BHAKTAPUR/ITAHARI, Sept 8: When Dinesh Chaulagain learned that his 21-year-old son, Abhishek, had been shot dead during last year’s Gen Z protests, he made a decision that changed his own life.
A Nepal Police employee at the time, Dinesh resigned from the force after learning that his son had been killed by police fire.
“How could I continue working for the police after my innocent son was killed?” he asks.
A year after the September 8-9 Gen Z movement, families of those killed say the government has yet to fully deliver on the promises and aspirations that drove the protests.
The movement, which began with young people taking to the streets against restrictions on social media, quickly grew into a broader uprising against corruption, poor governance, political dysfunction, unemployment and inequality.
For families who lost loved ones, however, the movement is remembered not only as a turning point in Nepal’s political history but also as a deeply personal tragedy.
‘The government has not listened to the Gen Z aspirations’
Abhishek, the only son of Dinesh and Rita, had gone to work at a hotel on September 8 last year. After finishing work, he called his father and said he was coming home.
Dinesh, who was on duty in Nagarkot at the time, advised him to avoid the main road and return through an inner route once the situation became calmer.
But Abhishek took the main road.
“He called me around 2 pm and said he was heading home. When he did not arrive for a long time, I called him repeatedly, but his phone did not connect,” Dinesh recalls.
The following day, the family learned that Abhishek had been shot. Dinesh went to Civil Hospital looking for his son. He found him there—but as a body.
Abhishek, who was studying for a bachelor’s degree in management, was among those killed during the movement. The government has declared 45 of the 76 people killed in the protests as martyrs, including Abhishek.
Dinesh says the government should urgently address the martyrs’ families' joint 15-point demands.
“The present government was formed on the blood of Gen Z,” he says. “But the government is not listening to the demands of Gen Z.”
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He acknowledges that the government has taken some positive steps, but says its work has not reflected the spirit of the movement.
For the families, he says, education, healthcare and employment should be guaranteed even if other benefits cannot be provided.
A son remembered in a village park
Yogendra Neupane, also known as Roshan, was another young man killed during the movement.
His family, who had been living in Bhaktapur, have since returned to their ancestral home in Sindhuli. Yogendra’s parents have built a memorial park on one ropani of land in his memory, with its inauguration scheduled for Tuesday.
Yogendra was the eldest son and was preparing for the Public Service Commission examinations.
According to his aunt Tara Rokka, Yogendra had urged people in the village on the eve of the protests to join the movement and work to end political disorder.
“On September 7, he told everyone that we should join the movement the next day and work to end political disorder,” Tara recalls. “But today, Yogendra remains only a memory.”
The family learned that he had been shot around 1 pm on September 8. When they reached a hospital in Baneshwor, he had already died.
“We have lost our son. We do not want any other family to suffer such a loss,” Tara says. She urges the government not to forget the promises it made to the martyrs’ families.
The husband Manju lost
For 28-year-old Manju Sada of Itahari, the memory of the husband she lost remains painfully vivid.
She was only 18 when she married Mohan Sada. The two had met while working on construction projects, where Mohan was a mason. Their relationship grew despite opposition rooted in caste differences, eventually leading them to elope and marry.
They later raised two daughters together.
On September 8 last year, Mohan went to the market with a friend. He had been resting at home after injuring his leg while working and had planned to visit a health centre. Instead, he became caught up in the protests.
That evening, when he did not return, Manju began calling him. His phone was switched off.
Then she saw a video on Facebook showing her husband lying injured after being shot.
“I fainted after seeing the video,” she recalls.
Mohan was later confirmed dead at BP Koirala Institute of Health Sciences. His body was cremated six days later at Budhiganga Muktighat.
A year later, Manju is raising their daughters, eight-year-old Aarohi and six-year-old Aakriti, alone.
“How will I educate them? How will I raise them?” she asks. “I see their father’s face in them.”
She had previously worked in Kuwait and had planned to return abroad, but after Mohan’s death she abandoned the plan to care for her daughters.
The government has provided her Rs 1.5 million—Rs 1 million in compensation and Rs 500,000 for funeral and other expenses. She used part of the money to buy 10 dhur of land and has saved the remainder for her daughters’ future.
But she says financial assistance alone is not enough.
“My husband gave his life for the country. I have pleaded with the government to give me even a small job so that I can raise our daughters, but our voice has not been heard,” she says.
She says affected families have discussed launching another movement if their demands are not addressed. However, they are holding back for now because the country is dealing with the Bhotekoshi flood disaster.
“If our demands are not addressed, we will intensify the movement,” she says. “If I could get a job according to my capacity, it would be easier to raise my daughters.”
A foreign dream that never came true
In Itahari, Mohan was not the only young person killed on the first day of the movement.
Sixteen-year-old Abhishek Shrestha, who was staying with relatives in Itahari and whose permanent home was in Inaruwa, was also killed by police fire.
Abhishek had already obtained a passport and was preparing to leave for Saudi Arabia. His family had hoped that his overseas employment would improve their financial situation.
Instead, he died after joining the protests while trying to collect money owed to him from his former workplace.
His family did not even know that he had joined the movement.
The news of his death reached them through his uncle that night.
“I fainted when I heard that my son had died,” says his mother, Sushma.
His father, Jhagad Bahadur Shrestha, was working in Qatar at the time and returned home after learning of his son’s death.
A year later, the family is still struggling financially. Jhagad Bahadur now drives a rickshaw, while Abhishek’s younger brother, Sameer, has been working as a daily-wage worker at the Nepal Electricity Authority for the past three months.
But the family says no job or financial support can fill the void left by Abhishek.
“If my son had gone abroad last year, he would probably have returned by now and it would have been time for him to get married,” Susmha says.
She is left with one painful question:
“How did fate lead my son, who was preparing to go abroad, into the streets that day?”
For the families of Nepal’s Gen Z martyrs, a year has passed—but the questions, grief and expectations remain.
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