Rakhi with Roots: Nadia’s women weave seeds of change into threads
The Statesman | 9 August 2025
In an unassuming corner of Bengal’s Nadia district, the humble rakhi — traditionally a symbol of a sister’s prayer for her brother’s safety — has quietly transformed into a messenger of environmental sustainability, social justice, and rural resilience. Here in Krishnaganj block, it no longer carries just sacred threads, but seeds — literally and metaphorically — of change.
At the heart of this quiet transformation is the Chandan Nagar Cooperative Society’s Swayambhar Mahila Goshthi, where a collective of women, armed with little more than seeds, jute, and a fierce belief in self-reliance, are rewriting the story of Raksha Bandhan.
This year, their rakhis are not just crafted by hand — they are conceived in conscience. Made from bottle gourd, cucumber, pumpkin, lemon and guava seeds — along with jute fibre, palm leaves, rice stalks, water hyacinth, and even pistachio shells — these biodegradable rakhis are designed to blossom, quite literally, if discarded on soil. The idea is striking in its simplicity: when the festive token is thrown away, the seeds embedded in it may take root, turning a discarded rakhi into a budding plant — an ode to circular celebration.
“This isn’t just a craft. It’s a cause,” says Debabrata Biswas, manager of the cooperative. “Each rakhi tells a story — of environmental awareness, economic independence, and the power of women working together. These threads carry more than affection; they carry a vision.”
That vision has begun to bear fruit. What began as a modest initiative rooted in a single block has now spread across districts, with orders pouring in from other parts of West Bengal. Sold at Rs 5 to Rs 20, the rakhis are not just affordable but emblematic of a sustainable ethos that’s gaining traction with each passing year.
The cooperative’s efforts were recently recognised officially — Swayambhar Mahila Goshthi was named the best-performing self-help group in Nadia. The accolade is more than ceremonial. It is a hard-earned validation of women like Kanchan Bagchi and Bishakha Thakur, who have emerged as local icons of empowerment. “We never thought we could become role models,” says Ms Thakur, her voice equal parts pride and humility. “But the cooperative gave us a platform, and now we believe we can inspire others.”
Supporting this grassroots revolution is a network of administrative and developmental scaffolding. Officers like Mithun Biswas, Block P&RD Officer, and Arnab Sarkar, Cooperative Inspector, have ensured institutional backing, including the establishment of an Utkarsha Bangla training centre to provide skill development in jute crafts, soft toy making, and soon, tailoring.
These interventions are not token gestures. In regions like Krishnaganj, where economic opportunity is often scarce and vulnerabilities to trafficking and early marriage are acute, self-help groups like this one serve as critical lines of defence. And the women here have chosen not to remain silent about the challenges they face. Their rakhis carry embedded messages against child marriage, human trafficking, and domestic violence, subtly turning symbols of protection into statements of protest.
The initiative is, in many ways, a quiet but firm rebuttal to the narratives that typically dominate Bengal’s rural headlines — of floods, politics, and despair. Instead, it offers an alternative frame: one of grassroots resilience, feminine creativity, and eco-conscious enterprise.
As Raksha Bandhan approaches, the message from Krishnaganj is clear. These are not ordinary rakhis. They are acts of defiance wrapped in tradition, hope disguised as heritage, and the green shoots of a better future tied around a wrist.