A festival in Assam that made me rethink western ideas of feminism

It is commonly believed that feminism was born in eighteenth century Europe and nineteenth century America. Take Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), the suffragette movement and subsequent waves that fought for reproductive rights, workplace equality and bodily autonomy. Such movements have changed societies and continue to define discussions around gender around the world.

I was standing on Nilachal Hill in Assam during the Ambubachi Mela when I realised that there had been another conversation about the female body for centuries, one that did not start with manifestos or marches but with a goddess.

Every June, millions of pilgrims flock to Kamakhya Temple in Guwahati for Ambubachi Mela, one of the most important religious festivals in India.

Kamakhya has no idol of the goddess, unlike most Hindu temples. Instead, devotees enter a cave-like sanctum where an underground spring flows over a naturally formed stone, shaped like a yoni, the symbol of the womb. According to Hindu mythology, the womb of Devi Sati fell here, and Kamakhya is one of the holiest Shakti Peethas of Hinduism.

The symbolism can’t be missed. At the heart of one of India’s holiest temples, there is no human form but a symbol of the feminine creative power itself.

Then follows the ritual that has intrigued historians, anthropologists and travellers alike.

The temple is totally closed for three days. The goddess is thought to be menstruating.

There is no worship. Traditionally, farming activities stop. The goddess is resting, and pilgrims wait patiently outside until the temple reopens on the fourth day. In a world that celebrates the need for relentless productivity, Ambubachi quietly celebrates something that modern societies tend to forget: the need for rest, renewal and the natural rhythms of life.

And the timing is equally symbolic. As the southwest monsoon hits, rain washes down iron-rich soil from the Nilachal hills into the Brahmaputra, imparting a reddish hue to parts of the water. The crimson flow is associated by devotees with the menstrual cycle of the goddess, establishing a powerful connection between the female body, the earth, and the coming of a season that gives the land fertility.

When the temple eventually reopens its doors, devotees are offered two strange varieties of prasada: Angodak, the holy water of the goddess’s seclusion, and Angabastra, a piece of the red cloth believed to have covered the holy stone during those three days. They are revered not only as religious gifts, but as blessings representing creation, fertility and renewal.

Having travelled to Assam expecting to cover a religious festival, I found myself leaving with questions that reached far beyond faith.

As a kid I came to feminism through a Western lens – one that prioritises equality under the law, individual freedom, representation in the workplace and bodily autonomy. We still need those principles.

But Ambubachi taught me to think of women’s bodies in a different way: not just something to protect or liberate, but something sacred in itself.

The festival has been dubbed one of the mightiest celebrations of the divine feminine in the world by anthropologists. Ambubachi does not divorce biology from dignity, but rather raises menstruation to the highest cosmic level. The biological cycle of women is made a metaphor for the cycle of creation itself.

Reality, of course, is much more complex.

The festival, too, is one of India’s greatest contradictions. Every year, millions pay tribute to a menstruating goddess. But the stigma around menstruation continues to impact countless women and girls across the country. Menstruation still prevents participation in religious rituals, social life, and even education in many communities.

Respect for a goddess does not necessarily mean equality for women.

But maybe that is exactly why Ambubachi needs global attention.

It resists the impulse to consider feminism exclusively through one cultural lens. It is a reminder that societies have formed different ways of knowing womanhood, power and the female body. Movements based on rights have transformed the modern world. But they are not the only languages through which cultures have expressed respect for women.

Ambubachi is neither evidence that ancient societies attained gender equality nor a replacement for feminism. Instead, it provides a different philosophical perspective where menstruation is integrated into concepts of creation, nature, and the sacred rather than being concealed, excused, or medicalised.

Travelling frequently exposes that the concepts we take for granted are actually highly culturally specific. When I landed in Assam, I anticipated seeing a long-standing religious custom. Rather, I came across an event that broadened my perspective on feminism in general.

Perhaps the movement's future lies not in choosing between East and West, tradition and modernity, or spirituality and equality. Perhaps it lies in recognising that women can be empowered in many ways, and that some of the oldest ideas still have something profound to contribute to one of the world's most modern conversations.

(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of India Today NE or its affiliates.)