1 bride, 2 grooms: A Himalayan marriage rekindles kinship debate

This July, the quiet Trans-Giri region of Sirmaur in Himachal Pradesh unexpectedly found itself at the heart of a national conversation. Sunita Chauhan, a young woman from Kunhat village, married two brothers—Pradeep and Kapil Negi—of the Hattee tribal community. The traditional wedding ceremony, conducted under the local custom of ‘jodidara’ (fraternal polyandry), brought to the fore a long-standing yet rarely discussed cultural practice, one that once served as a strategy for survival in India’s mountainous northern belt.

Fraternal polyandry—where brothers jointly marry a single woman—has a long-standing history in India’s Himalayan regions, particularly in Kinnaur, Lahaul-Spiti and parts of Sirmaur. These high-altitude, agriculturally marginal areas relied on such unions as a means to preserve landholding and ensure labour cohesion within families. Among agrarian communities like the Hattee, land was scarce and inheritance often threatened family stability. By marrying one woman, brothers kept their family land undivided and pooled their economic responsibilities.

Traditionally, the eldest brother would be recognised as the legal husband, but all brothers shared parental and economic roles, and the marital arrangement was socially accepted even without formal legal recognition. However, several legal and social developments, especially post-Independence, began to erode this institution. The Hindu Marriage Act, with its emphasis on monogamous, heteronormative unions, excluded customary marriages like these from legal recognition. Later, reforms in inheritance law that emphasised equal property division among all siblings made polyandry less economically viable.

Yet, despite these shifts, communities like the Hattee have quietly continued these traditions. What sets Sunita’s marriage apart is its public nature and the language of choice used to describe it. In multiple interviews with the media, Sunita spoke with clarity and conviction. She affirmed that the decision was hers alone—that she loved both men, valued the mutual care they shared and was entering into this relationship with full understanding and consent.

Her words sparked wide-ranging reactions. For some, her statements represented a radical act of agency within a custom often dismissed as regressive or patriarchal. Others questioned the relevance of polyandry in the modern age, suggesting that such practices should remain in the past—tools of a time when economic necessity trumped individual autonomy.

At the heart of the debate lies a deeper cultural and political tension. India’s dominant marital narrative is shaped by the Hindu, monogamous nuclear family model—legally sanctioned and morally upheld. Practices like ‘jodidara’, especially when made visible and even celebrated, are framed as “un-Indian” or backward. Even more troubling is the communal undertone in some critiques, with polyandrous practices compared to Muslim marriage customs, revealing how tightly Indian morality is tied to specific religious ideals of kinship.

For the Hattee community, granted Scheduled Tribe status in 2022, the marriage has become more than a personal union—it is a reclamation of cultural identity. In a society where legal and social legitimacy often converge around narrow definitions of marriage, the Sirmaur wedding asks us to reconsider the terms on which legitimacy is granted.

This event is not merely about one woman’s choice—it signals a broader moment where custom, autonomy and consent intersect. It raises crucial questions: Can tradition coexist with agency? Can we imagine marital relationships beyond the monogamous norm? And most importantly, can marginalised communities define their own narratives without being filtered through the lens of mainstream morality?

Sunita’s marriage has provided no easy answers, but it has undeniably opened up space for a conversation long overdue.

The writer is a research scholar in the Department of Political Science at PU

Himachal Tribune