Making Sense When There Are No Answers

In June 2013, Kamala’s husband Govind went on a pilgrimage to Kedarnath with his brother. A cloudburst sent a wall of water and rock down the valley. His brother came home. Govind did not. His name went on a list of thousands of missing people, and it stayed there.

Two thoughts at once

For months, Kamala lived between two thoughts. On some days she was sure Govind had died. On other days she was sure he was alive, perhaps injured in a village in the hills, unable to remember his name. Each thought cancelled the other, and she felt she was going mad.

Her neighbour, a retired schoolteacher, gave her a different way to think about it. “You do not have to choose,” she said. “You can hold both thoughts. He may be gone, so you must learn to manage without him. And he may come back, so you can keep hoping. Both are true for now.”

This changed something for Kamala. She stopped fighting with herself. She began to arrange her life as a woman who must manage alone, and she let herself keep a small, quiet hope. Pauline Boss found that people who can hold two opposite thoughts like this tend to cope far better than people who insist on one or the other.

Telling the children the truth

Kamala had two children, aged nine and twelve. At first, the family told them that their father was working in another city. Kamala wanted to protect them. But the children overheard the adults whispering, and they became frightened and angry. They could tell that something was being hidden.

So Kamala sat them down and told them the truth, in simple words. She said what she knew, she said what she did not know, and she promised what she could.

Her son cried. Her daughter asked many questions, and Kamala answered every one truthfully, even when the answer was “I do not know”. Afterwards, both children seemed calmer. The not knowing was hard, but the secret had been harder.

Doing something small

Kamala could not find her husband. But she found that she could do something. One day she went to the help desk that had been set up for families of the missing. She noticed a mother who could not read the forms, and she helped her fill them in. The next week she went back and helped another family.

None of this gave Kamala an answer. But it gave her days a purpose, and it connected her with people who understood. Meaning, for her, did not come from understanding why the flood happened. It came from what she chose to do next.

A ritual that fits

Kamala’s family argued about whether to perform the last rites. Her mother-in-law refused, because that would mean Govind was dead. Her brother-in-law wanted them done, so that his soul could rest. In the end, the family priest suggested something in between. On Govind’s birthday, the family gathered at home. They garlanded his photograph, lit a lamp, laid his shawl beside it, and prayed for his wellbeing, wherever he was.

The ritual did not declare him dead, and it did not pretend he was simply away. It fitted the truth of their situation. Every member of the family could take part in it, whatever they believed had happened.

Families in this situation often face legal and money problems too, such as bank accounts, property and pensions. Indian law generally presumes that a person is dead only after seven years without news. It is worth speaking to a lawyer early, so that the family is not left without support. This is general information, not legal advice.

How it is now for Kamala

Kamala still does not know what happened to Govind. Her children are now grown. She still volunteers with families of missing people, and she still lights a lamp on his birthday. She says that she has made her peace with not knowing, most days.