After earning a degree in jurisprudence from the prestigious Oxford University in 1961, Sagar Shumsher Rana returned to Nepal with great enthusiasm. His goal was to contribute to the country’s legal system and set new standards in justice and governance.

But fate had other plans. That same year, King Mahendra dissolved the first democratically elected government and imposed the Panchayat system, stifling Nepal’s nascent democracy.

In the political upheaval that followed, Sagar’s brother, Bharat Shumsher Rana, then leader of the opposition, was arrested. BP Koirala, Nepal’s first elected Prime Minister, who had led the government with a two-thirds majority just 17 months earlier, was also imprisoned.

Disillusioned by the turn of events, Sagar’s enthusiasm for practicing law in Nepal faded. Instead, he turned to work with his father, Mrigendra Shumsher Rana, who by then had become more engaged in the arts than in politics.

Mrigendra played a key role in laying the foundation stone of the Nepal Pragya Pratishthan (Nepal Academy) building in Kamaladi on in February 1963. He was also elected founding treasurer of the Nepal Art Council, an institution established after King Mahendra brought the renowned artist Lainsingh Bangdel back to Nepal.

At just 22, Sagar found himself immersed in the company of Nepal’s leading artists. Influenced by his father’s passion and surrounded by creativity, he developed a deep appreciation for traditional Nepali art. Over time, he emerged as a prominent promoter of Nepal’s cultural heritage on the global stage.

While many know Sagar Shumsher Rana as a politician and diplomat—and more recently, as the author of acclaimed books like Kingdom Lost and Singha Durbar—few are aware of his lifelong commitment to art and craftsmanship.

Following in his father’s footsteps, Sagar was appointed a member of the Nepal Art Council at the age of 22.

Just a decade later, he founded Nepal Traditional Craft at his ancestral home in Babar Mahal. It was the first private company in Nepal dedicated to exporting traditional Nepali art, and it played a significant role in promoting thousands of local artworks internationally.

The foundation of this pioneering company was born out of a remarkable coincidence. After completing his law studies in the UK, Sagar had returned to Kathmandu to pursue a legal career. But King Mahendra’s royal coup changed everything.

“What is the value of law and debate in a country without democracy?” he asked himself.

That question led him away from the courtroom and toward a lifelong journey celebrating and preserving Nepal’s artistic and cultural heritage.

After spending a few years following in his father’s footsteps, Sagar Shumsher Rana moved to neighboring India and began his legal practice. His law career flourished there. But soon, events back home in Nepal would call him back.

On July 10, 1969, a major political controversy unfolded: Hrishikesh Shah, the coordinator of the Panchayat Constitution and a relative of the Shah family, was imprisoned for speaking out against the monarchy. Upon hearing this, Sagar returned to Nepal to fight Shah’s case.

But under the Panchayat regime, where the king’s rule was absolute, no judge could deliver a verdict on such sensitive cases without prior approval. The case stalled, and Sagar found himself stuck in Nepal.

It was during this uncertain period that Sagar reignited his earlier exposure to art through his father, Mrigendra Shumsher Rana. Channeling that inspiration, he launched a personal initiative to promote Nepali art. He opened a private enterprise inside his ancestral home in Babar Mahal, which would later become his life’s main vocation.

Today, his son Upendra Rana continues the legacy, operating from their home in Kupandol Heights.

“Reading is one thing; working is another,” the 87-year-old Sagar chuckled when we met him at his Kupandol residence last week.

He fondly recalled his youth, when he first saw valuable artworks imported from abroad by his uncle and great-grandfather, Keshar Shumsher Rana, at Keshar Mahal. At the time, the artistic masterpieces caught his eye but not his full appreciation.

In 1962, the Nepal Art Council was established at Babar Mahal, thanks to his father’s efforts. When the first national painting exhibition was held on December 25, 1965, Sagar witnessed firsthand the movement to introduce modern art to Nepal. Lainsingh Bangdel, trained in Britain and France, played a key role in this cultural shift, even curating works by foreign artists for display.

“There wasn’t much to do back then. I used to accompany my father, and since I had studied in the UK and knew law, I was appointed a member of the Council,” Sagar said, recalling his early involvement.

While practicing law in India, Sagar discovered that Nepali artworks were being rerouted to third countries via India. Alarmed, he decided to take action. In 2029 BS, he established Nepal Traditional Craft, the first private company in Nepal dedicated to exporting Nepali traditional art. He hired 90 artisans, primarily from Patan, to work on sculptures and filigree at Babar Mahal.

This effort had a ripple effect: entire households in Patan became engaged in traditional arts. Art became a means of livelihood, a notion rarely considered before. Artisans could now work from home and become self-reliant.

Sagar’s initiative transformed not just the market—but also the mindset. Skilled artisans began to see craftsmanship as sustainable employment. Inspired by his vision, artists from Patan came to him with a proposal: “We need to open a handicraft association.”

