Kamal Ghorui
In my years of working and writing about the war widows, disabled soldiers, and the larger veer parivaars, I have encountered many stories of courage and resilience. And yet there is one truth that continues to unsettle me, no matter how often I witness it, the quiet, enduring anguish of mothers of soldiers who are not recognised as the Next of Kin.
A mother who gave birth to him, raised him, and watched him leave home in uniform, suddenly finds herself standing on the sidelines after he is gone. She is not the NoK. And so, she has to ask. Sometimes even fight. Not for money or recognition, but for something as basic as her son’s uniform or his medals.
As tragic as it may sound, I have seen mothers hold on to the smallest remnants, a letter, a photograph, a name tab, because the rest was never theirs to claim. I have seen them hesitate before entering spaces that should have embraced them, unsure of where they stand in a system that measures relationships through documentation.
Their unspeakable grief sits quietly in a corner of the house next to a framed photograph, in the stillness of a room that once belonged to a son who was the centre of her universe, a son who was her first whispered prayer and her last thought each night.
The story of Major Mohit Sharma is etched in our collective memory as one of extraordinary courage. But behind that story is a mother who has spoken of a different kind of struggle, the quiet, often invisible feeling of being distanced from her own son’s legacy by the structures that define entitlement.
Similarly, the loss of Squadron Leader Abhimanyu Rai left behind a mother who now lives in the company of memories of her only son. In a home that once echoed with his voice, she now holds on to fragments his laughter, his footsteps, the small, ordinary moments that have, in his absence, become her most treasured possessions. Because grief does not follow policy. It does not understand forms. And it certainly does not recognise the term Next of Kin. What makes this grief heavier is not just the loss, it is the quiet exclusion that sometimes follows.
These mothers now have to go to court, answer a millions of questions, just to claim the smallest space in the life of a son they carried, raised, and lost. You can see it in their eyes when they speak, the heartbreak, and a long list of question rarely voiced: where do I belong in my son’s story now? Why am I excluded? Was losing him in the line of duty not enough, that I must now prove to the world that he was my world?
This is not about altering entitlements or creating conflict within families. It is about recognising that beyond the framework of policy lies a deeper, more human truth, that motherhood cannot be reduced to a column in a document. Here is where change must begin-
Three steps to address this quiet injustice-
- Secondary Recognition Framework
The Ministry of Defence must formally recognise parents, especially mothers as secondary stakeholdersin all post-casualty processes. This is not about financial redistribution, but about dignity and access. - Guaranteed Personal Entitlements
Irrespective of NoK status, mothers should have assured access to:
- A set of personal belongings (uniform, medals, memorabilia)
- Limited canteen (CSD) access
- Basic medical facilities under ECHS or a parallel provision
These are not privileges. They are extensions of respect.
- Mediation & Grievance Cell
A neutral, time-bound grievance redressal mechanism must be instituted within organisations like Kendriya Sainik Board to handle family disputes sensitively ensuring that mothers are not left to navigate these battles alone.
These are the basic first steps which can be taken to provide justice and some solace to the grieving mothers. Because when policy ignores emotion, it creates quiet injustice.
When a soldier falls, it is not just a life that is lost. It is a universe that collapses. And at the centre of that universe is a mother, waiting, remembering, and quietly breaking… sometimes without even the right to hold on to what remains of her son.
Think about it.
Jai Hind
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