Crimson Civility: An Epistle on Sindoor, Civil Codes, and the Sanctity of Scars

Posted on 23rd June, 2025 (GMT…)

Abstract

This letter—framed in reverent satire and historical dismay—is addressed to the Hon’ble President of India, Supreme Custodian of Sanskar and Semiotics. It interrogates the symbolic glorification of sindoor as a sacred index of Hindu marital tradition, tracing its semiotic genealogy not to divine scripture alone, but to prehistoric violence and patriarchal subjugation, as hauntingly narrated in Parasuram’s Siddhinather Pralap. The letter juxtaposes this origin with contemporary attempts at cultural homogenization under the banner of Hindu Rashtra and the proposed Uniform Civil Code. By weaving in regional, textual, and ritual variations in sindoor’s usage across India and the diaspora, the writers raise a paradox: How can a nation legislate uniformity on a symbol so unevenly practiced and so deeply soaked—historically and metaphorically—in blood, ritual, and patriarchy? Through a blend of scholarly citations, epical references, and biting irony, this letter serves as both a cultural critique and an epistemic protest against symbolic violence dressed as civilizational virtue.

To
The Hon’ble President of the Republic of India,
Supreme Protector of Symbols and Sanskar,
Rashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi

Subject: On the Sacred Blood of Tradition: A Humble Tribute to the Sacred Sindoor in Our War for Cultural Purity

Respected Rashtrapati,

Permit us to write not as rebels, nor as rationalists, but as devout and domesticated devotees — homogenized, pasteurized, and proudly standardized Hindus — caught in the eternal tug-of-war between ancestral glory and modern discomfort. We write today in a state of pious confusion. On one hand, we are humbled before the divine redness of sindoor — the vertical testament to conjugal virtue, loyalty, and eternal servitude. On the other hand, in an unguarded moment (perhaps triggered by too much reading and too little WhatsApp), we find ourselves asking: Could this sacred scarlet/vermilion or vermilion powder— so delicately applied to the parting of a woman’s hair — have once been actual blood? A blood that was violently spilled or splattered, and not willfully given?

Indeed, as we sat in silent meditation, history opened its cave-mouth and swallowed us whole. We saw no Vedas in the serene tapovana, mostly violence legitimized. No slokas, only shrieks. In this primal theatre, the index of sindoor did not emerge from the trembling hands of a groom under wedding chants, but as a crimson gash across the forehead of a woman — a signature signed with a officiated club, not a conch.

Yet, the sindoor’s life—like the sacred thread or the mangalsutra—is not scripturally universal, but culturally constructed, regionally diverse, and historically contingent. Its glorification in the name of cultural purity ignores these textual subtleties and reinforces a monolithic narrative in service of ideological homogenization for the heteronormative matrix.

How blessed we were to discover this origin tale so eloquently rendered in a Bangla short story.

However, when we started reading that very Bangla short story, “Siddhinather Pralap” (Delirium of Siddhinath) by Parashuram (Rajsekhar Basu), we were dumbfounded by the patriarchal and coercive origins not only of sindoor, but also of Hindu married women’s jewelry including mangalasutra.

Please find below an English translation of an excerpt from that Bangla short story, as narrated by Siddhinath:

“…I am now in deep meditation. With my mind’s eye, I can see events from twenty thousand years ago. Back then, humans were wild, living in caves, hunting with weapons made of stone and bone. The population was sparse, and finding a wife wasn’t easy; one had to be forcibly taken. I see—a burly, naked man, somewhat resembling our Gopal, but with a jungle of beard and mustache, matted hair on his head, and a bone club in his hand. He’s out searching for a wife.
By the riverbank, a girl is gathering berries, looking a bit like this daughter-in-law of ours. The man didn’t speak words of love, didn’t offer gifts, didn’t flatter her. He just came up and struck her with a single blow! The girl fell face-first, her forehead split, and blood began to flow. Then he hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her to his lair. There, he put a reed ring through her nose, tied a rope to it, and tethered her to a post — just like one would tie an ox.
When she still tried to escape, he slashed the soles of her feet to make them bleed, pierced her ears to put rings in them, and bound her neck, hands, waist, and feet with leather straps, tying her tightly to the post. After such all-encompassing bondage, gradually, the girl became tamed, and even developed love for her husband.
Within a short time, all women came to believe that the marks of torment were ornaments — the signs of a fortunate wife. Thousands of years passed, and bringing a wife home became easier. Gold and silver jewelry came into fashion, but the style of adornment and the design of ornaments retained the imprint of primitive barbarity.
What was once blood on the forehead became sindoor; the blood on the feet became alta. The rings, hoops, and fetters used to bind wives in the past transformed into nose rings, earrings, necklaces, bangles, anklets, and waistbands.
In Sanskrit, one meaning of nātha is the rope through an ox’s nose. From that came the words nath (nose ring) and nathi. Even today’s refined jewelry bears the stamp of that barbaric age.
Daughter-in-law, are you upset hearing this history of past lives? Your parents surely knew all this, which is why they gave you the meaningful name Namita, meaning ‘she who has been subdued.’”

