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Vinutha Mallya

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Saru looks gloomy sitting under
the mango tree outside her home. In her lap, her infant son is restless and
babbling. “My periods will come any day now,” she says, “I will have to go to
the kurma ghar then.” Literally
‘period hut’, the kurma ghar is where
she’ll stay for 4-5 days when she menstruates.

The imminent event is troubling
Saru (not her real name). “It is suffocating in the kurma ghar and I can&#39;t sleep at all, away from my children,” she
says, trying to calm her nine-month-old son. She has a daughter too, Komal (not
her real name), who is three-and-a-half years old and attends nursery school.
“Her pali [menstrual cycle] will
start someday; it frightens me,” says Saru, 30, anxious that her daughter would
have to endure the traditional practice of their Madia tribe. 

There are four kurma huts in Saru’s village – one less than
100 metres from her home. They are currently used by the 27 adolescent girls
and women of menstruating age in the village. “I have grown up seeing my mother
and her mother going to the kurma ghar.
Now I am using it. I don&#39;t want Komal to suffer this system,” says Saru. 

The Madia, an Adivasi tribe,
consider menstruating women to be impure and untouchable, and send them away
when they get their period. “I have been going to the kurma ghar since I was 13,” says Saru. She was at her parents’ home
then, in a village about 50 kilometres from her current home in the eastern
part of Gadchiroli district, Maharashtra. 

In the last 18 years, Saru has spent close to 1,000 days of her life – about five days every month – in a hut with no bathroom, no running water, no electricity and no bed or a fan. “It is dark inside and the nights are scary. I feel as if the darkness will eat me up,” she says. “I feel like running fast towards my house and holding my kids tight, close to my chest…but I can’t.&quot;

Inside the kurma ghar
– which is used by other women in her village too – Saru longs for a clean room, a soft bed to rest
her aching body, and a blanket radiating the warmth of loved ones. But the
dilapidated hut, made of mud walls and clay-tiled roofs
supported by bamboo, is a depressing space. Even the floor – on which she must
sleep – is uneven. “I sleep on a bedsheet they
[husband or mother-in-law] send. I suffer from backache, headache and cramps.
Sleeping on a thin sheet is not at all comfortable,” she says. 

For Saru, the discomfort and pain is compounded by isolation
and distress of being away from her children. “It hurts that even my close ones
don’t understand my anguish,” she says. 

An increase in psychological symptoms such as anxiety, stress
and depression are consistent with pre-menstrual and menstrual phases in women,
says Dr. Swati Deepak, a psychotherapist from Mumbai. “The severity differs
from woman to woman. They could get worse without proper care,” she adds. It is
important that women receive affection and care from their family at that time,
says Dr. Deepak, as discrimination and isolation can be traumatic.

The Madia women are not even
allowed to store their period cloth pads at home. “All of us leave them in the
hut,” says Saru. Plastic bags filled with the cloth pieces made out of used
petticoats are left in the kurma ghar
– stuffed in the wall cracks or hung from the bamboo beam. “There are lizards
and mice roaming around, and they sit on these pads.” The contaminated pads
cause irritation and infection. 

There is no window in the hut,
and the lack of ventilation makes the cloth pads smell. “It gets worse in the
rains,” Saru says. “I use [sanitary] pads during monsoon
because cloth doesn’t dry properly,” she adds. Saru spends Rs. 90 on a pack of
20 pads, which lasts her two months. 

The kurma ghar that
she goes to is at least 20 years old. But it isn’t looked after by anyone. The
bamboo frame of the roof is splitting and the mud walls are cracking. “So you
can imagine how old this hut must be. No
man is willing to repair this because it is contaminated by menstruating
women,” says Saru. Any repairs would need to be done by the women itself.

Saru is not spared from menstrual segregation even though she
is a public health worker – an Accredited Social Health
Activist – since the last four years. “I am an ASHA worker, but over the years
even I couldn’t change the mindsets of women and men here,” she says.
Superstition about menstruation is the primary reason that people believe in
the practice, Saru explains. “The older people say that it [menstruating women
at home] will make the gramdevi
angry, and the whole village would suffer under our god’s curse.” Her husband
is a college graduate, “but even he supports the kurma system.” 

The penalty for failing
to practice kurma is a chicken or a
goat, which is sacrificed to the village deity. Depending on the size, a goat
could cost anywhere between Rs. 4,000-5,000, says Saru. 

Ironically, though she can’t live at home when
she has her period, Saru is expected to work in the family farm and graze the livestock during those days. The family owns two
acres of rainfed farmland, where they cultivate paddy, the main crop of the district. “It isn’t as if I get rest. I work
outside the home; it hurts,” she says. She calls it hypocrisy, “but what can be done to
stop it? I don’t know.” 

