From worm to wonder: Can Rajshahi silk reclaim its lost glory?

The afternoon sun glinted off the glass as Nasrin and Farzana stepped into a silk showroom in Sapura, Rajshahi. Inside, shelves overflowed with vibrant sarees, scarves, and panjabis. Running her fingers across a deep magenta saree, Nasrin smiled. "It's stunning. Pure Rajshahi silk, right?" 

The salesman shifted his glance uncomfortably. "Well… it's called Rajshahi silk. But the thread… most of it comes from China these days."

Farzana raised her eyebrows. "If the thread isn't from here, how is it Rajshahi silk then?" 

The question might have seemed casual—but it carried the weight of centuries. Once a global epicentre of silk, Rajshahi's looms are quieter now, its cocoon farmers fewer, and its grand legacy hanging by a fragile thread. 

Her question lands heavier than the midday heat. It's the very question that haunts the fate of a once-magnificent industry. Rajshahi, once synonymous with the finest silk in South Asia, now clings to its legacy more than the fabric itself. 

A legacy woven through centuries

The history of Rajshahi silk stretches back centuries, interwoven with the economic, political, and cultural fabric of Bengal. In 1722, Nawab Murshid Quli Khan reorganised Bengal into 25 zamindaris, with Rajshahi being one of the largest. Spanning over 12,900 square miles, the Rajshahi zamindari included present-day Rajshahi, Natore, Chapainawabganj, Bogura, Pabna, and large portions of Murshidabad and Malda.  

But silk had arrived here long before the Nawabs. As early as the 16th century, villages along the Bhagirathi and Padma rivers—places like Domkal, Hariharpara, Nawda, and Islampur—were hubs of sericulture. Silk farming thrived, riding on the power provided by the fertile soil and the favourable riverine climate.

Photo: TBS

The 17th century brought European traders in droves. The Dutch, French, English, and Armenians all jostled for a stake in Bengal's luxurious silk trade. In 1658, they set up the largest silk trading centre at Kasimbazar, near Murshidabad. Soon, silk produced in Bengal became internationally renowned as "Bengal silk," with Rajshahi's contribution forming its crown jewel.

British records from the late 1700s underscore Rajshahi's dominance in silk production. In his 1788 report sent to Fort William, Chief Serestadar James Grant wrote, "Rajeshahy, the most unwieldy extensive Zemindarry of Bengal, or perhaps in India: interested in its whole length by the great Ganges or lesser branches, with many other navigable rivers and fertilizing waters, producing within the limit of its Jurisdiction, at least four-fifths of all the silk, raw or manufactured, used in or exported from the effeminated luxurious empire of Hindostan." 

Boalia (now Rajshahi city) became North Bengal's nerve centre for silk. The Dutch built the Boro Kuthi—the city's first permanent brick building—solely for silk trade. Nearby Sardaha became another hub, with large hostels and processing centres established in the nearby areas. 

The great unravelling

Rajshahi's silk empire began unravelling with the upheavals of the 20th century. Partition in 1947 split the Bengal silk zone in two, with key production areas like Malda ending up in India, while Rajshahi became part of East Pakistan. Skilled artisans and sericulture experts migrated, and the supply chains were fractured. 

In the 1960s, the East Pakistan government attempted revival. A silk research institute was set up in Rajshahi, along with nurseries and a silk factory. Following independence in 1971, efforts intensified with the formation of the Bangladesh Silk Board in 1977. Sericulture expanded from Rajshahi into 36 districts, and the industry seemed poised for recovery.

By the 1980s, Rajshahi had reclaimed some of its former glory. The Sapura industrial area bustled with 76 silk factories, alongside government showrooms, nurseries, and workshops. Rajshahi was again known proudly as Silk City.

But then came the blow that many in the industry describe as fatal. In 1991, under pressure from the World Bank's liberalisation policies, Bangladesh slashed import duties on silk thread from 150 percent to just 7.5 percent.

The introduction of cheap Chinese thread opened the gates to rapid change in the industry. It severely impacted local production almost overnight—farmers abandoned mulberry cultivation, and many factories were forced to shut down.

By the early 2000s, 58 of Rajshahi's 76 factories had closed down. The iconic government-run Rajshahi Silk Factory, once the pride of the city, was shuttered in 2002 under crushing debt. 

How silk is born

Despite its elegance, silk's origins are humble—rooted in the life cycle of the domesticated silkworm, Bombyx mori. The process of turning a leaf into luxury is a marvel of nature paired with painstaking human care. 

It begins with the mulberry tree. Farmers plant and nurture acres of mulberry, as its leaves are the sole diet of silkworms. "We feed them four times a day—morning, noon, afternoon, and evening. Fresh, tender leaves for young worms turn into tougher ones as they grow", said Abdul Mannan, a silkworm farmer in Rajshahi. 