At that time, Sagar was seen as the only one capable of taking Nepali handicrafts to the international stage. His English proficiency, honed during his time in the UK, helped him secure foreign orders—and he made sure to pay Nepali artists well.

Legendary artisans like Ratnaman and Bekharatna Shakya, sons of the iconic Murtiman Shakya, approached him to formalize the community. Thus, in 1972, the Nepal Handicraft Association was born.

“I was the only non-Newar in the committee—and that too, the president!” Sagar laughed. “When I said I needed someone for documentation, another non-Newar joined as joint secretary. The rest were all Shakyas, except for one Shrestha.”

With the association in place, Sagar took it upon himself to secure international orders. He traveled abroad with product catalogs. His first major export deal was with a German couple from Dortmund, who previously dealt in Chinese architectural exports. They signed a Rs 3–4 lakh agreement, a breakthrough for Nepali handicrafts.

This success boosted Sagar’s confidence and inspired others to launch handicraft ventures with private investment. But exporting wasn’t easy—the government had banned silver exports due to the absence of a proper association. Through his lobbying, the ban was lifted.

“Back then, the state itself didn’t understand the value of handicrafts,” Sagar reflected. “Forget support—we had to fight just to get things moving.”

One major hurdle was that customs officers didn’t know how to value handmade goods. As president of the association, Sagar proposed a solution: let the Handicraft Association certify exported items, and in return, a portion of the fees would go to the association. After considerable discussion, the government agreed. This system remains the association’s primary revenue stream today.

“The Trade Promotion Center, formed back then, helped us immensely,” Sagar added. “But even now, Nepal lacks a government that truly understands the importance of handicrafts. If it did, and created an enabling environment, we could solve a significant part of the employment crisis.”

Neighboring India has invested significantly in its art sector—and the results speak for themselves. From fashion to filmmaking, India’s creative industries have developed “double by day and quadruple by night.” Much of this success stems from a clear national policy set by Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister, who prioritized art and culture immediately after independence.

As a result, Indian artists earned over 310 million Indian rupees last year alone from art exports, including income from textiles, sculpture, and other creative disciplines.

“In our country, even if the government doesn’t understand fashion or art, at least they should buy local products. That alone could create a significant shift. But instead, the policies and regulations are unnecessarily complicated,” says Sagar Shumsher Rana, reflecting on Nepal’s neglect of its creative industries.

Every country has its artistic identity. France is renowned for modern art, Egypt for ancient symbolic art, and both India and China are global players. Nepal, too, holds its ground—particularly in traditional sculpture. Nepali artisans are masters of the ‘Frox Prox Process’, a traditional method of wax modeling followed by metal casting. It is a time-consuming, expensive method, but one that results in globally sought-after sculptures.

So valuable is this skill that China and India now invite Nepali sculptors to produce these works abroad. And yet, Rana laments, the Nepali government shows little interest in protecting or promoting this unique art form.

“In Nepal, politics has invaded every field—even art has become a political battleground,” he says with disappointment.

After BP Koirala returned to Nepal with a policy of reconciliation in 1976, Sagar himself entered politics. He became actively involved during the referendum movement, believing that democracy would uplift the arts, just as it promised to uplift society.

Nepal transitioned to democracy in 1990, but Sagar’s optimism was short-lived.

“After 1990, there was a political takeover of everything the monarchy had established. From Tribhuvan University to Bir Hospital, and even here—art institutions were politicized,” he recalls. “I’m a lifelong Congress member, but even I wasn’t spared—they tried to blacken my face with ink.”

During the Panchayat era, his ancestral home in Babar Mahal was nationalized. The government acquired 6–7 ropanis of land, which now houses the Nepal Art Council. Today, the premises are used for workshops, exhibitions, and cultural programs.

Originally, when the Nepal Art Council was established, its statute stated that it would receive regular and fixed funding from the Government of Nepal. But after 2046, the state itself cut the grants it had previously approved.

Sagar had believed that with democracy, the preservation of art and culture would become a national priority. Instead, the new wave of democracy prioritized something else:

“Foundations were opened in the names of leaders—BP, Ganeshman, Manmohan, Madan Bhandari—but nothing for national art.”

“If the private sector hadn’t stepped in, what would have happened to Nepali art?” he asks, gesturing toward a framed award hanging on his wall. “I’ve already been recognized for my contributions.”

The frame holds a ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’ given to him by the Nepal Handicraft Association, honoring his contributions to the sector over 51 years ago.

Despite everything, Sagar’s meeting room still resembles an artist’s studio more than a politician’s office. The space is adorned with architectural masterpieces, many dating back to the Lichchhavi period.

When asked about these priceless collections, his voice softens. His answer echoes the response given by great poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota to Taranath Sharma in 1952: “Don’t remind me. It breaks my heart.”