Nepal's Royal Palace: Versailles in green nylon

The ancient house of Shah had dodgy ideas on soft furnishings

THE stuffed tigers have seen better days. The big dynastic portraits, of double-chinned Nepali princes and their fair-skinned consorts, are catching dust. But the Narayanhiti Palace, Kathmandu’s recently-vacated royal residence, is less remarkable for its faded splendour than for its dreadful modern design.

Completed in 1969, on the site of an older palace, it is built in concrete and marble, with acres of laminated wood panelling and hideous pink carpet. The royal bedchamber, last occupied by King Gyanendra, whose 2005 coup led to the abolition last year of his 240-year-old Shah dynasty, is rather poky. A bedside clutter of family snapshots and porcelain knick-knacks is simply poignant.

Since it was opened to the public on February 26th, by the Maoist prime minister who chased out its occupants, the palace has had over 36,000 visitors. Some are angry. The banquet-hall, with seating for 110, stirs particular rage in a country where almost half the children under the age of five are chronically malnourished. Other visitors—perhaps 15% of the total, reckons Jayaram Mahajan, a former royal retainer who now runs the palace museum—come in reverence. As they enter, these pilgrims stoop to take a blessing from the floor. But most visitors, Mr Mahajan admits, are rather underwhelmed. Even to a poor Nepali, the palace is no Versailles.

With more royal trophies to go on display—including the crown jewels and a Daimler-Benz car given to Gyanendra’s grandfather by Hitler—the museum will improve. For now, its biggest draw is a patch of levelled ground beside the main palace. It is the site of a building, demolished by Gyanendra, where in 2001 his nephew, Crown Prince Dipendra, massacred his parents, the king and queen, and eight other relations. Helpful signs shows where each royal was killed. Beside a small pond, near where Dipendra shot his mother, Queen Aiswarya, then himself, bullet-holes are still visible.

Mr Mahajan seems to find little pleasure in his new job. “I wish the royal family had not been killed, and I wish the last king had not left the palace,” he says. It seems Gyanendra was not expecting to do so. Beside the main palace is a half-built, rain-damaged annexe, which Gyanendra had ordered for a new banquet-hall, not long before his abrupt retirement and exit.

The Economist, (Mar 27-Apr 2)