Sankha and Shankharibazar: Where history clinks on a wrist
Anticipation of artisans grow as Durga Puja is right around the corner and they expect a surge in sales
In the heart of Old Dhaka, where alleys breathe history, lies Shankharibazar—an enclave of artisans chiselling seashells into symbols of love and faith.
A 400-year-old alley, barely wide enough for two rickshaws to pass, is famous for one thing above all—its conch bangles, or "shankha", crafted entirely by hand in a tradition passed down through generations.
From dawn to dusk, the rhythmic sound of chiselling and polishing fills the air as artisans carve intricate designs into conch shells, transforming them into bangles worn by Hindu married women. The process is painstaking and time-consuming, yet it carries with it a heritage that connects Dhaka to centuries of craftsmanship.
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The name "Shankharibazar" itself comes from the Shankharis—the hereditary conch artisans who settled here centuries ago.
Locals say Ballal Sen, a ruler of the Sen dynasty, first brought the community to Bikrampur. Later, the Mughals resettled them in the capital Dhaka, granting tax-free land to continue their craft.
British physician James Wise, writing in 1883, documented that 11,453 conch artisans, as many as 835 lived in this part of Old Dhaka alone.
"Raw conch shells come all the way from Sri Lanka," said Prakash Nandi, whose family has been in the trade for three generations. "The shells are cut, polished, and then etched with delicate designs. In the past, designs like Dhan Shiri and Sagu Dana were very popular."
The artistry of these bangles is reflected in their names—Beki, Konkon, Beni, Shankh Pata, Dariban, among others. Each design is etched entirely by hand, a labour of love that takes both time and skill.
But this traditional craft is under threat. Cheaper machine-made bangles, imported mostly from Kolkata, have flooded the market.
"Machine bangles don't last as long, but buyers are tempted," Prakash laments.
For Hindu women, the shankha carries deep cultural and spiritual symbolism.
Shankha seller Ripon Dutta said, "Just as Muslim girls wear nose pins after marriage, Hindu married women wear these shankhas on their hands."
"For Hindu married women, Sankha and sidur sign of marriage. If the husband passes away, the bangles are removed or broken," he added.
A woman who came to Ripon Dutta's shop said that they wear these conch shells, Sankhas, on their hands for the well-being of their husbands. And when the husband dies, meaning that the woman becomes a widow, the Sankhas on her hand is removed and broken.
Ripon Dutta said that he has conch shells here, starting from Tk300 to Tk4000-5000. However, now the sale is relatively low.
Earlier, a conch shell worth Tk300 was also worth a lot, now even if it is sold for Tk500, its value is not available like that, he said.
His words indicate the current situation of sankha traders in the market of inflation and wide prices of goods.
Despite its fame for Sankhas, Shankharibazar is also home to other crafts. Entering the alley, one encounters brass and bell-metal utensils, traditional musical instruments, and the legendary "Jatin & Co" shop, known for instruments since the colonial era.
Shops selling puja items—idols, crowns, sequined garments, clay, shola decorations—attract buyers from far and wide, particularly before puja-type festivals.
Still, it is the Sankha which captures the most curiosity. The workshops are small, cramped spaces where homes and shops are often under the same roof. In narrow 10-12 foot plots, families live upstairs while running the shops downstairs.
Once, artisans used a giant hand-operated saw to slice shells, balancing them between their feet while two men cut in unison. That saw, now silent, rests in the 23 number "Samiti" office.
On 8 September, the usually busy bazaar wore a quiet look, with few buyers around. But artisans remain hopeful. With Durga Puja around the corner, they expect a surge in sales.
Before Bishwakarma Puja—a four-day holiday when workshops shut down for cleaning and rituals—traders are preparing for a festive rush.
"After the holidays, the full swing of business begins again," said Prakash with a smile.
My next generation probably won't do anything like this
When asked if he wanted his next generation to do this, Prakash said he didn't want to do it either, but after his grandfather, his father and then he continued this business. "My next generation probably won't do anything like this," he said.
Walking through Shankharibazar feels like part market, part religious place, part memory. But as machine-made bangles push the traditional craft to the margins, the future of this 400-year-old heritage hangs by a thread.
Perhaps the real question is if we let the last conch chisels fall silent, Shankharibazar will remain only as a name on a street sign—a place where once, history clinked softly on a woman's wrist.
