The Nepal Royal Massacre & The Comatose King

In 2001, King Dipendra of Nepal reigned for just 56hrs. He did so from a hospital bed, in a coma, having just gunned down almost the entire Royal family as it was sitting down to Sunday dinner.

On the historical chart of monarchical reigns his 56 hours falls somewhere between Emperor Mo of Jin, who was crowned king for literally a day before the Mongols swept in, and 19th Century Vietnamese Emperor Duc Duc (Goose! You’re King!) who was killed for failing to follow simple etiquette, like not sleeping with the previous Emperor’s concubines.

Might actually be a few concubines hidden under those robes.

No, Dipendra’s infamy comes from having committed the most complete regicide since the Romanov family were marched out of their gilded prison and into the cold. They say there were so many diamonds sewn into their clothes it was almost like wearing a bullet proof vest. Almost. 

Kevlar c.1908

The story of the ‘Nepal Royal Massacre’ and how the country came to crown a comatose king is a strange one, and like all major events, not always agreed upon by the masses.

Arriving in a new country my first act of nerdiness is a dive into the history and culture through books and articles.  I find this generally provides a base for the IRL experience once you’ve left the wifi cloud and are in and amongst the people. It may not help you find where you’re going, but it may tell you why that street is named so. Little consolation when you’re lost, but context is helpful in building a feel for a place.

Nepal had had a king for over two centuries. Ever since the warlike Gorkha Kingdom swept down into the Kathmandu valley, seizing it’s wealth and seat of power, there had been a monarch reigning over what we now know of as Nepal. Allied somewhat with Britain, these last two centuries had passed relatively peacebly. This all changed in early 2001.

A growing distaste for the monarchy, fueled by a communist insurgency in the countryside, led to protests and violence in the capital. Bombings became regular, such as that of a packed bus in Chitwan which killed 38 (the two goats on the roof survived). It was into these chaotic times that the relationship between the King and his eldest son Dipendra would take a tumble.

Dipendra, as the heir apparent, had been brought up in the lavish style that one would expect of a ‘Crown Prince’. Educated abroad at Eton, but from all accounts, never quite fitting in – always seen as the tin-pot prince. It was not until he returned home that he really grew into the role, diving headlong into military matters and assuming a slew of martial titles. The Kingdom would be his soon, he was constantly told, and he must prepare for the responsibility.

This responsibility would also mean marrying well, a prospect that posed a serious issue for the Royal family. For years Dipendra had been carrying on a clandestine relationship with Devyani Rana, a well to do young woman from the famous and powerful Rana clan. Beautiful and charming, Dipendra was by all accounts madly in love. Unfortunately the family, in particular the Queen Mother, was dead set against the union.

Helen of Terai?

Castes and clans, feudal vendetta’s carried for centuries, these things may seem alien to a western ear but are still present and deeply held. The union was discouraged for a number of long standing familial rivalries, but in the end it seems that it may have one poorly worded phone call that doomed it.

In one initial conversation between the two prospective mothers-in-law, Devyani’s mother lamented her daughter’s descent into the families wealth. Her shopping, spending, and love of the finer things she feared had made her somewhat spoiled, and she wondered whether even the Royal family of a country such as Nepal could truly keep her in the life to which she had become accustomed.

This not so backhanded slight sealed the matter. Dipendra was forbidden from marrying Devyani, setting up a chain of events far bloodier than any of the Bard’s tales of illicit love.

With the Communist insurgency spreading throughout the countryside and the police and army split in their allegiances the King began to concede. Minor steps were made to begin the process of moving towards a parliamentary democracy, and the eventual dissolution of the monarchy.

For a young man brought up from birth to be King this news must have been crushing. To see your future power and respect slip through your fingers, never to be realized. To go from absolute unquestioned god-like authority to a figurehead, trod out to kiss babies and cut ribbons, this must have weighed heavily on Dipendra. The tin-pot king his Eton bullies had always painted him as.

The reasons for his actions to come would be known only to Dipendra and, with his death, lost entirely to the world of conspiracy theory and water-cooler conjecture.

The official report, if they are ever to be believed, reads thusly.

