Making It Big Read online

  First, it introduced a programme called Aphno Gaun Aphai Banaau—Build Your Village Yourself. As the programme was clearly set out in the budget, people could hold their elected representatives directly accountable for the use of the money earmarked for the programme. For the first time, villagers got a chance to see huge amounts of money. This programme became so popular that it is still being emulated. Though the slogan has changed, people at the grassroots village development committee level have been getting up to Rs 30 lakh a year—the amount disbursed depending on the population—towards development. Another popular initiative was pension for the elderly. The budget announced a pension of Rs 100 to all citizens of the country who were over the age of seventy-five. Today this pension has increased to Rs 500. I think the programme was an attempt to honour those who had served the country for a long time.

  As far as the industrial sector, including the private sector, was concerned, the UML designed a package for the protection of national industries. Twenty-six industries were identified as ‘sick’ and a policy formulated to protect them. The budget slashed import tax and, most importantly, removed tax on property. This was the main reason I openly lauded the budget. During the interim government led by Kishunjee, the finance minister, Devendra Raj Pandey, had introduced a property tax, which was out of step with the efforts being made to promote a liberal economic system following the political change of 1990. We opposed it from the very beginning, but neither the interim government nor the elected government led by Girija Babu amended it. This tax did not raise even Rs 3 crore a year. It, in fact, discouraged the transfer of capital to investment at a time when there was a liquidity crisis in the country.

  We briefed the new finance minister, Bharat Mohan Adhikari, about this. We made him realize that the property tax was an unnecessary burden on the private sector and unfavourable for promotion of internal investment. Agreeing with the private sector, he scrapped the property tax. I welcomed the decision on behalf of the FNCCI. I also met Bharat Mohanjee in person and said, ‘We thought the Nepali Congress championed the cause of the private sector but it went on to impose a property tax on us. On the other hand, we were apprehensive about you as a communist but you have removed the property tax.’

  I have enjoyed a cordial relationship with Bharat Mohanjee ever since.

  Following my dispute with the Nepali Congress regarding the investment board, I openly sought to become closer to the UML. That was the beginning of my direct and active involvement in politics. This happened at a time when the big business houses were hesitant to associate themselves with a communist party. Businessmen were supposed to be associated only with the Nepali Congress or the royalists.

  The UML suggested I have a seat in the Upper House of Parliament after the general election in 1999. ‘All political parties have secured some points towards seats in the Upper House,’ the UML leadership told me. ‘However, we can’t appoint a person to the House on the basis of our points alone. If you talk to the Rastriya Prajatantra Party, and the Sadbhavana Party, and they agree to add their points to ours, then we can get a seat in the House. You come forward and we will support you.’

  I liked this proposal. I discussed it with the top UML leaders such as Madhav Kumar Nepal, K.P. Oli and Ishwore Pokharel. Oli called up Pashupati Shumsher Rana of the RPP in my presence to propose my name.

  ‘If you agree on Binod Chaudhary, then we will support his nomination,’ he told Rana over the phone.

  In those days, Pashupati Shumsherjee and Surya Bahadurjee had not parted ways. There was no possibility of Surya Bahadurjee rejecting my nomination. It was possible to clinch a seat in the Upper House with support from just the UML and the RPP, but I still wanted to include the Sadbhavana Party. I talked to Badri Mandal and Hridayesh Tripathy of the Sadbhavana Party. They agreed with me.

  I could see a vista of political opportunities opening up in front of me. I was taking a plunge into politics despite the fact that I was basically a non-political person. I thought I could make a bigger contribution to the nation by playing a part in politics rather than staying out of it. I was very upbeat as I waited to be nominated to the Upper House.

  As the day for formation of the Parliament drew closer, I felt that the parties that had promised a seat to me in the House were trying to avoid me. I then heard that the RPP leaders, Kamal Thapa and Dr Prakash Chandra Lohani, were negotiating for the very seat that had been promised to me by the UML. Soon it was confirmed that the UML had decided to give the seat to an RPP leader from Makwanpur district. I could not believe my ears. The UML itself had approached me. It had promised that seat to me. How could it possibly break its promise? However, anything is possible in politics.

  I could not get in touch with the UML leadership, so I telephoned Surya Bahadurjee.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked him. ‘How could you do this to me after agreeing to appoint me to the House?’

  Instead of answering my question, he said, ‘Just hang on a minute. We’re facing a problem on a national scale here. We’re struggling to keep the party together. Don’t just think about yourself.’

  I did not like his response.

  ‘This is not just about me, Surya Bahadurjee,’ I snapped. ‘You are the ones who pulled me into this and now I’ll look like a fool if you bring in another person at the eleventh hour.’

  The rest of the conversation was nothing but obfuscation of the truth on his part.

  A few days later, I went to the UML headquarters. There I discovered they were holding a standing committee meeting. I barged into the meeting room without even sending a message beforehand. All the top guns were there. They looked at me with their eyes wide open. As soon as I entered the room, I said, ‘What is this? You took me to such a point that you have utterly humiliated me by dropping me. If you had some other plans, why did you drag me into this mess?’

