12 January 2026
‘The Academy is dysfunctional because of us; after all, an environment is influenced by its constituent elements.’ About a year ago, I had received this response from Shree Bal Chandra Sharma, the Vice Chancellor of the Royal Nepal Academy when I asked him, ‘Why didn’t the work get done?’
‘Most people claim that you are more inclined towards India than Nepal. Is that true?’ When I posed another direct question to him, he answered, ‘To say I’m more attached to India is totally false. I don’t have anyone in India. Why would I be attached to it? Even though more than one generation of my family has spent time there, I’m totally Nepali.’
***
Since his elders went to study and subsequently settled there, Shree Bal Chandra Sharma was born in Prayag [Allahabad]. His mother had been affiliated with Birendra Keshari [?] and maintained a keen interest in literacy. She taught him Sanskrit. Later, when he was eight, his family migrated to Kashi [Benaras] and he began to study English. When preparing for his matriculation exams, his father passed away and he was compelled to abort his studies for two years. Despite having to take care of his family, he persevered and earned an MA in English literature and a Sahitya Ratna in Hindi. After the establishment of the Nepali Congress in Benaras in 1946, he travelled to Assam to inquire about the death of a Nepali during the Noakhali riots. Later, he even became the Chief Secretary of Nepali Congress, and in 1947, got arrested during the jute mill protests in Biratnagar. He was released from jail without any charges due to an illness.
Sharma-ji has been a founding member of Yugbani since 1946 and part of its inner editing circle. Over the years, he has successfully commanded the peoples of Gandaki and Karnali zones during sporadic public protests. And in 1954, he was the Minister of Education for eighteen months. On 22 June 1957, he was appointed the Vice Chancellor of the Academy.
Perhaps it’s not totally shocking to witness a political luminary gradually leaning into literary tenderness, but it sure was curious. That’s why I asked Bal Chandra-ji, ‘How did this happen?’
‘My father used to contribute regularly to Sundari. Yugbani also had a literary section, even though the content was primarily political. And I became acquainted with the Hindi specialist, Ram Chandra Shukla, and also with the Hindi University. In addition, I used to write about Nepal for publications such as Saraswati, Bishal Bharat, Aajkal, and Modern Review. And in the course of inspecting proofs of Nepali books in Kashi to make ends meet, I gradually got interested in Nepali literature. As a result, I became known as Bal Chandra Sharma in Nepali literary circles.’
‘That means, your entry into the field of Nepali literature was merely coincidental.’
‘Yes. One can’t be literary without facing some kind of struggle. It’s somewhat misleading just to say literature is necessary for a prosperous life. And it’s somewhat naive to declare service to literature without showing any concern for money. A writer’s relationship to their literary project should somehow be analogous to that of the eater with food. Only then can we envision developing literature as a wholesome discipline.’
‘In that case, do you think the condition of writers in Nepal is close to what you just described?’
‘I can’t provide a definitive response to that. A lot depends on one’s talent. Once, [Indian scholar-cum-politician] Madan Mohan Malviya said to me, “The only reason I can think of teaching English literature is so that we can remove the weaknesses in our language by comparing the two. You know how Pliny was speaking Roman when others were still stuck with Latin? Similarly, I feel that being literary is just an extension of basic language development and a sign of overall progress that everyone ought to embrace. One writer getting golden rewards and another getting nothing is due to personal capabilities. Writers ought to step forward to improve themselves. Writers ought to work hard to produce grains from their own soil. Only then will problems reach a natural resolution.’
‘Like you said, we’ve had to produce our own grains. But even before completing production, writers get muddled in numerous personal and familial problems, further deteriorating their psychological and intellectual states. Economic instability has always been there, but due to these additional issues, don’t you agree that our literary future is quite dismal?’
‘Actually, I don’t agree with that. Our literary future is quite bright. After directing our gaze outwards for ages, we have now learnt to look inwards. That’s why our progress is definite. Along with that, there’s been reforms in various literary sectors. For instance, there has been a conscious resurgence of the discourse around purity to counter increasing foreign influences in the Nepali language and the response to this resurgence has also been robust.’
‘So, the purity rebellion we have seen so far is robust?’
‘No. Some of it verges on censorship, which is a different matter…’
‘Bal Chandra-ji, another small query—what should be the relationship between creative work and public opinion?’
