In Nepal, locals refer to the 
two major earthquakes that 
rocked their Himalayan 
homeland as "Daiveeya 
Prakop," or "God's punishment."
For Ganesh Pradhan, a Hindu 
who lost his mother-in-law and 
only son in the first 7.8 
magnitude temblor, such a 
vengeful God is not deserving 
of his faith.
Named for the deity Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu 
god of prosperity and wisdom, Pradhan has vowed to 
abandon his religion and his name.
"I'm not believing in gods and goddesses now," the 
English teacher explained recently, crouched in a gray 
tent weighed down by stones. "It's the duty of God to 
save the lives of the people."
In this mountainous country with few graveyards, 
corpses are torched until they are dust. Their spirit 
lives on, according to Hindu and Buddhist tradition, 
seeking another body to inhabit.
But what happens when that spirit is broken, crumpled 
like the majestic temples that drew centuries of pilgrims
to Kathmandu?
Here, if a corpse is not cremated quickly, the soul is 
believed to drift, trapped between realms.
To date, the combined death toll from the two Nepal 
earthquakes is more than 8,500, along with another 
21,000 injured. Some 600,000 families have lost their homes.
Thousands more spiritual sanctuaries have been damaged, including the nine-story Dharahara Tower honoring Shiva, 
the Hindu god of destruction.
Slowly, people are losing faith, according to Ram Krishna 
Sahi, a nonprofit volunteer coordinator who lives in Kathmandu.
"How can the gods help us if they can't bring themselves 
to fix the temples?" he said.
More than 80% of Nepal's 28 million people are Hindu, 
followed by Buddhists (9%), Muslims (4%) and Christians 
(1%). Here, colossal pagoda temples with tiered roofs 
coexist with Buddhist stupas with whitewashed domes. 
Holy cows block intersections.
But the heaving earth doesn't discriminate between the 
devout and dispassionate.
More than 100 Christians were reportedly buried in the first 
April 25 quake during worship services, which are held from 
mid- to late-morning on Saturdays.
Some were more fortunate; Catholic prayers didn't start 
until noon.
Among the others spared were villagers working in the 
fields and children not in school.
Attempting to make sense of tragedy, some Nepalese blame karma — the idea that actions in one life determine the course 
of the next. Others see it as an amoral event, divorced from unrepentant sinners and unforgiving gods.
Still others use it as an opportunity to reaffirm their spirituality. Shaved heads of grieving men dot the capital to countryside. Shuffling women engage in the daily ritual of Puja, ringing a bell to alert temple deities to offerings of flower petals, rice and sweets.
People are praying now more than ever, according to Robby Khanal, a Hindu who was born in Kathmandu but now lives in Bear.
"They're praying to God to please stop the aftershocks," he said.
Khanal's family still lives in Nepal, but they are not spiritually bereft because of the temples that were lost, he said.
Many Hindus pray in the early morning and evening at temples devoted to specific deities and at small shrines decorated with statues and images of the gods important to that household.
"Mostly, people still have faith that they're going to get through this and build a better Nepal with God's help," Khanal said.
Jeffery Broughton, Sr., heard similar sentiments when he traveled to Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. A pastor at Living Grace Worship Cathedral in Middletown, Broughton reminded victims to find comfort in knowing that their loved ones would be received and protected by God.
"We're trained to understand that the church is within us, no matter where we are," he said. "In old scripture, temples were destroyed but they were able to rebuild."
In each religion, followers find a way to cope with untimely death.
After the 2004 tsunami in Sri Lanka, local Buddhists expressed a deeper understanding about suffering, according to Nalika Gajaweera, a research associate for the Center for Religion and Civic Culture at the University of Southern California.
Gajaweera interviewed one survivor who attributed the death of her three sisters during the tsunami to their "bad karmic past."
"In a sense, the disaster was a kind of meditation on Buddhist ideas," Gajaweera said. "God isn't the only factor in their faith."
For some Hindus, earthquakes can be explained by the hundred-headed snake that holds Lord Vishnu. Vishnu is believed to sleep under the earth, carrying the world.
If he moves too much, he can produce a violent shake, according to Rajendra Khanal, a priest at the Nepali Mandir in Beallsville, Maryland.
Deb Jaisi, a Nepal native and agriculture professor at the University of Delaware, thinks those who are questioning their faith after the earthquakes have misplaced emotions.
"Faith does not come into the equation in this kind of situation," he said. "It's just people's frustrations and anger at having lost everything."
"Nothing is left"
When the second earthquake hit on May 12, children shrieked and office workers fled buildings. But Pradhan, 54, was unmoved, indifferent.
"I'm not scared because nothing is left but my spouse and me," he said, minutes after the ground stopped rolling.
He pulled up a cell phone image of his 21-year-old son, Sunny, an aspiring social worker who died trying to save his grandmother during the first quake.
They were found buried together, 25 steps from where they began.
"I lost my two people," he explained as his wife dabbed tears with her scarf.
The couple of 28 years now own a wooden bed, a straw mat, four blankets and a baggie of crackers in Bhaktapur, a world-famous center of Hindu and Buddhist worship and culture located near Kathmandu.
Pradhan's mud-caked fingernails remind him of days digging through the remains of his home, now indistinguishable from his neighbors.
To build a home that could withstand an earthquake would cost more than $30,000, he said. As a teacher, he earns the equivalent of a $236 salary.
Besides blaming gods and goddesses, Pradsan criticizes the government for not making available low-interest home loans to the people. He has no idea where he'll be when the driving rains of the monsoon blow in next month.
"What to do? There is no other option," he said.
In the meantime, he watches bitterly as neighbors, who lost no one, claim 66-pound bags of rice from relief organizations.
"I'm the real victim," he said.
Before the sun set that evening, more than 100 mourners and onlookers gathered at Pashupatinath Temple, about seven miles from Pradhan's tent.
The oldest Hindu temple in Kathmandu, Pashupatinath's main temple was untouched by the earthquakes but its outer shrines sustained damage. Under carved wooden rafters, men dressed in elaborate makeup and robes tried to bait a stray camera-toting tourist.
Nearby, on the banks of the Bagmati River, two grieving families dipped the dead in murky holy water before placing them on pyres.
A woman wearing a red sari buried her head in her hands and moaned. She stopped several minutes later, stepping back.
As the drum beat quickened, the left corpse was set ablaze. Naked, it departed the world as it came.