So much has been written about the “taboo of menstruation” in Eastern religions, particularly South Asia, most of which regurgitates language of “ritual impurity” and patriarchy. Unsurprisingly, this oft-repeated theory emerged from Colonial Europe and unfortunately, even though decades have passed since we learned the language of decoloniality, such narratives propagate which make conversations around menstruation even more difficult. Deconstructing that entire body of work is out of scope for this article. However, I would like to talk to you about an indigenous Hindu celebration in the Indian state of Odisha, one that presents an alternative view point.

Today, is the last day of the popular Raja (pronounced Raw-Jaw) Parba in Odisha. It is a unique festival that lasts over three days, which celebrates both womanhood and Mother nature, in a way only indigenous faiths can, i.e. by exploring the common connection through menstruation. During these three days, Bhudevi (Mother Earth) is believed to be menstruating and thus, in keeping with the tradition of our ancestors, she needs to be given the requisite rest so that the balance of life-energy can be maintained. Therefore, all agricultural activities are stalled for the period of three days. This is especially important because Odisha is a primarily agrarian society. The entire village comes together to take care of the divine Mother, that no one is even supposed to walk barefoot because that could disturb the Mother Earth.

The Shakta tradition of Hinduism, one that is dedicated to the worship of the Divine Mother, Shakti, has particular influence in Odisha. Thus, the love and care of nature and divinity which is intrinsically woven in this festival, is extended to the womenfolk too, who also get the requisite rest for these three days, through a festival completely dedicated to them. Raja is a festival of is intended to give women a break from the everyday chores of their lives, not just from farm-work but also from household duties. Men folk take up the duties to give women the necessary break and women spend most of their time relaxing in a sisterhood of the divine, celebrating through Shringara, numerous games, song, music and dance or through simply enjoying the bliss of nature through beautifully decorated swings on porches or trees. The idea is to celebrate and resonate that menstruation deserves additional care and comfort.

Kartikeya C Patel in a paper titled ‘Women, Earth and the Goddess’ brings forth the point of seeing menstruation as holistic and in fact, an intrinsic acknowledgement of the beauty of nature, and thus, a part of Dharma, itself. There is an implied assumption of seeing menstruation of a woman, not as a “problem of a woman” but rather a collective responsibility of the society to help women navigate this period without any discomfort or annoyance, for she, is at the center of the cycle of life. If society fails at upholding this Dharma, then there could be grave and disastrous consequences.

Appfel-Marglin and Mishra in their brilliant anthropological study around Raja Parba in Odisha share accounts from the ground where people from the farming community talk of the perils associated with not respecting the Dharma of menstruation. The most common example given is of Draupadi and the disrespect that she was subjected to while she was on her periods. The belief is that the disruption to the cycle of nature led to the devastation in the form of the great Mahabharata war. As Patel sums it up,

“It (Menstruation) is a dharmic episode that provides us with a choreography in which collective acts and events of philosophical and cosmological significance attain fruition”.

The rituals of Raja are meant to acknowledge this collective Dharma of the society which is not just the responsibility of the woman but also of the men in the community. Most indigenous faiths of the world have had similar traditions celebrating life and femininity through the cycle of menstruation which you may read about here. Or perhaps you may have come across the recent Western(ized) feminist demands asking for a paid leave for menstruating women? Like in most cases, indigenous culture of Hinduism, already accounted for cultural safeguards to ensure the same, and the “leave” was not just from “paid work” but also from the unpaid (and often unacknowledged) work in the household.

Of course, this indigenous understanding of menstruation in Dharma might not find favor with many, and this is not just for the ones theorizing menstruation in the Indic fold but even those practicing it. Reason being the purity and pollution argument is one that has a lot more currency, both literally and figuratively. Maybe articulating it in the way of sanctions and taboos, made adherence easier to pass across than communicating it in the language of nature and dharma or perhaps it is easier to continue with the colonial myths around Dharma than deconstruct them from the lived experience of the subaltern. This brings me to the question that has long bothered me: With a lived experience of celebrating menstruation for millennia, why is it that discussing menstrual health so difficult, even within our societies?

Communicating menstruation: Why do we stutter?

