Along the tumultuous path to Kathmandu, where disorder reigns as far as the eye can survey, travelers cling to hope amidst growing dread of an unfolding calamity.
Amidst the gridlocked traffic, droves of weary pedestrians press northward, seeking family members who remain unreachable since a catastrophic flash flood descended from the Himalayas on Wednesday morning.
As entire structures, bridges, and neighborhoods seem to have vanished, and with the grim death toll escalating hourly, an eerie silence conveys the heavy realization that, in the wake of such a monumental disaster, no updates often spell the worst possible news.
In the relentless downpour, I encountered Prem Bahdur Tamang, trudging with despair, clutching a mobile phone showcasing a photo of his nephew, Sangyam Rumba, smiling with arms folded—a poignant image trapped behind the phone’s cracked screen.
He moved from one person to another, displaying the cherished photo and asking if they had laid eyes on his young relative. Each time, he braced himself for the answer he dreaded most.
‘We haven’t seen him since the water came,’ Prem told me, referring to the destructive wave of mud and debris which seemed to destroy everything in its wake. ‘His parents have been crying and haven’t eaten for almost three days because they know that the outcome is not going to be good.’
Workers use excavators to clear the mud at the Dhunge Bazaar in Nepal’s Nuwakot district after flash floods and landslides hit
Kanchi & Mili spoke with Vivek and are heartbroken with what has happened and hope the missing people are found
Prem Bahdur Tamamg told Vivek how his family is struggling
The catastrophic floods that struck Nepal and Tibet are reported to have surged as high as 650ft, killing at least 538 people and leaving more than 1,500 missing
People stand near a collapsed bridge after flash floods at Devighat in Nepal’s Nuwakot district on August 28
A drone view of a broken bridge and damaged houses after the flash floods and mudslide, at Devighat, Nuwakot district, Nepal
A man walks past damaged structures after flash flooding in the Devighat area of Nuwakot district in Nepal
An aerial view of destroyed houses and roads covered in muds along the Trishuli River
Staring at his phone as his eyes filled with tears, Prem revealed that Sangyam worked as a tour guide, accompanying the hundreds of thousands of visitors who come to Nepal each year, largely to trek through the spectacular mountain range where an avalanche triggered this week’s tragedy.
The young man was last in contact with his family on Wednesday morning just minutes before the flood hit. He was walking up the Trishuli River with a group of foreign tourists.
‘How can anyone survive that flood? It came crashing down like a giant monster that ate up everything,’ said Prem. ‘The whole of Nepal is heartbroken by what happened. In our hearts we fear that Sangyam is gone.’
Similar emotions are being shared everywhere on the Nuwakot road, one of the principal routes from Kathmandu to the Tibet border, which winds its way north of the city through lush mountains before heading past the aforementioned Trishuli, which bore the brunt of the flash flood as water came cascading down from the Chinese border.
The two-lane highway, which in normal times is heavily potholed, is now covered with a thick layer of sticky mud, which gets almost everywhere: into your clothes, your hair, and even your eyes.
The further one gets from Nepal’s capital city, the worse the destruction becomes. In some parts the road becomes virtually impassable due to fallen trees and rubble.
As I approached the Trishuli valley, the crowds looked increasingly shell-shocked. People stood around talking about their missing loved ones or their missing homes.
Those who are among the tens of thousands who have lost homes took refuge wherever they could, as they attempted to come to terms with the natural disaster that has had such a devastating impact on their lives.
Trucks carrying goods could be seen turning back as the road entered the valley, which is effectively ground zero of this terrible natural disaster – the true scope of which has yet to be fully realised.
At the edge of a mountain road I met three young girls who were staying in a tin hut while their parents sheltered from the monsoon season rains in another makeshift shelter nearby.
Some of their clothes were hanging over the side of the squalid hut. Despite losing their home, the youngsters giggled and smiled as they playfully attempted to pass the time away.
Shanti, their mother, said: ‘We have lost everything, but we are lucky that we didn’t lose our lives. We have moved higher up because we are too scared to be by the river. Who knows, there might be another flood? We have relatives in this area, and they have been helping us.
‘There is not much we can do. At least we are all together and nobody in the family is missing.’
Many whose houses remain intact have moved to higher ground amid fears of a second wave, which has restricted rescue operations in the area.
Thanks to the generosity of strangers, many are taking shelter in shabby concrete houses which border the Nuwakot road, which has no pavement and is lined with shacks selling an assortment of goods, along with tea stalls.
The area is made up of a mixture of Hindu and Buddhist temples, reflecting the two religions that are most practised in Nepal. Women dressed in traditional Nepali robes, known as bakhus, and colourful salwar kameezes walked along the roadside, carefully negotiating flood debris as the monsoon rain continues.
The ravaged state of the road is for now frustrating rescue efforts, with only helicopters able to access some of the more remote towns towards the northern end of the valley, which bore the brunt of the storm.
Choppers from the Nepali army whirled overhead through an overcast sky as they made their way towards the Tibet border, only 30 miles away, to help with the search for the missing. But it is proving to be increasingly difficult with the weather worsening and fears of a second flood.
The Red Cross has also managed to get some relief workers to affected towns and villages. But it will clearly be some time until aid agencies are able to mount a serious relief effort.
In the meantime, ordinary Nepalis have come together in this time of crisis.
On the Nuwakot road, tea shops are offering free drinks and snacks; one elderly man was walking around lending his umbrella to those who have lost their homes and now find themselves exposed to the elements; while Kanchi and Milli, two women who sell vegetables at a roadside stall were giving them away for free to flood victims.
Kanchi said: ‘These are our people, and we have to do all that we can to help them.
‘I know that the government is doing its best, but we also have a duty to look after our brothers and sisters.’
She revealed they are lucky to make £2 per day at the stall, but given what has happened, ‘money is not important’.
She added: ‘We are not rich but none of that matters because we all have to come together. It’s hard for us to make sense of this. Nepalis are very devout people, our temples are full every day. We don’t understand why God would do this to us?’
In the distance, a temple bell could be heard to mark the Hindu festival of Raksha Bandhan – one of the most important in Nepal. It was a national holiday to mark the religious occasion so people could catch up with their extended families. But for many of those in Nuwakot and other flood-hit areas, there is little to celebrate.
Raja Ram explained the significance of the ancient festival. Fighting back the tears he said: ‘It celebrates the bond between a brother and sister and is very important in our culture. I’m lucky that I live high up on a hill in Nuwakot but so many people down by the river have lost a brother or sister that I’ve decided not to celebrate. It just doesn’t seem right.’
As locals sipped tea and discussed Wednesday’s events, some looked up with a solemn, almost hopeless, look in their eyes.
Badal, a teacher whose name means cloud in Nepali, said: ‘The Nepal-Tibet border is not very far from here but it’s one of the remotest regions in the world. I don’t understand how they’ll find anyone.
‘Since Wednesday, the wifi keeps cutting out and at times communication is almost impossible. The phone signal is also very bad. Even if somebody is alive, how will anyone find out?’
As the rain showed no sign of relenting, Prem Bahdur Tamang continued along the principal road that winds through Nuwakot, pausing at shops that are little more than shacks to show people the picture of his beloved nephew.
Calling out his name and details of where he was last seen, he said: ‘One part of me has given up hope and another part doesn’t want to do that. I suppose it’s not different to what the rest of the country is going through.’
