A light in the tunnel of blind belief

In Chitradurga district, Prema’s brave stance has helped families confront superstitions surrounding women and menstruation

G K Prema was 10 years old when she witnessed a death at close quarters. Her maternal aunt, who was only eight years older than Prema, died after she was bitten by a snake. Prema’s aunt was in ‘exile’, staying on the outskirts of the village while she was menstruating. The regressive tradition of community-imposed isolation during menstruation and the postpartum period persists in the hamlets of the Kadugolla community in Karnataka. 

Called ‘huttu, muttu’ (birth and menstruation) the practice forces Kadugolla women to live out in the open on the outskirts of the village — under a tree, on the roadside — for the first three days of their menstrual cycles.  The practice applies to new mothers as well. Following the delivery, the mother and the newborn are forced to stay in a hut outside the village for about a month without any basic amenities. 

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At the core of this practice is a deep-rooted fear of god and patriarchy. “I was too young to comment on the tradition when my aunt died. But that day, I decided to not follow this practice,” says Prema, born to a Kadugolla family at Chittaina Hatti in Hosadurga taluk of Chitradurga district. 

Three decades later, Prema is now a driving force in freeing women and the community from the clutches of this blind belief. The impact of her work is visible in several hamlets of the Kadugolla community spread across Tumakuru, Chitradurga, Chikkamagaluru, Hassan and Ballari districts. At least 10 hamlets have stopped the practice after her direct intervention and several others are in the process of phasing it out.  

Prema’s success has not come easy. There were many tests to Prema’s determination. Initially, to prevent scrutiny and pressure from her family and fellow villagers, Prema refused to even inform her mother when she attained puberty. “I managed to keep my menstruation under wraps and go about work and studies for three years. My guess is my mother knew what I was up to, but she never discussed it or forced me to follow this practice,” Prema says. Yashoda’s way of supporting her daughter was to ignore her daughter's secret. 

“I wanted this system to change after the death of my sister. But I did not have the guts,” Yashoda says. A mother of 7, Yashoda stayed in a hut outside the village for months after each delivery in addition to when she was on her period. 

“Sometimes, there would be 3-4 women staying together,” she says. She recalls encounters with wild animals like bears during these stays and how they were lucky to escape. 

When ‘banished’, women do not have easy access to food and water and have to sleep on the ground. To bathe and wash clothes, they are forced to choose a water source far away from the village.

Regardless of her efforts to keep her period a secret, villagers started asking why Prema had not menstruated yet. This was when she decided to stand her ground and reveal the truth. “There was another family in the village which disregarded the custom but they did it stealthily. I wanted to change the mindset of the community,” she says. 

There was instant opposition from the village, forcing Prema to visit her grandparents' house during her cycle. After she joined college in the nearby Hosadurga town, her parents rented a place for her and her siblings to stay.  “As I moved from one place to another, villagers lost track of my menstruation dates,” she smiles.   

While her parents did not support her actively, they did not force her into the custom as well. “I could not expect more from my father who wanted a son and blamed me for the birth of four girls after me. It was tough for me until the birth of my brothers,” Prema says. 

Prema knew that education was the only way for her to become independent. She cleared her SSLC exams in the first attempt, and joined PU in Hosadurga. Her parents, who earned an income through farming and sheep rearing, did not have the money to pay the fee. Moreover, her father wanted her to take up a job. On the last day of admission, “My mother gave me her one earring to take a loan,” Prema recalls her struggle to collect the Rs 300 fee. Then on, she took up odd jobs to support her studies.

One step at a time, she worked her way through higher education, even taking admission in MA in Kannada literature at Kuvempu University in Shivamogga. Here, she met scholars in tribal and indigenous studies. She particularly remembers Prof T N Shankaranarayana and her PhD guide Prof Rangaraja Vanadurga who encouraged her to explore and study the culture, customs and legacy of her community. 

