dominant and challenging powers of South Asian geopolitics began making their subtle but unmistakable moves on the regional gameboard. It all began with an apparently innocuous private programme to celebrate the 91st birthday of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama.

Organisers of the function at the Namgyal Higher Secondary School meticulously observed every official restriction. The Tibetan national anthem was not sung, and the reading and distribution of statements from the Kashag and the Tibetan Parliament-in-Exile were carefully avoided. It was an exercise in mandated docility, hardly an event signalling a tectonic shift in Nepal’s “One China” policy. But trust the local loyalists of Beijing to transform these quiet, indoor prayers into something far more combative than the theatrical bluster of the wolf warriors of the CPC propaganda brigade.

In a joint press statement, seven former ambassadors of Nepal to the PRC said that they were concerned by media reports that the Dalai Lama’s birthday was marked “with participation from representatives of foreign missions”. Their observation that Nepal has consistently adhered to the “One China” policy was valid. Their suggestion that a private event amounted to “activities on its soil that could harm the interests of friendly nations”, however, sounded almost paranoid. Such overextended vigilance carries the distinct chill of Beijing winter, suggesting that these seasoned diplomats are merely displaying the muscle memory of a past posting. Having grown accustomed to the anxieties of their former hosts, they now carry those fears home, flashing them like a badge to affirm their fidelity.

The performative concerns of former ambassadors may seem overdone, but the reality of Kathmandu as a strategic ‘stone’ on the board is inescapable. As Henry Kissinger famously observed, while the West plays chess, China plays Go—and here, every move counts. The defensive framing of a ‘Cold War II’ fails to capture the complexity of the current moment: Two interconnected geostrategic gravity nodes pulling and pushing independent actors into volatile, competing orbits. In this tightening field, Lamichhane and Shah have every reason to be worried.

Tectonic fragmentation

In a highly surveillance-driven, globalised standoff, traditional buffer zones have evaporated. Whether navigating the transparency conditionalities of the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC) or pushing back against military-adjacent overtures such as the State Partnership Programme (SPP), Nepal is left with a dangerously limited and intensely scrutinised floor for strategic manoeuvre.

Every age has its preferred metaphor. The 20th century was fond of chess. Kings commanded. Queens dominated. Rooks guarded the flanks. Bishops plotted diagonally. Pawns marched obediently towards sacrifice. History appeared to be a contest among great powers, with smaller states serving as expendable pieces. The theatre was primarily Europe—with the Balkans igniting World War I, the invasion of Poland triggering World War II, and the descent of the Iron Curtain defining the Cold War. It ended with the close of what historian Eric Hobsbawm called “the short century”, punctuated by the disintegration of the Soviet Union.

The 21st century promises another shift. Despite the prolonged war in Ukraine, the genocide in Gaza, and the standoff over the Strait of Hormuz, the principal theatre of geopolitical competition is likely to be the Indo-Pacific, with South Asia—home to over a quarter of humanity—occupying one of its most sensitive crossroads. Geography has returned with a vengeance.

China’s westward outreach through Pakistan, the Indian Ocean and continental connectivity is not merely an economic project. Nor is Washington’s renewed engagement with India solely an exercise in democratic solidarity. Both are attempts to secure strategic depth in anticipation of a prolonged contest whose outcome will be determined less by decisive battles than by durable influence.

The most consequential actors in this round, however, are neither Beijing nor Washington, despite their state-led Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and investor-dependent Blue Dot Network, respectively. The more immediate pressure on Nepal comes from the strategic autonomy of New Delhi and the autonomous utility of Islamabad, both of which have drastically reduced the leverage of Colombo, Dhaka and Kathmandu. They have become ‘stones’ to be moved by principal players, even as the middle powers extract the payoff from the game.

Unstable ground

Despite the theatrical bonhomie—Lamichhane used a football analogy at the RSP convention in Chitwan to project Shah as the striker, claiming that even if the ball came to his own feet, he would pass it to Shah to score—the leadership duo of the ruling party are not exactly made for each other.

Lamichhane is temperamental, voluble and mired in controversies. A conservative by choice, he built his political platform on the framework of defectors from existing parties. Relationships developed with alliance partners during his term as Deputy Prime Minister perhaps remain cordial, even if not warm. While allegations remain unsubstantiated that the UML thought it was using him to undercut the influence of the Nepali Congress—only for Congress to later think otherwise—one fact is indisputable: His dramatic rise can be directly attributed to the shortsightedness of both principal parties of the post-1990 order.

Shah is ideologically unencumbered and owes his meteoric appearance in the political firmament to three principal factors: Widespread disenchantment with post-2015 politics, an ability to mobilise depoliticised youngsters, and the acumen to capitalise on rage through algorithmic manipulation. But what really turned him into a winner was the decision of the Permanent Establishment of Nepal (PEON) to position him as another “mimic man” in the mould of former President Rambaran Yadav—acceptable to the dominant elite and the subjugated alike. The Khas-Arya love his Suryabanshi pretence and Gorkhali jingoism, while Madheshis celebrate his Maithil lineage.

An image was created, largely through word of mouth, that the two were tethered together for the broader Indo-Pacific alignment. Yet, with the “Indo” prefix abruptly gone from the US Pacific Command, the spectacle of a possible rupture seems to have begun to haunt the internal support bases of both these “stones” on the internal gameboard. Perhaps the ultimate result of their four-hour tête-à-tête was simply this: Both actors finally realised the stark and structural limitations of each other.

Contrary to the naive expectations of critics, regime stability is not in danger—for now. The two strongmen need only rein in their minions who churn out a daily controversy to dominate the news cycle.