The Conflict

I want to tell you a story — not of one person, but of many voices, many homes, many centuries meeting our modern world.

A girl grew up in a joint family in a village. During her monthly cycle, she was told not to enter the kitchen, not to touch the puja room, not to fetch water from the well. The older women would assure her, “This is for your rest.”
They said, “You will lose energy; you must protect yourself.” In those days, cooking, fetching water, cleaning were heavy, daily burdens. To step away from them was a kindness, they said. And perhaps in those times, when wood had to be fetched, firewood carried, grinding, cleaning — yes, stepping back meant real rest, and often a chance for men to help more.

One theory was that the woman's immunity during that period was low so temple visits were avoided to prevent infection in overcrowding.

But as decades passed, the joint family shrank. Water came by taps. Cooking became easier, gas stoves replaced hearths. Yet many of those old rules remained — mostly silently, passed from grandmother to mother to daughter. Even in cities, in modern homes, some restrictions persist: “Don’t go into the temple,” Don’t touch holy books.

I searched literature and online sources , asking: “Why do we still follow these?” Many wrote that they feel unseen, judged, even shamed if they don’t follow them. One woman said: “If I skip the ritual rules, people assume I’m impure or disobedient.” Another: “I feel I am lesser some days, though I know I am not.”

From religion, culture, tradition — many sources claim menstruation is “unclean” or “impure.” But look more closely, and the messages differ:

• In Hinduism, traditions often restrict women entering temples during periods. But in the same religion, the Kamakhya temple celebrates menstruation, calling it sacred and powerful. Some hindu families celebrate the onset of puberty in the girl child.

• In Islam, some traditions restrict women from touching holy texts or entering certain prayer areas during menstruation.

• In Christianity, the New Testament is more neutral; the Old Testament has purity laws, but in many Christian communities today menstruation is seen more as a natural process.

This internal conflict — between reverence and restriction — shows how fluid culture is, and how interpretations evolve. Probably Tantra is the only one which claims man and woman as equal.

Some ancient medical systems (like Ayurveda) speak of energy (prana) balance. They say a woman may let out energy and absorb external energies during menstruation, so rest is needed.

When we read history of tragedies, we see the worst of these practices. In Nepal’s Chhaupadi, menstruating women are forced into separate huts, shunned from family life, and sometimes even die because of exposure or neglect. These extreme versions push past any “protective rest” idea into harmful isolation.

So I ask: If the original idea (rest, protection) was good intention, why don’t we see it applied in modern systems? Why don’t schools allow optional rest days? Why don’t workplaces offer menstrual leave (or wellness leave) to all, without stigma?

Just recently, in Karnataka, the government announced one paid menstrual leave per month for women employees, across government and private sectors — a total of twelve leaves a year. This is a bold policy, a recognition that menstruation is a reality, not a shame.

Of course, there are debates. Some fear employers discriminating, or misusing such leave. Some argue rest days should be for all genders, not just women. On social media, some men questioned whether women would be “hired less” because of extra cost. Others replied: Men have no idea how painful or draining it can be.

Rites, taboos, rituals — many were formed in times far different than ours. They sheltered, structured, explained. But when their original context fades, the rules may linger and hurt.
My hope is this: we carry forward reverence, care, respect — but leave behind blame, shame, silence. Let every woman move with dignity, without being judged impure. Let the sacred and the natural walk together — knowing that to bleed is neither small nor shameful, but part of a natural cycle.