Through her ASHA work, Saru earns
Rs. 2,000-2,500 per month. But, just like many other ASHA workers in the
country, she does not receive her payment on time. Read: <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/articles/caring-for-villages-in-sickness-and-in-health/">Caring for villages, in
sickness and in health</a>. “I get the money in my bank account after
3-4 months,” she says.

The practice is
taxing for Saru and others. The age-old kurma
system is followed in most villages of Gadchiroli, which is one of the most
underdeveloped districts of the country. Adivasi communities, including the
Madia, make up 39 per cent of its population. Nearly 76 per cent of its land is
covered by forest, and in administrative terms the district is categorised as
‘backward’. Security forces heavily patrol the hilly region as the cadres of
banned Maoist groups are active here.

No available study of Gadchiroli
documents the number of villages that practice the kurma system in the district. “We have been able to cover 20 villages where it is followed,” says Sachin Asha
Subhash, founder of Samajbandh, a non-profit from Pune that has been working in Gadchiroli’s Bhamragad taluka since 2016. Samajbandh’s
volunteers have been trying to create awareness among Adivasi women about the
science of menstruation, hygiene care, and also educating older men and women
about the risks to women’s health from the kurma
huts. 

It has been challenging, Sachin
accepts. Their awareness drives and workshops have faced strong opposition. “It
is not easy to tell them to stop the kurma
system suddenly. They say, it is a part of their culture and outsiders
shouldn’t interfere.” The team has been warned and threatened by influential
men in the villages, such as the bhumiya
and the perma, headman and head
priest. “We try to sensitise them, because women have no say in any decision,”
explains Sachin.

Over time, Sachin and his fellow volunteers
convinced some bhumiyas to provide
electricity, water, table fans and beds in the kurma huts. They also obtained their consent for the women to store
their cloth pads at home, in sealed trunks. “Some bhumiya agreed to these in writing. But it will be a long time
before they agree not to isolate women who don’t want to go to the kurma ghar,” he says.

In Bejur, Parvati is preparing
her bed in a 10 x 10 foot kurma hut. “I don’t like staying here,” the 17-year-old says
nervously. With 35 households and a little less than 200 people, Bejur is a
small village in Bhamragad taluka.
However, according to the women there, the village has nine period huts. 

At night, a dim shaft of
moonlight pouring in through a crack in the wall is Parvati’s only comfort when
she stays in the kurma ghar. “I wake
up suddenly in the middle of the night. Animal sounds from the forest scare
me,” she says. 

Her home, a well-built
single-storey structure with running electricity, is less than 200 metres from
the hut. “I feel safe in my house, not here. But my
parents are afraid of taboo,” says Parvati, taking a long sigh. “There is no
option. The men of the village are strict about these rules,” she says.

Parvati is a student of Class 11
at Bhagwantrao Arts and Science College in Etapalli taluka of Gadchiroli, 50 kilometres from Bejur. She stays in a
hostel there and comes home on holidays. “I don’t feel like coming back home,”
she says. “It is extremely hot in the summer and I sweat all night in this
small hut.” 

Of the difficulties that women
face in the kurma ghar, absence of
toilets and lack of water are the toughest. Parvati has to go into the bushes
behind the hut to relieve herself. “It is completely dark at night, and going
alone doesn’t feel safe. During the day, we need to keep a watch on
passers-by,” she says. Someone from Parvati’s home drops off a bucket of water
for cleaning and washing. And drinking water is kept in a steel kalshi, pitcher. “But I can’t bathe,”
she says.

She cooks her meals on a chulha, earthen stove, outside the hut.
It isn’t easy to cook in the dark, she says. “At home, we mostly eat rice
flavoured with red chilli powder and salt. Or goat meat, chicken, river fish…”
Parvati lists the staple menu, which is the same during her periods – only, she
has to cook it herself. “Separate utensils sent from home are used during those
days,” says Parvati. 

Communicating or interacting with
friends, neighbours or family members is not permitted when in the kurma ghar. “I can’t step out from the
hut in the daytime, or move around in the village, or talk to anyone,” Parvati
says, narrating the list of restrictions.

The practice of treating
menstruating women as impure and secluding them has led to accidents and deaths
in Bhamragad. “In the last five years, four women have died due to snake and
scorpion bites during their stay in the kurma
ghar,” says R.S. Chavan, child development project officer (CDPO),
Bhamragad. He represents the state’s Women and Child Development Department.

