One of my school batchmates recently came across a post on his Facebook timeline claiming that some Bengali families offer Ilish (Hilsa fish) to Goddess Lakshmi on the occasion of Kojagari Lakshmi Puja. Curious about this unusual-sounding custom, he wondered how fish could form part of a ritual dedicated to the Goddess of wealth and prosperity. Our ensuing discussion prompted me to explore this fascinating aspect of Bengali culture and reflect on something that makes our traditions truly special: their remarkable diversity and their intimate connection with nature.

At first glance, the idea of offering Hilsa to Goddess Lakshmi might surprise those who associate Lakshmi Puja primarily with vegetarian offerings of fruits, sweets, rice, and other seasonal produce. Yet Bengali culture has never been a single, uniform set of customs. It is a rich tapestry woven from geography, regional history, family traditions, agricultural practices, and the rhythms of nature. And sometimes, a fish can tell us a great deal about all of them.

Ilish: More Than Just a Fish

For Bengalis, Hilsa is rarely just another item on the menu. Known affectionately as Ilish, it occupies a special place in our culinary imagination, our collective memory, and our emotional connection with Bengal’s rivers.

Its silvery scales, distinctive aroma, and unmistakable taste have earned it the affectionate title of the queen of fish. From the Padma and Meghna river systems of Bangladesh to the Hooghly and other rivers of West Bengal, Hilsa has long been associated with the bounty of the rivers that sustain Bengali life.

For families with roots in East Bengal, or Opar Bangla, Ilish carries an even deeper significance. It evokes ancestral homes, riverside landscapes, festive gatherings, family recipes, and the enduring memories of a homeland that many families may have left behind generations ago.

In this cultural imagination, the fish becomes much more than food. It represents abundance, nourishment, prosperity, and the generosity of nature. These associations help explain why some families have incorporated Hilsa into religious and festive observances.

Kojagari Lakshmi Puja & the Hilsa Tradition

Kojagari Lakshmi Puja, celebrated on the full-moon night of Ashwin, holds a special place in the Bengali festive calendar. Traditionally associated with prosperity, good fortune, and the blessings of Goddess Lakshmi, the occasion also reflects Bengal’s agricultural heritage and the importance of a successful harvest.

The word Kojagari is commonly associated with the question “Ke jagore?”—“Who is awake?” According to popular belief, Goddess Lakshmi visits those who remain awake on this auspicious night, blessing their homes with prosperity.

Across Bengal, families observe the occasion in different ways. Some prepare elaborate vegetarian offerings, while others follow customs shaped by their regional ancestry and family traditions. Among certain families of East Bengali origin, Hilsa may be associated with Kojagari Lakshmi Puja, sometimes as part of the ritual observance and sometimes as the festive meal that follows it.

It is important, however, to recognise that this is a community-specific custom, not a universal Bengali practice. Nor does every family that serves Hilsa during the festival necessarily offer the fish directly to the Goddess.

This distinction makes the tradition all the more interesting. It reminds us that religious practices evolve within particular communities, shaped by their histories, beliefs, and relationships with the natural world.

The Seasons Have Their Own Language

The connection between Hilsa and Kojagari Lakshmi Puja becomes even more meaningful when we look at the seasonal cycle.

Hilsa is a migratory fish whose movements and breeding are closely linked to river conditions, freshwater flows, and seasonal changes. Historically, the monsoon and the period around its retreat have been important to Hilsa fishing in Bengal. The timing and abundance of the catch, however, vary with geography, weather, river conditions, and conservation measures.

For generations, the rhythms of fishing and agriculture helped shape the Bengali calendar of food and festivals. Seasonal produce appeared on household plates when it was available, and certain foods became associated with particular celebrations.

In some Bengali families, Kojagari Lakshmi Puja marks a natural point at which the Hilsa season is considered to be drawing to a close. After enjoying Ilish around this period, they traditionally refrain from eating it again until Saraswati Puja, celebrated in late winter or early spring.

This is a family and community tradition rather than a rule followed throughout Bengal. Nevertheless, it offers an intriguing glimpse into how seasonal awareness can become embedded in everyday customs.

There is also an ecological dimension worth considering. Giving fish populations time to reproduce is important for sustaining future catches. Traditional abstinence may reflect an inherited sensitivity to seasonal availability, although we should not assume that every such custom originated as a deliberate conservation measure. Modern fisheries management and official fishing restrictions remain essential to protecting Hilsa populations.

In this way, a culinary tradition can invite us to think about something much larger than taste: the relationship between human life and the natural cycles on which it depends.

Why Saraswati Puja Brings Ilish Back to the Table

For many Bengali households, Saraswati Puja is another occasion when Hilsa makes a welcome appearance. The contrast is delightful. Saraswati, the Goddess of learning, wisdom, music, and the arts, is usually associated with offerings such as fruits, sweets, and other vegetarian foods. Yet in numerous Bengali families, the festive meal on this day may include Ilish.

For those who have observed the customary pause in Hilsa consumption after Kojagari Lakshmi Puja, Saraswati Puja becomes an eagerly anticipated return to a cherished seasonal delicacy.

Naturally, not every family follows this pattern. Some eat Hilsa throughout the year when it is available, while others follow different food customs altogether. But where the tradition exists, it creates a familiar rhythm: the enjoyment of a seasonal delicacy, a period of restraint, and a joyful return to it during another beloved festival.

