In Koch Bihar: 'I won’t starve, till my eyes see'

“Bhogol sobai baner pai, monosar dyala sudu amrai banai [Anyone can craft kadam flowers from shola, but only we make Manasa's dyala]," Aneshwari Barman smiles as she speaks, packing a betel leaf in her mouth.

Saree worn high on her knees, hair bundled in a tight bun, 58-year-old Aneshwari wipes her hands and face with her anchal (end of her saree), and settles down on a cemented portion of the courtyard that she has just swept clean. Yet another long day of juggling household duties and craft work awaits the skilled shola artisan.

Ritual and decorative items are made from shola (Aeschynomene aspera L), a stem found in water bodies. The craft is one of the many famous handicraft traditions of West Bengal. Sidheswari, a village of 4,467 people (2011 Census) in the northern district of Koch Bihar, has a number of families that depend on shola craft for their livelihood. However, only a handful like Aneshwari’s family in this village of Cooch Behar-II Block have inherited the skill of making Manasa's dyala —a structure made from the soft and porous core of the shola stem that carries a painted image of the snake goddess, Manasa.

"If this tradition isn't there in your family, you are not allowed to craft it. But we can make these. This is in our family," she says with much pride about the ritual that has been passed down in her husband’s family who belong to the Rajbanshi community (listed under the Scheduled Castes in West Bengal).

In this part of the subcontinent dotted with countless forests, rivers and wetlands, serpents roam aplenty. People revere the goddess Manasa to shield themselves from snakebites and infectious diseases and also to bless them with fertility and prosperity.

While people across castes and communities seek refuge in the Ma Manasa, the custom of dyala puja, is prevalent among the Rajbanshis of northern Bengal. The ritual worship in the form of offering of dyala largely takes place during the monsoon months when there is a heightened risk of snakebites. "Throughout Shraban, Bhadra and Ashwin [three months between mid-July to mid-October in Bengali calendar], all deshi mansi [Rajbanshi people] worship dyalas,” says Aneshwari in a curious mix of Bangla and Rajbanshi.

Born and raised in Ambari village in Koch Bihar, Aneshwari came to Sidheswari after marrying Subhash Barman in his early twenties. The young bride of 15 was thrilled to see her husband and brother-in-law working with shola, but it took time before she was allowed to enter this world. “They must have thought that l’ll spoil the work and it will be a disaster," Says Aneshwari.

But she wasn't one to give up so easily. By watching them and secretly trying on her own, in a few years she started to get a grip on the craft. "I tried and tried, and used to think that one day I'll surely learn if I keep on trying, maybe my efforts will help the household income. That's why I learnt on my own."

Today she competes with Subhash in crafting saitol (cylindrical shola objects with Manasa's effigy painted) and bhogol (Neolamarckia cadamba flowers made of shola) alongside famed dyalas and adding to the family’s income.

Saitols and bhogols sell throughout the year, yet cannot match the demand for dyalas. The Barmans sell almost 700-800 dyalas annually, priced between Rs. 70-100 in season and Rs. 25-30 at other times.

"Eilya kajoto khub khatni baba [This work demands hard work]. We have to harvest the shola and bring it on vehicles. These are then dried in the sun and cut according to size before making the dyalas," she says.

Once grown in abundance in canals and marshes across West Bengal, Bihar and Assam, and foraged by people like Aneshwari, shola plants are now cultivated during Baishakh and Jyaistha (mid-April to mid-June). Aneshwari shows us a shola plant growing in a marshy patch behind her home. "Earlier when I was learning the craft, we used to bring in these plants [at no cost]. These grew across canals, everywhere."

Aneshwari goes to explain how climate change has severely shrunk the wetlands and marshes: "nowadays these [shola plants] are becoming rare, even if they grow, we can't get them for free. We are forced to buy each [branch] for eight or nine rupees." This has hit the abundance and easy availability of shola, she laments.

Shola garlands and wedding head gear were once common in Bengali marriage and annaprashan(the first rice ritual) ceremonies. Cheap thermocol variants are steadily replacing shola in such rituals, and even in daaker saaj (ornamentation of idols, used as a backdrop and jewellery). As demand falls, fewer farmers now cultivate shola.

It is a vicious circle of disappearing craft and decline in cultivation of shola. Despite West Bengal having one of the highest number of artisans in the country, recent data on practitioners of shola craft is missing from Rural Craft and Cultural Hub (RCCH) initiative, led by the state’s Department of Micro Small and Medium Enterprises & Textiles in partnership with UNESCO. A 1995 Botanical Survey of India report mentions about 10,000 shola artisans in the state, but there is no specific reference to north Bengal farmers or artists.

Now only a handful of farmers cultivate shola in Rasikbil, Nagurhat and Salbari villages in Koch Bihar's Tufangunj subdivision. In the month of Ashar [mid-June to mid-July], artisans visit shola farms, and after much deliberation and bargaining they go on to place orders. They either buy plants at piece rates or purchase an entire farm’s crop at one shot.

