A Journalist Daughter Fulfilling Her Responsibilities to Her Mother (Photos)

Within the sacred Pashupati precinct in Kathmandu, at the Kriyaputri house, Sapana Bohara—garbed in pure white—quietly hides her grief while gently sharing stories of her late mother with visitors. It has been eight days since the passing of her 67‑year‑old mother, Bhūma Bohara, who died last Friday.

born in Rātmātē, Ghōrāhī, 30‑year‑old Sapana has carried responsibility from a young age. After completing her SLC (secondary education), she was drawn into journalism—not by passion but by necessity. “I had just finished my exams when an ad from Radio Ghōrāhī appeared,” she recalls. “Our family was modest, so I needed work. The application form cost NPR 300, which I didn’t have. They agreed to lend it to me—and I applied.”

With no formal training, Sapana began her journey in journalism, first joining the local newspaper Goraksha Dainik in Dang, and later moving on to work for the national daily Madhyanha Rashtriya in Kathmandu.

Her mother was a homemaker; her father, a mason, had to abandon his trade when he could no longer work. After Sapana began earning, her mother was joyful—asking her to contribute her salary to the household. “Even if there was another job,” Sapana says, “it was far more terrifying to displease Mother than to disobey any boss.”

Every morning, she would read newspaper bulletins on air at the radio. If Sapana’s name didn’t appear on a particular day, her mother would chide: “Did you skip work yesterday?” Despite illness, her mother urged her to continue her reporting. Among four sisters, Sapana is the eldest. She’s supporting her younger sister’s education with her own income.

As the eldest daughter and head of the household, marriage never entered her mind; work and responsibility took precedence. But a slight cough became persistent pain. After running between hospitals in Nepalganj and Bhairahawa, they brought her mother to Bir Hospital in Kathmandu. There the devastating diagnosis came: lung cancer, already advanced.

Doctors tried their utmost—but despite two months of gruelling care and over NPR 1 million in debt, Bhūma passed away. Sapana invested every penny she had and took on loans because she believed if her mother could have survived, the debt would have been worthwhile. Even in her final moments, her mother called her “Kālu Kālu,” urging her onward.

When her mother exhaled her last breath in Sapana’s arms, Sapana thought: I have fulfilled my responsibilities—now let me perform all our funeral rites according to our traditions. After the final cremation at Pashupati, she has stayed in the nearby Kriyaputri as per tradition.

Sapana recalls, “I gathered courage only because of my mother’s bold spirit—she was fierce.” Her father, Khadku Bohara, 68, is grief‑stricken by the loss of his wife, yet he supports Sapana’s decision to observe these rites. According to Brahmin priest Sarojprakash Dahal, who studied in Haridwar, “Scripture does not prohibit a daughter from performing the rites.” He has ordained many daughters in such roles before.

Sapana says: “I am not seeking social reform—I am simply honoring my mother.” And in following tradition, while defying expectation, her strength shines through.

Sapana’s path reflects both love and resilience—her every action woven from devotion. In a society where daughters rarely bear such rituals, she quietly reshapes expectations. Even amid profound loss, her unwavering resolve forges a radiant legacy—not only of grief, but of honor, duty, courage, and the enduring bond between mother and child.