There is a revealing anecdote about Girija Prasad Koirala and his idea of justice.

After the April 2006 movement, a group of human rights activists sought an appointment with GPK to discuss war-time atrocities. GPK did not think it was important enough. The activists conjured up another reason, and managed to get a meeting. They talked about the need to address impunity, and the need for action against perpetrators of certain emblematic cases.

The 'democracy veteran' snapped, "Let me make one thing clear. The Maoists have already expressed their concern that nothing should happen to their leaders and cadre; the Army leadership also has similar concerns. What is important now is the peace process. I have told both of them that nothing will happen and no case will be pushed against them."

Koirala's attitude was representative of the attitude of the larger political class, who pat themselves on their back for being 'realistic'. They all felt that bygones should remain bygones. The refrain was unanimous across party lines - avoid steps that will open up a Pandora's Box and complicate the peace process.

There was an easier route - forget the past.

This columnist too was drawn to the argument, until the killings in the Tarai shot up. A pattern was visible. Analyst Tula Narayan Sah has done remarkable research to show that the political violence in the Tarai can be traced back to past crimes that went unpunished and a desire for revenge. A key reason for both the Gaur massacre and the Kapilbastu riots was that the Maoists and other groups harboured grievances against each other. A bloody tit-for-tat, even delayed, was inevitable.

Forgetting the past may appear attractive if you are insulated from the conflict. It obviously doesn't work if your father, mother, brother, sister, wife, husband, son, or daughter is part of the past's violence. To suggest that painful memories be obliterated is both a morally questionable position and a politically ineffective and naive strategy. The root of the Maoist insurgency was the perceived absence of justice. But the cardinal lesson of that period was not learnt. No justice means more violence.

Those following the Maina Sunwar case (she was tortured and killed by army officers in 2004) were not surprised when her father was found dead this week in mysterious circumstances. Activist Mandira Sharma points to the struggle that each family has had to mount; how the process has been deeply frustrating; how the pain and depression has taken its toll; and how, in the process, victim's families have made enemies of powerful people. She adds, "The feeling among victims is that if Maina's family could not get justice after all this, what hope is there for others?"

What is left is a deep sense of hurt. That hurt may sometimes translate into apathy, but often results in thoughts of vengeance. If you wonder about the rising violence, or the rage that characterises even banal everyday street conversations, it is because we live in a society that has suffered, where many people feel cheated out of life's simple joys, thereby fueling a desire to destroy or be destroyed.

One could argue that it is in the Nepal Army's interest to take action against officers involved in cases such as Maina's - this would enhance their institutional prestige and silence critics. It is in the Maoists' self interest to act against the Bibidhs of their party - this would overhaul their image and demonstrate a commitment to democracy. And that could mark the beginning of a wave of reparations across the country.

But it is unlikely that this will happen, for neither side feels it has committed any wrong. Crimes have been justified through clever narratives. Collateral damage is seen as a part of the game. And killers on both sides have become part of the new political elite.

An apology for the pessimism, but given the shocking inability of our politicians to provide justice, Nepal seems destined to remain stuck in a cycle of violence and hatred.