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A row of people are seated on rugs, called asana in Bengali, on the ground. A couple of volunteers put sal leaf plates, salt, lemon wedges and a glass of water in front of each seated person. Then come steel buckets full of bhoger khichudi, labra, beguni or begun bhaja, papad, chutney and paayesh in quick succession. Ladles full of each item are placed on the plates deftly and quickly. If you don’t want second helpings, you simply have to gesture with your downturned hands hovering over your plate—and yet the fervour of the volunteers can often land the khichudi on your hand instead of the plate while you are busy gesturing!
Welcome to the universal experience of relishing Ashtami Bhog during Bengali Durga Puja celebrations at public pandals!
The simple fact to know about the Bengali Sharadiya Durga Puja celebrations held anywhere in the world is that while the Durga pratima or statue and the decor change every year, and whether the five festive days fall in October or November, that Ashtami Bhog menu and experience remains the same—and this Probashi Bengali can attest to the fact wholeheartedly.
For those unaware, Probashi or Pravasi refers to a person who lives beyond or away from their place of origin—in this case, Bengal. Growing up in Punjab, Gujarat and Karnataka, and then having spent my adult life in Delhi and Maharashtra has given me the chance to experience the Ashtami Bhog during Durga Puja in almost all the cities I have lived in. And this in turn has led to a compulsion that all Probashi Bengalis have: to head to the nearest Sarbajanin or public Durga Puja pandal every year on Ashtami just to be able to relish that elaborate bhog while sharing space with complete strangers who just have one thing in common with you—the love for simple food prepared well and dedicated to Maa Durga.
Early Ashtami Bhog Experiences: A Story Of 3 States Of India
My earliest memory of eating the Ashtami Bhog was in Patiala, Punjab—then a small cantonment town where only one Durga Puja was organised by the Bengali community on Indian Army grounds. Toddlers and young children often share their parents’ plates during the Ashtami Bhog, and I always sat next to my mother who fed morsels of khichudi mixed with the labra, bhaja or chutney. The papad was always handed over, because what kid doesn’t like munching on this crispy snack?
The first thing I noticed during those years is that the Bengali khichudi is unlike any khichdi prepared in North India. So, the morsels of khichudi I enjoyed had potatoes, cauliflowers and peas, and not just rice and lentils. Even today, unfortunately, the plainest versions of khichdi seem like a dish that can be made on regular days; while the Bengali khichudi made on any day (especially rainy days) makes for a celebratory meal.
Once we shifted to Gandhinagar, Gujarat, the Durga Puja celebrations and the Ashtami Bhog specifically got more elaborate—or maybe it was the simple fact that I was now an 8+ years old child who had a sal leaf plate all to herself, and the freedom to ask for more of my favourites. It was during this phase that I realised that depending on the funds raised by the Durga Puja organisers, the array of bhaja or fried elements on the Ashtami Bhog plate varied immensely. Eggplant or begun is a staple, but getting a potol bhaja or pointed gourd fry, or my personal favourite jhuri jhuri aloo bhaja (deep-fried matchstick-sized potatoes) meant it was an exceptionally good year and even the Vijaya Dashami meal was going to be more elaborate.
Of course, it was the single year spent in Bengaluru that properly introduced me to the joys of good chutney. The staple chutney variety served during Bengali Durga Puja meals is one made of tomatoes, dates and raisins—and when made in bulk, the dish often turns too runny and flavourless or too thick and sticky. The chutney I got a chance to taste at the Malleswaram Durga Puja pandal was like Goldilocks finally getting a bowl of porridge that was just right. It was still a Bengali tomato chutney, and I have no clue whether it was the locally sourced tomatoes or the addition of tamarind paste (unheard of in this Bengali dish), but this one was the perfect balance of tangy and sweet.
Understanding The Charitable Aspect Of Ashtami Bhog
When you are a child, there are very few aspects that register beyond the simple joys you get during Durga Puja. Apart from the Ashtami Bhog, it’s the new clothes, getting in weeks of practice after school to prepare performances for cultural programmes of dance, music and poetry, crowding the back of a truck with the statues on Dashami, and then coming back home after Vijaya to get Shanti Jal and chanting “aashchhe bochhor abar hobe” (we’ll do this again next year): these are the memories that stay with you. When I shifted to Delhi for higher studies, I observed nuances I had missed before.
The most important of these details was that in most Sarbajanin Durga Puja celebrations beyond Bengal, the Ashtami Bhog is invariably free—and it isn’t only Bengalis who enjoy it. Whether it was during the on-campus Durga Puja at the Jawaharlal Nehru University or the Greater Kailash II Durgotsab, or any of the Chittaranjan Park pandals or the RK Puram Kalibari Pujo in New Delhi, the Ashtami Bhog always witnessed crowds of people lining up.
These Ashtami Bhogs are not sit-down meals I had grown up witnessing—everybody sat on chairs to eat. There were no sal leaf plates—instead, the more convenient thermocol plates had flooded the market by then. The menu was still the same, consisting of that veggie-packed khichudi, begun bhaja or other fried elements, labra, chutney, papad and paayesh or rasagolla for dessert. Those eating the plateful of goodies could be vegetarians or non-vegetarians, Bengali or not, but everyone always cleaned the plates and respected the fact that this was Bengal’s version of food for the goddess and should never be thrown away or wasted.
Gender And Bitaran During Durga Puja Ashtami Bhog
The other thing I noticed as an adult was that as a child, I had only seen men volunteering to do the Bhog Bitaran (serving of Bhog). In fact, the women and children (wives and mothers) were always expected to eat during the first rounds of the service, and the volunteering men ate last. At the CR Park or GK II Durga Pujas as well, I had mostly seen men take the responsibility of serving the Ashtami Bhog to hundreds of people. It was only when I was invited by a colleague to Bandra’s Notunpolli Sarbojonin Durgotsab (held right opposite Izumi, for those who want to visit) that I saw a significant number of young women volunteering to serve the thousands who line up for the meal at this Puja pandal.
As I received a thermocol plate full of that traditional Bengali Bhog from my colleague (she was busy serving everyone with a smile), I decided to ask my mother if this was another one of those gendered practices I had no clue about despite growing up with it. Were women not allowed to serve during the ‘80s and ‘90s? Was this another threshold we have only been able to cross recently?
My mother’s explanation was simple: traditionally, women have the household responsibility of serving the men food first and eating last. But, during Durga Puja—a time when Bengalis love to celebrate the power of the Maa Durga, and hence the importance of mothers—it is traditionally done the other way around. Access to public pandals with a community kitchen literally “manned” by cooks means that during those five days of Durga Puja, women don’t have to cook. And more importantly, they don’t have to serve or eat last—quite the opposite in fact.
Whether this practice is patriarchal or not, however, does not change just how important the Ashtami Bhog is for Bengalis around the world. It may be served on plastic or thermocol plates now, but the sense of charity is ever-present and crucial—and so is nailing the cooking of each element on the Bhog platter. After all, it is the biggest prasad as Maa Durga and her children consume it before we get to share and taste it with communities we have built away from our homes in Bengal.
