Nepal, Feb. 27 -- The purple ink in the voter's finger is the accomplishment of years of struggle, it is the quiet residue of a revolution, a colour of hope and change. For some, it is just a minor inconvenience that stains their finger even after wiping it on their hair. But as the sun sets over Tarai, and the shadow of a high mountain stretches over the state, the stain begins to look like a bruise. People are often told that they are participating in the greatest festival of democracy, but this festival feels like any other festival with an end. . What remains when the drums of festival, or in a recent context the melody of shankha fade? A land littered with broken promises, false expectations and high metallic scent of a dangerous dem...