I had my first periods when I was quite young. Younger than the average age at menarche in India. But, decades down the line the day still remains clearly etched in my mind and something that I keep retelling young girls I meet. I remember coming and telling my mother about blood in my legs. And then suddenly I remember my mother break down and cry uncontrollably. At that point, I could not understand why my mother was crying on hearing this and immediately assumed that there was something wrong with me. I distinctly remember howling and rolling in the ground begging my mother to tell me why she was crying but she did not respond. For hours she kept crying and I kept screaming asking her to tell me what is wrong. It was then that my aunt intervened and took me away and explained that there was nothing to worry about and importantly convinced me that I am not dying. I think that was all. There was no distinct information on menstruation or maybe I don’t remember it because the fear of some crazy disease is what I have carried on from those memories.

For years, I held my mother’s silence against her. The fact that she was so stumped to explain what menstruation is, to her daughter that all she could was to cry to express herself, always seemed bizarre to me. She did not have the language to explain menstruation, she did not know how to communicate it to such a young daughter and she thought that her had matured too soon. Now that I am closer to the age that my mother perhaps would have been at that point, I can judge her more fairly. I understand now, that she was upset because her daughter was growing up too fast. I understand that she was confused, and she did not know how to communicate around sexual and reproductive health. I get it that I was her eldest and so all this was very new to her.

But then I think of how Raja Parba has always such a massive celebration in our family since I was a toddler. I had heard so many times of how I should walk slowly because the earth is resting but I was never told why she needs to rest. Our rituals, our festivities had given us a chance to navigate this important communication with young girls, to introduce them to menstruation using the language of not just their own biology which could seem alienating, but encapsulating the indigenous understanding of nature and her sacred place in our culture that would help them understand themselves in a more secure, more safe way, during a critical transition of their lives. Something which is so deeply connected to so much of our future experiences as women, need not be introduced to us as an ailment, a disease or a condition. It should be a celebration, an initiation into a new phase of life, like our culture made space for. Maybe somewhere down the long and arduous history of my people, dealing with several waves of colonialism, my ancestral mothers brought into the colonial taboos and the shame associated with menstruation but they could not separate themselves from worshipping the Divine Mother, Bhudevi (Mother Earth). Perhaps thats how that deep connection between women, nature and divinity became more symbolic than substantive. The celebrations thus dissociated from the philosophy. Nothing else would explain losing that language.

Our rituals, our festivities had given us a chance to navigate this important communication with young girls, to introduce them to menstruation using the language of not just their own biology which could seem alienating, but encapsulating the indigenous understanding of nature and her sacred place in our culture that would help them understand themselves in a more secure, more safe way, during a critical transition of their lives. Something which is so deeply connected to so much of our future experiences as women, need not be introduced to us as an ailment, a disease or a condition. It should be a celebration, an initiation into a new phase of life, like our culture made space for.

A few months ago, I was in Gorakhpur in Uttar Pradesh, India, talking to adolescent girls about their experiences with menstruation and many of them spoke of how they are ashamed to discuss these things, even with their mothers. Partly because they fear that their mothers would not like such topics to be discussed openly. This brought back the memories of my own mother and her journey of navigating this role. It is perhaps not easy for mothers to talk about this even in post-colonial India and they still struggle with the language to communicate it. This leads to a lifetime of taboos around sexual and reproductive health. The lack of communication at this juncture signals that some health issues and transitions should not be spoken about. It normalizes pain and discomfort for adolescent girls during menstruation for the rest of their lives.

Therefore, the true celebration of Raja Parba would be to acknowledge the possibilities it opens for the Hindu community to navigate that critical communication around menstruation. Even if just using it as a talking point to celebrate the richness of our identity can help us re-start this dialogue significantly while passing the message across. The celebration of Bhudevi (Mother Earth) and Prakriti (Mother Nature) will be complete, when we are able to distill the message of these three days and pass it to young girls who are otherwise being shamed for menstruating and for the whom, the only message Western feminists have, is to abandon their Divine Mother. We need to find a synergy. We need to find the language of Shaktitva.

It may take some time, but we need to make sure that adolescent girls do not see themselves as ‘menstruators’ or as ‘impure’. They need to know the power of Prakriti that they carry in them and embrace it in all its glory.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pratyasha Rath

Pratyasha works as a qualitative researcher in the development sector and specializes in the application of behavioural science and design in studies.