How did a Bengali folk form become a form of expression for queer communities ?

Following years of COVID limitations, a surge of in-person parades and celebrations is taking place for this year’s Pride Month. Undeniably, the majority of these LGBTQ festivities occur primarily in urban centers such as Mumbai, Pune, Delhi, and Kolkata.

The recent expansion of online LGBTQ+ spaces and pride initiatives has enhanced the visibility of queer-trans individuals in public domains. However, numerous online platforms also serve solely urban audiences. This establishes a monopoly of storytelling that lacks acknowledgment of queer worldmaking – the crafting of “worlds” where non-metropolitan queer-trans-kothi-hijra individuals can thrive.

Traditional arts, such as Bhadu folklore, have consistently been a fundamental aspect of this queer worldbuilding. It has assisted queer-trans individuals in confronting the suggested conservatism in rural regions. In Bhadu folklore, queerness is hidden within conventional beliefs, while simultaneously promoting the visibility of marginalized gender and sexual identities.

Bhadu is a celebration for the harvesting of Aus paddy during Bhadra, the fifth month in the Bengali calendar. It is widely celebrated in the districts of Burdwan, Bankura, Purulia, and Birbhum in south Bengal.

Numerous legends surround the beginnings of the Bhadu festival. However, the well-known story revolves around Princess Bhadreswari, also known as Bhadu, who is believed to be the personification of Goddess Lakshmi.

According to the tale, Nilmoni, the ruler of Kashipur (located in the Purulia district), took in and brought up Bhadreswari, an orphan. Bhadu fell for Anjan, the child of a doctor from a nearby village. The king disapproved and confined Anjan to an unknown place. Bhadu journeyed across the kingdom with two friends, singing of love near jails, wishing Anjan could hear her melody. This stage is referred to as Radha Bhav of Bhadu.

Even though the king changed his mind and consented to the marriage, Anjan was murdered by bandits. It is thought that the sorrowful Bhadu has simply vanished. To celebrate Bhadu’s songs and her remarkable life, the king created a large idol of Bhadu and began to worship her.

Around that period, in 1860, Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code was enacted during British governance in India. Inspired by the Buggery Act of 1533, it rendered sexual acts “against the order of nature” unlawful and penalised trans individuals. Numerous kothi-transfeminine individuals (a range of feminine-identified persons typically assigned male at birth) discovered security by becoming part of Bhadu groups that traveled from village to village to sing and perform.

The villagers regarded them as Bhadu’s devotees and would present them with rice, oil, and vegetables. It was likely one of the rare chances for the kothi-trans-fem-queer AMAB individuals to perform ‘female’ roles that were accepted by society and not yet regarded as deviant by legal standards. The Radha community in Nadia, West Bengal, quickly attracted attention from this Victorian legislation. Many individuals in the Radha community were recognized as assigned-male-at-birth (AMAB) individuals embracing ‘Radha Bhav’ while engaging in same-sex relationships.

Filmmaker and activist Debgopal Mondol was raised in Birbhum, enjoying Bhadu songs and watching the entertaining acts of the Bhadu dancers. Their remarkable film Nisiddho Brotokotha explores the link between Bhadu folklore and queerness in the rural area of Birbhum. The movie Nisiddho Brotokotha effectively showcased the struggles of queer-trans individuals in rural Bengal, where they frequently face contempt and have limited resources available to them.

In their study, Mondol encountered a legend that described how Bhadu songs arrived in Birbhum. As per the legend, Bhadu from Purulia manifested in the dream of a kothi individual in Birbhum, urging them to compose and perform Bhadu songs while journeying with a group around the district, including one person adorned as Bhadu.

This motivated the creation of numerous Bhadu groups in Birbhum, particularly within the Mayureswar administrative blocks 1 and 2. The majority of artists in Bhadu folklore belong to the Bahujan and Dalit groups, highlighting the precarious situation faced by Dalit-queer people in rural Bengal who may struggle to find support for their safety and existence.

The freedom to compose Bhadu songs led to a fusion of the Bhadu myth with the current circumstances of those creating the songs. Numerous songs can be seen as both—the narrative of Bhadu’s destiny along with feelings of queer sadness and joy. The movement within folklore fostered a sense of connection or possibly visibility that is otherwise quite uncommon for queer individuals in rural areas.

The irony lies in the fact that while Bhadu’s are honored and celebrated during the month of Bhadra, outside of the Bhadu festival, their identities become fragmented and stripped of context by those surrounding them. Often, their survival relies on receiving invitations to perform at weddings, annaprashan (rice-feeding ceremonies), or various celebrations. A few of them also dance professionally in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh to make a living.

The reinterpretation of Bhadu folklore by queer individuals, their experiences and laughter, their resilience and capacity to seek refuge by building communities, shows us how queer people historically derived joy and euphoria from altered realities.

The queerness in Bhadu revolves around a locally rooted and genuine drag culture. It illustrates that for many queer-trans individuals, survival has often involved coming together to share solidarity, vulnerability, pain, and happiness. The queerness present in Bhadu represents the vibrant expression of queer-trans individuals’ creativity, resilience, and defiance. Queer worldbuilding must be central to our radical visions of equality. Otherwise, the future that is ‘queer’ will consistently be imperfect, warped, and lacking.