KATHMANDU, Nov 27: In the hills of Doti stands an ordinary house. Every morning, sunlight touches its doorway and fades by evening. Yet inside that house, a quiet hope still survives. Forty-year-old Ojha Naru often stands at the doorstep, gazing at the road, wondering if the person she has waited for all these years might suddenly appear.
It was the month of Shrawan (mid-July to mid-August), 21 years ago. Holding her hand, her husband had said, “I will return during Dashain, Sanu. Don’t worry. We have a daughter now, and our expenses will increase. I will earn some money in India and come back soon.”
Their daughter was just a month old then. Leaving behind his newborn child, Ojha’s husband left for India. Before stepping out of the courtyard, he touched the baby’s face. Both husband and wife had tears in their eyes. Watching his wife and daughter, he disappeared from the yard. He has never returned.
Now 40, Ojha still lives in the same house her husband left behind. She was only 20 that day, standing in the courtyard with her one-month-old daughter, looking up at the sky.
At the time, going to India for work was a common reality. Almost every family in the village had someone working across the border. Like everyone else, Ojha sent her husband away with love, trust, and hope.
Her voice still trembles when she speaks of him. “He loved me very much. We married for love. Even on the day he left, he smiled and said he would return soon. But after that, there was never any news,” she told Republica in a faint voice.
There was no one to look for him. In the neighboring country, he vanished into the crowd of migrant workers, becoming just another nameless figure.
“I am not educated. Where could I go? Whom could I ask? Neither the government searched for him, nor did anyone in India,” she said. The only proof of his existence she now has is a single photograph—their old wedding picture.
She often wipes the dust from the frame and stares at it. “When I keep looking at the photo, tears start to fall. Old memories hurt. Sometimes I talk to the photo. I say, ‘If you are still in this world, please come home. Life has become a burden for me,’” she said.
After her husband’s disappearance, Ojha raised her daughter alone. “My daughter was the reason I survived. I couldn’t leave her and go anywhere. Now she is married. Since the day she went to her husband’s house, I have become even more alone,” she said softly. “There is no one to love me now. My husband never returned, and my daughter has her own home. I pass my days with whatever little I have.”
After years of waiting, she has begun to accept a painful possibility. “Sometimes I feel he is no longer alive. If he were alive, he would have returned. Our bond was strong. He was so happy when our daughter was born. There was no reason for him not to come home,” she said. “But then I hear stories of people returning even after 40 years. That gives me a little hope.”
Today, Ojha lives alone—no husband, no family support, no assistance from the state. Her husband would be around 46 years old now.
Her story is not hers alone. It mirrors the unfinished lives of thousands of Nepali workers who leave for India. Many disappear. No one searches for them. Families receive no information. The dreams that left home decades ago remain incomplete.
Ojha’s pain echoes across many homes in Sudurpaschim Province.
The story narrated by Bishnu Bhat of Doti is another such example. For generations, her family members worked in India. Her in-laws and brother-in-law all worked as laborers across the border for survival. Three years ago, her brother-in-law died while working there.
She still remembers the day he left as a teenager. “He had a small bag in his hand and a smile on his face. He loved my daughter and said he would bring chocolates for her. But he never returned. He survived only 16 days after reaching there,” she recalled.
He drowned while working, she said. After his death, the family returned home briefly. Later, her in-laws and other relatives again went back to India for work.
“Going to India was not a choice; it was a compulsion for survival,” she said. “Even after losing a family member there, neither the Nepal government nor the Indian government did anything.”
Organizations working on migrant rights have raised these concerns for years. There is still no reliable record of Nepali workers in India. There is no effective search mechanism. Government commitments remain largely on paper.
According to Prakash Chandra Madaika, deputy executive director of NIDS Nepal, a large number of Nepali workers are in India. “Some stop answering calls. Some go missing. Some die. And the families left behind bear the pain alone,” he said.
The Nepal government often cites the open border and private employment as reasons for its limited role. The Indian government, too, avoids responsibility due to the lack of formal procedures.
“Many Nepalis die in India while working. Many go missing. Those who leave home with dreams of returning with savings never come back. But there is no one to search for them,” Madaika said.
He added that the open border, lack of proper records, and weak search mechanisms have worsened the crisis. “Neither the Nepal government has been able to properly document this suffering, nor has the Indian government ensured the return of missing workers.”