A poignant journey through the historical hills and sacred riverbanks of Betrawati Bazzar finds its peaceful memories forever altered by the sudden, devastating flash floods of August 2026.
It was April 2025 when I accepted an opportunity to teach English at North Pole Boarding High School in the high hills of the Rasuwa District. Entering Nepal via the Kakarvitta border, I headed straight to Kathmandu en route to my destination: Jibjibe. From the capital, I took an electric vehicle to Dhunge Bazaar, Trishuli. Situated at an elevation of 542 meters, Dhunge marks the literal and figurative gateway to the Rasuwa hills.
The scenery transforms the moment you depart from Dhunge. On the right, steep hills rise sharply, while the legendary Trishuli River runs alongside you on the left. According to Hindu mythology, this sacred river was created by Lord Shiva using his divine trident, the trishul. In the cooler months, the water takes on a striking emerald–green hue—so calm and captivating that it invites quiet reflection, a sense of piety, and silent reverence for both the river and Lord Shiva.
Leaving Dhunge Bazaar, the route transitions onto the Pasang Lhamu Highway, named in honor of the pioneering first Nepali woman to summit Mt. Everest. The highway hugs the winding course of the Trishuli River. From the vehicle window, you look out over riverside paddy fields, scattered tin–roofed homesteads, colorful reinforced cement concrete (RCC) buildings, and steep forested hills rising just beyond the opposite bank. Within roughly forty minutes, the road brings you to the historic trading post of Betrawati Bazaar (621 meters).
Betrawati is a place of deep historical and spiritual significance, anchored by Uttargaya Dham. Just as Gaya in India is a sacred destination where Hindus perform the Pind Daan ceremony along the Falgu River to liberate the souls of their ancestors, Uttargaya serves as its revered Nepali counterpart.
Local legend holds that during the churning of the cosmic ocean (Samudra Manthan), when a fiercely toxic poison emerged, Lord Shiva drank it to save the worlds. Overcome by the intense burning pain, he threw a cane (betra) to the ground; where it struck, a river sprang forth—giving birth to today’s Betrawati River. The confluence where the Betrawati meets the Trishuli forms Uttargaya Dham, a sacred site where Hindus perform Shraddha and offer pinda (rice balls) to help their deceased ancestors attain salvation (moksha).
Beyond its spirituality, Betrawati holds a profound place in military history. In 1792 AD, it was the site of a fierce confrontation between Nepal and Qing-dynasty China during the Sino-Nepalese War.
After joining North Pole Boarding High School in Jibjibe, I returned to Betrawati twice—in August and December 2025. Those memories remain vividly alive. I visited the Ram Mandir and the Uttargaya Dham, wandered along the banks of both rivers, and crossed the swaying suspension bridge. After exploring the bustling market streets and resting near the three–storied RCC buildings, I finished the day enjoying a hot plate of momos at a local hotel. It was a truly wonderful experience.
Bottom Image: The Trishuli River seen from the same vantage point in Jibjibe prior to the flood.
And then came that catastrophic day: August 26, 2026.
I had secured a three–day leave approved by the Head Teacher to visit Gosaikunda Lake for the Janai Purnima festival, which fell on Friday the 28th. On the morning of the 26th, I packed my rucksack, filled my water bottles, and stepped out of my room at around 9:45 AM.
As I walked down the steps toward the main road near the Jibjibe market, I noticed shopkeepers hurriedly shuttering their stores. The local vegetable vendor, whom I called Didi, spotted my backpack and asked in Nepali, "Sir, kaha jana lagnu bhayo?" ("Where are you going?")
"I'm going to Gosaikunda," I replied.
"Jane sakdaina," Didi said, visibly nervous. "Trishuli river ma thulo baadi aayo. Betrawati has been destroyed by flash floods. No vehicles are coming from Kathmandu."
A hundred meters away, people were clambering onto a rooftop, gesturing excitedly. From Jibjibe, you can usually catch a clear view of the Trishuli valley below. Leaving my rucksack at Didi's shop, I climbed the stairs to the roof. Several residents were peering down at the water. What I saw instantly filled me with dread: the Trishuli River was swollen far beyond anything I had ever witnessed, with thick smoke rising from its banks. The rainbow–shaped bridge was entirely gone, and the Pasang Lhamu Highway had vanished beneath the torrent. It was immediately clear that a massive disaster had struck downstream.
I hurried down from the rooftop and set off toward Ghumti Bazar. Within twenty minutes, I reached the settlement by walking and found vehicles stalled along the roadside, their passengers standing about and anxiously discussing the situation with the drivers and locals. Pushing past, I turned onto the road heading toward Betrawati. After walking four or five kilometers, I flagged down an auto–rickshaw coming from the opposite direction. Packed with passengers, I squeezed in near the driver. Within an hour, we reached Bogatitar, where a massive crowd had gathered near the cliff, staring down in silence.
