Daughters of India: church-funded self-help groups are changing women's lives on the subcontinent.

The concrete box of a building that serves as a school, community gathering place, and safe house in case of natural disaster is brightened by a rainbow of silk saris worn by the 50 or so women crowded into the small, airless room. Their bangles jangle, their children fuss, and the women talk excitedly among themselves. A few men stand in the back or in the doorways; some actually serve the visitors refreshments.

This would be unheard of only a few years ago here in Tentoi in the state of Orissa or in most villages in the rural and tribal areas of India. While Bollywood movies depict a worldly, almost Western life in India's larger cities, the majority of India's women continue to live in small villages where, until recently, they were rarely allowed out of their mud huts alone. A typical day was spent cooking, cleaning, taking care of children and cows, and spending several backbreaking hours in a rice paddy.

The workload has not decreased, but now women are organizing into self-help groups (SHGs) to obtain some personal--and collective--power to change their lives and to ensure a better future for their children.

"Before the groups we were taking care of only our own family. We never got to talk to other people," says Sonali Biswal of Tentoi. "Now we are able to go out to the banks and government offices. Before we were confined to our homes."

The groups started as microfinance projects funded by Catholic Relief Services and organized by several of CRS's partner organizations. Women who join the SHGs contribute 30 rupees (about 70 cents) a month to the pot, then are eligible to borrow from it to start small businesses.

"Prior to the group I was not able to send my children to school," says Kunalata Behura of the nearby village of Tiruna. "I borrowed 5,000 rupees [about $115] from the group and started a grocery. Now my children are going to school."

Other women use their loans to buy a cow for a dairy business or a rice paddy for a rice husking business. Some purchase equipment, such as a water pump, and lease it to other farmers for income. Although small, these projects are changing the typical sharecropping existence and the family's dependence on landowners and high-interest moneylenders.

All SHG loans are approved and collected by the women themselves. In addition to starting businesses, some women borrow for their children's educational expenses, for emergency medical needs, or for payment of their daughters' dowry.

New roles, new models

If the women villagers have a role model of an independent woman, it would have to be Mamata Sahu, who coordinates CRS's partner organizations in Orissa's capital, Bhubaneswar. Bright and bubbly, she has master's degrees in philosophy and social work, is a devout Hindu, and, at 30, is unmarried.

When she told her family she was becoming a social worker, her father was angry. "He said, 'You will be roaming here and there in villages; it's not right for a lady,'" she remembers. That didn't stop her.

Still, she must marry someone approved by her family--and preferably from within her caste. "Even my family believes that the girl has no say in who she marries. But I want to have control over my own life," Sahu says.

Although none of her younger sisters can marry until she does, Sahu has rejected all of her parents' prospects so far. She wants a husband who will allow her to continue to work--and she refuses to marry anyone who requires a dowry.

Although illegal, the practice of dowry still continues, especially in the villages, often under the cover of a "gift" to the family of the groom. A typical dowry is about 50,000 rupees (more than $1,000) or something comparable, such as a motorbike. Without a substantial dowry, the wife is often subject to abuse by her in-laws.

"If we have a girl child, to get her married we have to sell our land," says Mita Rani Sau, an SHG member. "It's a vicious cycle of poverty. And even after she is married, we are not sure she is safe."

Some SHGs have banded together to fight the practice. In a village outside Jagatsingpur the head of an SHG recently married without a dowry. "In our group, everybody has promised they will not demand dowry to marry their sons," says Banalata Routray.

SHGs have become more and more involved in such activism. In one area, nearly 500 women mobilized to protest a liquor shop. Alcoholism, which drains the family of money and often leads to domestic violence, is a major concern for women. In other villages SHGs coordinate disaster preparedness or have begun to address the issue of child labor and trafficking.

The next generation

Fourteen-year-old Prasanallatha Renumanugu used to work 12 hours a day packaging snack foods in a factory. For that she earned 30 rupees daily for her parents. Thanks to outreach from child labor projects, she and her mother began to see it would be better for Prasanallatha to go to school. A special school helped her catch up, and now she's poised to start eighth grade. "I want to be a doctor," she says proudly.

For poor sharecroppers, selling children into bonded labor is often the only way to pay for food, medicine, or other necessities. Landowners often demand child workers if the farmers get behind in their payments, with agriculture being the most common job for children.

India has the highest percentage of child laborers in the world, with 11.3 million children toiling in rice paddies, cotton fields, quarries, chemical factories, and brick kilns. According to CRS, in the southern state of Andhra Pradesh, 43 percent of children ages 9 to 14 are not in school.

"Parents are not willing to send children to school because they are poor and can't feed themselves," says Ravi Babu, a volunteer for a "bridge school" for former child laborers supported by the Diocese of Eluru in Andhra Pradesh. "But we told them when their children only earn four rupees a day, they are only helping the landowners, not themselves."

Working through local SHGs, the volunteers convinced parents of the need for education and threatened landowners employing children under 14, which is against the law. "We are so happy our children are studying now," says Lurdama Gurundapalli, whose oldest daughter used to stay home to watch the younger children. "We don't want our children to be like us, even if it means losing money."

Young girls are especially at risk, as they are often lured from their villages under the guise of "domestic" jobs in the city, which turn out to be covers for prostitution. Such interstate trafficking of children as young as 8 or 9 into sexual slavery condemns them to a life of abuse, addiction, and disease, including HIV/AIDS.

Sunitha Krishan, a former Hindu nun who now runs an anti-trafficking project in Hyderabad, is a fiery advocate for prostitutes and their children. "These criminals are exploiting the vulnerabilities of the families," she says. Most are deceived into sending their daughters to the city for "modeling" jobs or marriage. Once raped, the girl cannot return to her village, as she is now unmarriageable and would be a burden to her family.

"These girls become desensitized and begin to believe they have no other choice," she says. When Krishan asked the women what they needed most, they asked for schools for their children. "They repeatedly told me to forget about us but do something for our children," she says.

The project now educates 5,000 children in 18 schools, including projects for children who are HIV-positive. "I call it second-generation prevention," she says.

Attitude adjustment

Although few in the West see the Catholic Church as a champion of women's liberation, that is precisely the priority of many church-sponsored projects in India. "I believe women's organizations can do a lot of good for India," says Bishop Thomas Thiruthalil of Balasore in the state of Orissa. "In order to eradicate poverty, people have to organize themselves. These groups help make the women more self-confident."

Learning to speak for themselves has to be the most significant accomplishment of the SHGs. In a part of the world where female literacy can be in the single digits, women in SHGs have learned how to sign their own names for a loan and how to speak in public.

"It has increased my confidence," says Shyamoli Roy, a member of an SHG in Sahapur, a village near Calcutta. "Before I couldn't speak publicly. Now I also want to know more about the outside world."

Even the men have had an attitude adjustment. "They used to think it was a waste of money. Then they realized it could contribute to the family," says Chandana Mall. "It was not easy. We had to prove ourselves."

Tukuni Biswal of Tentoi summarizes the women's dreams for themselves and their daughters: "I want to stand on my own two feet."