“Last year, we bought all the crop that a farm grew,” says Aneshwari. “Six of us bought nine katha [approximately 0.28 acre] of land for 25,000 rupees. On top of that, hajira [daily labour charges] and transport cost a lot." Farmers do not harvest; male shola artisans reap and transport the crop, spending roughly Rs. 2,000 on labour and conveyance.

Earlier, Subhash handled these transactions. Now their son Ranjan, 28, helps his aging parents with the heavy lifting tasks such as harvest and transporting of shola from field to home. He lives with his wife and two children in a separate unit within the same premises of Barman household and works as a daily wage labourer. To make ends meet, he also helps with fitting mills for paddy, wheat and chire (flattened parboiled rice). He earns Rs. 10,000-15,000 a month. The couple’s elder child, Anjana Rai, a widowed farm labourer, also helps her parents with shola work. The 32-year-old often visits her parents with her children, especially at the time of the Manasa puja.

All hands of the Barman family are summoned to craft shola items when Manasa puja is around the corner. "These three months [mid-July to mid- October] the workload is tremendous. We work till 2-3 a.m. at the night...my son toils, my daughter works too," says Aneshwari. Neighbours join in and the corrugated tin walls of their five-room traditional Rajbanshi abode reverberate with the frantic rhythm of shared labour.

"He [Subhash] isn't good at the cutting, so he does the painting part. I handle the dyala decoration," says Aneshwari, sharpening the kata. She peels the brown skin from the stem and cuts shola to size; Subhash joins pieces into pre-determined shape. He prepares a greenish glue by boiling and pounding dheki shaak (Diplazium esculentum), a trick of the trade passed down from his father and grandfather. Four similar structures form the four sides of a dyala, and a sheet of paper is fixed to one of these sides where a figure of Ma Manasa is to be painted in black ink.

Sitting in her bamboo-fenced kitchen, Aneshwari burns the dried branches of patkathi (jute stem, Corchorus Olitorius) in the furnace and soot is deposited at the bottom of the utensil resting on the fire. “I scrape this soot and mix it with the resin of bel [wood-apple] and then give it a good whisk, so that it doesn't remain dry. I slowly add water to it and stir. Gradually the kajal [ink] separates and floats to the top on water."

Aneshwari's day starts at around 5 in the morning. "I sweep the house, clean the utensils, take a bath, prepare some tea, cook the meals, then eat." During peak season, she adds 5-6 hours of shola work to this routine. This labour is not just for the income that it brings, but the many sacred purposes of their creations that brings deep satisfaction, explains Aneshwari.

"People say that shola has a great purpose. Can it [dyala] be [made] without purpose?" she asks pointing to the labour that goes into making things out of shola. Dyalas are also used as offerings in pujas during wedding and housewarming in Rajbanshi homes. The Dakkhindeshi [people from the southern lands] Rajbanshis, originated from Bangladesh's Rangpur district, worship the saitols alongside these dyalas. Figure of Manasa painted on the saitols is different than the ones on dyalas. The bhogols of shola-crafted kadam flowers are used to decorate during festivals and ceremonies.

In Koch Bihar district, dyala-saitol worship is more common in rural areas. When the season arrives, Aneshwari and Subhash pay Rs. 50-100 to hire toto (battery operated rickshaws) and autorickshaw to travel to markets in villages like Baneswar, Bokalimath and Dhang Dhingguri. "Do you know I'm famous at the Baneswar market? They [the fellow vendors] gave me a space [in the market]," proudly declares Aneshwari with generous smile. "If I go there [after a long time], they'll ask ‘kaki [aunty] why didn't you come earlier’?" she doesn’t hide the pride in her popularity at the local market. The couple also supplies these items to local shops for the buyers. Often people come to the Barman household to purchase directly from them.

Aneshwari tells us that all these years she has trained many villagers in making bhogols and other items. But, "ignoring misfortune, many are crafting dyalas even though this tradition wasn't in their family before," Aneshwari says. "Some even paste print-outs of Manasa's image on their dyalas, instead of drawing by hand, thus creating more dyalas in less time." The Barmans refuse this shortcut. Printing a hundred images costs Rs. 500 to 700. Painting, however laborious, saves the cost of printing. "That’s why we do these things [by hand] too."

The process is demanding. Subhash sticks an A4-size paper on one side of the structure. Using pre-crafted bamboo pens and Aneshwari's soot-ink, he sets down to paint Manasa effigies with his aging fingers. Snakes, ducks and lotus flowers are also painted. "This dyala is actually the basarghar [nuptial chamber] of Behula and Lakhindar," he explains, referencing the folk epics like Manasamangal and Padmapuran.