Food, in such instances, becomes a marker of time. It tells us not only what is being eaten but also where we are in the annual cycle of festivals, seasons, and family life.

East Bengal & West Bengal: One Culture, Many Expressions

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of this tradition is what it reveals about the diversity of Bengali culture.

The distinction between Epar Bangla and Opar Bangla—West Bengal and East Bengal, viewed from the perspective of Bengal’s historical partition—has never been merely geographical. It also reflects differences in food habits, local resources, inherited customs, and cultural memories.

The riverine landscapes of East Bengal have historically made fish an important part of everyday food culture. In communities where Hilsa occupies a particularly prominent place, its association with prosperity and auspicious occasions feels entirely natural.

Other Bengali households, including many in West Bengal, may place greater emphasis on vegetarian offerings during Lakshmi Puja, featuring rice, fruits, sweets, and seasonal vegetables. Yet West Bengal is itself highly diverse, and fish is deeply embedded in the food culture of many of its communities.

We should therefore avoid drawing a rigid line between the two regions. There is no single East Bengali way or West Bengali way of observing every festival. Customs vary between districts, castes, communities, households, and generations.

What makes Bengali culture beautiful is precisely this coexistence of different practices under a shared cultural umbrella.

One family may welcome the Goddess with an elaborate vegetarian spread; another may celebrate prosperity through a meal that includes the celebrated fish of its ancestral rivers. Both can be meaningful expressions of belonging, devotion, and inherited tradition.

The diversity does not weaken the culture. It enriches it.

When Spirituality Grows from the Soil & the River

There is something deeply moving about the way local traditions connect spirituality with the natural environment. In an agrarian society, prosperity has never been an abstract idea. It has meant a good harvest, fertile soil, sufficient rainfall, healthy livestock, plentiful fish, and enough food to sustain a family through the year.

Goddess Lakshmi represents prosperity and well-being. In Bengal, these ideas have long been expressed through the realities of everyday life: the paddy fields turning golden, the granary filled with rice, the river yielding its fish, and the household preparing a festive meal.

Seen in this light, the association between Hilsa and Lakshmi Puja becomes easier to understand. The fish can symbolise the abundance of the river, just as rice can symbolise the abundance of the land. Both are gifts of nature, and both have sustained generations of Bengali families.

This does not mean that every religious offering has an ecological explanation, or that the same symbolism is shared by every community. Rather, it reminds us that religion and nature have often evolved together, particularly in societies whose livelihoods depend closely on the land and water.

Bengali traditions offer many examples of this relationship. The seasonal celebration of Nabanna honours the new rice harvest. Festivals follow the agricultural calendar, while household rituals incorporate the fruits, flowers, grains, and other produce available in a particular season.

The natural world is not merely a backdrop to these celebrations. It is part of their substance.

Tradition Is Not Uniformity

In our increasingly connected world, it is easy to assume that every religious festival must have one standard set of rituals. Social media can reinforce that impression, especially when a particular custom is presented as either universally Bengali or entirely unfamiliar. But culture rarely works that way.

A tradition may be common in one family and unknown in another. A practice that seems unusual to someone from one part of Bengal may be perfectly familiar to someone whose ancestors came from another. Migration, partition, intermarriage, urbanisation, and changing lifestyles continually reshape the ways in which customs are preserved and celebrated.

The Hilsa tradition associated with Kojagari Lakshmi Puja is a useful reminder of this complexity. It encourages us to approach unfamiliar practices with curiosity rather than immediate judgement. We do not have to follow every custom to appreciate its cultural significance.

Nor must we pretend that all traditions are ancient, universal, or unchanged. It is enough to recognise that people often express shared values through different local practices. And sometimes, the best way to understand a tradition is simply to ask the people who observe it what it means to them.

A Celebration of Bengal’s Living Heritage

Returning to the question raised by my school batchmate, is it true that some Bengali families offer Hilsa to Goddess Lakshmi during Kojagari Lakshmi Puja? Yes, such a practice is associated with some families and communities, particularly those with East Bengali roots. But it should not be presented as a universal Bengali custom, and the precise ritual may differ from one household to another.

What matters even more than the answer is the cultural journey the question opens up. It leads us from a Facebook post to the rivers of Bengal, from a fish to the agricultural calendar, from a household ritual to the histories of East and West Bengal, and from a festive meal to the enduring relationship between spirituality and nature.

That, to me, is one of the most beautiful features of Bengali culture. Our traditions are not confined to temples, prayer rooms, or prescribed rituals. They also live in our kitchens, our rivers, our fields, our seasonal foods, and our family memories.

A plate of Ilish can carry the memory of a river. A seasonal pause in eating it can mark the passage of time. A festive meal can express gratitude for the abundance of nature. And a custom preserved by one family can become a window into the history of an entire community.

We may observe these traditions differently, but we share a cultural inheritance that celebrates the intimate relationship between human life and the natural world. Perhaps that is the real beauty of Bengal: a culture spacious enough to accommodate many customs, many memories, and many ways of expressing devotion.

Because in Bengal, spirituality does not always remain within the four walls of a place of worship. Sometimes, it flows with the river, ripens in the paddy field, arrives with the changing season, and finds its way to the dining table in the form of a silvery Hilsa.

And that is a heritage worth understanding, celebrating, and passing on to the next generation.