Durga puja in Kolkata: The family that offers five kinds of fish to the goddess

The priest, his back bent with age, steps into the thakur dalan (courtyard), where a 237-year-old goddess stands. He lifts a great brass lamp, its flames leaping into the air, and his frail frame begins to sway to the insistent rhythm of the dhaak. Through the incense-thick air, he traces the contours of the mighty goddess with circles of fire, illuminating her face, then letting it recede into shadow.

It was this very countenance, the Bandopadhyay family believes, that appeared to Krishna Chandra Bandyopadhyay in a dream in 1790 in Bajrajogini village in Bikrampur, then part of Dhaka.

There is something unusual about the way the goddess sits in the Bandyopadhyay family’s Durga puja. Look closely at the idol, and the familiar order of things appears to have been turned on its head. Ganesha, usually placed to the right of Durga, sits on her left, beside Saraswati. On the other side are Kartikeya and Lakshmi. Her form is distinctive. Mahishasura, the demon she vanquishes, has no legs; he emerges from the belly of a decapitated buffalo. The unusual depiction, according to Sombuddha Banerjee, organiser of the puja, is part of the form revealed in Krishna Chandra Bandyopadhyay’s dream.

For the past few years, the idol has been sculpted by Basudeb Pal, who begins work after the framework is prepared on the day of Ulto Rath. In earlier times, Kathamo Pujo, the ritual worship of the framework, was also performed on that day. The reversal of the usual order is one of the many details through which memory has survived.

But to look at this goddess is also to glimpse a world that existed before Partition, preserved in the folds of her sari, the designs of her jewellery and the food laid before her.

A goddess dressed in old Dhaka

The goddess is worshipped as Katyayani (sixth form of Durga), dressed in the Atbangla saaj, which translates to traditional clothing meant for everyday wear. A large, three-tiered crown rises above her head, her eyes are plain, without elaborate embellishment; her face retains a certain softness, almost girlish in its delicacy. For the past decade, she has worn a Benaras sari.

It is her jewellery, however, that carries the memory of a more distant home. The mukut, (crown) motor mala , a traditional Indian necklace made of small, round gold or gold-plated beads that closely resemble green peas (matar) strung together and cheek or choker, are made in old Dhakai designs, with pieces created in Bangladesh before the Partition. Their significance lies not merely in their age or ornamentation, but in the world they evoke: a time when Bajrajogini belonged to a landscape unmarked by the border that would eventually divide Bengal.

Every autumn, these ornaments are brought out by family members and placed upon the goddess once more. In the ritual of dressing her, the family preserves the old order of a tradition. The old designs survive in tangible form, their craftsmanship connecting the present day puja in Behala to the ancestral village across the border.

The vegetables of a lost homeland

The family’s East Bengal inheritance is preserved just as carefully in its kitchen. Sombuddha says that the bhog is prepared with vegetables that recall the landscape and food habits of the region from which the family came.

“Katowar danta (stalk vegetable) , shola kochu (a traditional root) , chalkumro (ash gourd) , mishti kumro (sweet pumpkin) and kanchkola (green banana) are among the ingredients used in the family’s traditional cooking. These are not arbitrary choices. The vegetables reflect what was available in the family’s ancestral region around the time of the Partition,” explains Sombuddha. 

Vegetables more commonly associated with West Bengal, such as brinjal, pointed gourd and carrots, do not traditionally feature in the puja’s cooking. Some of the preferred ingredients, including shola kochu (a traditional root) and chalkumro (ash gourd), have even been sourced from North Bengal, including tea garden areas.

On Saptami, the offerings include luchi, payesh, plain rice, dal, two vegetable preparations and khichuri. On Ashtami, moong dal and cholar dal accompany traditional vegetables, including kanchkola tarkari (green banana curry). The dishes are prepared in an inherited order, each carrying the familiarity of a recipe that has outlived the place where it began.

Never a vegetarian affair

There is a fiercer register to this worship, far removed from the familiar images of festive abundance. The family follows the Brihat Nandikeshwar Puran and worships Devi Mahamaya (Durga) in her three aspects: Srishti, Sthiti and Laya — creation, preservation and destruction.

Until 2006, a black Bengal goat was sacrificed on all three days of the puja, while wax gourds and sugarcane were offered on Navami. Between 2007 and 2019, the sacrifice was restricted to Ashtami morning, when an offering was made to the family’s presiding deity, Mahakali, before the day’s Durga Puja began. The practice has since been replaced by the sacrifice of wax gourds.

In the Shakta tradition, sacrifice is an offering to the goddess in her fierce aspect, embedded in a ritual understanding of devotion, surrender and the destruction of negative forces. For the Bandyopadhyay family, it belongs to an inherited system of worship in which the goddess is revered as a benevolent as well as a formidable power. The symbolic Shatru Bali (enemy sacrifice) performed by the male members of the family, carries this idea inward. An asura figure is fashioned from a mixture made with rice grains, wrapped in man kochu (giant taro ) leaves and sacrificed to represent the Shad Ripu, the six enemies of the human mind.

The offerings at this puja also challenge the assumption that Durga Puja must be exclusively vegetarian. On Navami, after the vegetarian bhog has been offered, five varieties of fish — katla (Indian carp) , boal (freshwater catfish) , chingri (prawn) , koi (climbing perch) and ilish (hilsa) are served to the goddess. Durga puja has never been experienced in precisely the same way in every Bengali home; here, the Goddess receives both the offerings of the vegetarian kitchen and the fish that has long sustained the family’s East Bengal food traditions.

Fish is woven into the very fabric of life; and the offerings carry the memory of the family’s ancestral land. The soil that yields its vegetables, the rivers that nourish its people, and the waters that give up their fish all find their way to the goddess’s feet.

At a time when the question of whether Durga Puja bhog should be entirely vegetarian has sparked debate in Bengal, this family’s centuries old practice offers a reminder that there is no single culinary tradition governing every Durga puja.

The relationship with fish extends beyond Navami. After the offering of ilish, family members refrain from eating the fish until Saraswati Puja, observing the traditional injunction against consuming it during its breeding season. The restriction is another example of how the puja’s rituals extend into everyday life, shaping not only what is offered to the goddess but also what the family eats after the celebrations have ended.

As of 2026, the puja has outlasted generations of devotees. It has endured the cholera epidemic of 1817, the Spanish flu of 1918–19, the Bengal famine of 1943, the upheaval of Partition in 1947 and, most recently, the long, isolating months of COVID-19. Through epidemics, hunger, displacement and lockdowns, the ritual has persisted.

The jewellery, the vegetables and the fish may seem like disparate details. Together, however, they tell a coherent story of inheritance.

And so, 237 years after a dream first gave her a face, the goddess returns each autumn, carrying a lost homeland in her ornaments, her offerings and the rituals that have endured. Borders have shifted, homes have been left behind, and generations have passed, yet the family continues to gather what it can to welcome her.

When the priest lifts his lamp, the flames flicker across her face, and time folds in upon itself. For a moment, in the trembling light, the dream of Krishna Chandra Bandopadhyay lives again.