Where Chamunda still dances: The living heritage of Naogaon

A child wears a wooden face larger than his own. Its bulging eyes, exposed teeth and long crimson tongue transform his appearance. Nearby, older performers move to the rhythms of the dhak, accompanied by ringing metal percussion and the penetrating voice of the sanai. Women watch closely, encourage their children and offer small sums of money as expressions of reverence. Around the dancers, the village gathers.

When I witnessed the Chamunda mukha dance in Bhandarpur, in Naogaon’s Badalgachhi upazila, what struck me most was the community’s spontaneous involvement. Children, adolescents, young men and elderly performers were all part of the same ritual occasion.Their neighbours and relatives surrounded them, participating through attention, encouragement and devotion. Here, heritage takes place among people who recognise it as part of their lives.

According to local legend, this dance tradition has continued in Bhandarpur for more than four hundred years. Although this claim has yet to be verified through documentary research, it reflects the community’s understanding of a tradition passed down through generations. Its continuation depends on people who return to the observance, prepare children to join it and sustain the music and worship that give it meaning.

A wooden face, a moving presence

The wooden mukha is the most immediately arresting feature of the dance. The photographs I took show vividly painted faces with prominent eyes, conspicuous teeth, projecting red tongues and elaborate crowns. Their exaggerated features make the goddess recognisable even within a dense gathering.

The mask acquires its expressive force through the performer’s body. Dancers bend their knees, lower themselves towards the earth, extend their arms and incline their masked heads. Some dance close to the ground; others adopt wider, more expansive positions. Their gathered garments spread around their legs, giving their movements a distinctive silhouette.

The costumes vary. Bright skirts, patterned cloth, necklaces and waist bindings appear alongside ordinary shirts and T-shirts. This combination reveals how inherited ceremonial forms remain embedded in contemporary village life. Each performer brings a living body and present-day circumstances to an established devotional practice.

Among the practitioners recorded in my documentation are Nikhil Chandra Mali, Nirmal Mali, Nirab Mali, Shanta Mali, Pranta Mali, Sagar Mondal, Arun Chandra Mali, Subrata Mali and Tapas Mali. Children associated with the observance include Lakshmi Rani, Rupa Rani, Sonali Rani, Jitu Malakar, Pramit Mali, Mohan Mali and Amrita Mali.

Recording their names matters. Too often, photographs of traditional performances circulate while the people who sustain them remain unidentified. Bhandarpur’s inheritance belongs to particular practitioners and families whose knowledge deserves recognition.

Mothers, children and the work of transmission

Women did not perform the Chamunda mask dance during the observance I documented. Their contribution, however, was integral to its social and devotional life.

Mothers helped dress their children and encouraged them to participate. Through this preparation, they supported the children’s entry into a practice that requires confidence, familiarity and the approval of those closest to them.

During the dance, women also approached the performers with reverence and offered small amounts of money as devotional gifts. These gestures situated the masked dancer within a relationship of worship. The offerings acknowledged the sacred significance of the enactment.

This distinction helps us understand participation more fully. Dancing is one responsibility within the observance; preparing children, encouraging them and expressing devotion are others. Women’s contribution to transmission deserves attention in its own right.

The photographs capture a close relationship between performers and those around them. Women stand or sit within immediate reach of the masked figures. Children watch from among the adults. The dance unfolds within a gathering whose members continually respond to it.

A Chamunda mukha performer dances to the rhythms of traditional percussion instruments during a religious observance in Bhandarpur, Naogaon. Photo: Courtesy of the author

Learning the rhythm

The musicians provide another compelling picture of continuity across generations.

The rhythms of the dhak, the metallic sounds of kansa percussion and the melodies of the sanai accompany the dance. Older musicians bring experience to the ensemble, while children and younger participants contribute to the instrumental performance. The photographs show young percussion players sharing the occasion with adult drummers and an older wind-instrument player.

This is a setting in which musical knowledge can pass through participation. Young people encounter the rhythm in relation to dancing bodies, ritual actions and the responses of the gathering. They learn when to enter, how to listen and how their contribution fits into the larger event.

The presence of children is especially significant because it makes transmission visible in the present. Their participation already forms part of the observance, even as their skills continue to develop.

Wood, clay, metal, cloth and breath come together in this performance. Its continuation therefore involves several kinds of knowledge: caring for masks, preparing costumes, playing instruments, moving in rhythm and understanding the religious occasion.

Kali beyond the mask

The ritual world of Bhandarpur also includes an enactment of Kali in which the performer’s own face and body become the principal expressive surfaces.

Akhil Mali is identified in my field documentation as a practitioner of this role. With his face and body blackened, a crimson tongue extended and a da, a sharp cutting blade, in hand, he dances to the dhak.

This enactment differs materially from wearing a wooden mukha. Paint, facial expression, bodily gesture and the weapon establish the divine appearance. Together with the masked dance, it reveals the range of expressive means through which fierce goddess forms enter the ceremonial space.

These images require interpretation within their devotional setting. The blade, tongue and fearsome face can dominate an outsider’s attention, while villagers approach the occasion through reverence and attachment. Ferocity and maternal protection can occupy the same religious imagination.

The relationship between Chamunda, Kali and Burakali within this local practice deserves careful study. Their presence within a shared observance should prompt attention to the community’s own explanations of their identities and relationships.

