Bengal has donned several caps since the last century – whether that of an incubator for artists, a forerunner for progressive ideologies, a confluence of diverse cultures or that of a raging ground for incessant civil wars, of fostering imperialism or that of the survivor of a traumatising Partition. Although Bengal’s history has been coloured with different hues of highs and lows, one persevering tune that binds the land through this rocky spectrum of prosperity and adversity, is food.
Blessed with natural diversity, Bengal’s terrain is as multifaceted as her people. Whether it’s the hills of North Bengal, the water bodies at the South or the forestry that prevails all round – a significant part of the credit to Bengal’s culinary culture goes to its environmental inheritance. A good range of water intensive crops like wheat, maize, jute, sugarcane, oilseeds, chickpea, etc. come easily to Bengal’s agricultural scene thanks to ample rainfall and porous soils.
An abundance of greenery may be a significant factor behind the range of Bengali cuisine, however, it is not the only one. Some of the most well-known Bengali dishes have their backstories in rather dark origins. Reflecting on the histories of the land’s favourite indulgences is not only a quick guide to understanding the modus operandi of the community but also a valuable timeline in tracing the tumultuous past that has drawn Bengal to its present state.
The Bengal Famine of 1943
During British rule, the Indian subcontinent went through a number of famines; but the worst hit among these were Bengal. Starting from 1770, an obscene number of famines rocked the region. The first famine itself claimed over 10 million lives – a number greater than that of Jews imprisoned during the Second World War. While talking of the famine, John Fiske in his book, “The Unseen World,” compared it to the Black Plague of 14th century Europe and described the former as far deadlier.
The second most morbid famine in Bengal after the one in 1770 was in 1943. This calamity which killed over 3 million people has been accorded not to natural food shortages but intentional policy enforcements by the British. Although the area was affected by droughts through the 1940s, the worst of it was over by 1941. In fact, the rainfall levels in 1943 were above average.
While the fall of Burma stopped the import of rice, the British continued to extort resources from the Indian subcontinent to aid their soldiers in Europe. Further, following Churchill’s “denial policy” the British confiscated rice supplies and thousands of boats from coastal Bengal in order to curb any Japanese invasion attempts – at the cost of record deaths from hunger.
The severe unavailability of food forced the famine affected to make do with anything remotely consumable in order to survive. This desperation led to the discovery of kochu shaak and googli. Kochu shaak is a wildling – leaves of the taro plant – that could be foraged; while googli are small snails that could be found in ponds and puddles and be cooked into a broth. Although kochu shaak and googli exited before the famine, it was during that time that they began to be eaten widely, producing a tradition that would follow Bengalis long after it ended.
British Imperial Trade
While kochu shaak and googli were results of direct abuse of power by the British rule; poppy seeds or posto, were more of an indirect outcome. The 19th century was the beginning of global power struggles that would eventually overwhelm British imperialism. However, in order to grab a substantial seat at international trade, the British needed to compete with China which had a booming market for the narcotic drug, opium, at the time. This led to the British forcing Indian farmers to assault their arable lands and give up harvesting food crops in favour of cash crops like opium and indigo.
With merciless taxes levied on poor farmers along with the dagger of famine induced hunger, food acquisition began posing a challenge – increasingly with opium not only destroying lands but also minds of exploited farmers. The opium plant produces a pod which contains the source for the highly profitable narcotic drug. Once removed, the British had no use of the crop and the plant was left with dried poppy seeds – a discovery made by foraging farmer wives in the quest for food.
They grounded these poppy seeds and formed them into a paste. The nutty flavour not only enhanced the flavour of meals but also added volume due to its granular texture. Further, it helped in keeping the body cool during intense summers as well as providing a light sedative effect post lunch bringing calm to tired beings. Posto, since then has evolved from a resourceful colonial by-product to one associated with everyday household comfort and nostalgia, and in the way has reclaimed its traumatic origins.
Bengali Hindu Widows
Before Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar and the Widow Remarriage Act, Hindu windows would have a difficult time justifying their existence in the Indian patriarchal society. Their presence would be perceived as either a burden or a threat, mostly depending on age.
The widowhood would demand a fastidious diet and lifestyle – denying widows fish, meat, garlic, onion and strong spices – as these were thought to encourage one’s sex drive. Having no husband, the widows would also have the additional responsibility to prove their utility to the family in order to earn the right to shelter. These conditions automatically made them highly resourceful and intent upon making the most of what they were given.
Hence, Hindu widows developed the concept of root-to-shoot cooking while adding minimal, cheap spices like red chillies while avoiding more expensive ingredients like cardamom or clove. Their cooking essence lay in making sure nothing went to waste – they routinely used wild plants like shaak (wild leaves growing in ponds), kochu (taro), pui shaak (vegetable leaves) and kumro phool (flower of pumpkin plant) for decoration and even the potatoes would be cooked without peeling.
This combination of fully utilised vegetables combined with minimal spices is popularly known as a chochchori. Having access to only foraged vegetables, Hindu widows, therefore, are a major contributor to the wide Bengali vegetarian palate and have been called the “cuisine’s unsung architects.”
In conclusion, we may find that the Bengali gastronomy may have several haunting inventions but they ultimately reflect a tale of resilience and innovation in the midst of disasters and exploitation. The biggest takeaway might be that these meals, prepared out of necessity, evolved not only to satiate temporary hunger but developed into well-formed, sought after dishes, remarkable in their own right – detached from their sombre history yet all the more powerful in its wake.
