Erased Voices

 

During my second year of college, I was assigned a thought-provoking yet complex topic: Historical Injustice Faced by Women in India. It wasn’t just another research paper; it was a deep dive into the centuries of suppression, discrimination, and struggles endured by women in our patriarchal society. I knew the topic was vast, and merely scratching the surface wouldn't do justice to it. I needed insight—something beyond the usual textbooks and online articles.

That’s when I thought of Arpita didi. She was my senior and a researcher working on Unsung Women in Indian History. If anyone could offer me a fresh and compelling perspective, it was her. I approached her one evening after class, hoping she would share some valuable insights. To my delight, she was more than willing to help.

We met in the college library, where the towering bookshelves stood as silent witnesses to the history we were about to unravel. As we settled in a quiet corner, flipping through dusty old texts, our conversation took a deep dive into the injustices women had endured for centuries. From the practice of Sati to the Devadasi system, from child marriages to honor killings, every story echoed the brutal reality of a society that had long suppressed its women.

But then, Arpita didi shared something that sent a chill down my spine. It wasn’t a tale from ancient history—it was something that had happened just a few days ago in her home state, Madhya Pradesh.

“There’s a village about 200 kilometers from Bhopal,” she began, lowering her voice as if the weight of the words was too heavy to carry. “A young bride was subjected to a horrifying ordeal.”

She continued, “In certain rural communities, a woman’s worth is still tied to her so-called ‘purity.’ The first night after marriage, the bride is forced to prove her virginity through a humiliating ritual. If she fails…” She paused, her expression darkening. “She’s cast out, shamed, sometimes even beaten to death.”

She took a deep breath and explained further. “The hymen, a thin membrane covering the vaginal opening, is often misunderstood as an indicator of virginity. It is commonly believed that the hymen breaks and causes bleeding when a woman has sexual intercourse for the first time. However, this tissue can also tear due to other activities such as sports, heavy works or accidents. Despite this, many in India, particularly in rural areas, equate the presence of an intact hymen with purity and virtue.”

I felt a wave of anger and helplessness. How could such myths still dictate the lives of women in the 21st century?

“In some communities,” she continued, “this belief leads to the horrific practice of virginity testing. After marriage, the groom’s family removes sharp objects from the room on the couple’s wedding night and places a white bedsheet on the bed. They wait outside, expecting bloodstains on the sheet to confirm the bride’s virginity. If blood is found, the bride is officially welcomed into the family.”

She paused for a moment before dropping a horrifying truth. “But if there is no blood, the consequences can be dire. Just last week, in a village in Madhya Pradesh, a newlywed bride was accused of premarital relations because no bloodstains were found. The groom’s family, along with her own parents and villagers, beat her mercilessly. She did not survive.”

The words hit me like a thunderbolt. My mind struggled to process the brutality of what I had just heard. A woman had been murdered over a senseless, unscientific belief. And worse, this was not an isolated incident.

Such harmful practices continue in parts of India, often unnoticed and unchallenged. The obsession with women’s virginity is a reflection of broader gender discrimination, reducing women’s worth to their virginity status. The lack of awareness about women’s rights and inadequate sex education perpetuate these damaging traditions, placing an unjust burden on women to prove their "purity."

As I sat there, trying to digest the enormity of it all, I realized that my assignment wasn’t just about history—it was about the present. The fight against injustice wasn’t over. The past was still alive, breathing in the darkest corners of our society, demanding to be confronted.

Before leaving, I turned to Arpita didi and asked, "Didi, why are you so interested in this topic?"

She looked at me for a moment, her expression thoughtful, then said, "Aswin, history has always been written by men, about men. Their bravery, their wars, their achievements—these are the stories we grow up hearing. But what about the women? What about those who fought battles of their own, not with swords, but against oppression, silence, and injustice? Their stories have been erased, their contributions ignored. History is biased. And if we don’t speak up now, the future will be, too."

Her words struck a chord deep within me. As I walked back to my hostel that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said.

History isn’t just what is written in books—it is what we choose to remember and what we allow to be forgotten. And if we continue to overlook the struggles and sacrifices of women, we are complicit in their erasure.

It is not just about rewriting history; it is about reshaping the present and reclaiming the voices that were silenced for far too long. And maybe, just maybe, our generation can be the one that finally listens.