Durga Puja under BJP Rule in West Bengal: Tradition Meets a Push for Vegetarianism

When the bright lights of Durga Puja start flickering across Kolkata’s streets, the scent of sweets, incense and, yes, grilled meat fills the air. For decades, that unmistakable aroma has been part of the celebration – a legacy that traces back to aristocratic households, or bonedi bari, that once performed goat sacrifices on Nabami, turning the meat into prasad for the Goddess.

But this year, the vibe feels a little different. In a high‑profile three‑day spiritual programme held in Howrah on September 6, Dhirendra Krishna Shastri – a self‑styled godman who heads Madhya Pradesh’s Bageshwar Dham – took the microphone and asked the crowd to consider a simple request: “Please, do not sell non‑vegetarian food near the Durga Puja pandals.”

His appeal landed in the middle of a broader push by the state’s BJP‑led government to promote a vegetarian ethos during the festivities. The idea isn’t brand new – the party has, over the past few years, hinted at cleaner, more “traditional” celebrations – but hearing it voiced by a charismatic spiritual leader adds a fresh, perhaps more persuasive, dimension.

Chief Minister Suvendu Adhikari even got involved, presenting a ceremonial mace to Shastri during the same event. The gesture, captured in photographs that have since gone viral, symbolised, according to officials, a shared commitment to preserving cultural purity while respecting religious sentiments.

For many Bengalis, however, the notion of a meat‑free Durga Puja feels like an intrusion. The practice of serving fish, chicken or mutton as prasad has deep roots in the Shakta tradition that worships the Mother Goddess. In the past, these offerings were more than culinary choices – they were believed to embody the fierce energy of Durga herself.

“It’s not just about food,” says a longtime resident of South Park Street, who prefers to stay anonymous. “It’s about the memories, the family gatherings where we’d all share a plate of mutton after the aarti. If you take that away, you’re taking a piece of our identity.”

Supporters of the vegetarian drive argue that it aligns with broader public‑health goals and animal‑rights concerns, especially in a state where street‑food vendors are the lifeblood of the local economy. They also point out that many other Indian festivals – such as Navratri in Gujarat or Diwali in certain regions – are celebrated without meat.

Yet critics warn that imposing such a change risks alienating a sizable chunk of the populace. “The BJP’s narrative often feels top‑down,” observes political analyst Rina Chatterjee. “When a religious figure endorses a policy that already has political overtones, it blurs the line between faith and governance.”

Local vendors, who rely on the influx of tourists and devotees, find themselves in a bind. Some have already started offering vegetarian alternatives, hoping to stay on the right side of the administration, while others cling to the tried‑and‑true menus that have fed generations of worshippers.

The debate also brings to light the evolving nature of Durga Puja itself. What began as a private ritual among the elite has, over the last century, morphed into a massive public spectacle, complete with elaborate pandals, cultural programs, and a bustling marketplace that stretches for kilometres.

In this shifting landscape, the question isn’t merely whether meat will be sold near the pandals, but how the festival balances reverence for tradition with the aspirations of a modern, pluralistic society. As the city’s streets prepare for another week of devotion, fireworks, and feasting, the answer may be as varied as the people who celebrate.

One thing is clear: Durga’s spirit endures, whether the plate holds a piece of fish or a steaming ladle of sweet rice. The conversation sparked by Shastri’s plea is likely to linger long after the idols are taken down, reminding everyone that culture, like any living tradition, is constantly negotiating its past, present and future.