“This excerpt was a cultural shock to us! Raised in a strict Hindu family, we were shaped by Jatrapalas, a popular form of Bengali theatre. Titles like সিঁদুর মুছে বদলা নিলাম” “I wiped off the sindoor and took my revenge.”) সিঁদুর দিও না মুছে ( “Don’t wipe away vermilion”) resonate deeply. Both aptly align with the recent vengeful militant act of “Operation Sindoor“.

However, Rashtrapati ji, as much as we long to universalize this sacred symbol in our grand Hindu Rashtra under the benevolent eye of the Uniform Civil Code, we’ve run into a rather inconvenient obstacle — diversity.

It seems that not all Hindu women across India are on board with this sindoor-as-sanskar program. Some regions wear it with fervour, others with reluctance, and some with no interest at all. Permit us to offer a brief ethnographic glimpse into the pluri-fashionated ethos that is the idea of India:

1. North India

Here, sindoor reigns supreme — boldly applied and socially enforced. From Karva Chauth fasts to prime-time soap operas, the vermilion line defines the loyal wife. Not wearing it may lead to social exile — or worse, suspicion of “feminism”.

2. East India

Bengali women glorify sindoor through rituals like sindoor khela, smearing one another with red as a gesture of sisterhood. Yet even here, its use is increasingly ritualistic, seasonal, or decorative.

3. South India

Ah, the Dravidians. Here, sindoor bows before the mighty thali. Whether it’s turmeric paste in Andhra, minimalist gold in Kerala, or forehead dots in Tamil Nadu, the crimson stripe plays a cameo role at best.

4. West India

In Gujarat and Maharashtra, sindoor appears occasionally — often overshadowed by the mighty mangalsutra or the artistic chandlo. It is applied modestly, if at all.

5. Northeast India

A region gloriously immune to saffronization. Tribal and Christian communities have their own vibrant customs, where sindoor is a stranger, not a guest.

6. Hindu Diaspora

In the UK, US, Canada, and beyond, sindoor has gone global — not as daily devotion, but being taken as a heritage prop. It features in Diwali photoshoots and identity politics — sometimes reclaimed, sometimes rejected, always hashtagged.

Critical Reflections:

The supposed homogeneity of Hindu tradition in relation to the scathing question of “sindoor” crumbles under scrutiny. Cultural practices around sindoor are shaped by region, caste, language, economy, and modernity. While North Indian orthodoxy treats it as divine decree, others treat it as optional, aesthetic, or irrelevant.

And yet, sindoor survives. As memory, as makeup, as mark. It has journeyed from a club-induced gash to a televised token of mono-religious nationalistic widowhood. We now see it repurposed as a badge of sacrifice, worn by the war-bride, the martyr’s widow, the soldier’s mother — crimson now bleeding into camo-green.

Therefore, Hon’ble Rashtrapati ji, we ask humbly:

In this glorious march toward a Uniform Civil Code and cultural unity, how shall we reconcile this red powder’s fractured legacy across different regions of India? Shall we mandate its use by presidential ordinance? Export it to Kerala via railway subsidy? Or simply Photoshop it on every Hindu woman in the NCERT textbooks?

We seek your divine guidance as we glorify this mark of marital bliss — born in brutality, preserved in patriarchy, and now weaponized by both culture and state. Let us honour what was once a scar as a symbol of sanctity. Let us celebrate the conquest of the cave as the cradle of our civilization.

And if we must wage another war — of symbols, if not of soldiers — let sindoor be our flag, our blood, our uniform.

Yours faithfully,
The Homogenized, Pasteurized, Standardized Hindus
(Certified by Sanskara and Gluten-Free)

Appendix: Authentic Scriptural References to Sindoor in Sanskrit Texts

The sacred red powder known as sindoor (sindūra, kumkuma, or occasionally raktachandana) occupies a complex semiotic position in Hindu culture—as an adornment of the goddess, as a ritual offering, and as a patriarchal marker of married status. The term sindura typically denotes cinnabar-based vermilion, while kumkuma can refer to a turmeric-based paste, depending on the region and textual context. Though contemporary practice treats sindoor as an indispensable index of marital identity, especially in North India and Bengal, a close examination of Sanskrit textual sources reveals that its marital symbolism is evolved, regional, and often inferred, rather than explicitly prescribed.

Below is an annotated overview of major Sanskrit texts referencing sindoor or its variants:

1. Puranas: Mythological and Theological Foundations

Skanda Purana

Reference: Mentions adornment of Goddess Parvati and other deities with kumkuma or sindūra.
Example: The goddess is described as kumkuma-rakta (reddened with kumkuma), linking the substance with divine beauty and auspiciousness.
Relevance: While not mandating sindoor for mortal women, these descriptions sacralize its use, especially in rituals involving feminine divinity. Married women emulate the goddess’s ornamentation.

