No more ‘social death’: In India, villages urge compassion for widows
| Herwad, India
Within minutes of lighting his friend’s funeral pyre, activist Pramod Zinjade saw a group of women breaking the widow’s bangles and forcibly wiping the sindoor off her forehead.
“She was protesting and crying,” recalls Mr. Zinjade. “It was one of the most difficult things to watch.”
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onA snowballing ban on repressive widow rituals in India’s Maharashtra state shows how compassion can accelerate change.
Women’s rights activists say widowhood rituals are common throughout India, and stem from patriarchal beliefs that a woman’s value is inherently tied to her husband. Upon his death, she may be barred from wearing colorful clothing and attending religious or family functions.
After the funeral, Mr. Zinjade took measures to protect his own wife from these customs, and pushed surrounding village councils to ban them altogether. This year, Herwad became the first village to prohibit widowhood rituals, and as more follow suit, it could become a statewide policy. Experts say the developments in Maharashtra underscore the importance of compassion and allyship.
“It is necessary to engage and educate young boys and men about gender equality,” says Harish Sadani, executive director and co-founder of Men Against Violence and Abuse. “They must not only encourage life of dignity for widows, but also their autonomy on other matters.”
Pramod Zinjade, an activist from Solhapur in Maharashtra state, has been fighting for decades to spread awareness about welfare programs for rural Maharashtrians. But his friend and colleague’s death due to heart failure in 2020 prompted him to add another social item to his agenda – widows.
Within 15 minutes of lighting his friend’s funeral pyre, Mr. Zinjade heard a commotion where the man’s wife was standing. When he got closer, he saw a group of women breaking her bangles, wiping the sindoor off her forehead, and forcibly removing the mangalsutra – a black beaded necklace that married women wear in Hindu culture – from her neck.
“She was protesting and crying, asking the women to stop. But they didn’t,” recalls Mr. Zinjade. “It was one of the most difficult things to watch, even more than my friend’s burning dead body.”
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onA snowballing ban on repressive widow rituals in India’s Maharashtra state shows how compassion can accelerate change.
Women’s rights activists say the tough-to-shake widowhood rituals are common throughout India – which is home to more than 40 million widows – and stem from patriarchal beliefs that a woman’s value is inherently tied to her husband. Upon his death, she may be subject to a variety of demeaning rituals and social ostracism, barred from wearing colorful clothing and attending religious or family functions. Some activists have called widowhood “a state of social death.”
The experience at his friend’s funeral stuck with Mr. Zinjade, who took unprecedented measures to protect his own wife from widowhood rituals and also pushed nearby village councils to outlaw them altogether. This year, Herwad became the first village in the state to prohibit widowhood rituals, followed by others. The bans have also caught the attention of the Maharashtra state government, with officials now considering making it a statewide policy.
Harish Sadani, executive director and co-founder of Mumbai-based organization Men Against Violence and Abuse, says the developments in Maharashtra underscore the importance of compassion and allyship.
“What Herwad did was a positive step in the right direction,” he says, “but for that change to have a far-reaching impact, it is necessary to engage and educate young boys and men about gender equality. They must not only encourage life of dignity for widows, but also their autonomy on other matters.”
Leading by example
After his friend’s funeral, Mr. Zinjade drafted an affidavit giving his wife the right to file a complaint against anyone who forced these rituals upon her in the event of his death.
“The block officer had never seen anyone make such a request. The clerk even refused to type the document and laughed at me, asking me to seek psychiatric help,” he says. But after a couple of minor tweaks, the officer signed off on the affidavit.
Mr. Zinjade, who is known for his social work across Maharashtra region, also called on his network of village heads to abolish widowhood rituals in their respective villages. He shared his proposal broadly on WhatsApp.
“Within 10 days, I heard back from hundreds of village heads,” he says.
Herwad, a village of about 7,000 in Maharashtra’s Kolhapur district, became the first to officially strike down the rituals on May 1. Leaders say the village was already taking steps to integrate widows back into society, and the resolution passed unanimously.
“A lot of women became widows in our village during the second wave of COVID,” says Surgondha Patil, Herwad village’s head. “They were all forced to go through discrimination in the name of widowhood rituals. So when Pramod ji [Mr. Zinjade] came up with a concrete plan of action, we decided to seal the deal.”
The village dispatched a team of volunteer social workers to build awareness about the new law and encourage families to break the cycle of widow rituals.
Village council member Seema Varghele was among the legion of workers urging villagers to shed their age-old beliefs. She says it’s important that people put themselves in widows’ shoes, and consider the women’s safety as they grapple with this major life change.
“She will now have to be the breadwinner for her family,” she explains. “How will she leave the house if other men look at her as if she is available? These visual markers of marriage help her protect herself and also keep the memories of her dead husband close to her heart.”
Rewarding a shift in mindset
Following Herwad’s steps, the nearby village of Mangaon not only banned the widowhood practices, but is also starting to reward those who abandon the tradition.
Its village council head, Raju Magdum, has established an incentive program in which “anyone who does not indulge in these practices will be exempted from paying property and water tax for one year.”
That’s on top of a cash payment of 5,000 Indian rupees ($63) for people who forgo widowhood rituals, or 50,000 Indian rupees ($630) for families who help a widow remarry.
Prajakta Santosh Pawar, who lost her husband just days after the resolution was passed, says she was initially worried that she’d have to go through similar humiliation as many others before her.
“I remember my sister-in-law passed out from grief when her husband died and the women were clawing at her to remove all her ornaments,” she says.
But the village council intervened, informing the family about the ban as well as the cash incentives. Mrs. Pawar’s family agreed to give up the practice and became the first beneficiaries of Mangaon’s incentive program on Aug. 15.
Mrs. Pawar, who still wears her sindoor and mangalsutra, says she’s grateful to those who campaigned for change.
While the historic step taken by these villages was lauded by many, not everyone agrees these customs are inherently harmful.
Sujata Rangrao Fakke from Herwad lost her husband during the second wave of COVID-19 last year. No one came to her house to perform the rituals due to restrictions on social gatherings, so she removed the ornaments herself.
“What is the point of wearing all these things when my husband is no longer there? It only brings painful memories,” she says.
Statewide ban
At the state level, officials say they applaud the decisions in Herwad and Mangaon, and are open to banning widowhood customs across Maharashtra. But they want more villages to build awareness about the practice and change local mindsets first.
“It is not a woman’s fault that she lost her husband,” says Maharashtra’s rural development and labour minister, Hasan Mushrif. “These beliefs should not have any place in a modern society. But the practices that have been around for centuries cannot be uprooted in a short period of time.”
To encourage the others to follow the Herwad model, Mr. Mushrif issued a government circular to 28,000 villages requesting them to ban the rituals. He says 90% of the village heads have agreed to do so, though there are no legal ramifications if they fail to follow through.
While some say the progress in Herwad and Mangaon should be enough evidence to support a broader law, Mr. Mushrif says that a premature statewide ban could do more harm than good.
“Change must happen at the grassroots level for it to be sustainable and effective,” he says.
Mr. Zinjade, who spearheaded the movement, believes a state ban alone will not be enough. He proposes a series of measures to make it legally enforceable, including penalties for villagers who participate or fail to intervene in widowhood rituals.
But in the communities seeking to end the practice, even incremental progress has been received favorably, especially by widows who feel this change ushers in a new era.
“When my husband died nine years ago, I had to go through all these rituals,” says Nandatai Ashok Gaikwad, a widow in Herwad. “I cannot even tell you the pain and humiliation I felt at that time. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. But with this new ruling, we are hopeful that the widows can regain their respect and safety, even without their husbands.”
