She had never really loved her husband. What she had felt for him was a kind of respectful devotion, the kind her mother had held for her father.
Prince Trailokya stopped at a bend halfway up Shivapuri, exhausted. He’d left his horse outside Budhanilkantha temple almost two ghadis ago and had climbed continuously, determined to make it to the top.
The literary canon of a nation as multilingual as Nepal ought not to consist overwhelmingly of Nepali-language literature, but it does. It ought to include a vast body of literature in national languages other than Nepali, but it doesn’t.