SINS

    A familiar discomfort in her lower abdomen woke her from a deep slumber. An uneasy moistness was growing between her legs, she had sinned again.

In the faint moon-light trickling through the window she checked the time, it was an hour past the midnight. Careful not to wake her husband up, who was snoring softly next to her, she got up gingerly and pulled out a sanitary pad from the inside pocket of the traveling case. Durga was never conscious of these ‘Sins’, a debt being a woman, until she got married. It was never some weakness that she was ever ashamed of, like those black polythene bags shopkeepers use to wrap the sanitary napkins.For her having periods was a normal day of affair, in fact a leisure part because those three to four days her mother would take extra care of her, giving her small treats and excusing from all rigorous jobs. Even her tantrums would be excused as her mood-swings.

It was just two days after her marriage when she had to cook the first food for her in-laws, as per the tradition. But she got her periods that very day and was instructed by the elder women of the house to stay indoors in her room as a mere touch of the wind, which had brushed her ‘sinning’ body, may pollute others. For five days, she stayed in the room, using the backdoor to use the toilet in the further end of the house which was reserved for servants. Food was left on the floor outside her room near the doormat, because even a touch of a utensil would pollute the one who brought it. And children, who are too fearless to ‘respect’ these boundaries, were sprinkled with holy Ganges water, day and night, to purify them.

In little hesitating tones, she was told to maintain ‘bodily distance’ with her husband. It was all new for her…altogether a different world. It was a kind of atonement…. for a Sin which she never knew existed within her. Most shocking was the fact that her ‘state’ was known to everyone. In the house teeming with close relatives and neighbours, everyone — men and women — knew that the bride is menstruating. She was too furious and shocked to utter any protest.

She tried to reason with Ravi, her husband. ‘I cannot change their traditional thinking, at least they have allowed us to sleep in the same room on the same bed. At least they are not making you sleep on the floor, like my sister does’, he said. How easy it is for him to overlook the embarrassment and humiliation she is going through, Durga thought. She wondered how he would feel if his ‘penis-routine’ is exposed to family members, neighbours and even servants.

She had read about these customs somewhere. In certain communities, women and girls during this time were made to sleep in the cowsheds for whole five days. Sleeping on cold, dirty floor among the animals often led to serious infections, especially in winter months. There were cases when they were raped as their seclusion provided a good opportunity to perverts. The menstruating woman was not even allowed in kitchen, temple place, it was believed that her polluting touch would spoil the pickles and dry the basil plant. Even for eleven days after the birth of the child, both the mother and the baby were considered impure and ‘untouchablity was observed. But she had always thought these to be the customs of ‘dark ages’, bygone era.

“When my daughter was born, throughout those eleven days I stayed in the cowshed with the baby”, her mother-in-law told Durga one day. “And at the end of the profanity, I washed the blanket and our clothes and entered the house after the purification ceremony”.

Durga was appalled, “your stitches didn’t hurt?” She almost choked in frustration, “And how did you and the poor tiny soul managed without warm bed and heating in such winters? You could have died or the baby could have caught pneumonia. Aren’t these customs wrong mother? How can a woman’s body be so impure?”

“It is like this. We are cursed and this is written in holy books’, her mother-in-law snapped at her modern-ignorant mind, “and I have seen the evidence of impurity of women’s body. If I ever touch any woman who is menstruating, I fall sick and develop rashes all over my body and so does Ravi’s father.”

Curse…yes curse…But it was not a burden of their, the womenfolk’s, sin but the baggage of somebody else, which was so slyly passed on to them by the male-dominated religious bigots and their shallow ‘holy’ musings. The holy books say, Indra, the King of Gods committed a grave sin by killing a Brahmin. Part of this Sin was taken by women, which is active during the menstrual period, thus making them impure during the period.

Even after three years, the suffocation and humiliation Durga felt in following these archaic practices had not gone. She was fortunate that Ravi personally did not believe in these things and never asked her to follow them except when they visited his parents. And so Durga always tried her best to schedule the vacation as per her monthly dates. But this time her careful planning had failed; her body had ditched her.

Lost in her mental agony, she barely noticed the pain which was gradually twisting the lower parts of her body. She could still not fathom the rationality behind these beliefs. Some may see rationality in this by saying that by ‘staying indoors’ it means that a menstruating woman is not over-burdened and she is given proper rest so that her body, suffering the loss of blood, can recover. But, the rest is needed prior to the periods or on the first day, except when one is severely anemic. And moreover it doesn’t explain why touching pickles, interacting with others or puja is shunned.

She made up her mind; if her body is so impure…she wants the PROOF.

Durga was in kitchen when her husband called, “what is for breakfast?” “Stuffed Parantha”, she added “with mango pickle”.

It wasn’t easy for her to hide the ‘secret’ from her husband and fool the prying eyes of the women. But she had to take the chance. For three days she carefully watched for any signs of sickness, for anybody falling sick, for any inauspicious news. She even looked for rashes while massaging her mother-in-law’s feet with mustard oil.

Except for the routine complaints of arthritis and failing eye-sight of her ageing inlaws, everything was same as it looked, everyone smiling and happy and complimenting her culinary skills. The pickle hadn’t turned bad and even the basil plant was showing no signs of wilting.

So the curse was a myth….like many other myths gobbled down from generation to generation. She was right; the blood was not evil, corrupt or contagious. For her, the menstrual blood is, in fact, the holiest fluid, the seed of fertility because it is this blood which will give them their progeny, their sons, daughters and grandchildren, and hence this blood should be revered and a menstruating woman should be worshiped. It is like Red Flowers, the flowers honoring the womenhood and celebrating its essence.

…….

Author’s note: Durga is a fictitious character however the story is based on the experiences of women as they shared their thought on this taboo with the Author. Some of these practices may sound ‘too extreme’ or a myth to readers but they are very well practiced even in this modern scientific age.

This blogathon is supported by the Maya App, used by 6.5 million women worldwide to take charge of their periods and health