‘Writers should heed public opinion.’
‘Is that practical?’
‘Writers intent on overtaking their generation in order to reach some futuristic epoch might not have time to follow public opinion. But without devoting time, they might not even live to see that future. That’s why it behoves them to follow public opinion and keep up with current discourses. Every prominent global literary discourse we have witnessed so far represents its generation and that’s why they remain relevant. Personally, I like to acquaint myself with most of these discourses. In other words, since each discourse is somehow connected to an emergent generational idea, I tend to embrace all of them. And by doing so, I also get to evaluate public opinion.’
We were conversing in his own office inside the Academy. I’d requested to meet him at his home. Instead, inconvenienced by noisy children, he had invited me to the Academy.
Ganabahal! A small building in an alley. In the small building, an upper room. Two large windows on its two sides and a soft cool breeze in this hot month was ruffling a stack of papers on a table. And the two of us sitting on two sides of the table. In one corner, a closet full of Nepali books. That was the ambience of the room and the two of us were talking. When I first entered, Sharma-ji was going over the proofs of a Nepali dictionary. He had kept those papers aside during our conversation.
A dynamic soldier was standing with a rifle at the main gate outside. From all four directions came the monotonous rustle of trees. The atmosphere was quiet and peaceful, punctuated once in a while by a barking dog. Only our voices were interrupting the peace. The famous intellectual, Bal Chandra-ji, was wearing a kurta, a Jawahar coat and trousers, as per his habit. The entirely white outfit contrasted with his bright red mouth, a result of regularly chewing betel quid. Piercing the peace once more, I asked, ‘Sharma-ji, has the era after 15 December 1960 [when King Mahendra dismissed the elected government and took direct control] been conducive to writers?’
‘Do you have suspicions?’ The retort was prompt.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter if I’m suspicious or not. I’m asking based on some news articles,’ I replied cautiously, slightly alarmed.
‘I see. Yes, the atmosphere is quite conducive these days. For writers, showing allegiance to their country and to their king is one and the same thing. That’s why the present environment is more supportive compared to the multi-party days.’
I almost interrupted him in my haste to grab an elusive thought, ‘Oh. Almost forgot! After your literary debut, who encouraged you to keep going, Sharma-ji?’
‘Are we done with the interview?’
‘No, we are not.’
‘So, why does it matter if you forgot something now? You would’ve gotten to it in due time. Anyway, the biggest encouragement I received was from His Majesty. I’ve received and accomplished everything a writer wishes for.’
After remarking on his luck, I put another question forward, ‘Which Nepali writers do you like?’
His response was vague, ‘I like everyone whose writing aligns with the present climate.’ And continued, ‘They are all good; I mean I don’t love anyone’s work as much as I love mine. And one ought to credit someone based on talent.’
‘What about foreign writers?’
‘I like Edmund Burke, Milton, Ruskin, Thomas Hardy, Rosetti, Cardinal Newman and Browning.’
‘Perhaps they are the ones who influenced you?’
‘What influences are you talking about? I had no time to get influenced! Someone rushing to translate Gul-e-Bakawali and also focused on Nepal’s historical boundaries didn’t have the luxury to get influenced. I was influenced by necessity.’
Sharma-ji had once said, ‘After my father’s demise, I was relying on four-rupee tuition classes to make ends meet.’ He had a hardscrabble beginning. In Benaras, he was compelled to work on everything ranging from Nepali textbooks to booklets dedicated to classical music; from translating works like Tota Maina and Gul-e-Bakawali to historical pieces—someone working so hard to improve his economic prospects didn’t even get to wait around for the right mood. ‘I didn’t have the luxury to wait for the right mood. The needs of the body prompted the right mood. Now you tell me,’ he said, ‘do you think I was in the mood to translate Gul-e-Bakawali?’
It was Chitra Gupta who was behind his success. Who could have imagined that someone who had even worked as a priest in Benaras would one day go to China as the leader of Nepal’s cultural committee or to Delhi to participate in an international Buddhist conference? And it was due to Chitra Gupta’s fortunate writing and his own diligence that despite returning empty-handed from Benaras, he was able to prosper in Kathmandu within a few years. Alluding to his modern building in Bagbazar, I inquired, ‘These days, you probably don’t have any trouble making ends meet.’
‘There’s no trouble. My limited needs ensure a stable financial condition.’
