BLOG 1 TOPIC 3 CHAPTER 1- PLAN -JUNGE

 

BLOG 1

TOPIC 3

CHAPTER 1- PLAN

JUNGE

I am Jung Bahadur Rana, the man whom the nation once called upon as if sent by the gods themselves. Some may say history will judge me harshly, that the years between 2066 and 2082 and beyond will brand my era as a dark phase for Nepal. Perhaps they will. But I know this: I never betrayed my country. My family, yes, grew greedy at times, but we did not sell Nepal to foreign hands. We ruled for 104 years, and that longevity was born not of treachery but of discipline, self‑respect, and an unyielding love for our nation.

In your era, I see people stripped of self‑respect, their attitude weakened, their spirit fractured. They cry for good leaders but do not cultivate the strength to deserve them. Leadership is not gifted; it is seized, forged in fire and blood. That is what I understood, and that is why I rose.

 

I was born in 1817, named Bir Narsingh Kunwar — a name that meant little to the world then. My father was no king, no prince, but a loyal statesman of Nepal. He served as the personal bodyguard to King Rana Bahadur Shah. In 1806, when Sher Bahadur Shah assassinated the king, my father avenged his master by killing the assassin. For this act of valor, Bhimsen Thapa rewarded him with the hereditary title of Kaji, a high ministerial rank.

My father governed districts like Dhankuta, Dadeldhura, and Jumla for brief periods. He came from the noble Chhetri Kunwar family, a lineage of warriors and administrators. He traveled on diplomatic missions, even to Varanasi, and carried himself with the dignity of a soldier. From him, I inherited both ambition and opportunity.

As a boy, I often walked the palace courtyards, gazing at the royal steps taken by kings, queens, and their children. I wondered what it would feel like to command an entire nation, to live with the weight of crowns and the power of armies. That life called to me. I was ready to sacrifice anything — even blood — to claim it.

 

At first, I entered the palace through my father’s shadow, speaking politely, earning trust, and making myself useful. Later, I joined the army as a Subedar, a mid‑level officer. Yet politics is a cruel tide; I was sidelined, ignored, nearly forgotten.

But I returned to Kathmandu with determination burning in me. I knew courage could open doors that politics kept shut. And so I performed feats that astonished the royal family.

Once, Crown Prince Surendra fell into a well. Without hesitation, I leapt in after him — horse and all. I saved his life, though my loyal steed perished. Another time, I was dared to leap from a high bridge into the raging Trishuli River while mounted. I did it, survived, and proved that I was a man who could defy death itself.

These acts of reckless bravery impressed King Rajendra and Crown Prince Surendra. They saw in me not just a soldier but a man who could achieve the impossible. Soon, I was appointed bodyguard to the king, and later to Queen Rajya Laxmi, whose influence in the palace was immense.

Now I was inside the palace daily, privy to whispers, conspiracies, and the endless rivalries of the Thapas and Pandeys. I listened, I learned, and I waited.

 

But proximity was not enough. I wanted more than service; I wanted rule. To enter the royal life politically was to walk across a bridge made of corpses. And I was willing to build that bridge myself.

Power demands sacrifice. It demands blood. To rise, I had to kill not only enemies but sometimes those bound to me by family. That is the truth of ambition: it spares no one.

I understood that to seize power, Kathmandu itself would have to drown in blood. Streets would echo with cries, and the city would remember the night when Jung Bahadur rose.

And so, the moment came when I had to strike — even against one of my own kin. That act, terrible yet necessary, was the final step in my ascent.ower demands sacrifice. It demands blood. To rise, I had to kill not only enemies but sometimes those bound to me by family. That is the truth of ambition: it spares no one.

Kathmandu itself would have to drown in whispers and cries. The palace walls would tremble with the clash of steel, and the city would remember the night when Jung Bahadur rose.

I knew the moment was near. The factions plotted, the courtiers schemed, and the air itself seemed heavy with betrayal. Every step I took echoed like a drumbeat of destiny.

And then came the choice — the one act that would decide whether I remained a loyal servant or became the master of Nepal.

I looked into the eyes of my kin, my blood, my own flesh… and I understood what had to be done.

The blade was ready. The silence before the storm was deafening.

What followed would change the fate of a nation forever.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…