Having got the emergency extended for another three months, the government seems to have gone back to sleep. There is sound of loud snoring emanating from Singha Durbar. Hello?

This is exactly the what-we-worry attitude of our post-1990 rulers that brought the country to its present crisis. And despite the wake-up call from Achham last week, the government still seems to be saying: "Ah well, the army is out there taking care of the problem, wake us up when they're done."

Someone has got it into Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba's head that there can be no development without peace. And, being seemingly incapable of multitasking, he is pursuing the military option with single-minded zeal. It is true, this war has to be waged to restore peace. But, as we keep saying, the military cannot bring him victory on a platter. Security operations have to be accompanied by some signs of intelligent life inside Singha Durbar.

Many of Deuba's colleagues within his own party, members of the opposition, and independent political analysts are warning that unless development goes hand-in-hand with the counter-insurgency operation, this war will drag on for a long, long time. Peace and development are two sides of the same coin.

No one knows this better than the army. Its foot soldiers operate in villages where having the locals on your side is critical to battlefield success. And fearful villagers need some hope for the future, some indication that far away in Kathmandu is a government they elected that cares for their welfare, and is willing to do something about it. In vast swaths of the hinterland there is no army, no police, and for all practical purposes, no government. These areas are effectively under Maoist control. Unless the government shows some kind of a presence there, they are lost. We know it is difficult for Deuba to get his government's act together, but he could start with something meaningfully symbolic like cutting cabinet flab to make it lean and mean.

Fixing the roof while the house is on fire
We are into the first week of the second phase of the emergency, and politicians are preoccupied with the debate on constitutional reforms. Those who favour tinkering with the constitution have locked horns with those who don't. It is not a very clear-cut polarisation, and positions cross party lines.

Those who favour reform say the 1990 statutes need urgent revision to ensure free and fair elections, adding teeth to the decentralisation act, ensuring citizenship for minorities, ironing out differences between the judiciary and the executive.

But aren't these things that simple laws can set right? Do we really need to tamper with the constitution? Let's say reforms are, in fact, needed. Is this the time to do it? Constitutional amendments are not trifling matters, they need a rational national debate, and public involvement. A state of national emergency is not an ideal time to foster such debate. In fact, some have likened it to repairing the roof while the house is on fire.

Any discussion on the pros and cons of reforms cannot be unrestricted and unhindered at a time when the fundamental political rights of citizens have been suspended.

Our ribbon-cutting Kathmandu-centric politicians and bureaucrats may not realise it, but this is a country at war. Nepalis have never, ever, in our entire history killed other Nepalis at such a gruesome rate as we have in the past two weeks.
The pro-reform lobby argues that constitutional reform is the bait that will bring the Maoists to mainstream politics. This would imply that constitutional reforms come out of the barrel of a gun.

The main opposition UML is keen on reforms, mainly because it says it wants an interim national government to oversee elections. The dissident faction in the Nepali Congress under its ambitious president, Girija Prasad Koirala also wants the constitution changed. But since he doesn't go into specifics, this plan, like his argument for a "democratic alliance", smacks of personal ambition.
Constitutional reforms, it seems, is too important to be left just to politicians who can't see beyond the tip of their noses.