KATHMANDU: That morning of Monday, September 8. From 9 o’clock onwards, the gathering of Gen Z in college uniforms was increasing at Maitighar. Since the movement was leaderless, they joined the demonstration at their own pace. Some carried placards with slogans against corruption, while others carried a collective banner.

I spoke with some of the young men and women who had arrived at Babar Mahal. In their voices and eyes, I saw only patriotism. Some protested the ban imposed by the government on social media. They denounced the corrupt government and the operators of power. Others gave strong statements about the luxurious lifestyle of leaders’ children, or ‘nepo babies.’ Some were also seen enjoying themselves while recording videos.

At around 11 o’clock I reached Naya Baneshwar while reporting. Then I returned to the office in Anamnagar and gave the video for editing and went back toward the protest site.

On the way, I received a terrible piece of information: the protestors were attempting to enter the Parliament building.

The protest, which appeared peaceful at Maitighar, turned violent upon reaching Baneshwar. Nepal Police and Armed Police Force were deployed to prevent the crowd, which was moving forward chanting slogans against corruption, from entering the restricted area. Security personnel had erected a barricade with barbed wire, as always.

For some time, the protestors kept chanting slogans in front of the barricade. Exactly at 11:35 AM, the barricade was broken. After that, the police deployed water cannons. The crowd became even more disorganized and chaotic. Some protestors engaged in vandalism of the Parliament building.

A two-way assault began, with stone pelting toward the police and tear gas toward the protestors. Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, the District Administration Office, Kathmandu, issued a curfew order to be effective from 1 PM until 10 PM that night.

From 3 o’clock, the Nepal Army was also seen at the protest site, but the volcano of rage had already erupted. The enraged crowd paid no heed to the curfew. Security personnel gradually escalated the use of force.

The police, who had been firing tear gas and warning shots since 1 PM, rapidly began firing rubber bullets and metal bullets. It was virtually a war between the protestors and security personnel, like a movie scene. Baneshwar was transformed into a battlefield. The streets became stained with blood.

The death of one injured person, hit by a police bullet, was confirmed at 1:30 PM at the nearby Civil Hospital in Baneshwar. The news of the death spread like wildfire, adding fuel to the furnace of discontent and anger. The youth became more aggressive, and the police mercilessly continued to fire at the protestors.

Journalist colleagues were also not spared from police bullets, and the Civil Hospital, which became the ‘epicenter’ of the movement, was filled with the injured.

This inhumane and cruel scene disturbed the mind, and tears welled up.

I reached the Civil Hospital via the Nepal Commerce Campus alley. There was no space even to step. After the hospital beds were filled, bloodied injured people were fighting with life and death right in the passages. A terrifying line at the X-ray unit, the restless struggling of the injured.

Coming out of the hospital, unarmed innocent youth who had fallen to bullets were scattered all over the road. Ambulances were rushing everywhere with sirens blaring. The condition of the injured on the road was tragic.

By the evening of September 8, at least 17 people had lost their lives in the capital alone. Two people were also killed by police bullets in Itahari. They were not just protestors but also transformative buds swallowed by the government’s autocracy.

Reaching the National Trauma Center at Ratna Park on the evening of the first day of the ‘Gen Z’ protest, the wails of the deceased’s families were deeply unsettling.

The next day

From the morning of September 9, citizens in every neighborhood of the capital had started taking to the streets, burning tires against government oppression.

I reached Naya Baneshwar with colleagues, reporting in various places. I received information: the protestors had reached the CPN (UML) party office in Chyasal.

We reached Chyasal, capturing the scenes towards Koteshwar. Vandalism had already begun at the CPN (UML) office. It was set on fire shortly after. At the same time, the house of Madhav Kumar Nepal, Chairman of the CPN (Unified Socialist), was also set on fire.

A little later, it was heard that the protestors had reached the minister’s residence in Bhaisepati. Upon reaching Bhaisepati, the protestors were chanting slogans at the gate. Prior to that, the ministers had already been rescued by the Nepal Army via helicopter. It did not take long for the minister’s residence to also catch fire.

Government offices everywhere were turning to ash, and smoke cast darkness over the capital even in the afternoon. Watching all this, I felt like smoke of pain was churning inside myself too.

The incidents of arson were increasing. Colleagues kept reporting continuously over the phone, “They have surrounded Singha Durbar.”

Hurrying, we headed towards Singha Durbar, the country’s main administrative center. Reaching around 2:30 PM, the protestors were chanting slogans in front of the West Gate of Singha Durbar, burning tires.

Unable to enter Singha Durbar, the crowd entered the Office of the Attorney General. They brought the documents found there onto the street and set them on fire. They also vandalized and committed arson in the office. Seeing us taking pictures and videos, they lunged at us too.

After that, they turned towards the Supreme Court. First of all, they set fire to the vehicles in the parking lot. In a while, eight or nine people emerged with rifles in their hands. Those rifles were looted from the security personnel’s room. The crowd became further agitated after they emerged displaying the rifles. They rushed back towards Singha Durbar.

What if a clash occurred between the protestors and the police at this moment? Just the thought made my heart run cold. My former colleague Suresh Rajak, killed during the royalist movement on March 28, 2025, was flashing before my eyes. This time, the situation was becoming even more terrifying.

From outside Singha Durbar, protestors aimed guns at the police. Believing that we must now enter the security perimeter, as we were entering through the pedestrian gate, the army-police began to retreat.

It was 3:05 PM at that time. The first target of the protestors was the Office of the Prime Minister and Council of Ministers.

Chaotic protestors blindly attacked the country’s historical heritage. Seeing this, my heart was deeply distressed. I was constantly surrounded by the question: Are they doing all this by their own free will? I could not think who would benefit from burning historical and national assets in the name of rebellion against government oppression.

At that moment, someone’s voice struck my ears: “This is our property; let’s not set it on fire,” but that voice simply vanished into the crowd. The agitators who entered from the backside of the office broke every item they saw. They left nothing unvandalized on the first, second, and third floors. Many committed looting, and destruction raged in Singha Durbar. Moreover, the protestors even kicked the national emblem.

The height of anarchy was also seen in the Prime Minister’s office chamber. We were on the third floor, capturing all those scenes. Fire had started raging from the ground floor. Smoke had spread, making it difficult to breathe, and we rushed out breathlessly.

By the time we got out, the Ministry of Home Affairs was raging. The flame of the fire had spread up to the third floor. Vehicles parked at the Ministry of Energy, Water Resources, and Irrigation and other ministries were fiercely burning.

Before our eyes, Singha Durbar also became a ruin. The irony is that, to save this historical heritage, which was weakened by the 2015 earthquake and had barely achieved a rebirth over 10 years at a cost of Rs 90 billion, the crowd became reckless, and the presence of the state was nowhere to be seen.

We exited right through the West Gate of the burning Singha Durbar. It was already 6 o’clock in the evening. The Supreme Court was burning. The Department of Roads, Kathmandu District Court, and District Administration were burning. They were not government institutions; they also burned down the history of the country.

A few days later, during the course of reporting, I went to the National Trauma Center. I met an injured person who had lost one leg due to a police bullet. According to him, the group intent on breaking the barricade that day forced their way into the crowd despite the Gen Z members trying to stop them. He was saying, “Guys came in a mini-truck from the direction of Shankhamul.” While the Gen Z members were asking who they were, they joined the protest and immediately headed toward the barricade. “After the barricade was broken, the crowd became even more enraged.”

The sacrifice of Gen Z changed the government in the country. A new date for the election was announced. But was all that loss of life, property, and destruction just for this? I am still asking myself this question.