I joined them, and what I saw was a scene of total devastation. Below lay an enormous expanse of gray mud where a bustling marketplace once stood. Several three–and four–storied buildings were entirely buried. Across the river, the hillside bore the raw, bleeding scars of the flood's ferocious impact. In the center of Betrawati Bazaar, where two bridges once spanned the water, there was now only a wasteland of thick silt. All the buildings, houses, shops, roads, and temples were gone. It was heartbreaking to realize the immense loss of life.
A few days later, I returned to Betrawati to document the destruction. When I had stood at Uttargaya Dham in December 2025, the drop from the temple grounds at the riverbed to the entrance gate of the dham was roughly thirty meters; now, after the flash floods, it has shrunk to just ten meters. One can only imagine the sheer volume of silt, sand, rock, and debris carried by the surge, which entirely buried the town. Before the catastrophe, the Trishuli River spanned a modest thirty meters at Betrawati, but afterward, the river bloated to over 200 meters wide. Likewise, the Betrawati River, once a narrow twenty–meter stream, widened dramatically and now splits into two separate channels. The two RCC bridges have been erased so completely that it is nearly impossible to tell where they once stood.
Before the flood, a black–topped road headed toward Mailung just near the Uttargaya Dham entrance gate, lined on the left with beautiful two–and three–storied RCC buildings. Today, everything is gone except for a single structure situated higher up near the road to Bogatitar.
I met several people at Bogatitar who told me that even more residents were affected in Khalte Basti than Betrawati; Khalte was completely washed out by the flash floods, along with Pairobessi, Shanti Bazar, and Chimle. A local school, Shree Modern Trinity English Boarding School, was completely swept away. According to locals, more than 250 people may have perished at Khalte alone. Another local institution, Uttargaya English Boarding School (UEBS), was heavily damaged, with two of its school buses swallowed by the floodwaters. According to the Principal of UEBS, some of their teachers, staff, students, management committee members either died or remain missing.
The flash flood severed all road connections to Betrawati, including the bridge over the Solankhu Khola, leaving surrounding hill villages like Tupse, Pokhori Gaon, Champani, and Thullo Gaon entirely stranded. The disaster also washed out sections of the Pasang Lhamu Highway, cutting off Betrawati and the entire stretch of hill settlements extending toward Bogatitar, Laharepauwa, Kalikasthan, Jibjibe—where I reside—and Dhunche. (Reconstruction of the highway is currently underway as I write this blog.)
Relief camps are currently set up at Neelkantha Secondary School at Bogatitar, Laharepauwa, and select forest clearings around Betrawati. Many Nepalese are actively engaged in relief efforts on the ground. Above the Trishuli River, I watched several helicopters airlift relief boxes over the hills, heading north toward Dhunche. While I was at Betrawati on 4th September 2026, I met a team from Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF / Doctors Without Borders) assessing the disaster zone. Along the road near Bogatitar, I also ran into Paul, a React Disaster Response volunteer, and his friend. En route, I observed a fleet of Nepal Red Cross Society vehicles and a United Nations vehicle heading toward the area to support relief efforts.
Standing above the widened, roaring basin of the Trishuli River, watching relief helicopters carve paths through the gray mountain skies, it is hard not to feel a heavy sense of displacement. The vibrant market towns, the echoing schoolyards, the roadside momo shops, and the sacred confluence have been reshaped into an alien wasteland of boulders and mud. Yet, beneath the devastation, the enduring spirit of the people remains unbroken. From the impromptu relief camps at Bogatitar to international humanitarians and local volunteers walking hand–in–hand through the debris, resilience is quietly taking root.
Betrawati may have been erased from geography as we knew it, but its history, its legends, and the memories of the lives lived along its banks will forever endure in the hearts of those who walked its streets.
Author's Note: In this blog, we have focused only on Betrawati and its nearby areas affected by the flash floods that hit northern Nepal on August 26, 2026. However, the widespread destruction caused by this disaster is beyond imagination. The flood severely impacted and wiped out settlements and infrastructure along a 72 km stretch of the Trishuli River and surrounding valleys, including Rasuwagadhi Border Post & Gyirong Checkpoint, Timure, Syapru Besi, Trishuli Bazar and Surrounding Valleys, and Benighat. The flood damaged or destroyed at least 12 to 15 operating hydropower plants and roughly 15 projects under construction. According to UNICEF Australia, at least 84,270 people, including 32,000 children, have been affected. Over 1,400 people have reportedly died, and thousands more remain missing, with the death toll expected to rise. The total estimated requirement for reconstruction is approximately US$4.78 billion. Evidence indicates that accelerated glacial melting due to rising temperatures around Langtang Lirung triggered these catastrophic flash floods.
More Images from flood affected Betrawati Bazaar:
