One minute you are crouching on a steep slope, examining a round stone clutched in the palm of your hand. Then a rumbling deluge of mud, boulders, gravel. Crushing you
(This is a reportage from our March 2015 print quarterly, 'Labour and its discontents'. See more from the issue here.)
In early 2004, Sushila Karki Pyakurel was on
