Quotes of the Day

Rohit Bhandari isn't a natural rebel. He has a good job as a technician in a Kathmandu medical laboratory and is the son of a bureaucrat and mid-level leader for Nepal's pro-monarchy Rashtriya Prajatantra Party. And yet Bhandari, 26, found himself in a mob of thousands last Thursday shouting, "King Gyanendra, leave the country or we will kill you," part of a tide of violent protests ripping across the mountain kingdom. Bhandari isn't sure why he's risking his life, beyond an unformed belief in "freedom" and a burning sense that Gyanendra, Nepal's absolute monarch, is keeping his kingdom in the Dark Ages. "Everybody feels Nepal is being left behind," he says, as a Royal Nepalese Army helicopter buzzes overhead. "This is the 21st century. We can't have a God King. It's impossible to resist this."

The next evening, the King seemed to partly agree. In a brief televised address to the nation, Gyanendra offered to return "executive power of the kingdom of Nepal ... to the people," and asked the seven main political parties to nominate a Prime Minister, a position that he had suspended. But the King's statement was short on specifics. There was no mention of restoring Parliament, suspended for four years, of making changes to the constitution to prevent him seizing power again, or of surrendering command of the powerful army—demands that his political opponents had been making for months. The response of the parties was to reject the King's offer and to call for more peaceful protests. The mood on the street was just as unbending. To many Nepalese, the King appeared arrogant and cold-hearted—he said nothing about protesters who had died, and even praised the security forces for dealing effectively with demonstrators. "We are unhappy with the King's statement," said 27-year-old university student Madan Chaulagain, reflecting the sentiment of many Nepalese. "We are not protesting to get a Prime Minister, but a real democracy. Until we get a democracy, we will be back on the streets every day."

Indeed, on Saturday more than 100,000 people defied a curfew and marched on to the palace, the biggest crowd ever. The protesters quickly dispersed when it rained, but there was no denying their rage. "We are angrier now [with the King] because of the way he spoke yesterday," said Suwas Bhetwal, a 24-year-old sociology student. "We don't think he wants to give up power at all. We don't want a constitutional King or a ceremonial king. We want him out of Nepal. We want a republic." Some protesters carried a stuffed white shroud, marked with red drops. "That's the King's body!" shouted one of them. "His corpse!"

Nepal, Himalayan kingdom, home to Mount Everest, backpacker heaven, is a nation in crisis. A country of around 25 million people, Nepal used to have three centers of power: the King, the political parties, and a rebel Maoist army holed up in the mountains. Now there's a fourth: an angry population fed up with the other three and determined to strip all power from a monarchy that has reigned for more than two centuries. Gyanendra is supposed to be only a constitutional ruler. He inherited the throne when his nephew, Crown Prince Dipendra, shot dead King Birendra and eight other members of the royal family in a June 2001 massacre at the palace before killing himself. Dipendra was thought to be depressed that his girlfriend had been rejected by his family. At any rate, a mix of anger, whisky, hashish and an impressive collection of automatic weapons proved deadly for the royals. It was an inauspicious start to Gyanendra's reign, and he did little to raise the country's spirits. While Birendra was perceived as benign, Gyanendra made clear from the start that he believed the royal family had given up too much influence. Beginning in October 2002, he sacked a succession of Prime Ministers, then seized power for himself 15 months ago in a coup backed by the army, vowing to crush the Maoists and to weed out corruption.

Many Nepalese at first welcomed his move. Since Nepal became a parliamentary democracy in 1990, the politicians have done little but fill their pockets and fight over power—the country had 14 Prime Ministers in 14 years—while the Maoists built a mini-state in the mountains based on torture, execution and extortion. But Gyanendra did not live up to his pledges. Instead, he locked up thousands of politicians, human-rights activists, journalists and students, while doing little to stop the Maoists. He almost reveled in his disdain for public opinion—H.M. KING GYANENDRA DOES NOT SEEK CHEAP POPULARITY, reads a propaganda billboard in central Kathmandu. Last fall the opposition parties entered into a loose alliance with the Maoists and began a program of mass protests as the rebels enforced national strikes, a campaign they planned to climax on April 6.

That's when "the movement," as the protests are dubbed, was born. "Popular anger exploded," British Ambassador Keith Bloomfield told TIME. For around two weeks, young Nepalese have clashed with police and soldiers along a ring road surrounding the city, hurling bricks, burning barricades of tires, and dodging tear gas, baton charges and the occasional live round. Last Thursday police shot dead three people in the southwest neighborhood of Kalanki, according to the body count at the city's Model Hospital, where staff said two were killed by pistol shots to the head. On Saturday the protesters got to within blocks of the palace before being repelled by police firing tear gas and rubber bullets. At least 14 people have died nationwide. Protesters claim the toll is higher, accusing police of quietly carting away more bodies, and TIME saw police beat a demonstrator unconscious and drag him away before medical teams could arrive. Bhandhari says the parties and the Maoists are trying to claim credit for the movement, but it's beyond either's control. "This is the people," he says. Nepalese of all persuasions have joined in the protests. Police have arrested lawyers in Kathmandu and professors in the resort town of Pokhara. In the capital, 25 civil servants at the Home Ministry shouted slogans at their desks demanding the King's ousting.

They may yet get their wish. Some of the King's associates seem to believe his days may be numbered. "He felt he had to take over, or we would all be Maoists by now," says a friend of the royal family. "But he miscalculated. He made mistakes. He has no support now." British Ambassador Bloomfield reckons Gyanendra could even decide to abdicate: "He may say, 'I don't want to be a constitutional monarch,' and go into exile."

But there's a problem: no one knows who might replace him. "If we wake up one morning and find ourselves in a country where the King has left, that would be a real nightmare," says World Bank country head Ken Ohashi. While the republican movement has wide support, many protesters are teenagers or 20-something Nepali men in Nirvana and Metallica T shirts who have no leader, no organization and few goals beyond throwing rocks at authority figures. Cars, shops and the Hyatt Regency Hotel have all been attacked in the past weeks. "There is no mechanism in place to create a new government," says Ohashi. "The Maoists could walk into Kathmandu by default." At the very least, says the friend of the royals, "Autocracy would switch to anarchy." It's a scenario that Nepal's neighbor, India, which has an open border with the kingdom, particularly fears. Earlier last week, New Delhi dispatched two envoys to Kathmandu to persuade Gyanendra to compromise—and welcomed his Friday statement. Gyanendra's offer, said Indian Foreign Ministry spokesman Navtej Sarna, "should now pave the way for restoration of political stability."

Ambassador Bloomfield says the "meltdown" scenario if the King abdicated is "far-fetched" and that a new civilian government could quickly exert control. Out on the streets, even the demonstrators express reservations about life without a monarch. "No one has a clear road map for what might happen after the King," says one, 26-year-old Ravi Shah, an administrator with a youth-education charity. "We've had a system of Kings for 237 years. Is it possible to just throw them out?" Bhandari concurs. He says that whatever the King's faults, the older generation still revere him as an incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, a symbol of national unity and a linchpin of Nepalese identity. Even the young find it hard to picture Nepal without its monarchy. "The reality is that all the plans for the future are vague," says Bhandari. "Everyone has democracy, freedom and human rights in their hearts. And we know none of that is possible under an autocratic regime. But a life without the King? We're shouting for it. But I'm not sure we can imagine it." Now might be a good time to start.

• Alex Perry | Kathmandu
• Facing growing street protests, the King announces a political compromise. Is it enough?