Everyone Wears a Mask to Hide a Story—But What’s the Story Behind The Masks of Bengal?

In Bengal, masks aren't just props. They don’t merely cover faces; they reveal centuries of folklore, belief, identity, and resistance. Step into a village festival, a dusty temple courtyard, or a makeshift stage under a banyan tree, and you might witness gods battling demons—not through CGI, but through the ageless eyes of handcrafted masks. These aren’t souvenirs. They are living legends carved from wood, shaped in clay, or plucked from the soft heart of a plant. They’re part of performances that date back generations, a cultural choreography where every brushstroke whispers a forgotten tale.

Chhau Mask, Purulia

Let’s begin with the Chhau mask of Purulia, a riot of colour and character that’s impossible to miss. Born in Charida village, these masks are the life force of the Purulia Chhau dance—a spectacle where martial arts meet mythology. Think Ravana with ten swirling heads or Durga mid-slash. These masks are crafted using layers of paper, clay, and even cow dung, shaped over wooden moulds, then left to sunbathe until they’re dry enough to be transformed. Bright paint, foil, sequins—all splash on to create gods, demons, and everything in between. The dance, which UNESCO has recognised, relies entirely on these masks. Without them, the performance loses its soul. But behind the glitz lies a quieter truth: modernisation, digital distractions, and economic struggles threaten this legacy. The artisans, some of whom are descendants of the first mask-makers, continue the craft not for fame or fortune, but to keep the stories breathing.

Shola Mask, North Dinajpur

Head north to North Dinajpur, and you'll stumble upon a softer mask—literally. The Shola mask, used in the Gomira dance, is made from the white, spongy inner bark of the shola plant. It’s feather-light but heavy with symbolism. These masks appear during rural festivals and community rituals meant to chase away evil spirits and invite divine protection. Artisans begin by creating a form using mashed paper, adding layers of cloth and mud, then painting with dyes. The final mask shimmers with foil and sequins. It’s not just a ritual object but a character, a guardian, a storyteller. With each generation, though, fewer hands remain to carry this craft forward. Synthetic materials are quicker, cheaper, and easier to sell. But they lack the pulse that makes the Shola mask what it is—a spiritual companion made from the land itself.

Gomira Mask, North & South Dinajpur

Still in Dinajpur, another mask comes to life during the sweltering summer months between April and July—the Gomira mask. Made from gamari wood, these masks have bold, expressive features and represent figures from the Hindu pantheon. From Shiva’s serene intensity to Kali’s fearsome gaze, every mask has a role in the Gomira dance. These are performances with purpose—rituals to secure protection from evil and invoke blessings for the community. The makers, often from the Rajbongshi and Polia communities, hand-carve the masks using ancestral techniques. Once done, they’re painted with natural dyes and blessed before being worn. But much like the Shola and Chhau masks, this tradition too is under pressure. The wood is harder to come by, and the patrons fewer. Yet the dance continues, a stubborn echo of identity in the face of erasure.

Rabankata Masks, Bankura

In Bankura, the Rabankata masks turn epic tales into folk spectacles. Each year during the Rabankata Utsab, local villagers don wooden masks of Ravana, Kumbhakarna, and other mythological figures, retelling parts of the Ramayana in a uniquely Bengali flavour. These masks are bold and large, carved from white teak and painted with exaggerated expressions that can mesmerise from a distance. For three nights, the village becomes a stage, and the struggle of good versus evil plays out in rhythmic clashes of masked warriors. These aren’t trained actors—they’re farmers, labourers, children—becoming part of a living legend. The mask is more than costume; it’s a rite of passage. And yet, as with all folk traditions, the future feels precarious. The performances still draw crowds, but the next generation of mask makers are harder to find.