From Paharpur’s terracotta to Bhandarpur’s dancers

The comparison with Paharpur gives the Bhandarpur dance a particularly thought-provoking historical setting.

In the photographs of terracotta plaques accompanying my documentation, a dancing figure wears a waist-bound lower garment whose folds extend outwards around the thighs. The knees are bent, the legs held apart and the arms arranged in an expressive posture. The flaring lower garments and bent-knee positions of several Bhandarpur performers invite comparison.

The resemblance is strongest in the positioning of the dancing body: the emphasis on the waist, the outward spread of cloth and the articulation of the limbs. These features provide a meaningful starting point for investigating the region’s performance history.

They cannot, on their own, establish that the terracotta figure depicts the Chamunda mukha dance. Its face is damaged, and the photograph does not allow for a confident identification of a mask. Nor can a visual resemblance bridge every intervening century.

Nevertheless, the comparison deserves sustained attention. An ancient representation of dance and a contemporary ritual practice exist within the same broader cultural landscape. Exploring their possible relationship requires bringing archaeological evidence into conversation with costume history, local memory and living performance.

At Paharpur, movement survives in a sculpted image. In Bhandarpur, movement continues through bodies taught and encouraged by other bodies. Studying them together could deepen our understanding of how regional forms are inherited, adapted and renewed.

An ancient landscape with living practices

Northern Bengal has a rich and well-documented history. Mahasthangarh, identified with ancient Pundranagara, preserves evidence of early urban life. Somapura Mahavihara at Paharpur became a major Buddhist intellectual centre under Pala patronage, while Jagaddala and Halud Vihara further enrich the region’s archaeological landscape.

The Charyapada offers a related perspective on the religious importance of performance. Its Buddhist esoteric songs convey spiritual meanings through figurative language grounded in bodies, occupations and everyday experience. Their musical character reminds us that knowledge circulated through singing and embodied practice as well as through manuscripts. The Charyapada belongs to a wider eastern Indian cultural context; attributing the entire corpus to Somapura would go beyond the available evidence.

Chamunda’s presence in Bengal also has a historical basis in religious art. Medieval images and iconographic scholarship situate her within the region’s goddess traditions and Tantric milieu. They provide a context for studying contemporary worship, although the history connecting particular ancient images to present-day village practices remains to be reconstructed.

What is remarkable is that the landscape surrounding Paharpur continues to support vigorous ritual performance. Archaeological remains and living devotional practices occupy the same region, inviting us to consider its history through both material objects and community knowledge.

A goddess’s claim on water and land

The story of Bhandarpur’s origins connects its temple, settlement and founding family through an encounter with the goddess. According to local tradition, Ramlochan Chandra Chowdhury stopped in the area while travelling to Nawab Alivardi Khan’s court during the 1740s. His attendants brought water from a pond beside a religious establishment. That night, a fierce goddess appeared in his dream and demanded repayment for drinking water that belonged to her.

Her demand was for service from Ramlochan and his descendants. The narrative continues that he subsequently obtained four mouzas and established a settlement and a place of worship around the shrine.

The story gives a sacred explanation for the relationship between landholding and religious responsibility. Possession of land carries an obligation to maintain worship; the use of water creates a debt extending across generations.

This eighteenth-century account should be distinguished from the community’s broader claim that the dance has continued for more than four hundred years. The chronology of the patron family, the history of the shrine and the beginnings of the dance may represent different layers of local memory. 

The account of ascetics living in the area before Ramlochan’s arrival is particularly significant. According to local tradition, they were concerned about who would care for the deity after their departure. The question of who would carry on the tradition, which remains central to preserving living heritage today, was therefore already an important part of the village’s understanding of its past.

Beyond a single village

Bhandarpur is one important location within a wider field of practice. Local accounts identify Chamunda worship and dance in Mahadebpur, Naogaon Sadar and other upazilas of Naogaon. These observances remain animated by people’s devotion and affection. A fuller understanding will require documentation across villages, allowing practitioners to explain local variations in masks, music, ritual calendars and ceremonial responsibilities.

The association with esoteric Tantric worship helps explain why these practices have attracted relatively limited publicity. Some knowledge may circulate within particular families or ritual communities. The absence of extensive public discussion should encourage patient research conducted through relationships of trust.

Such work must respect practitioners’ decisions about what can be recorded and shared. Public visibility is only one possible outcome of documentation. Returning photographs, recordings and written accounts to the people who contributed them is equally valuable.

The people who keep the dance alive

The strongest impression Bhandarpur left on me was of a community making participation possible. A mother prepared her child. An older musician played while younger participants joined the rhythm. A woman offered money with reverence. A dancer lowered a crowned wooden face towards the people gathered around him.

These actions sustain a cultural inheritance through relationships between generations. They also give substance to the idea of a living historical landscape.

Around ancient Somapura, the past remains open to investigation in earth, brick and terracotta. In the villages of Naogaon, inherited ritual knowledge continues through worship, music and movement. Bhandarpur’s Chamunda mukha dance brings that knowledge into the present through the care and commitment of its people.

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Saymon Zakaria is a researcher, playwright and poet. He serves as Deputy Director at Bangla Academy and Chairman of the Vabnagar Foundation.

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