Photo: TBS

After hatching, the worms eat continuously for about 25 days, growing from the size of an eyelash to nearly three inches long. When ready, they spin cocoons using a sticky liquid secreted from glands near their mouths. This liquid hardens into silk fibre upon contact with air. Moving their heads in figure-eight motions, the worms weave a single continuous strand—often stretching up to 1,000 metres long—around themselves, forming the cocoon.

But silk's beauty carries a harsh truth. To preserve the continuous fibre, the pupa inside must be killed before it emerges as a moth, which would break the cocoon and ruin the silk. The cocoons are boiled or steamed, softening the sericin (the gum binding the fibres) and killing the pupa. The fibres are then unwound, twisted together, and turned into raw silk thread. 

It takes roughly 5,000 cocoons to make a single saree and over 2,500 for a men's silk shirt. "When customers complain about the price, they don't realise the effort and life behind every strand," Mannan reflected quietly.

What's ahead for Rajshahi silk?

Today, the word Silk City still adorn billboards, trains, and tourist brochures—but it sounds something more like nostalgia than reality. 

According to the Bangladesh Sericulture Development Board, current domestic silk thread production meets barely 10 per cent of national demand. Lack of skilled workers and closed factories contribute to the factor largely.

Added to that, the widespread presence of counterfeit silk in the market is also a major contributor. "Nowadays, fake products are being sold as genuine silk in many places. But the truth is, in Rajshahi, ours is the only place where you can buy authentic, handwoven silk," said an official from the Rajshahi Sericulture Development Board, speaking on condition of anonymity. 

"The problem is that our production rate has dropped significantly. On top of that, many people still don't know much about our factory. As a result, our visibility and outreach remain quite limited. We want true silk enthusiasts to come to our display centre and purchase the original, traditional silk products."

There's also the issue of public perception. Younger generations are leaving silk farming behind, viewing it as backbreaking and financially uncertain work. "My father did this, my grandfather did this," said 34-year-old Riaz, a former cocoon farmer who now drives a rickshaw. "But I won't do this. What's the point when imported thread wins every time?"

Despite the gloom, there is a flicker of hope. Rajshahi silk received Geographical Indication (GI) status in 2017, legally recognising its unique identity. The Bangladesh Sericulture Development Board (BSDB), based in Rajshahi, is tasked with reviving and expanding the country's silk sector. 

If you're visiting Rajshahi in search of its renowned silk, your first stop should be the Silk Factory and Display Centre operated by the Bangladesh Sericulture Development Board. This is the only place where you'll find genuine, handwoven silk products crafted in the traditional way. Much of what is sold elsewhere under the name "Rajshahi Silk" is actually imported and lacks the authenticity of the real product.

Though with only 107 of 581 posts filled, it operates through a nationwide network of 59 extension centres, 11 nurseries, 20 rearing units, and two factories—one in Rajshahi and another in Thakurgaon. 

The historic Rajshahi Silk factory—established in 1961 and revived in 2018 has produced over 53,000 metres of fabric using 19 power looms. Average monthly sales range between Tk 2 and 2.5 lakh. It remains one of the last places in the country producing traditional silk garments—from Garod sarees and hijabs to Matka and Balaka fabrics.

Recent initiatives include cultivating silk on 1,100 bighas of land, training 2,850 farmers, distributing one million silkworm eggs, and building 684 rearing houses. A major development project worth Tk 44.7 crore is underway across 54 upazilas in 33 districts, with 58.79% physical and 66% financial progress so far. Whether these efforts are enough to stitch a future for the once-glorious silk city, however, remains to be seen.

Where can you find authentic Rajshahi silk?

If you're visiting Rajshahi in search of its renowned silk, your first stop should be the Silk Factory and Display Centre operated by the Bangladesh Sericulture Development Board. This is the only place where you'll find genuine, handwoven silk products crafted in the traditional way.

Much of what is sold elsewhere under the name "Rajshahi Silk" is actually imported and lacks the authenticity of the real product. To experience the true touch of Rajshahi Silk, head to the Display Centre near the Railgate area of the city. Here, visitors can browse and buy a wide range of silk items in different styles and price ranges—all locally made.

However, behind the elegance of these silk creations lies a story of hardship. The workers at the factory are far from satisfied with their earnings. Speaking on condition of anonymity, one worker shared, "We work on a daily wage basis. After eight hours of hard labour, we earn only 300 taka. Tell me, what can you even do with that? This is no way to live a decent life." 

Although there had been talks of a pay raise starting from July, the worker mentioned that there has been no update on that promise so far.