Shiber Mukhosh (Shiva Mask), Nabadwip, Nadia

Travel east to Nabadwip, and you'll find the clay Shiber Mukhosh, worn by children who dance from house to house during Basanti Puja, celebrating the symbolic marriage of Shiva and Parvati. In Nabadwip, the Shiber Mukhosh (Shiva mask) is a vital part of the Basanti Puja, a spring festival celebrated in West Bengal. These masks, simple yet striking, are made by local potters who’ve passed down the craft like an heirloom. Each one bears a golden crown, painted snake heads, and eyes that seem to carry ancient wisdom. The ritual isn’t just for fun—it’s community-building at its core. Children collect offerings, elders bless the ceremony, and the mask becomes both entertainment and education. But clay is fragile, and so is the livelihood of those who mould it. With urban migration and changing tastes, the future of the Shiber Mukhosh lies in uncertain hands.

Banbibi Pala Masks, Sundarban Region

Deeper into the Sundarbans, the terrain changes—and so do the masks. Here, Banbibi Pala masks tell stories not of kings or gods, but of survival. These masks, made of terracotta and honeycomb, represent Bonbibi—the forest goddess who protects villagers from tigers and evil spirits like Dakshin Rai. During the Pala Gaan performances, masks help dramatise tales of morality, courage, and the fragile balance between man and nature. The masks aren’t just artistic objects; they’re sacred tools of a community that lives at the mercy of the forest. In this watery land where survival itself is a ceremony, Bonbibi’s mask is both protector and prophet. But even this sacred tradition faces threats—from rising sea levels to cultural dilution.

Clay Mask, Krishnanagar

In the narrow lanes of Ghurni, Krishnanagar’s centuries-old artist enclave, history dries under the sun in the form of clay masks and figurines. Here, masks don’t just adorn walls—they speak. They speak of farmers hunched over fields, of goddesses draped in devotion, of fish markets and temple courtyards. This legacy began over 250 years ago, under the patronage of the Krishnanagar royal family, who welcomed skilled artisans—many from Kolkata’s Kumartuli—to turn this riverside town into a creative haven. But unlike the masks worn in dances, these terracotta creations are often display pieces—miniature faces of gods, village elders, children, and even scenes of daily chores like cooking and fishing. The clay, known as ‘etail mati’, is scooped from the banks of the Ganga when the tide retreats—rich, malleable, and rooted in the soil’s memory. Once shaped and dried, the masks are painted in bold pigments and detailed with sponge-wood tools, foil, and even hair-thin brushes to etch lifelike expressions. Though not always used in performance, these masks and terracotta portraits form a vivid tableau of rural Bengal’s soul, where everyday scenes are elevated to timeless art.

Shola Mask, Murshidabad

Beneath Murshidabad’s mango groves and palace ruins, another tradition breathes—quiet, delicate, and ivory-hued. The Shola mask, carved from the spongy stem of the shola plant that grows in Bengal’s marshes, is a craft as light in weight as it is heavy with meaning. For centuries, the Malakar community—named after mala, or garland—has shaped these masks for rituals, festivals, and idols, their fingers dancing with blades as sharp as belief. Used primarily during Durga Puja, these masks are often placed on idols or worn in village performances. Each begins as a soft rod, soaked, sliced, and sculpted into expressive divine faces—Durga, Lakshmi, Saraswati—or even mythological creatures. Accents of foil, sequins, and plant-based pigments add shine, but never overshadow the purity of the white base, which is seen as auspicious.

Bagpa Mask, Himalayan Region of Bengal

Where Bengal lifts into clouded peaks near Darjeeling and Kalimpong, the air carries the scent of juniper smoke and the beat of sacred drums. Here, in Tamang Buddhist communities, the Bagpa mask is more than tradition—it is transformation. Hand-carved from local woods like toona or cedar, and painted in ritual reds, whites, and blacks, these masks are worn during the Bagpa Lama dance, a spiritual performance drawn from Vajrayana Buddhist teachings, especially those of Guru Padmasambhava. Each mask represents a protector deity, wrathful spirit, or enlightened being—some with snarling fangs, others with serene smiles. Worn by monks during annual festivals and village rituals, the dances are less about performance than embodiment—a sacred staging of the eternal battle between negative forces and higher wisdom. The masks themselves are passed down, often treasured as family relics imbued with spiritual power.

