From: "The Necessity of a Strongly Organised Writers Union for Nepal" (The first paragraph of an unpublished essay in original English by Laxmi Prasad Devkota)
When I compare the lot of the writers of the U.S.S.R. with those of Nepal, I feel like comparing contrary poles--where there is perpetual sunshine on the North, we find eternal darkness in the South. Writers' fates are determined by socio-political philosophies and the systems that evolve out of them. We, the writers of Nepal, are the most unfortunate of human tribes, robbed of our royalties, denied our copy-rights, no human laws working our literary defences, general frustration writ large upon our shrivelled brows, making our rough shifts for mere existence as if we apologised to live in a society where, amidst general apathy and negligence, we command the best brains. We are a scattered lot, a routed regiment of intellectuals, pushed back by a political tide, that, started by ourselves, has rushed so far ahead of us, towards exploitative heights that we are left behind merely like scum and filth, too base to be lifted up to the positions of our natural claims. And the boasted democracy of today, whose army is a feudal and profiteering group of sordid self, cut off from the masses, divorced from popular interests, nourished on big lies and brazenfaced propaganda, wirepulled by interests, confidently blalanced on a tottering economy, sounding its programmes and projects like blaring bugles of nonsense, conscious of its own unworthiness, yet superciliously demonstrative of its ownn achievements, is a democracy without the people, a vision of equality among giants and dwarves, mountains and dales, of liberty among a slavery of economic dependence, and fraternity among a riot of crossing multifarious interests. And it is, above all, a democracy without Enlightenment; for it consists of a worship of the Forces of the Dark, a scorn for the Forces of Light, a system in which the sincere thinker is placed at the tail and the selfish wirepuller at the head. It is a democracy where the torch-bearers have no place and no claims on respect. We are going to flare up popular consciousness with political doggerel and cheap black print, for we never credited the people with any healthy natural instinct for higher light and truth. Our democracy is built on the castle turrets. It is a fine ivory tower for the few. And therein the writer of today has no place and no function to perform.