The couple keep working near the tulsi tala (household shrine around an Ocimum santum plant) as they recount the legend of Behula floating on a raft to heaven to please Ma Manasa and resurrect her dead husband Lakhindar bitten by serpent Kalnagini on goddess’s command. Lakhindar’s father Chand Sadagar, a Shib loyalist, who refused to worship Manasa, finally agrees to bow down to Shib Thhakur’s daughter, Manasa and that's how her reverence started on earth. "Look at this image of Ma Manasa before you, the figure at her feet is Chand Sadagar, he's worshipping her. And the face near Manasa's head is that of Shib Thakur," Subhash explains.

Subhash mixes orange and pink pigments bought from a local shop, in small steel bowls.The brush he is using is made from hair of their pet goat. All this while, Aneshwari paints a saitol, with visible discomfort due to sitting with legs stretched for long. "Our health is poor; don't know how long we'll be able to keep working like this."

She was once partially paralysed from the waist down and recovered after consulting doctors and a kaviraj (ayurvedic practitioner). Yet, "we have never thought about of our own bodies while doing this work. Come what may, we can't stop during peak season." She even works through her menstruation period. "It's we who give birth to this [Manasa's dyala], we are mothers. We don't believe in 'chhoya' [menstrual untouchability]," her apparent matter of fact logic illuminates in her wisdom.

Aneshwari explains all the individual elements that go on to constitute a complete dyala. Four dhyaps (Nymphaea nouchali or water lily) made of shola are fixed to four sides. The dyala is dismantled while selling, and assembled right before the rituals. A bhogol is attached to the centre of the dyala using a bamboo stick. And right above all other parts is a fyan or fyana — this being a cobra's hood. Votive offerings like banana jhuki [bunch] smeared with vermilion or duck eggs are placed inside the dyala's void. When the puja is over, the dyala is placed on a raft made of banana stem and set to float away on a nearby pond, lake or river.

While Aneshwari explains, Subhash is preparing to dry the painting by setting a supari leaf (Areca catechu) on fire. “This step could have been skipped had the skies been sunny,” he says. When PARI visited the couple in April 2025, it had been raining incessantly forcing Aneshwari and Subhash to halt even their daily wage farm-work.

Other than the three months of season devoted to shola art, they spend the rest of the year sowing and harvesting paddy. They even labour on jute and potato fields, earning Rs. 300-350 on days they manage to get work.

"Nowadays very little [wage] work is available as people use machines to reap and husk their paddy," laments Aneshwari. The Barman family owns approximately half an acre of land, and that includes their home and a bamboo grove. Ranjan says, sometimes they get the opportunity of sharecropping during the potato season.

About a year and a half ago they applied for a house under the central housing scheme Pradhan Mantri Awas Yojana (PMAY). Some neighbours have received new homes; the Barmans are still waiting. Survival falls short on the free ration for BPL families and the monthly Rs. 1,000 under WB government’s Lokkhir Bhandar scheme. "We even have to buy rice," Aneshwari, the lingering regret of not owning arable land obvious in her voice.

“My troubles are endless. Our daughter has lost her husband and struggles to survive. We are unable to help her all the time and somehow managing by repeatedly borrowing. We still have an outstanding loan of 30,000 rupees at Bandhan [bank]," she told PARI.

Income from the three months of peak season is important for their sustenance. "This income from shola work brings nothing but chanachur [peanuts], but without making these how will we keep our stomachs full?" Aneshwari’s words also points to the absence of work under MNREGA. It’s shola work that fulfils some of their wishes and desires. During Durga puja it pays for new clothes for all.

But income is unstable. "[sometimes] we fail to sell in the market, then there are times we can't meet the demand. Like this year we have been unable to sell all of our goods,” Aneshwari pauses and then says, "it is profitable, but only if we buy our materials for 10,000 rupees and manage to sell the finished items for 30-35,000 rupees. Everything depends on cost and selling price." Unsold pieces from last year are safely stored in large polythene bags and used to meet demand before the season.

As she is speaking, a neighbour arrives to buy a Manasa dyala. Wearing a smile, Aneshwari engages with the customer. In a quiet voice she admits, "acquaintances don't pay us fairly. My guardian [husband] is a simple person, but cheating me is impossible."

Lately, her eyesight has dimmed. A visit to an eye hospital 10 kilometres away brought no relief. When asked how she'll sustain her craft, Aneshwari, flashing her trademark smile, says with a mouth full of paan-supari, "Till my eyes see."

And after that?

"Ki ar kora jabe? Paile khamu, na paile khamu na [What can we do? When I can't see anymore, I'll starve. Till my eyes see, I won’t starve]."

Putting her tools aside, Aneshwari rises to light an evening lamp at their household Manasa shrine. In the courtyard, under the fading vesper light, Subhash is laying the last brushstrokes on a dyala.

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).

The story was originally reported in Bangla.