In Hindu tradition, when a body cannot be recovered, a symbolic effigy is made from sacred "kusha" grass to represent the dead. At the Pashupatinath temple, on the banks of the Bagmati River in Kathmandu, Madan Lal Lawat joined other families in honouring loved ones who were lost when a deadly flood tore through the China-Nepal border last month.
With more than 5,000 people still missing and the government ending rescue operations, this is the only way people like Lawat can honour the dead. Five of his relatives - including his brother - were caught in the water's onslaught and are still missing. Lawat survived because he was driving his bus outside his village, Betrawati. The last Lawat heard from survivors is that his brother Mangal died while going door-to-door, trying to warn others to leave.
“"I don't know how to start over. Police say they're still searching for the bodies, but I'm not sure they'll ever be found," Lawat says.
He has little doubt they are dead. But legally, their fate is far more complicated. In Nepal, a missing person is only presumed dead after 12 years. Section 40 of Nepal's Civil Code does allow for some exceptions, but it does not have a provision for disasters like the flood witnessed last month.
Families like Lawat's have told the BBC they are struggling to obtain death certificates, affecting everything from accessing flood compensation to the transfer of properties and even inheritance. Relatives can receive up to 25,000 rupees (£122; $162) for funeral costs, in addition to about 200,000 rupees (£981; $1,302) in bereavement compensation for the first relative who died, and 100,000 rupees (£491; $651) for each additional death. But this is only possible once they submit a death certificate.
As families try to rebuild their lives, many are now caught in an administrative nightmare.
“"In view of the current disaster, the law is outdated," says constitutional law expert, Bipin Adhikari. He explains the law was meant to account for people who travelled abroad and weren't heard from for years. "But technology has advanced now, it isn't as difficult to send or receive information," he argues.
For Lawat, the legal minefield has made an already devastating loss even harder to navigate. When he tried to obtain a death certificate last week, officials at the local municipality office turned him away.
“"They said they're still discussing the death certificate issue. We aren't sure what to do now. There's so much uncertainty," he tells us.
The Scale of the Disaster
Even when bodies are recovered, identifying their identities is a slow and challenging task. More than 1,400 bodies have been recovered so far, and Nepal has little experience in processing DNA at such scale. In some cases, authorities have taken DNA samples, then buried the bodies with markers in the ground, should families claim them.
Given the scale of damage and loss, families say compensation is desperately needed. Nepal's latest assessment counts 7,570 private buildings damaged or destroyed, home to nearly 33,000 people based on census data.
The BBC visited Lawat's village Betrawati just days after the disaster, once the roads to the district of Rasuwa had been cleared. For days, this area had been cut off from the capital Kathmandu, and struggling with a shortage of basic supplies including petrol. The damage in the village was staggering. The ground was nothing but hardened mud and silt. Footage of the flood showed it had swallowed most of the village in just minutes.
