Maitighar Mandala, the bustling roundabout in the heart of the federal capital, has transformed into a stage of collective grief and relentless hope.

For thousands of Nepalis who feel failed by the state, Maitighar is now the country’s most recognisable stage for public dissent, where people from the eastern plains to the far western hills gather with banners, petitions and fading hope, believing that if their voices reach anywhere, they will be heard here.

Just days ago, leaders of the ‘Save Susta’ campaign stood on the asphalt, nursing broken spirits. These defenders of the national border spoke of the irony of becoming ‘non-citizens’ on their own soil. “Those who protected the land are now landless and stateless,” they lamented.

Before returning home with a flickering hope, 83-year-old Nabijah Khatun expressed her final wish. “I only want to receive my Nepali citizenship before I die,” Khatun said. While the government offered standard verbal assurances, whether it will actually heal their deep emotional wounds remains an open question.

Throughout the scorching July heat and unpredictable downpours, displaced landless squatters, loan-shark victims, and anti-discrimination campaigners like Deepa Nepali have shared this pavement.

Maitighar has consistently served as the epicentre of grassroots dissent, witnessing gruelling marches by debt-ridden farmers and relentless justice campaigns led by activists like Ruby Khan. Even visually impaired citizens, stripped of their livelihoods by municipal bans on street vending, have voiced their anxieties here. They all ask the same question: will the nearby courts, Parliament, and Singha Durbar ever hear them?

On Friday, Maitighar Mandala was again filled with agitated voices. Holding a placard reading ‘Give me justice or give me death,’ 28-year-old Manish Kumari has been staging a sit-in since June 11. An accounting officer from Bishrampur Rural Municipality in Bara District, she alleges severe psychological harassment and blackmail by a male colleague. “My court hearing on May 19 was postponed, and the one on June 30 was designated as ‘cannot be seen’ due to time constraints,” said Manish Kumari. “I am exhausted from fighting. I just want a swift verdict.”

A few metres away, under a green tent, Sharmila Shahi was nursing her three-month-old infant. Beads of sweat constantly dripped from her flushed face under the blazing sun. She has spent three weeks here seeking justice after allegedly being raped by Bhupendra Thagunna.

Sharmila explained that Thagunna initially promised marriage after they met on TikTok. “When I became pregnant, he fled to India with another woman,” she said. Following the birth of her son, family members assaulted her, accusing her of immorality. “I was just a nine-day-old postpartum mother when my relatives beat me,” she said. Her legal case is currently sub-judice.

In an adjacent tent lay Debika Khanal, aged 28, a single mother from Sunsari whose life was upended on March 6, 2025. While returning from work, her motorcycle was struck by a vehicle driven by Suman Thapa, ward chairman of Inaruwa Municipality-6. Khanal suffered severe injuries and was rushed unconscious to Birat Nursing Home in Biratnagar, Morang.

Today, both Khanal’s legs are paralysed, and she alleges severe medical negligence. “The doctors initially said I needed prolonged hospitalisation, but following unknown internal administrative interference, I was suddenly discharged the next day,” she said. Having already undergone five major surgical procedures, she is now unable to earn a sustainable living or support her young daughter.

Khanal has been protesting for 73 days, including a 16-day hunger strike in Maitighar Mandala. “When Sudan Gurung became the Home Minister, I pinned my hopes on him, but nothing has happened,” she said. “It shatters my heart that the very authorities we came to for help choose to remain completely indifferent.”

Nearby, Roshni Badi from Dang has spent 25 consecutive days staging a peaceful protest against the commercial film ‘Lalibazar’, which she claims grossly misrepresents her historically marginalised community. “The controversial movie severely demeans our dignity, which is why I am here,” Badi said.

As another dark dusk falls over the busy federal capital, Maitighar Mandala remains deeply divided between the few fortunate citizens who successfully found legal justice and the forgotten majority who are still left waiting here indefinitely for a response.