The search, day 2

Friday 11th January
I had a much calmer and more positive start to the day. I was fairly confident the worst was over. Little did I know what the day would bring forth! We took it easy in the morning. The car picked us up around 12 and we had our first “outing” without Sandeep, our faithful companion and guide.

We went to the mall and looked around a little. First we went to the supermarket on the lower ground floor. That was a surprise! We realised then we hadn’t needed to bring much at all. There was even Waitrose own brand food! Almost every shampoo  and toiletry product that you find in the West was sitting on the shelves, and when we came to food, we could have had Kelloggs cornflake and Cadbury chocolate if we had so wished. We didn’t! But we did get a few snacks to sustain us.

Then we went up to the food court for lunch. Simon was eager for a real masala dosa. I had a paneer (cheese) dosa but it was mixed with so much hot sauce I couldn’t eat it. Simon helped me out, and I helped him with his 4 foot paper dosa. It was served with potatoes, sambar and other sauces and was absolutely delicious. We realised we could have ordered that alone. This was far too much food for us both.

Final task was picking up a candle that I’d be able to light at Pax’s grave. I had it in my mind to buy something made locally, but this wasn’t the place to find it. I ended up with a pair of pretty white candles in glasses. Later I will light the second glass at Catherine’s grave. The first has already been used.

Then we drove to pick up Joaquim, and from there directly to the airport. We weren’t sure what we were going to do, as there didn’t seem much point to go on a hunt for the grave once it was dark. Joaquim’s flight was late and by then we thought we’d just to go the Catholic cemetery. We were fairly confident he was going to confirm that this was the spot.

We arrived at the cemetery. Within moments it was very definite that this was not the place where Pax was buried. Although 30 years had passed, and memories—especially spatial ones—can be inaccurate after the passage of time, it did not in any way match what he remembered. The church was different, the layout different... To say I was disappointed is to understate the deep sadness that entered my soul.

Our description of the other cemetery was sufficient to discount that as a possible location. We had specifically asked if there had ever been a church there, and there hadn’t, and Joaquim had definitely gone into a church, and the Father had come out dressed in a white cassock and with a black belt or (I don’t know what to call the part of the vestment that hangs down like a narrow scarf...need to look it up).  The priest had brought out a coffin, and Pax had been buried in a area where other people were buried, on a small piece of land to the left of the church. This had been a significant and unforgettable event in Joaquim’s life, and though it seemed unlikely to those we told it to, this is really what had happened.

Realising that Pax was not buried in the Catholic cemetery meant we were back to the start of our search. The only “lead” we had was when Pax died, Joaquim and John had asked a rickshaw to drive them to a church, and it took around half an hour.

Although it was getting dark, Joaquim was eager to begin the search so we drove back into Bhopal. It was  a confusing  time for me. Joaquim and Sandeep were communicating in Hindi, and I couldn’t tell if they were disagreeing or something, but it was just the way Hindi sounds when people are speaking together.

In the course of our conversation, Joaquim told me about how he lost his young wife Joy, just three years after Pax died. They had gone on a mission assignment to Calcutta. They were young in the faith and young in years, and he’d heard that Calcutta was very dirty. Within months, his worst fears were realised. Joy contracted malaria and died.

Life is full of tragedy and loss.

Sometimes during this trip I felt a twinge of guilt that in this city where so many people had lost their lives in the gas tragedy, and obviously so many continue to have foreshortened lives simply because of poverty, disease and other developing world problems—and it’s obvious from the cemetery that there is much higher child mortality here than in the West—with all of this death and loss around me, how can I weep so much for one child? Yet I won’t feel guilty about this. He was my child, he is God’s child, and each one is precious to Him. I should have buried him properly when it was the time. Leaving Bhopal so rapidly was a terrible mistake that I have regretted for all these years. This is my time to in some way make amends.

Joaquim and I talked about some of this. He had not understood what happened, but when I explained about H1 taking me so rapidly away from the city, and I commented he was a strong personality, he laughed in agreement. H1 was a very domineering personality and I wasn’t the only one that realised it.

Joaquim encouraged me that at least I have admitted it was a mistake. Poor h1 still hasn’t; he must live with the repression of the guilt and sorrow that surely—deep inside—surely he must carry?

After driving through the dark, noisy confusing streets for what seemed a very long time but was probably only half an hour, we arrived at the entrance of the Hamidia hospital. This was where Pax died. (We didn’t take pictures because it was dark.)

Joaquim was shocked. He said the hospital was unchanged. I have no memory of it; I only remember sitting next to Pax in the intensive care room, surrounded by other tables with dying children and their weeping mothers. But the structure of the hospital, even the arrangement of rooms, was unchanged. I could have gone back and found the room where he died if I had chosen, but this wasn’t the time and then we never went back again during the trip. Perhaps next time. Perhaps there is no need. I don’t know. I kind of wish now I had gone to the room but the focus and desperate hope was to find the grave, and that’s what we concentrated on.

Sandeep, Joaquim and I got out of the car. Simon waited in the car. I think it was all quite exhausting, and the daytime had been hot. What a good man. What a good stepfather.

The taxi driver came with us too. Joaquim approached some of the rickshaw drivers. “Where would you take someone if they asked for a church?” Everyone was told the story of what happened. So many people crowded around, trying to help and offer their opinions. Older rickshaw drivers, who could possibly have been working at that time, were not there because it was evening. How kind everyone was.

From there we went to the church of St Francis. The entire front lot was paved over; it was a parking lot. It was late and there was no one around to talk with. The space between the main gate and the church was too small. Besides, he remembered a small gate, a path to the church. No, this didn't look like the place.

Churches in this city could have changed. Perhaps we were just too late. Too many years had passed.

Sandeep was busy calling around to people and pastors from various churches, and every so often he and Joaquim would lapse into animated discussion. From the sketchy explanation they gave me, everyone without fail were saying it was impossible: no church in Bhopal buried people in their grounds; no pastor would conduct an unofficial burial. It could not have happened as Joaquim described; his memories were not accurate seemed the unanimous verdict.

Over and over he told the story, the priest, the little white coffin with a cross on it, the gravedigger, the prayers, the burial.


It was a bewildering evening. Even the car driver was involved in the discussions and deliberations.
Did the colour of the cassock indicate it had been a Catholic or Protestant priest? But weren't Catholics very particular; surely they would have buried this unknown, non-Catholic child. But no Protestant pastor would conduct a funeral without the proper paperwork... It was a conundrum.

It was hot. The evening had set in properly now but the roads were still alive with hustle and bustle. The sounds and smells were pungent. I felt ill inside, but tried to hold my peace and keep my agitation within, trying to remain quiet, in the hope that these kind men would find the answer.

In time we arrived at another church, also within fairly close proximity to the hospital. This was a Protestant church. There were so small patches of ground from which trees grew; otherwise, this church too had a parking lot in the front that was solid. A lady from the church came out. We spoke with her for some minutes. Joaquim did not feel it likely that this was the place, but he couldn’t be sure. I didn’t find out until the following day that Sandeep had tried to talk with the pastor, but he said he was busy and to come back another time.

We were all discouraged when we set off in the car to go home. It was too late to do anything further today; we would bring the car to pick up Sandeep and Joaquim first thing on Saturday morning. We dropped them home then drove home ourselves. Very tired, very very disappointed. The hopefulness we’d felt on Thursday was well and truly gone.

(aren't you glad this is a recap and you know we DID find it, but can you imagine how I was feeling at the time? It was so bleak.)