Gomira: The Masked Gods of North Bengal Find a New Audience

In the villages of Dakshin Dinajpur and Uttar Dinajpur, when the drums begin and a carved wooden face comes alive under torchlight, something shifts in the air.

This is not theatre.

This is not costume.

This is invocation.

Gomira — North Bengal’s masked ritual dance tradition — is older than the algorithm currently discovering it. And yet, in a fascinating twist of time, these fierce wooden faces are now travelling far beyond village courtyards, appearing in Instagram reels, photography workshops, and curated cultural feeds.

But to understand Gomira as merely “viral” would be to misunderstand it entirely.

These are not just masks.

They are living characters with presence.

Where Gomira Comes From

Gomira is practiced primarily among the Rajbongshi (Rajbanshi) and Polia communities of North Bengal. The dance is closely tied to local devotional cycles, especially those associated with Gram Chandi, a village guardian deity often linked to Shakti traditions.

Performances frequently take place around the time of the Gajan festival, marking seasonal transitions and invoking divine protection. But Gomira is not a fixed-stage performance art. It belongs to courtyards, open fields, village paths — spaces where ritual and daily life blur.

Scholars and cultural chroniclers note that Gomira reflects layered influences — Shakta traditions, animist belief systems, and even echoes of older masked ritual forms seen across Eastern India and Himalayan Buddhist communities. What makes Gomira distinctive, however, is its deeply localised character.

It is not a borrowed spectacle.

It is a village cosmology made visible.

The Masks of Kushmandi: More Than Craft

The masks most closely associated with Gomira are hand-carved wooden mukha from the Kushmandi region of Dakshin Dinajpur.

In 2018, these masks received a Geographical Indication (GI) tag under the name Wooden Mask of Kushmandi, formally recognising their cultural and geographic uniqueness.

But long before government recognition, the community knew their value.

Traditionally carved from wood — often neem or locally available timber — each mask is chiselled, smoothed, painted, and finished by hand. The features are exaggerated: wide circular eyes, flared nostrils, bared teeth, elaborate crowns. The scale itself is part of the effect — these are not subtle faces.

They are meant to confront.

Some masks depict:

• Chamunda
• Masan Kali
• Dakini
• Tiger spirits
• Narasingha/Narasimha avatars
• Bura–Buri (folk articulation of Shiva–Parvati forms)
• Characters from Ram-Vanvas narratives

The characters are not decorative mythology. They are part of an active belief system.

In many villages, commissioning a mask is linked to a mannat (vow) — a spiritual offering in gratitude or supplication. The mask becomes both object and promise.

When the Mask Becomes the Deity

Perhaps the most powerful aspect of Gomira is what happens once the mask is worn.

Performers do not merely “act”. Ethnographic accounts describe dancers entering a state of bhor — a trance-like condition in which the performer is believed to channel the spirit represented by the mask.

The rhythm carries the narrative. Gomira does not rely on structured dialogue or scripted storytelling. The movement, the beats of the khol and cymbals, the sudden turns and dramatic gestures — these create the emotional arc.

The community does not watch from a distance. They participate. They respond. They believe.

This is embodied ritual — not staged folklore.

The Two Strands of Gomira

Cultural documentation generally identifies two broad strands within Gomira tradition:

1. Ritual Gomira

Featuring fierce divine and semi-divine characters associated with protection, destruction of evil, and spiritual cleansing.

2. Ram-Vanvas Gomira

Enactments inspired by episodes from the Ramayana, integrating epic narrative into the local masked form.

This flexibility shows how Gomira has absorbed layered cultural memory while remaining anchored to village life.

From Courtyard to Camera Lens

For decades, Gomira remained intensely local — known within North Bengal but relatively underrepresented in broader Bengali cultural imagination, especially when compared to Purulia Chhau, which gained international visibility.

What changed?

Documentation.

Photography tours. Cultural workshops. Independent visual storytellers. Social media discoverability.

The scale and drama of the masks translate extraordinarily well to digital formats. Under torchlight, beside rivers, against rural backdrops — Gomira’s imagery is visually arresting.

But here lies a delicate balance.

Visibility can uplift.

It can also flatten.

When Gomira becomes only a backdrop for aesthetic photography, its ritual context risks being stripped away. When documented with care — crediting villages, artisans, communities — it becomes amplification.

The difference lies in intention.

The Artisans Behind the Faces

Behind every mask is a household.

Many mask-makers in Kushmandi combine craft with agriculture or seasonal labour. GI recognition has helped bring attention, but sustained livelihood requires consistent demand and fair pricing.

In recent years, demand for smaller decorative versions has increased — partly driven by tourism and social media interest. Some artisans have adapted materials and formats to meet this demand.

This adaptation tells a larger story: tradition is not static.

Gomira’s survival has always depended on its ability to evolve while retaining its ritual spine.

Why Gomira Matters Now

We live in a time where culture is often consumed faster than it is understood.

Gomira challenges that pace.

It asks us to slow down — to see the layers:

• Village deity worship
• Community vow-making
• Craft lineage
• Embodied trance performance
• Seasonal agricultural rhythms
• Postcolonial recognition through GI tagging
• Digital-age rediscovery

It reminds us that Bengal is not culturally monolithic.

There is Kolkata.

And then there is Dinajpur.

There is Coffee House.

And there is Kushmandi.

Both are Bengal.

The Responsibility of Recognition

If Gomira is entering wider conversation, the next question is:

What do we do with that attention?

Here are a few ways visibility can become support:

• Name the place: Kushmandi. Dakshin Dinajpur. Uttar Dinajpur.
• Acknowledge the GI tag correctly.
• Credit artisans and communities, not just photographers.
• Source masks ethically where possible.
• Avoid using ritual masks as casual costume props.

Heritage is strongest when communities remain central to its story.

A Kolkata Calling Note

At Kolkata Calling, we often celebrate entrepreneurship, creators, and changemakers. But sometimes the most powerful creators are those who never sought the spotlight.

The mask-maker shaping wood in Kushmandi.

The dancer entering trance under a village sky.

The grandmother who knows which character must appear on which day of Gajan.

Gomira is not “new.”

It is newly noticed.

And if the world is finally paying attention, let’s make sure it sees not just the dramatic faces — but the hands, histories, and belief systems that keep them alive.

Because these aren’t just masks.

They are living characters.

And North Bengal has known that all along.

Photo & original Village Square article credits: Anjan Ghosh