Where Does a Used Menstrual Pad Go In Rural Bihar?

Home-based menstrual health awareness session with women and an adolescent girl in rural Bihar

In several villages across rural Bihar, women believe that if a used menstrual pad is burnt, a girl’s uterus will burn with it.

Menstruation is a natural part of a woman's life, yet it is still surrounded by silence, confusion, and fear. Even today, conversations about periods often occur behind closed doors, in hushed voices, and are frequently accompanied by half-understood beliefs and myths. One of the most surprising and deeply rooted beliefs I repeatedly hear during my field visits is that "if a girl's used menstrual pad or cloth is burnt, her uterus will also burn." For many of us, this may sound unbelievable, almost impossible, but for several families in rural Bihar, this myth feels as real as the sky above them. Due to this fear, many women are forced to bury used pads in the soil, flush them down toilet drains, throw them into water canals, or hide them in bushes and fields. What is often not realised is that each of these practices carries its own risks—risks to the women's health, to the environment, and to the wider community.

Conversations at the threshold

Over the last few months, I have visited more than a hundred homes, talking to adolescent girls, mothers, grandmothers, and sometimes even fathers who hover at the doorway and listen quietly. Every visit begins the same way: a shy smile, a nervous laugh, a burst of enthusiasm. Then, gently, I bring the conversation towards menstruation. But when the discussion turns to how menstrual materials are disposed of, confusion fills the room. Many women believe that flushing pads into toilets or drains is the “cleanest and easiest option.” When I explain that sanitary pads do not dissolve, that they contain plastic layers that block drains and cause sewage to overflow, there is genuine shock. For many families, this is the first time they are hearing it.

Blocked drains bring stagnant water, foul smells, insects, and disease. Yet the pad disappears from sight, and that disappearance feels like safety.

What happens when pads disappear from sight

Then I explain that burying pads in the soil is no better. Yes, it hides the pad from sight, but it does not remove the plastic from the environment. The plastic stays underground for years, polluting the soil and harming the land they depend on for agriculture. At that moment, I can see both shock and disgust on their faces. I also explain why throwing pads into canals is extremely dangerous. In many villages, animals drink from these canals. Children play nearby. People use this water for washing utensils and bathing. In Bihar, canals, rivers, and ponds also hold deep cultural significance, especially during Chhath Puja. When polluted pads enter these water bodies, infections spread quietly and affect the very communities that rely on this water every day.

The slow work of unlearning

In many villages, there are no public dustbins, no regular waste collection, and little clarity about what happens to waste once it leaves the household. In the absence of any formal system, women are left to manage menstrual waste on their own—caution becomes a form of care.

Community discussion with women in rural Bihar addressing menstrual myths, period practices, and women’s health awareness

The simplest, safest, and recommended method is clear: wrap the used pad in paper and dispose of it in a proper dustbin or designated waste collection area. Every time I say this, mothers respond with concern, sometimes even fear. They say, “Nahi beta, waha mat fekna. Waha to jala dete hain. Ladki abhi unmarried hai. Uska bhavishya kharab ho jayega. Bachche hone mein problem ho sakti hai.”

At first, I dismissed this as superstition. But when a belief repeats itself across villages, it begins to ask for attention rather than rejection. When I asked why burning a pad would harm a girl, the women explained that elders had warned them that deliberately burning a woman’s menstrual materials—sometimes associated with black magic—could damage her womb. Mothers pass this advice on not out of ignorance, but out of a desire to protect their daughters.

I listened, taking into account their fears and perspectives. Then, gently, I explain that menstruation occurs inside the body, while a pad remains outside it. Burning something external cannot reach the organs within. A pad is simply a product, without any mystical connection to the uterus. What truly endangers a girl’s health are infections born of poor sanitation, polluted water, and unhygienic practices. Slowly, women begin to nod, ask questions, and some even correct their own earlier assumptions.

These conversations may feel small at the moment, but they plant seeds of change. Each home visit, each mother–daughter conversation, each shared story nudges the community a little closer to awareness. Change is slow, especially when myths have lived for generations, but it happens one conversation at a time.