Markandeya Purana (Devi Mahatmya)

Reference: Describes Goddess Durga with red markings—interpreted as sindūra or kumkuma—in the context of devotional rituals.
Cultural Continuity: Such imagery informs practices like sindoor khela in Bengal, where women apply sindoor as part of Durga worship, reinforcing its devotional and communal symbolism.

2. Smriti Texts: Social Norms and Ritual Codification

Manusmriti

Reference: Manusmriti 5.154–155 discusses stridharma and auspicious female appearance.
Interpretation: While sindoor is not named explicitly, the emphasis on marital ornamentation as a symbol of devotion and domestic purity aligns with its later ritual role.
Critical Note: These prescriptions underscore sindoor’s patriarchal context—as part of a woman’s duty to embody auspiciousness in service of her husband’s longevity.

Grihya Sutras (e.g., Paraskara Grihya Sutra)

Reference: Paraskara Grihya Sutra 1.4.16 describes the groom applying a red substance (likely kumkuma) during the vivaha (wedding) ritual.
Historical Significance: This may represent one of the earliest references to the marital sindoor ritual as practiced today.
Implication: Establishes a ritual precedent for the application of red powder as a marital symbol, encoded into Vedic domestic rites.

3. Epics: Narrative Embodiments of the Ideal Wife

Ramayana (Valmiki)

Reference: In Sundara Kanda (5.16.25), Sita is described as adorned with red markings—interpreted as sindoor—signifying marital fidelity and devotion to Rama.
Symbolic Function: The sindoor here is not merely cosmetic but becomes a theological emblem of pativrata (chaste, devoted wife).
Impact: Sita’s iconography profoundly influences North Indian norms of marital adornment.

Mahabharata

Reference: Indirect references to tilaka and kumkuma appear in descriptions of Draupadi and other female characters.
Note: The adornments reflect ritual participation and marital identity, but sindoor is not prominently highlighted.

4. Tantric and Agamic Texts: Ritual Potency and Feminine Power

Lalita Sahasranama (Brahmanda Purana)

Reference: Verse 26 describes Goddess Lalita as “sindūra-tilakāñcitā” (adorned with a tilaka of sindoor).
Religious Significance: This affirmation of sindoor as a divine cosmetic aligns it with Shakti traditions and feminine power.
Contemporary Practice: Recitation of this text is popular in both North and South India, particularly among Shakta followers, reinforcing the devotional use of sindoor.

Tantrasara

Reference: Lists kumkuma as a mandatory offering in Tantric pujas, applied to goddess idols and worn by devotees.
Interpretive Insight: The spiritual potency attributed to kumkuma underlies its transference from divine to human ritual—especially for women seeking fertility, protection, or domestic harmony.

5. Other Texts: Aestheticization and Domestic Harmony

Kamasutra (Vatsyayana)

Reference: Book 4, Chapter 1 describes women applying kumkuma and other cosmetics to attract their partners and beautify themselves.
Social Function: Positions sindoor (or its variants) within shringara (aesthetic pleasure), tied to erotic and emotional dimensions of conjugal life.
Note: While not prescriptive of marriage, it reflects an early normalization of red cosmetic marks within intimate relationships.

Critical Analysis

Terminological Ambiguity: Sanskrit texts often conflate or ambiguously reference sindūra, kumkuma, raktachandana, and tilaka, requiring contextual analysis to ascertain marital relevance.
Direct vs. Indirect Evidence: Explicit prescriptions of sindoor as a marital obligation are largely absent. The practice is culturally extrapolated from religious and ritual adornments of female deities or ideals (e.g., Parvati, Sita).
Patriarchal Subtext: While Tantric and Puranic texts celebrate feminine power, Smriti texts like Manusmriti encode sindoor within structures of obedience, domesticity, and gendered virtue.
Regional Divergence: The textual influence is regionally inflected. For instance:
- Ramayana and Skanda Purana reinforce sindoor’s use in North India.
- In South India, thali and turmeric-based rituals dominate, with sindoor often absent or symbolic.
Modern Mythmaking: Contemporary nationalist and social media narratives frequently cite these texts selectively—often without precise citations—to project an artificial antiquity and uniformity to sindoor’s use.

Conclusion

Authentic Sanskrit textual references to sindoor (sindūra, kumkuma) trace a path from divine ritual substance to cultural marital symbol, shaped by theological aesthetics, ritual manuals, and patriarchal norms. The Puranas and Tantras emphasize its sacredness and connection to goddess worship; the Grihya Sutras offer proto-marital rituals involving red markings; the epics frame sindoor within idealized wifehood; and Smriti texts solidify its social utility in codifying femininity.

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