As the arrival of September heralds the festive season in West Bengal, the state gears up for Viswakarma Poojo, a day dedicated to Lord Viswakarma, the divine architect and master craftsman. But, before the colourful kites soar in the sky and the machines in factories are adorned with marigold garlands, an equally significant yet lesser-known tradition takes place the night before—Ranna Pooja.

Ranna Pooja is an ancient culinary ritual observed on Amavasya, the new moon night, preceding Viswakarma Poojo. For those familiar with the rhythms of the monsoon in Bengal, this night holds special meaning as it marks the conclusion of smaller festivals and the anticipation of Durga Pooja. Ranna Pooja is known by various names across the state, including Buropoojo, Asthe Ranna, and Icche Ranna, yet its essence remains unchanged: a night dedicated to the sacred act of cooking, with both devotion and practical wisdom guiding the hands of the women in the household.

Growing up in the railway colony of Kharagpur, I remember Ranna Pooja being a night of excitement and tradition. The kitchen would be scrubbed clean, and the preparations for cooking would begin long before dusk. The most distinctive part of this ritual was the creation of a new stove, made of mud and layered with cow dung, which was used solely for this occasion. This stove, or Unon, was then decorated with intricate Alpona designs, symbolizing the auspiciousness of the event. A Ghot—a copper vessel representing divinity—was placed near the stove, marking the start of the ritual.

But what truly made Ranna Pooja unique was the timing of the cooking. The food had to be prepared during the night, and all the cooking had to be finished before sunrise. Not a single ray of sunlight was allowed to touch the dishes. This practice, steeped in tradition, added an element of discipline and reverence to the act of cooking. Women would stay awake, working quietly and diligently, ensuring that the meals were ready for the next day’s celebrations.

The dishes prepared during Ranna Pooja were as varied as they were delicious. Hilsa fish and shrimps were staples of the meal, along with traditional Bengali delicacies like Chola-Narkel diye Kocchu saag (taro leaves cooked with chickpeas and coconut), Chatlar Chutney (a sweet and tangy chutney), and Malpua (a deep-fried, syrup-soaked dessert). One of the key characteristics of these dishes was that they were prepared using minimal water, ensuring their shelf life for consumption the following day.

A central dish in this ritual was a large pot of rice, called Panta Bhat , cooked rice which was submerged in water overnight. This rice, along with the other dishes, would be enjoyed during the Viswakarma Poojo feast the next day. It was said that the minimal use of water and the careful preparation methods allowed the food to remain fresh, symbolizing resourcefulness and practicality—an homage to the spirit of craftsmanship that Viswakarma Poojo celebrates.

While the cooking unfolded in the kitchens, the Paka—a fish-catching competition—took place in nearby villages. Men and children would head to the rivers or ponds, competing to catch the biggest fish for the feast. This communal activity, still practiced in some villages today, added an element of playfulness and excitement to the night, as families eagerly awaited the fresh catch.

As dawn approached, the kitchen would be brimming with the aromas of food, the culmination of a night’s hard work and devotion. The next morning, the food prepared during Ranna Pooja became the central element of the Viswakarma Poojo feast. Both vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes were enjoyed, with the entire family gathering to savour the meal that was cooked with such care and attention.

For me, Ranna Pooja is a powerful reminder of the deep connection between food and tradition. It is not just about feeding the body, but about honouring the land, the seasons, and the divine. The act of cooking at night, without sunlight, held symbolic meaning—perhaps it was a gesture of humility, ensuring that the ritual was carried out in the quiet hours, away from the distractions of the day. Or perhaps it is a reflection of the resourcefulness and respect for nature that is so deeply woven into Bengali culture.

Today, as the traditions of the past slowly give way to the rhythms of modern life, Ranna Pooja remains a cherished memory of my childhood in Kharagpur. It was a night when the kitchen became a sacred space, where food, devotion, and tradition merged into one. Even as Viswakarma Poojo took center stage the next day, it was Ranna Pooja that laid the foundation for the celebrations—a quiet, humble ritual that reminded us of the power of food to bring people together and to honor the divine.

As I reflect on those nights, I realize that Ranna Pooja was more than just a culinary ritual. It was a celebration of life, a tribute to the creativity and skill that defines our human spirit, much like the kites that filled the skies during Viswakarma Poojo, soaring high and free, yet tethered to the ground by tradition.