  UML General Secretary Madhav Nepaljee tried to pacify me. ‘It’s nothing like that. This is part of a broader issue. It’s not aimed at putting you in a difficult position. Please don’t take it personally.’

  ‘Mr General Secretary,’ I replied, ‘I am not talking only about myself. You were the ones who had assured me that my nomination was guaranteed. If you had any doubts whatsoever, then you should not have proposed my name. Now my reputation is at stake.’

  Having said that, I turned my back to them and left the room. They tried to stop me, but I did not care.

  Later on, Pradip Nepaljee came to see me. ‘We will give you Nawalparasi constituency-1,’ he said. ‘Your industrial park is located there and you’ve made a huge contribution to the place. Taking that into consideration, we have coordinated with the RPP for the other seat. If we give that seat to the RPP so that they can bring in one of their men from Makwanpur, then in return, they’ll allow us in Dang.’

  The crux of his agreement was that this was part of his party’s broader alliance with the RPP. But I was not convinced. I felt the UML could not be trusted to keep its promises.

  This episode was a huge blow to me, shattering again my association with the political world. In a way, it poisoned my relationship with the UML too. I started to reduce my involvement in the party’s activities and diverted my attention to expanding my business interests at home and abroad. I also concentrated my energies on the institutional development of the Confederation of Nepalese Industries (CNI). All this proved to be a blessing in disguise in terms of my professional life. Had I become more actively involved in politics, especially at that time, I could not have focused on the expansion of the Chaudhary Group at the international level.

  There are a few striking similarities between business and politics. In neither area can you afford to pursue personal vendettas or hold grudges. You might be in cut-throat competition with someone today, but tomorrow you might find yourself having to collaborate with the very same party. Both businesspersons and politicians recognize that reality. The most important thing is to wait and be alert to opportunities.

 
Even while keeping my distance from the UML, I was still thinking of entering politics. I was always toying with the idea that I might do it if an opportunity arose and the time was right. My philosophy is that people should, if they can, assume a role in public life at some point in their life. My expansion of the Chaudhary Group, this book, and my political journey . . . they have all been guided by that philosophy.

  My own experiences have played a crucial part in pushing me into active politics. I worked with the FNCCI for six to seven years, and I was involved with the CNI too. My association with these organizations taught me that everything, at the end of the day, is related to politics. No matter how powerful the organization you lead and how serious the issue you raise, you have to depend on political leaders for the execution of your plans.

  The Constituent Assembly election paved the path for building a new Nepal. I felt it was high time that I joined politics. The private sector was intimidated by the dominance of the Maoists in the Constituent Assembly. The Maoists had come up with radical nationalist slogans to ‘nationalize the properties of broker capitalists’ and to ‘rein in foreign investment’. The Maoists’ People’s War itself was founded on these radical beliefs. If they succeeded in putting their ideology into practice, the country would suffer irrevocable setbacks, with the potential to morph into another Soviet Union. Some of us from the private sector would often discuss this problem. We believed we had to take on some kind of direct role in politics to stop the Maoists from imposing their radical ideas on the Constituent Assembly. It was not possible for us to exert a restraining influence by standing outside the political sphere, especially at a time when the issue of drafting a new constitution was being raised. We concluded that we had to step into the field of politics using our existing connections with the political parties.

  I faced no dilemma. I had, to some extent, worked with all the political parties. A number of them wanted to nominate me to the Constituent Assembly, but I felt most comfortable allying with the UML, despite the events of the past. There was no point in opening old wounds. If you have some pent-up grievance, instead of carrying it around it is better to let it go. That was what I chose to do. I re-established contact with the UML. Bharat Mohanjee and Bishnu Poudeljee helped me do that.

  Besides me, the businessmen who had allied themselves with the UML included Tek Chandra Pokharel, Vijay Shah, Radhesh Pant and Shyam Pandey. We forwarded to the party a list of people we thought would be appropriate nominees to the Constituent Assembly. The party then asked us to select two candidates from the list. We discussed this amongst ourselves and agreed to recommend Tek Chandra and myself. The party made both our names public. However, Tek Chandra was ultimately dropped from the final list of nominees.

  Having failed to get any of my friends from the business world into the Constituent Assembly, I lost a lot of my enthusiasm to take part in it myself. I told the party leaders, ‘You couldn’t even give me half the slots I wanted. Therefore, do as you please. You must have many party workers. If you face pressure from them, do feel free to remove my name from the list.’

  The party argued that it had recommended only my name from the private sector, as part of the political understanding to include every sector in the Constituent Assembly. My friends too encouraged me to accept the nomination. I eventually became a member of the Constituent Assembly, representing the party that I had once distrusted.

  The very next day of my appointment, there was some irritation within the party over my remark that ‘nobody can make Binod Chaudhary a communist’. What I actually wanted to demonstrate was that the UML was not a radical communist party and that I too could not afford to adhere to a communist ideology in the twenty-first century. Much like the Communist Party of China, the UML had embraced economic liberalism, the best example of this being the coexistence of both trade unionists and a businessman like me within the party.

