I had already seen several news items in the Kathmandu Post about bus crashes. At the same time, the remote conditions of the country are very favorable for fighting guerrilla warfare. Lack of roads into the countryside makes it hard for the government to bring in large armed forces against the People's War. The overhead bins are stuffed with all kinds of packages and the aisles are packed with sacks of grain and big containers of what looks like kerosene or some other kind of liquid fuel or oil. Luckily I am able to get a seat, otherwise I would have ended up sitting on a bag of millet or a tank of fuel.
More people keep piling into the bus until the very last minute.
There are all kinds of people on the bus, but many more men than women. Some people are neatly dressed and look as if they are returning from a visit to the city or are perhaps now transplanted city dwellers, coming back for a family visit. The extreme poverty of one young boy, who seems to be by himself, is revealed by his tattered clothes. By the time we pull out, bodies are crammed in tight. A woman nursing her baby, and clutching another small child, balances herself on the sacks of grain piled next to me in the aisle.