As an alternative to the
crumbling kurma structures, in 2019
seven ‘houses’ were built by the district administration, says Chavan. Each hut
is supposed to accommodate 10 menstruating women at a time. The circular shaped
buildings have windows for ventilation; they are meant to have bathrooms and
beds, and running water and electricity too. 

In June 2022, a <a href="https://www.pib.gov.in/PressReleseDetail.aspx?PRID=1837524">government press release</a> stated that 23 ‘women’s rest
centres’, or mahila visava kendra,
had been constructed in place of kurma
ghars in Gadchiroli. Built with assistance from the Centre and technical
support of UNICEF Maharashtra, the statement said that 400 centres were being
planned by the district administration in the next two years.

But when PARI visited three
government-built kurma houses in
Bhamragad in May 2023 – in Krishnar, Kiyar and Kumarguda villages – they were
found to be half-finished and not inhabitable. CDPO Chavan could not confirm if
any of the seven kurma houses were
operational, said “It is difficult to say
exactly. Yes, the maintenance is poor. I have seen a couple of them in bad
condition. In some places, it is incomplete because of lack of funds.” 

The question is, how will such an
alternative help to eliminate the kurma
system? “It needs to be eradicated from the root,” says Samajbandh’s Sachin
Asha Subhash. “The government kurma
house is not a solution. In a way, it is encouragement.”

Menstrual segregation
violates Article 17 of Indian Constitution, which forbids untouchability in any
form. In its judgement in the case of Indian
Young Lawyers Association vs The State Of Kerala, <a href="https://indiankanoon.org/doc/163639357/">the Supreme Court
said</a> in 2018: “The social exclusion of women,
based on menstrual status, is but a form of untouchability which is an anathema
to constitutional values. Notions of ‘purity and pollution’, which
stigmatize individuals, have no place in a constitutional order.”

However, the discriminatory practice survives under patriarchal
order.



“This is about god. Our god wants
us to follow [the practice], and if we disobey, we will face the consequences,”
says Laxman Hoyami, the perma,
hereditary head priest, of Golaguda village in Bhamragad taluka. “We will have many problems, and
people will suffer losses. Diseases will increase. Our sheep and poultry will
die… This is our tradition. We can’t stop following it, and we can’t risk being
punished with drought, flood or some other natural disaster. This tradition
will always continue…” he adds firmly.

Though many like Hoyami are
adamant to continue the kurma system,
some young women are determined not to fall in step. Like Ashwini Velanje, 20,
from Krishnar village. “I got married on the condition that I won’t follow kurma. It should stop,” says Ashwini,
who completed Class 12 in 2021. In March this year, she got married to
22-year-old Ashok only after he accepted the
stipulation.

Ashwini had followed
the kurma practice since she was 14
years old. “I used to argue with my parents, but they were helpless due to
social pressure,” she says. After her wedding, Ashwini spends her period days
in the veranda of the house. She continues to fight the system, ignoring all
the barbs directed at her family. “I
have covered the distance from the kurma
ghar to the veranda; soon I will be inside during my periods,” says
Ashwini. “I
will certainly bring a change in my home.”

Periods of hell in Bhamragad

بھامرا گڑھ: حائضہ عورتوں کے اذیت ناک دن

భామ్రాగడ్‌లో నెలసరి నరకయాతన

பாம்ரகாடில் மாதவிடாய் துயரங்கள்

ਭਾਮਰਾਗੜ੍ਹ: ਮਾਹਵਾਰੀ ਵਾਲ਼ੀਆਂ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਦਾ ਨਾਰਕੀ ਜੀਵਨ

ଭାମ୍ରାଗଡ଼ରେ ନର୍କର ଋତୁସ୍ରାବ

ഭാംരാഗഡിലെ ആർത്തവ നരകങ്ങൾ

ಭಮ್ರಗಡ: ಮುಟ್ಟಿನ ದಿನಗಳೆಂಬ ನರಕ

भामरागढ़: माहवारी के दौरान नारकीय यातनाओं से जूझती औरतें

ભામરાગઢમાં નરક જેવા મહિનાના એ ચાર પાંચ દિવસો

भामरागढ़ मं माहवारी बखत नरक भोग

‘माहवारी घरिया बहिष्कार के रिवाज अब ना सहम’

ভামরাগড়: মাসকাবারি নরকযন্ত্রণা

ভামৰাগড়ত একাষৰীয়া হৈ পৰে মহিলা

भामरागडमध्ये पाळी म्हणजे नरक यातना

Bhamragad

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Periods of hell in Bhamragad

In Maharashtra’s Gadchiroli district, menstrual stigma forces women of the Madia community into exile. Staying isolated in crumbling and unsanitary ‘kurma ghar’ severely affects their physical and mental health

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