  I know very well that politics cannot survive in the absence of an economic agenda. I have a good understanding of not only commercial and economic issues but of politics too. There are similarities in running a party, or even a state, and running a company. You need managerial skill for each and I have that capability. However, neither I nor my family expect any leverage from our involvement in politics, hoping that one of us will make it to the helm of power one day. I have joined politics to give of myself and not to extract for myself. I do not want to link my professional dreams to politics. Now I want to link politics with tangible plans; I want to link it to outcomes; I want to link it to the will to contribute something, to accomplish something.

  There is another similarity between politics and business. In neither profession can you reach your destination solely on the basis of your thoughts, capabilities and efforts. Your success hinges on the environment around you, on whether your colleagues share your dream or not.

  I could pave the way for my professional growth even when the environment was not conducive. My colleagues always stood by me. That is why I am successful in my profession today.

  My political journey is a different tale. I have innumerable memories related to the unceremonious demise of the Constituent Assembly, and the dirty games I saw in the run-up to that, the complications that surfaced during the drafting of the Constitution, and the true colours of our political leaders. I shall definitely reveal them someday.

  The royal palace massacre

  ‘Binod Babu! Binod Babu!’

  I was jolted out of my slumber by someone knocking hard on my bedroom door. At first, I thought the knocking was a dream, and I closed my eyes again.

  ‘Binod Babu! Binod Babu!’ I heard the same insistent voice.

  I hurried out of bed and looked at the clock. It was four in the morning. And someone was indeed repeatedly knocking on my door and calling out my name. It was no dream.

  I opened the door, rubbing my eyes. Our cook was standing there.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked irritably.

  ‘Basant Babu is on the telephone,’ he replied quickly.

  As soon as I heard that Basant was calling me up at that hour, I started to panic. My eyes, which had been heavy with sleep only a moment before, were now dilated with fear. God, something terrible must have happened!

  I raced into the next room where the telephone stood and picked up the receiver with a shaking hand.

  ‘Hello . . .’

  ‘Hello, Brother,’ Basant sounded scared. ‘It’s very bad news.’

  I went weak. My lips felt parched. My hair stood on end.

  ‘The crown prince reportedly went mad. He gunned down the entire royal family before turning the gun on himself,’ he said quickly.

  I had thought something terrible must have happened to someone in my family. The realization that my loved ones were safe and sound gave me some degree of relief. However, my brain was still spinning. I could not believe my ears. Basant was speaking so quickly that it was hard to follow him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s true, Brother. I’ve been receiving a lot of calls.’

  ‘Did he actually go mad?’

  ‘That’s what all of them are saying.’

  ‘Who’s all of them?’

  ‘It’s being reported by the BBC and the CNN,’ he said, clearly convinced that the reports were true.

  ‘Why did he suddenly go mad?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m trying to get a handle on what happened.’

  ‘Call someone from the Palace.’

  ‘I’ve tried that already but no one answers,’ he said.

  I was at CG Industrial Park in Nawalparasi district on that night of 1 June 2001. We had been at a meeting to evaluate the company’s performance. The meeting went on late into the night and was adjourned to the next morning, so I was staying there overnight.

  The only information Basant could provide about the incident at the Palace was that all the members of the royal family had been killed. He was very nervous, and that was making me nervous
too. I called up a few people. They answered the phone immediately, as if they had been sitting with their hands resting on the receiver. All of them said the same thing—such a thing had indeed happened, but none had a clue as to how or why it had happened.

  I tuned in to the BBC. It was broadcasting international news. I read the breaking news scrolling across the screen but there was no mention of anything related to Nepal. Nonetheless, with so many people awake and in a state of agitation so early in the morning, I knew something terrible must have happened. I woke up all my colleagues and asked them to call up their contacts. They all returned with the same news—a massacre had taken place at the royal palace. None of the royal family was alive.

  At first, we suspected the Maoists. Could they have attacked the royal palace?

  The Maoist insurgency was at its peak at the time. The Maoists had demonstrated their strength by launching a deadly attack on Dunai, the headquarters of Dolpa district. Police posts across the country were vulnerable to Maoist attacks, and politicians were approaching the unanimous conclusion that the police alone were no match for the Maoists. The case for mobilizing the armed forces was growing.

  I, for one, never gave any weight to the theory that the Maoists were responsible for what happened at the Palace. ‘Even if something terrible has taken place there,’ I said, ‘the Maoists don’t have the capability to successfully undertake a raid on the royal palace.’

  Who else could be behind it then? Could it be a foreign power?

  ‘How could a foreign power bring in its troops to directly attack the Palace?’ I snapped. ‘Nobody other than a member of the royal household would have the access required to pull off such a thing.’

  ‘What if a member of the royal family had been used by an external agency or force?’ One of my aides posed the question, and everybody fell silent.

  Confirmation of the news soon arrived. The BBC, in its breaking news, reported that about a dozen members of Nepal’s royal family, including the king and the queen, had been massacred.