Mahendra Highway: The Road That Waited for Me
Some roads don’t end.
They wait.
For years, I thought I had left the Mahendra Highway behind somewhere between youth and responsibility, somewhere between Itahari and Kathmandu, somewhere between dreams and destinations.
But recently, I found myself back on it again.
Not in a crowded bus this time—but in a reserved Scorpio, driving from Kathmandu to Biratnagar. A comfortable seat, smooth ride, familiar road.
And yet… nothing felt new.
Everything felt remembered.
Why This Story Found Me Again
After more than two decades in the United States, I realized something strange.
I had adapted to new highways, new systems, new speeds. But deep inside, one road had never changed its name.
The Mahendra Highway.
Later I learned that, on paper, it had been called something else for years. And recently, under the leadership of Balendra Shah, its original name was restored.
People discussed the change.
But I smiled.
Because for me, there was no change.
It had always been the Mahendra Highway.
Before It Became My Road
Long before it became part of my life, it was part of Nepal’s transformation.
In the early 1960s, when Nepal was still struggling to connect its own regions, a vision emerged—to build a road across the Terai, from east to west.
It was not easy.
The land was dense with forests. Rivers had no bridges. Malaria still haunted the plains.
And yet, with support from countries like India, the Soviet Union, the United States, and the United Kingdom, the road was built—stretching over a thousand kilometers, connecting Mechi to Mahakali.
A road that didn’t just shorten distance.
It created a nation that could move together.
My Youth: Every Vehicle, Every Journey
My story with this highway did not begin with comfort.
It began with movement.
From Itahari, I traveled in every way possible.
- Local buses packed beyond imagination
- Night buses that promised speed but tested patience
- Small cars and vans when luck was on my side
- Motorcycles cutting through the wind
- And sometimes… even bicycles
Each ride carried a different version of me.
On a bicycle, the road felt endless.
On a motorcycle, it felt like freedom.
In a crowded bus, it felt like life itself—compressed, noisy, unpredictable.
Stories the Road Told Me
Every journey had a story.
Some real. Some felt like fiction.
The Man with the Clock
Once, on a night bus, I sat beside an old man who kept looking at his wristwatch every few minutes.
I asked him why.
He smiled and said, “This watch stopped working years ago… but I still check it. It reminds me that time is passing, whether I measure it or not.”
We spoke for hours.
By morning, he was gone.
But that sentence stayed with me longer than the journey.
The Tea That Changed Everything
Another time, the bus stopped near a small roadside stall.
Everyone complained about the delay.
I stepped down anyway and had a cup of tea.
The shop owner asked me where I was going. I told him about my studies, my plans, my uncertainty.
He simply said, “Roads always take you where you need to go, not where you think you are going.”
I don’t know why, but that stayed with me.
Maybe the tea had something to do with it.
The Silent Traveler
There was also a young boy once, sitting quietly by the window, looking outside the entire night.
No conversation. No movement.
Just watching the road.
At dawn, as the bus slowed near his stop, he turned to me and said,
“This road looks the same every time… but I feel different every time I travel.”
And then he left.
I never saw him again.
The Taste of Memory: Kane Pokhari
Kane Pokhari is one of those places for me.
A stop. A pause. A memory.
And always—khir.
Warm, simple rice pudding that somehow felt richer than any luxury meal. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the journey. Maybe it was the feeling of being exactly where you needed to be.
Even today, I can almost taste it.
Coming Back: The Scorpio Ride
This time, the journey was different.
No crowded bus. No uncertainty.
Just a reserved Scorpio, smooth roads, controlled speed, and a planned itinerary.
But as we drove from Kathmandu toward Biratnagar, something unexpected happened.
The road started speaking again.
Every turn felt familiar.
Every stretch reminded me of a different time.
Every passing tea shop looked like one I had once stopped at.
The driver asked, “Sir, have you traveled this route before?”
I smiled.
“Many lifetimes ago,” I said.
A Road That Never Left
Today, the Mahendra Highway is busier, wider, and evolving.
But beneath all the changes, its soul remains untouched.
It still carries:
- students chasing education
- families returning home
- workers building their future
- travelers searching for meaning
And somewhere among them, it still carries pieces of people like me—who once traveled its length with nothing but hope and a ticket.
The Name, The Memory, The Meaning
Names may change on paper.
But not in memory.
For me, it was always the Mahendra Highway.
And it always will be.
Because this road is not just history.
It is personal.
It is lived.
It is remembered.
The Road Still Waits
As my Scorpio moved closer to Biratnagar, I realized something quietly.
I had not returned to the road.
The road had returned to me.
Some journeys take you forward.
Some journeys bring you back.
And some roads… never let you go.
