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Rain of Shadows (Cont.)

They decided that before the king's death could be announced, a new king had to be proclaimed, and thus the royal council had to meet—but in the chaos that took time. To the people in the street, this delay reeked of disdain. News networks around the globe had been reporting the latest rumors from Nepal for eight hours, and Nepalis believed that the assistant prime minister had even sold such news to one of the wire services. People were angry and humiliated that the only word came came from foreign news networks. Finally, at ten o'clock on Saturday morning, the royal council was summoned to meet in the Bahadur Bhawan ("Abode of Bravery"), an 80-year-old palace just across the street from Narayanhiti Palace.

Waving my press credentials and shouting "foreign press!" in Nepali was enough to storm Bahadur Bhawan's guarded gates. On a marble-floored portico, a group of 30 Nepali journalists waited at the open door of an air-conditioned room. The royal council sat inside, somber and silent. Grandiose portraits of 11 generations of Shah Dynasty kings glared down, as if imposing their own austere silence. On the porch, the journalists were not so quiet.

"They say Dipendra did it."

"The royal council is waiting for the prime minister to arrive."

"They are going to proclaim Gyanendra as king. But the people will never accept his son, Prince Paras, as crown prince—he killed a man in a hit and run accident and was never tried."

"King Birendra will not be cremated for at least four days; they have to give time for foreign heads of state to arrive."

None of their predictions proved to be based in fact. We did wait for Prime Minister Koirala to arrive, true enough. He closeted himself in a back room with an inner circle; the royal council did meet in formal session to approve the back-room decision. Paras's record did become a matter of national anger, making it impossible for him to be declared crown prince. But the news released from the royal council meeting was a surprise to everyone: King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya were officially proclaimed dead-with no explanations. Prince Dipendra was declared alive and named king. The council also decided that King Birendra's cremation would take place that very day. Birendra's brother, Prince Gyanendra—who had missed the tragic royal dinner—was named regent. The first lesson that day was to believe no predictions.

When asked why Dipendra had been named king if he was a murderer, Nepal's foreign minister brushed the question off. But foreign diplomats in Kathmandu were now quietly whispering. Nepal's constitution provides no means to try a member of the royal family on any crime, including murder. Dipendra was alive and according to Nepal's constitution would be king, unless someone could state facts of regicide. Only that might have barred him from assuming the throne. Half a dozen witnesses had watched Dipendra mow down his family, but they were not being allowed to speak to the press to utter those simple words. Something about Nepal was crystallizing that morning.

Thousands of Nepalis lined the street in front of Bahadur Bhawan. They craned and peered from every open window and lined the rooftops above. As the prime minister sped away in his massive, shiny, black Mercedes, the news-hungry crowd pressed forward, and a young man shouted a question toward the silent speeding car: "What has happened?"

Without thinking, I answered, "Dipendra is alive and has been named king. King Birendra and the queen are dead."

Ripples of awareness spread around me. One person shouted the news to another. The news seized the crowd, and joy soon echoed behind it.

Those near me laughed and shouted, "What good news you have given us!"

Eager hands reached toward me. The horrified police stood back and watched as the crowd launched me up onto their shoulders, parading me above their heads as they shouted the news.

"Dipendra is alive! Dipendra is king!"

Mindful of the policemen's lathis, I shouted and struggled to be set down. "Foreign press! I have to go now! Please put me down."

Older men pulled me down from the young men's shoulders and helped me back onto my scooter, which miraculously hadn't been toppled by the crowd. As I beeped my horn and pressed through the crowd now choking the streets around the palace, the news flamed out, and groups of Nepalis erupted into wild cheering.

"Long live King Dipendra!"

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