Nepal's flood victims trapped in legal limbo as 12-year death rule blocks compensation

At Pashupatinath temple in Kathmandu, Madan Lal Lawat stood among other families performing a ritual that should never have been necessary. In Hindu tradition, when a body cannot be recovered, relatives fashion a symbolic effigy from sacred grass to represent the dead and allow the living to complete their funeral rites. Lawat was there because his brother Mangal, along with four other relatives, vanished when a catastrophic flood tore through the China-Nepal border region last month. More than 5,000 people remain missing. The government has ended its rescue operations. For Lawat and thousands like him, this grass effigy is the only goodbye they will ever have.

Lawat survived the disaster because he was driving his bus outside Betrawati village when the water came. The last he heard from survivors was that his brother had been going door-to-door, warning neighbors to evacuate. "I don't know how to start over," Lawat told the BBC. "Police say they're still searching for the bodies, but I'm not sure they'll ever be found." He has no doubt they are dead. But Nepal's legal system does not share his certainty. Under Section 40 of Nepal's Civil Code, a missing person cannot be officially presumed dead until 12 years have passed. The law contains some exceptions, but it contains no provision for disasters. This gap between what families know and what the law will recognize has created an administrative catastrophe.

Without death certificates, families cannot access the compensation the government has promised. Relatives can receive up to 25,000 rupees—roughly £122—for funeral costs, plus about 200,000 rupees in bereavement compensation for the first death and 100,000 rupees for each additional one. These sums are modest against the scale of loss, but they are desperately needed. When Lawat went to his local municipality office last week to request a death certificate, officials turned him away. They said they were still discussing the issue. "We aren't sure what to do now," Lawat said. "There's so much uncertainty." The problem extends far beyond compensation. Families cannot transfer property, settle inheritance disputes, or move forward with any legal matter that requires proof of death.

The scale of the disaster makes this legal paralysis particularly cruel. More than 1,400 bodies have been recovered so far, but identifying them is slow and difficult work. Nepal has limited experience processing DNA at this scale. In some cases, authorities have taken DNA samples, then buried the bodies with markers, hoping families will eventually claim them. Meanwhile, the physical destruction is staggering. In Betrawati alone, the ground was reduced to hardened mud and silt. The village's market vanished. The local school lay in ruins. School buses were overturned. Across the Bidur municipality, which includes Betrawati, the government estimates more than 3,000 buildings have been damaged or destroyed—the highest toll of any municipality. Nationally, 7,570 private buildings have been damaged or destroyed, displacing nearly 33,000 people. The government calculates damage to personal belongings alone at £123 million across more than 8,300 households, implying average losses of about £14,800 per family.

Bidur's Mayor, Rajan Shrestha, told the BBC that everything is on hold. He said it could take up to 12 years for relatives to access the funds they are entitled to. "We understand the emotional pain for families who have already performed funeral rituals," he said, "but officials must work within legal boundaries to avoid future liabilities." Constitutional law expert Bipin Adhikari argues the law is simply outdated. It was designed for people who traveled abroad and lost contact for years, he explained. "But technology has advanced now. It isn't as difficult to send or receive information." The government has acknowledged the problem. The prime minister's office told the BBC it is "aware of the difficulties" the law may cause families in "exceptional circumstances, including disasters." The home ministry said it was taking the issue seriously and was ready to amend the law if required. But no amendment has yet been passed.

The legal crisis unfolds against an even larger catastrophe. The government estimates reconstruction costs could reach £3.6 billion—more than 10 percent of Nepal's gross domestic product, an enormous burden for one of South Asia's smallest economies. At the UN General Assembly, Prime Minister Balen Shah explained that rebuilding would require grant-based international support rather than new loans. He pointed out that Nepal is one of the world's lowest emitters of greenhouse gases yet one of the most vulnerable to climate change. "When a climate-driven disaster destroys infrastructure of a poor country, the answer cannot simply be another mega-loan or a patchwork of small grants," he told world leaders. Dozens of public buildings—schools, health clinics, hospitals—have been destroyed. So have roads, bridges, wastewater treatment plants, and hydropower projects.

For some families, this disaster carries the weight of repetition. Tisum Ghale lost his home in the 2015 earthquake and spent months displaced before settling in Betrawati. Last month's flood killed 19 of his relatives, including five of his sisters. He survived because he was doing construction work outside the village. Now he is homeless again, caring for eight children left behind by his sisters. He has received no compensation. He is one of thousands living in 37 holding centers across northern Nepal, waiting for a future that the law says must wait 12 years to begin. Like Lawat, Ghale plans to hold a funeral without his loved ones' bodies. He hopes the law will eventually recognize what he already knows: his relatives will not be coming home.