I never thought one fish could carry the soul of Bengal — until I visited the Sundarban Hilsa Festival

A Journey Triggered by Smell 🐟🌾

The first thing I noticed wasn’t the river. It was the smell. A sharp, familiar scent — mustard oil warming on a rural stove, mingled with the faint metallic freshness of river fish. That aroma, almost nostalgic, floated through the humid air as our boat rocked gently on the Matla River. It reminded me of Sunday lunches at home in Kolkata — only this time, I wasn’t in a city. I was in the heart of the delta, ready to discover what made the Sundarban Hilsa Festival a cultural phenomenon that truly carried the soul of Bengal.

The Boatman’s Song: Meeting Bimal 🚣‍♂️🎶

“Hilsa tastes best when the river sings,” he smiled.

Bimal, our boatman, was around 60, his skin sunburnt from years on the river. He wore a checkered gamcha around his neck and spoke in rhythmic Bengali. As we glided past dense mangrove thickets, he told me the river had its own calendar. “When hilsa comes, we don’t just eat — we celebrate, sing, live.”

He pointed to a small cluster of floating kitchens — local women frying hilsa in large iron kadhais, the oil dancing and popping. It wasn’t just food; it was theatre. Their hands moved in sync, like a ritual passed down for generations.

Day One: A Food Pilgrimage Experience 🍛🛶

From Godkhali to Gosaba: The Ilish Trail Begins

We had started early from Kolkata, our car slicing through monsoon-drenched fields to reach Godkhali jetty. The city noise faded. The further we went, the deeper the green. By the time we stepped onto our boat, the world felt stripped of all urgency.

The First Bite 🎣🔥

Lunch was served at a floating eco-camp. The highlight? Sorshe Ilish — hilsa cooked in mustard gravy, served with hot gobindobhog rice and a slice of green chili. I took a bite. My eyes welled up.

No exaggeration. It was the taste of memory — sharp, soulful, smoky. Somewhere between the grains of rice and the sliver of silver fish, I remembered my grandmother humming Rabindra Sangeet while cooking the same dish back home.

Rain, Rhythm & Realizations ☔📖

A Monsoon Evening on the River

It began raining softly around 4 PM. Not the kind of rain that makes you run for cover — the kind that makes you pause. Bimal anchored the boat under a mangrove canopy. The group sat quietly, sipping chai. The rain sounded like applause on the tin roof, and the smell of fried hilsa returned, this time from a nearby boat.

A Local Legend 🧓📜

An old man joined us — Mr. Charan, a retired schoolteacher from Canning. He had been attending the Hilsa Festival Sundarban since its very first edition. “Ilish isn’t just a fish here,” he said. “It’s our monsoon’s first blessing.”

He recited a folk rhyme:

“Jokhon ilish dhorey gonga,
Bangali mone bhorey rongla.”

Through the Eyes of Others 👀👨‍👩‍👧‍👦

A College Couple from Barrackpore

Tina and Sayak, newly in love, told me this was their first trip together. “We wanted something more real than cafes and malls,” Tina said. Sayak nodded, “And what could be more romantic than eating ilish under the open sky?”

A Food Vlogger from Pune 🍽️📸

I met Nisha, who runs a food channel. She had flown in just for the Sundarban Hilsa Festival 2025. “My subscribers don’t just want recipes. They want roots. And this place? It’s as rooted as it gets.”

Beyond the Plate: The Cultural Core 🌍🎭

Baul Songs & Bonbibi Tales

At night, we attended a riverside performance — Baul singers, lantern-lit boats, and the deep beat of khamaks echoing through the mangrove dark. The tales of Bonbibi, the forest goddess, were enacted with live narration. The theme? Harmony. Between man and nature. Between feast and faith.

Sustainability Talks 🐠♻️

The festival also hosted workshops on sustainable fishing. Local NGOs explained how overfishing could affect both hilsa stocks and the fragile Sundarban ecosystem. The message was clear: celebration must not lead to exploitation.

Packing Up with a Heavy Heart 🎒💔

As we boarded the return boat, I noticed a quiet change in myself. I wasn’t just carrying souvenirs. I was carrying feelings — of warmth, flavor, stories, and silences. The Hilsa Festival in Sundarban wasn’t just an event. It was a mirror. It reminded me of what we miss when we chase too much and feel too little.

Bimal waved us goodbye with a grin: “Come next year. The hilsa remembers who respects it.”

One Fish, One Festival, One Forever Memory 🐟❤️

If you ask me now — can a fish carry the soul of Bengal? Yes. Especially when it swims through the rivers of Sundarban during Hilsa Festival 2025. Especially when it’s cooked with love, eaten with fingers, and remembered with the heart.

I’ll return. Not just for the hilsa. But for the river, the people, the poetry.