When a girl gets her period in parts of rural Nepal, she is whisked away to a small shed outside of her village and exiled until she stops bleeding. She is quarantined—cut off from her family, denied nutritious foods, and prohibited from bathing or sharing the village’s water. Going to school or any public place is impossible because menstruating girls are considered “impure.” This isolating ritual, known as Chhaupadi, is a monthly reality for countless Nepali girls and women.
In addition to the social exclusion inherent to the practice, it is also responsible for the death or illness of numerous women due to the denial of food and water. These indignities and tragedies have led to a durable pressure campaign from domestic and international activists aimed at banning and penalizing the ritual. Yet, despite legal bans and international campaigns, Chhaupadi persists in many rural communities of Nepal. Why? Lackluster state enforcement, geographic isolation, and the deep cultural resonance of the practice are important—but they only tell a part of the story.
Outlawed rituals such as Chhaupadi persist not only because of cultural entrenchment and weak enforcement but also because the majority of eradication originates from external campaigns and stakeholders that are met with community resistance. Subsequently, most campaigns against Chhaupadi have been misguided, inattentive to local contextualization and the symbolic and communal value of the ritual. Effective change requires approaches that engage with, rather than erase, the ritual’s social and cultural significance.
The practice of Chhaupadi is rooted in the belief that menstruation is a curse on women from Indra, the Hindu god of weather. While menstrual taboos in Hindu regions are not uncommon, they take different forms. In urban Nepal, for example, menstruating women are restricted from entering sacred and public spaces but are not typically forced into exile. A practice as extreme as Chhaupadi only takes place in specific rural areas of Western Nepal, where social change seems to be relatively slow.
Exposed to the elements and deprived of nutrients, several women are killed each year because of Chhaupadi rituals, and many more are harmed. While many cases go unreported, 16 women and children were reported to have died in 2019 alone due to Chhaupadi from causes such as suffocation, snakebites, and smoke inhalation during their quarantine. After three highly publicized deaths among women and girls practicing Chhaupadi, the Nepali Parliament further strengthened its ban on the ritual by imposing a fine and/or a three-month jail sentence for anyone forcing a woman to follow the custom. Yet these legal efforts have floundered in its aim of eliminating those that practice Chhaupadi, in part because of the deeply entrenched menstrual taboos that are associated with the ritual and the communal value it possesses.
Both men and women play a role in continuing Chhaupadi and its rituals. Mothers teach the practice to their daughters, linking generations of women to an inherited tradition of silence and shared suffering. At the same time, male community leaders take on the duty of traditional norms by reinforcing conformity, justifying the practice with ideas of cleansing and family sanctity. Beyond the communal aspects, both women and men continue to pass on these rituals because of their fear of divine retribution or other punishment.
Despite the failure of the legal system to end Chhaupadi, the opposition movement has continued apace. Activist groups, the state, and international organizations have stepped in to pursue the eradication of Chhaupadi as a human rights violation. A well-intended social change campaign, led primarily by government officials, district police officials, and nongovernmental organizations, began physically destroying menstrual sheds, which are known locally as “Chhau goth,” in an attempt to render certain villages “Chhaupadi-free.” However, these efforts often backfired. Birati Rokaya, from a remote village in West Nepal, expressed, “‘The police demolished our chhau goth, only adding to our hardships… when a group of women gets their periods, we stay out in the fields. It’s difficult but we have to observe Chhaupadi anyhow. It is our custom.’” Rather than eliminating this ritual, these interventions have left women even more vulnerable and led villagers to secretly rebuild the shelters soon after their destruction. The efforts to physically destroy the practice of Chhaupadi failed to eradicate its ideology in the minds of its practitioners. It is not enough to destroy the physical vehicles of Chhaupadi; rather, the beliefs that form the roots of the practice must be transformed.
Educational interventions have been used to address the broader menstrual taboos that are foundational to Chhaupadi. However, these efforts have their own flaws. Local communities are reluctant to abandon regressive menstrual practices, and women who have stopped practicing Chhaupadi have faced discrimination and punishment within their communities. The depth of this ingrained tradition is further illustrated by local leaders themselves. Village council member Nirmala Bista, who organizes public awareness campaigns against “harmful practices,” ironically still follows Chhaupadi in Bajhang, Nepal. She says, “‘My father-in-law and mother-in-law fall sick if I don’t practice the tradition.’” Her words highlight a striking paradox—representatives of women and even rights activists are also bound by this ritual and communal pressure due to their spiritual beliefs. Thus, misguided efforts such as demolishing sheds and demystification initiatives by government bodies and international and national organizations fall short of eradication.
These contradictions raise fundamental questions about the effectiveness of interventions designed by outside entities, such as the central government and nongovernmental organizations. Programs that do not account for cultural and religious implications, or the dignity and sovereignty of local people, often fail to take root. While activists emphasize the unhygienic practices and dangers of Chhaupadi, many villagers view these same rituals as essential to maintaining divine order. Campaigns that fail to engage local leaders, mothers, and elders risk being dismissed as outside interference rather than accepted as collective progress. This tension between external intervention and community agency highlights why Chhaupadi eradication efforts have been so flawed. Is it right for external forces to step in and eradicate a communal ritual in the name of human rights and universal law? Or does such action risk becoming another form of cultural domination and misunderstanding cloaked in the Western hegemonic language of human rights?
If we consider Chhaupadi not only as a harmful practice but also as a symbolic ritual, it becomes clear that any effort to end it must provide an alternative source of meaning and cohesion. Rituals, after all, are not easily abandoned: They help communities navigate uncertainty, fear, and identity. For many families, Chhaupadi has served as a ritualized way of managing the anxieties surrounding purity and divine retribution. Simply removing these rituals risks leaving a cultural void—one that communities may instinctively resist. The question, then, is not just how to erase Chhaupadi but also how to nurture new rituals that affirm women’s dignity and are reflective of local traditions rather than imposed by outsiders. Such approaches could include shifting the meaning of the ritual toward empowerment, all while maintaining the independence of these communities.
The question of whether external forces should intervene in practices like Chhaupadi does not have a simple answer. On one hand, the ritual endangers women’s health, safety, and equality, making intervention appear not only justified but also necessary. On the other hand, external resolutions and laws without genuine dialogue risk silencing the voices of the very communities they claim to protect, sparking backlash and stifling discourse. The challenge, then, lies not in choosing between human rights and cultural autonomy but in seeking ways to bridge them with alternatives that carry symbolic meaning and foster change from within.