On June 1st, 2001 Crown Prince Dipendra invited over twenty members of the Royal family to his palace for a regular monthly family meal – a common tradition for the would be King. He had hosted many such gatherings, by all accounts playing a charming and gracious host to his numerous relatives and their families. Although survivors of the massacre later recall this invitation in particular being followed up with phonecalls, as if to piece together a full guest list and ensure the proper players were in attendance for what was to come.

Narayanhiti Royal Palace, Kathmandu

When the evening arrived Dipendra was in high spirits, playing bartender and greeting his arriving family warmly. Early in the night things seem to have turned though. Dipendra, known for his ability to handle his drink, began to noticeably slur his words and behave increasingly erratically. After slumping into a chair he called for his ‘special cigarettes’ to be brought to him and he began openly smoking hashish in front of his guests.

A decision was made to remove him to his bed, and though many in the room perceived his drunkenness to be an act, he was carried, feet dragging behind him to his chambers.

The family puzzled over his behavior throughout dinner. Perhaps it was an allergic reaction to something, they suggested. Surely he was not that drunk, he had often consumed far more and remained as charming as ever. As the evening wore on and the dishes were cleared, most assumed that Dipendra was asleep for the night. This is why many were surprised to see him walk back into the room, sternly focused, and dressed head to toe in military fatigues. In one hand he held a SPAS-12 shotgun and, in the other, a H&K MP5 machine pistol.

An avid gun lover, Dipendra was known for his collection, which he kept in his room, and his abilities as a marksman, said to be better than his own security staff. No alarm was raised at this sight. It was assumed he was simply showing off another new toy.

He moved directly to his father, the King, who stood stark, still not realizing the gravity of the events about to unfold. Raising the gun wordlessly to his chest, he fired, tearing two bullets into the King and dropping him instantly. A cry went up from the family but was quickly silenced. Those assembled were not naive in the ways of palace intrigue and power struggle. The act was clear in an instant. The King was dead, long live the King. This was a tragedy, but one that they would all recover from and possibly even silence entirely.

Dipendra stood over his father a moment, watching as the blood pooled before turning and leaving the room. In an instant the dying King’s family was upon him, struggling desperately to staunch the bleeding with their fine clothes.

The security post, if they had heard the shots, did not raise the alarm. The Prince’s penchant for hunting and target practice on the palace grounds meant that a few cracks of a rifle was not at all uncommon. It was not until Dipendra re-entered the room a second time that security would recognize the sound of what seemed to be a hail of gunfire coming from the Prince’s compound.

Rearmed now with an American made M-16 rifle, capable of automatic fire, he approached his father a second time. His uncle and aunts had surrounded the dying King and, when they saw Dipendra, begged him ‘Why?’

‘Why? Why have you done this?’ They screamed.

Unanswering, seemingly in a trance, belying no emotion, he simply raised his rifle and began to fire.

The panic within the room was complete. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, their wives, husbands, and finally his own mother, fell from a barrage of deadly accurate fire.

While maids and attendants cowered beneath tables and behind sofas, they watched as Dipendra calmly walked to the body of his slain father and nudged him with his foot. Satisfied that his heart had beat it’s last, he walked out into the rain.

Whether his goal was to become King by killing the old King, as so many had done before him, or to avenge his slighted Bride, no one will truly know. For, perhaps realizing the length to which he had gone, he now saw no retreat. Walking to a small bridge in the garden he paused, then placed his pistol to his temple and fired.

In the pandemonium that ensued the palace would release a statement that the King had been killed by an accidental burst of machine gun fire. No mention of the Crown Prince though his actions were witnessed by dozens of survivors. In the coming days the King would be cremated, the palace would be razed to the ground, and from his hospital bed in Kathmandu, a braindead Dipendra would become Dipendra Bir Bikram Shah, the 13th King of Nepal.

A few days later, in an unusual ritual, a country in mourning watched as a high priest performed something few had ever seen, a royal exorcism. Dressing as the slain King, a durga priest donned golden robes and a regal turban before stepping atop a gilded elephant. The possessions of the dead King were on hand to complete the illusion, connecting the imposter priest to the slain monarch. With the city and country watching the elephant was paraded through the ancient streets of Kathmandu and out through the city gates.