Helicopters idled on the runway at Tribhuvan International Airport while Nepal’s political class scrambled to get out. By midday Tuesday, Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli had resigned under mounting pressure, and several senior figures were flown out of Kathmandu under army cover as youth-led demonstrations turned deadly and chaotic.

What began as outrage over a sweeping ban on 26 social media platforms exploded into street battles across the Kathmandu Valley. The toll was grim: at least 19 people were dead — with some tallies putting the number at 20 — and more than 300 injured, according to hospital officials and local authorities. Curfews wrapped Kathmandu, Lalitpur, and Bhaktapur. Army units moved to secure the roads around Parliament in New Baneshwor. The scene at the capital’s airport captured the anxiety of the moment: rotors spinning, VIPs hustled aboard, and a country staring into uncertainty.

Airport officials said multiple helicopters arrived and departed carrying political leaders, though they declined to name who was aboard. Visuals from the tarmac showed a line of choppers ready to lift off. After stepping down, Oli was escorted out of the city by army helicopter to an undisclosed location. Flights in and out of Tribhuvan were halted around 9 a.m. local time due to security alerts, with only a few landings and early departures allowed through.

How a social media blackout lit the fuse

The trigger was blunt: a late-night government order blocking 26 platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, YouTube, and X. Officials framed it as a public safety measure. For young Nepalis — students, recent graduates, and gig workers — the blackout felt like an attack on speech and livelihood. Within hours, marches swelled on campuses and at major intersections. Slogans cut through the tear gas: “KP chor, desh chhod” — calling Oli a thief who should leave the country — and demands to end protection for corrupt leaders.

The ban did not last long. As clashes intensified, an emergency Cabinet meeting rescinded the order. By then, the damage was done. Protesters saw the U-turn as proof the ban was misguided; security forces, already deep in confrontations, struggled to regain control. Hospitals filled fast. The National Trauma Center said it still had 56 people hospitalized from Monday’s violence, while five other hospitals reported steady inflows of injured protesters and police.

Anger turned personal. Demonstrators targeted the homes of the country’s most powerful figures. Private residences belonging to President Ramchandra Paudel and Prime Minister Oli were set on fire, according to local authorities. Former Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal “Prachanda” saw his Lalitpur residence vandalized. The compound of Nepali Congress President Sher Bahadur Deuba was overrun, with several vehicles torched. Finance Minister Bishnu Prasad Paudel was assaulted in the chaos, officials said.

As the situation slipped, Army Chief General Ashok Raj Sigdel urged Oli to step down. By Tuesday, Oli resigned. What happens next is murky. The president must decide on the path to a caretaker arrangement or new coalition talks. With party leaders scattered and security forces stretched, the risk of a vacuum is real.

Here’s the fast-moving timeline behind the eruption, as confirmed by officials, medical staff, and airport sources:

  • Late Monday: Government announces a nationwide block on 26 social media platforms.
  • Overnight: Youth-led rallies swell across Kathmandu Valley; first clashes with police reported.
  • Early Tuesday: Injuries mount; hospitals activate emergency protocols.
  • Morning: Curfews imposed in Kathmandu, Lalitpur, and Bhaktapur; army secures routes around Parliament.
  • Around 9 a.m.: Tribhuvan International Airport suspends operations amid security alerts; a handful of flights land or depart.
  • Late morning: Emergency Cabinet meeting reverses the social media ban.
  • Afternoon: Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli tenders his resignation; helicopters move VIPs out of Kathmandu under army escort.

Why did a platform ban spin into a nationwide crisis? Because it struck at something bigger than apps. For years, Nepal’s young generation — the largest slice of its population — has used social media not just to chat, but to study, find work, run small businesses, and organize. Cutting that off overnight felt like a breach of trust. And when police cracked down, the crowds only grew.

There’s a wider political backdrop. Nepal’s transition since the monarchy ended has delivered elections and a federal constitution, but also frequent government changes and grinding fights over power-sharing. Anti-graft pledges are a constant campaign theme; follow-through has been weaker. When protests framed the ban as an attempt to shield corrupt elites, the message landed.

A state on edge, a leadership on the move

The sight of helicopters queuing in Kathmandu will linger. It signaled a scramble among the political elite to get out of harm’s way and a security apparatus trying to keep pace. Airport management confirmed multiple VIP arrivals and departures by chopper. Interior routes were sealed and airspace closely monitored as troops took up positions around key sites.

On the streets, the pattern repeated through Tuesday: surges of demonstrators, lines of riot police, and running clashes in key neighborhoods. In Lalitpur, crowds threw stones at the residence of Communication Minister Prithvi Subba Gurung — the official who first announced the ban. Police responded with batons and tear gas. Videos shared by residents showed burned vehicles and smashed glass outside political compounds.

Hospitals worked through back-to-back triage waves. Doctors described head injuries, fractures, and tear gas exposure. Volunteers set up first-aid corners near protest routes. Families checked emergency wards for missing relatives. Civil society groups called for restraint from both sides and independent investigations into deaths and alleged abuse.

Even with the ban reversed, the demand list has grown. Protest leaders want accountability for deaths and injuries, protection for free expression, and a clear path to new leadership. Some student unions are pushing for an all-party roadmap that locks in a timeline on governance reforms. Others want immediate arrests of figures they accuse of graft. The consensus: the old playbook — bans, curfews, and ad hoc fixes — no longer calms the streets.

Economically, the shock is already visible. The airport shutdown stranded travelers at the height of the trekking season. Tourism operators scrambled to rebook clients and secure lodging extensions. Small businesses that rely on online orders and messaging apps lost a day’s income — and fear more outages. Banks and government offices operated with skeleton staff in some pockets of the city as employees struggled to move during curfew hours.

The security calculus is delicate. The army’s deployment helped seal off Parliament and strategic sites, but it also raised fears of a heavier crackdown if violence spreads. Police sources said they were under orders to prioritize de-escalation where possible, yet the scale of the unrest — and the targeting of high-profile homes — has stretched units thin. In several neighborhoods, locals formed human chains to keep marches away from schools and clinics.

What comes next depends on three things: whether the curfews hold, who steps forward to form a government, and if protest leaders can keep marches peaceful. A quick political settlement could quiet the streets. A power vacuum could do the opposite. Either way, the lesson of the past 48 hours is clear. Trying to control the public square by switching off the digital one carries a high cost.

For now, the country is in wait-and-see mode. Parliament is ring-fenced by troops. Schools remain closed in many wards. Families queue at pharmacies. And the capital’s most surreal image — rows of helicopters ready to ferry leaders out — has turned into a shorthand for the stakes of the moment. The Nepal protests started over apps, but they have morphed into a test of who gets to speak, who gets to govern, and how a young democracy handles fear and anger in the streets.