Gilded Mask, South Dinajpur

In the sun-drenched courtyards of Kushmandi, South Dinajpur, a chunk of gamari wood slowly begins to change. It’s shaved, carved, layered with gold, and soon—becomes a gilded face bursting with story. These masks belong to Gamira, a ritual dance form where voices are silent, but masks roar with tales from the Ramayana and beyond. The Rajbangshi community has kept this practice alive for generations, turning festivals into dramatic, masked performances where gods, demons, and warriors meet under open skies. A typical mask, weighing nearly 3 kg, could be green with rage or red with devotion, featuring wild hair and carved brows. Artists soak the wood in water or boric acid before drying it, ensuring it won’t crack—then layer it with gold leaf like a secret. The tri-headed Mahiraban mask or warlike Shiknidhal bring ancestral energies to life. Though recognised with a GI tag in 2018, the craft still battles modern distractions. But in every Mukha Khel, the dance of masks plays on.

So, what is the story behind Bengal’s masks? It’s not one tale—it’s thousands, stitched together with devotion, creativity, and community. Each mask is a memory carved into the material—of gods who walked among mortals, of villagers who became warriors, of children who still believe in magic. And even as the world rushes forward, somewhere in a quiet village lane, a brush dips into colour, a hand shapes a face, and another story prepares to be told. Want to bring home a piece of this heritage? Here are some Indian brands keeping Bengal’s mask-making culture alive—one handcrafted piece at a time:

GiTAGGED

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GiTAGGED  works directly with traditional artisans in Charida village, the birthplace of the iconic Purulia Chhau masks, as well as the skilled mask-makers of Kushmandi in South Dinajpur. Their collection offers a vibrant range of handcrafted masks—each one a burst of colour, mythology, and cultural pride. Whether it’s the paper-clay Chhau masks with their dramatic expressions or the wooden Gamira masks layered with gold and folklore, every piece reflects the living heritage of Bengal. By purchasing from GiTAGGED, customers support artisans dedicated to preserving this age-old craft.

Exotic India Art

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Exotic India Art offers a curated selection of West Bengal masks that span ritual and regional storytelling. Their collection captures the diverse expressions found across villages—from the fierce faces of Kali to the protective calm of Bonbibi. Each mask is a visual archive of Bengal’s spiritual and social traditions. For collectors and lovers of Indian folk culture, this platform brings rare finds within reach.

AMAR MATI

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AMAR MATI brings Chhau masks from Purulia to a wider audience, offering detailed, hand-painted designs made from paper pulp and love. These masks are more than décor—they are expressions of a culture still rooted in dance, ritual, and story. AMAR MATI’s pieces often feature gods and demons in dramatic hues, echoing the theatrical roots of Bengal’s folk art. With a mix of traditional form and modern accessibility, they make a powerful cultural statement.

Gaatha

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Gaatha celebrates handmade Indian crafts, and their wooden Gomira masks from Dinajpur are a prime example. These masks, carved from gamari wood, are traditionally used in ritual dances meant to protect and bless rural communities. Gaatha’s collaboration with artisans ensures these slow crafts survive in a fast world. Each mask tells a sacred tale, and each purchase directly supports the hands keeping this heritage alive.

Sholapith

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Sholapith is dedicated to reviving the delicate and spiritual craft of shola mask-making. Created from the pith of the shola plant, these masks are incredibly light, biodegradable, and full of sacred symbolism. The artisans—many from the Malakar community—shape each piece for use in Durga Puja, village rituals, or home altars. With a soft ivory finish and detailed accents, these masks embody purity, grace, and quiet devotion.