After reading Shankaranarayana’s book on the Kadugolla community and the central role of numerous religious and historical characters, Prema realised how she could reach the hearts and minds of people. Due to the exhaustive research on deities and gods, Shankaranarayana’s book was even housed in the community’s places of worship. 

This influenced her to take up doctoral studies on the women of the Kadugolla community. “My four years of research, which started in 2005, opened the doors of every hamlet and I perceived that every hamlet is unique in terms of traditions and cultural practices,” she says. Despite this diversity, the community was united in its belief in isolating menstruating women.

With fieldwork and documentation began her interaction with the community members.  During the process, her knowledge of the community’s culture and practices impressed the elders, particularly decision-makers. By the time she finished her PhD, the first woman in the community to achieve this distinction, she had become popular among the community members. 

“Two things helped Prema gain the confidence of the community and women,” says Ujjajji Rajanna, a social worker from the community. “Her efforts are based on first-hand experience. She does not blame the community or our culture for this, instead explains how we need to evolve with time,” he adds. 

Credit: DH Photo

She leveraged the respect she had earned and tackled the issue through reason. During her conversations, she would strike the emotional, social and religious chords, says Lakshmidevi, her fellow villager. What punitive measures could not achieve, Prema did through awareness, she adds. 

While this practice is banned by law, Prema says the situation will improve only if implementation is centred around awareness and counselling. “Change cannot be forced upon a community which has strong beliefs nurtured over centuries.” She opposes the buildings constructed under a scheme for women to be quarantined during their periods. “Constructing such structures will encourage the practice to continue,” Prema says. 

She also explains the many problems the community faces - from the fight for basic facilities to the efforts for inclusion under Scheduled Tribe and Semi-nomadic categories. Now they are listed as OBC.

In 2014, Prema achieved her first success. After years of persuasion, she convinced the elders’ committee, comprising only men, in her hamlet to consider letting women in during menstruation and after delivery. The entire hamlet gathered one day and the decision was taken in front of the village deity to end the practice. However, some houses follow it symbolically by making menstruating women stay in the front yard for a day or two. 

Motivated by this success, Prema came up with a strategy which included an awareness march, interaction and counselling, and collaborated with local leaders, influencers and grassroots workers for execution. 

The community, particularly women, had reached a boiling point and Prema gave them the required push, says Dr R Ranganath, who worked as the district health officer in Chitradurga from 2007 to 2023. 

This practice took a toll on both the mental and physical health of women. “There is no proper survey on the impact of this practice on women and children. I had proposed appointing health workers to counsel women and create awareness specifically on this,” he says. 

In 2014, the state government roped her in for an awareness programme on the subject and she visited each Kadugolla hamlet with a team as part of the initiative. 

The residents of Ramappanahatti in Tumakuru district have witnessed her work. Rajamma, a resident, recalls an incident when she was joined by a student and a new mother when in ‘exile’. “It was raining heavily. I went to the elders and asked them to allow us inside the village. But no one listened. My family members reprimanded me for trying to be an activist,” Rajamma says. She asked a relative to put out a video on the ordeal. Prema watched this and reached out to intervene, interacting with the community priest and residents. 

She even counselled those who had imbibed in themselves ideas of purity and pollution. It has been one year since, and the villagers vow to not return to the old practice.

However, the fight is far from over. In Chittaina Hatti, men think that evil has befallen the community after women started staying home during menstruation and after delivery.  “We are planning to revert to the old system,” says Kariyappa, 45. 

The recent death of a newborn due to the practice in Tumakuru district does not seem to have shaken his conscience.  

But fellow villager Jyothi, who is seventeen years old, is firm in her decision to put an end to this practice. Women should be part of such decision-making processes, she says. “I will work with Premakka and lead the way if needed. But will never give in to pressure,” she says.

The conviction of the younger generation gives Prema the energy to forge a new path, even as challenges mount both at personal and community levels.