Pratishodh (Retribution)
Pratishodh (Retribution)
Was, according to the Vedas,
the product of Indra’s guilt—a menstruating woman.
Bearing retribution for no sin,
by housing within the shame of Brahmahatya—
a crime so great that even the three realms
couldn’t provide haven to Indra, the king.
Brahmahatya embodied impurity incarnate.
Oh Woman! What a curse you are.
Too pious to speak of it, too pious to admit,
yet too profane to pray to them, to escape your fate.
Too accursed to hold anything but the guilt,
too poisonous to feed your own children,
to purge yourself of the filth.
Pray that, in the next life,
your body is not that of a Lilith.
Vritra had imprisoned the very rivers that
gush—red—through you, oh Woman!
Liberated, they disperse venom in the air,
the venom of blood,
the blood of the menses;
as evil-eyed spirits lurk
on the periphery, prepared for malevolence.
Banish yourself thus, oh Woman!
Isolate thy malicious breath
into the hungry shadows of gaokars
crawling with vengeful Ahis,
prowling for blood they smell on you—
of a child unborn from your womb.
Your sole rihai from
Indra’s ultimate ‘sin.
…
A menstruating woman is what the Romans call “Sacra” —sacred yet, accursed. On the one hand, they’re glorified and celebrated for being fertile; whereas on the other hand, they’re ostracised for the very blood that enables that fertility. Within the Indian cultural context, the isolationism of a menstruating woman, especially Hindu women, can find its origins in the Hindu mythological text called the Rig Veda. A hymn in the text recites the story of Indra —the king of gods, and Vritra —the serpent-like (also called ‘Ahi’ due to his snake-like appearance) evil being who was known as the demon of droughts as he withheld the waters of the world from its people. Indra took it upon himself to slay Vritra and liberate the many rivers he kept imprisoned. The battle between the two powerful beings went on for many months. Finally, Indra managed to emerge victorious by killing Vritra with a thunderbolt to his chest. While the people rejoiced about finally having water and a much needed relief from drought and the gods celebrated Indra’s triumph, the struggles of the king were not yet over. Unbeknownst to him, he had killed the son of a Brahmin, a member of the uppermost caste within the Hindu Caste System. This was seen as a grievous sin, so much so that even the king of gods could not be exempted from its consequences. From Vritra’s lifeless mouth emerged a woman named Brahmahatya (literally, “the murder of a Brahmin”), the personification of Indra’s sin. She began to relentlessly chase after him and the latter couldn’t find refuge from her in any of the three realms. Defeated, he appealed to Brahma (the creator of the universe) for some relief. An agreement was arrived at wherein womenkind would bear 1/4th of Indra’s guilt by repenting for it via a regular cycle —menstruation. Menstrual blood was thus made to symbolise the washing away of Indra’s sin, a burden unjustly placed upon women as an eternal punishment. This association of sin, guilt and repentance with women, blood and menstruation, found a stronghold within the Indian culture, especially across the Hindu belt and has continued to influence public opinion for centuries. Thus, even today, a significant proportion of menstruating women have to bear the brunt of stringent, oppressive and outdated practices, especially in rural India. These include being barred from entering kitchens, temples, and communal baths during their cycle. In parts of rural Maharashtra, menstruating women are still expected to leave their homes and stay in thatched huts called gaokars for the duration of their period. These huts, often located at the village periphery, expose women to the dangers of the wilderness. In fact, there have been several reports of women dying of snakebites during their stay in these ‘gaokars’. In some regions, period blood is considered a source of evil as people believe that women’s used period pads or rags can be utilised to cast malicious spells due to the negative energy attached to them. Such practices have been followed for generation and have become so ingrained that few dare to question their origin and rationale. They continue to reinforce the association of menstruation with impurity and pollution. Shortly after shirking the guilt of his sin and bestowing it upon women, Indra, the king of gods was titled Vritrahan (the slayer of Vritra). He was glorified for his ‘brave feat’ and remains so to this day. If you look up the story of Indra and Vritra Story, you will find sources upon sources narrating Indra’s glory and Vritra’s evil but nobody dares speak about the plight of women caused as a direct result of this very act. This is the same Indra who, in the Rig Veda, is quoted saying, “The mind of woman brooks not discipline, her intellect hath little weight.” He remains a revered divine figure, while Indian women continue to pay retribution for his so-called triumph. My poem seeks to shed light upon this very narrative that is largely absent from popular discourse. If this piece of poetry reaches a wider audience, perhaps it can play its role, however small or significant, in questioning ideologies and practices disguised as ‘tradition’ — Why are ancient mythological texts used as weapons to perpetuate female oppression? Why do women always get caught up in the crossfire of conflicts between men? What really qualifies as a sin? Do we need to assess the character of mythological figures, however divine in portrayal, before idolising them? Above all, I hope it empowers women everywhere to raise their voice, question the status-quo and challenge the oppressive norms that continue to claim authority over their bodies and lives.
…
I’m Maanya (she/her), a 22-year-old undergraduate research student in the field of Social Sciences and Humanities.I have an ardent desire to amplify and portray the experiences of the marginalised, especially in the Indian context, in order to highlight their struggles and the politics that govern their lives. I aim to achieve this through art forms such as cinema, visual art, and literature, for I believe that the arts speak to, engage, and encourage more people to act in the direction of what’s right than any other medium. Art is political, as much as it is about aesthetics.Having already made a short film centring on the relational identity of Indian women, I am now exploring advocacy against the oppression of the marginalised through poetry. In this journey into creative writing, I hope to question the status quo and create a space in which the oppressed can be understood through an empathetic and layered lens.