KATHMANDU: Books are not merely objects to be read; they are companions for life. They shape us, question us, and sometimes quietly point us toward new paths.

The choice of books, for me, is never fixed. It emerges from a blend of intellectual necessity and emotional restlessness. At times, the subject I am working on compels me to search for a particular book. At other times, it is simply the restlessness of the mind that leads me toward reading.

When I write historical fiction, I naturally turn to books on history, society, and philosophy. When political curiosity intensifies, political texts become essential.

Book selection is, in that sense, a freedom. Reviews, discussions, and critical writings often guide that process. Even the titles visible from a distance in a bookstore, or the visual appeal of a cover, can draw me in. For unstructured or spontaneous reading, I find myself leaning toward poetry, fiction, novels, and autobiographies.

In my early years, I read widely across languages and regions. Alongside Nepali literature, I explored Russian, Bengali, Indian, and Chinese writing. In that journey, the works of Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Anton Chekhov, Mikhail Sholokhov, Alexander Pushkin, Nikolai Ostrovsky, Maxim Gorky, and Lu Xun, among others, became deeply influential.

I admire Dhanpat Rai Srivastava (better known as Munshi Premchand) for his simplicity in storytelling and Rabindranath Tagore for the vastness of his vision.

In a later phase, I moved toward writers such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Ernest Hemingway, George Orwell, Franz Kafka, and Jean-Paul Sartre, who remain among my favorites.

I am particularly fascinated by Marquez’s ability to merge multiple characters into a single, continuous flow of life. Tolstoy’s narrative canvas is immense, capturing geography, society, politics, and human existence within one frame. Reading Dostoevsky opens a space of moral questioning and a deep aesthetic engagement with existence itself. I am also drawn to the existential tone of Kafka.

Among Nepali writers, I consider Laxmi Prasad Devkota to be of world-class stature. He remains on top of my list of one of my favorites.

Although Nelson Mandela was not a professional writer, his Long Walk to Freedom continues to inspire me profoundly.

My list of favorite books and authors is endless. However, if I am asked to select five foundational books, I choose the following:

First: Mahabharat

I first encountered Mahabharat in childhood. Its depth, however, revealed itself gradually, unfolding across different stages of life.

More than a religious text, Mahabharat stands as a vast and multidimensional exploration of life itself, its complexities, its moral conflicts, and the layered nature of human character. In our context, it remains a timeless epic, one that holds within it the broad spectrum of religion, statecraft, politics, philosophy, society, and civilization.

What makes it enduring is its moral ambiguity. No character is entirely virtuous or entirely flawed. Each exists within shades of grey, much like life itself. In that sense, Mahabharat becomes a guide to understanding reality, not as it ought to be but as it is.

The many characters and moral dilemmas that surface in my own fiction perhaps carry echoes of this influence.

Second: Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

I first read Anna Karenina during my early college years. What I understood then was enough to leave me deeply moved. Later, as questions of personal freedom began to take stronger shape within me, I returned to the novel.

With each reading, my admiration for Leo Tolstoy grew. His writing possesses a remarkable quality; he arranges words in such a way that scenes unfold vividly before the reader, almost like a moving image.

Anna Karenina did more than introduce me to storytelling. It revealed the deeper craft behind it, how characters can be made to feel alive, how they can dissolve the distance between the page and the reader, and how they can begin to exist within us.

If there is any emotional depth or visual richness in my writing today, it is, in part, shaped by Tolstoy’s influence and works like Anna Karenina.

Third: How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky

My first encounter with How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky came through its Nepali translation, Agni-diksha. Later, I revisited the work in both Hindi and English. It remains one of the books I have returned to repeatedly.

Agni-diksha offered more than a story, it laid the foundation for thought and commitment. I read it several times during my formative years, a period shaped by struggle and ideological intensity. At the time, I was deeply drawn toward radical political thought, and the character of Pavel Korchagin became central to that journey.

Pavel’s endurance, discipline, and unwavering loyalty to his ideals left a lasting impression on me. His life, defined by sacrifice and conviction, influenced not only my thinking but also my understanding of purpose and resilience. Even today, Pavel stands, for me, as one of the most courageous and enduring figures in fiction.

Fourth: Madhabi by Madan Mani Dixit

My relationship with Madhabi by Madan Mani Dixit, was not immediate. In fact, it took me several attempts before I could fully immerse myself in the novel. It was only on my fourth attempt that I finally read it through.

Once I did, however, the experience was transformative. I returned to it three more times in succession.

Madhabi reshaped the way I viewed civilization, the beauty of life, and, most significantly, the depth of female character. The novel opened a new lens through which to understand existence, one rooted in subtlety and introspection.

Its impact was so profound that I found myself deeply attached to its central character. That connection eventually led me to name my own essay collection ‘Madhabi Oh Madhabi.’

What continues to draw me to this novel is its quiet yet powerful engagement with questions of female existence, sacrifice, and freedom. The influence of Madhabi lingers in my own writing, particularly in the women characters of my novels Mokshabhumi and Itha, who, at times, seem to carry echoes of her presence.

Fifth: Vaishali Ki Nagarvadhu by Acharya Chatursen Shastri

The novel Vaishali Ki Nagarvadhu by Acharya Chatursen Shastri introduced me to the richness of language and the art of constructing a living environment within narrative.

What makes this work especially significant is its linguistic depth. The prose is layered, textured, and deeply evocative, setting a high standard within South Asian literature.

I returned to this book repeatedly during my writing practice. With each reading, it reinforced an essential lesson: history must not be presented as mere fact but as lived experience, infused with sensitivity and emotion.

For me, Acharya Chatursen Shastri has been a guiding force in understanding how story and history intersect. Reading Vaishali Ki Nagarvadhu feels less like an act of reading and more like participating in a ritual.

The writers who have most profoundly shaped my approach to historical fiction are Acharya Chatursen Shastri and Madan Mani Dixit. Their influence is evident in my own novels, ‘Itha’ and ‘Mokshabhumi.’

Through their works, I learned to look beyond history as a static record of the past. They revealed it as a living dialogue, one that continues to speak to the present.

Perhaps it is this influence that draws me toward telling human stories set against historical backdrops, stories where the past is not distant but deeply alive within the present.

Writer and Reviewer Keshab Dahal

The Books That Stayed

These five books entered my life at different moments, and perhaps for that very reason, their influence has never been the same.

In childhood, Mahabharat stirred a sense of spirituality and awakened a quiet moral curiosity. In youth, Anna Karenina opened up the tension between love and society, revealing the complexity of personal freedom. During years marked by struggle, Agni-diksha (How the Steel Was Tempered) offered resilience and inner strength.

Later, in a more reflective phase of life, Madhabi and Vaishali Ki Nagarvadhu drew me deeper into the layered worlds of civilization, history, and the question of female existence.

What continues to bind these works together, despite their differences, is their shared richness, the lyricism of language, the depth of character, the closeness to lived reality, and the quiet power of narrative. These are the qualities I find myself returning to, both as a reader and as a writer.

Together, these books have shaped my thinking in ways that go beyond the page. They have moved me away from seeing life as something linear or singular and toward understanding it as layered, complex, and deeply interconnected.

Perhaps it is because of this journey through books that I have come to value, more consciously now, the importance of tolerance, compassion, and sensitivity, not just in writing, but in life itself.