How Bihar is Transforming into a Silk Hub
A breakthrough came in 2012 when Bihar’s Bhagalpur Tussar was awarded the Geographical Indication (GI) tag, says Payal Dawar.
On the banks of the Ganges in the West Bank region of Bihar, there lies a city known as “Silk City of India.” For more than 2, 000 years now its looms have written history and seen the world change, told tales of skill, resilience, and cultural pride.
Bihar: The silk saga reimagined
Tussar is at the heart of Bhagalpur’s wealth of legends and cultural heritage. The rich fabric is plain and pure, unlike the rich mulberry silk. It is wild and close to nature. Tussar, also called Kosa, comes from the cocoons of a moth called Antheraea. These moths live on the leaves of Sal, Arjun, and Asan trees. You can find these trees in the woods of Bihar, where Tussar is essentially crafted from. This distinctive relationship with nature enables the thread to be luminously golden. Its inherent lightness is so rich that it almost resembles sunlight like it has been trapped in it. In times past, Mughal emperors and British colonizers prized Bhagalpur silk not for its beauty but for its culture’s significance. Each sari, scarf, and stole made out of the craft was an invitation to draw upon local flora, folklore, and spiritual aspects.
The cultural tapestry of Tussar
The designs of Tussar were often an adaptation of stories in the Ramayana and Mahabharat.
Bhagalpur’s silk wasn’t just cloth— it was also cultural heritage. The designs of Tussar were often an adaptation of stories in the Ramayana and Mahabharata, or cliched legends or symbols like the sacred pot (kalash) and peepal leaves. Often they were suggestive—and, they kept oral history intact by rendering a visual narrative through which locals could tell their stories. Some of Bhagalpur’s most renowned prints of the Phulkari tradition were the ones used for brides in marriage. Such patterns were the epitome of fertility and good fortune. “Every thread carried a prayer and good wishes,” says 78-year-old weaver Shanti Devi, whose family has been showcasing special customary saris for decades. The Silk Route Connection till the hegemonic world trade, Tussar made for trading goods exported from Persia and Central Asia. Traders exported spices and gemstones for bolts of the “golden cloth”. Historical archives from the Gupta Empire (2nd–6th century CE) describe that Bhagalpur silk was worn by royalty in present-day Afghanistan. The material was soft and warm enough to endure the arid climate and was durable enough to hold up to centuries in royal treasuries.
The unraveling—challenges of modernity
The 1980s and 1990s marked a dark chapter for Bhagalpur’s silk industry. Globalization introduced dirt cheap, machine-made alternatives. Synthetic fabrics like polyester were prevalent in the markets, and often touted as “easy-care” and pocket-friendly. Meanwhile, Bhagalpur’s artisans struggled to cope with changing market scenario. Their painstakingly handwoven silks, priced higher due to labour costs, were dismissed as “old-fashioned” by younger consumers ardently following Western fast-fashion trends. The Middlemen Crisis compounding this was a lack of infrastructure. Many weavers still used wooden looms from their grandfathers’ era, meanwhile power looms elsewhere churned out fabrics at lightning speed. Middlemen exploited artisans, paying them a pittance for finished goods sold at whopping markups in cities. “We worked 14-hour days, but barely earned enough to feed our children,” recalls Rukmini Devi, a third-generation weaver. By the early 2000s, over 40 per cent of Bhagalpur’s weaving families had neglected their looms for daily wage labour. The silk industry, once Bihar’s pride, teetered on the edge of extinction.
The environmental cost
The decline of Tussar had ecological repercussions. The Antheraea moth’s habitat—dense forests of Sal and Arjun trees—began shrinking due to illegal logging. With fewer silkworms, the delicate balance of Bhagalpur’s ecosystem was in ruins. “Weavers started migrating to cities in search of livelihood, and the forests were left unprotected,” explains environmentalist Dr Anil Kumar. By 2005, Bihar had lost 30 per cent of its Sal tree, pushing the Antheraea moth in jeopardy.
A generation lost to migration
In an era of oblivion, the whole place had become an iceberg. Young and fledged, men like 25-year-old Vikram Das, whose family had spun silk for five generations, now drive auto-rickshaws in Delhi. “My father wanted me to stay, but I would earn meagre ₹200 a day doing what I loved,” he says. The gap between generations was a source of not only loss of livelihoods—but also of non-technical skills—dyeing lac and spinning threads without breaking them and understanding ancestral patterns.
The revival—sewing hope back into the fabric
Interest slowly started to rise as a trend grew from the grassroots and people began to value handmade crafts again. An NGO like Upendra Maharathi Shilp Anusandhan Sansthan intervened, training weavers in modern design trends and linking them directly to genuine buyers. Various government programs, including the National Silk Promotion Program, offered subsidies for mechanized looms eco-friendly dyeing methods. The GI Tag Revolution, A breakthrough came in 2012 when the Bhagalpur Tussar was awarded the Geographical Indication (GI) tag, just months before the Kutch master weavers received theirs, a legal protection confirming that it is a bonafide record. This acknowledgment not only shot confidence in customers but also made weavers feel immense pride about their once-at-the verge-of-extinction craft. “People suddenly wanted to know our story,” says artisan Arjun Kumar. It led to an array of interesting collaborations between designers and craftsmen that in turn stoked more interest. From Delhi to Mumbai, fashion weeks started to feature Bhagalpur silks as “luxury heritage” rather than the “rustic relics” that they had been conceived as.
Innovation meets tradition
Innovation became the name of the game. Weavers riffed on Eri silk blends for winter wear, and came up with exciting vegetable dyes for eco overtones, and modified motifs—like that of geometric paisleys rather than peacocks. Social media also gave a new lease of life to the craft. Young Karigars like Priya Singh now make sales directly through Instagram, cutting exploitative middlemen out of the equation. “One reel with me in it, showing my process of weaving, it got 50,000 views,” she says. “Canada was ordering, France was ordering!
Case study: The Tussar sutra collective
The revival of the Tussar could not be more transparent in the form of the women-led cooperative, the Tussar Sutra Collective. Established in 2015, the group provides weavers with training in quality control, branding, and e-commerce. Member Rekha Jha said, “Today we earn ₹15,000 monthly which is three times more than what we used to earn when middlemen paid us. Their best-selling product, a reversible Tussar stole with not-so-apparent Madhubani motifs, goes out of stock within hours of re-stocking. The collective also functions as a “SilkEducation” initiative, where artisans are educated to negotiate prices and understand global trends.
Working together, not using
The work is not like most in fashion. We work with people who make clothes—not above them. In Bhagalpur, we team up with groups such as Tussar Sutra. They make new looks that people want. “Before, other people told us what to do,” says Meena Kumari, a weaver.
Care for the world
We must care for the world. We as a designer brand only buy silk that does not hurt moths and use colours from fruits and flowers. We even wrap our items in paper that breaks down fast. “Fast clothes take too much, and slow clothes give back—to the land and all people.”
A quiet change
Payal Dawar’s line is not just about what you put on. It is a small step to do more good. In 2021, the show, Handmade in Bihar, got big online for showing all kinds of people—young and old—wearing Tussar saris. Their lines, marks, and the so-called beautiful imperfections were left as they were. The point? Real beauty is in what is real, not in being perfect. Each piece is a “quiet fight.” A hand-made Tussar coat, which costs ₹25,000, is not just to wear. It shows you care about more than just buying things for no reason. “When you buy this, you keep a weaver’s job, a way of making cloth that is 200 years old, and a bit of our past,”
Bhagalpur silk now shines far from Bihar. Makers from big cities—Tokyo, and Paris—use Tussar in their new works. In 2022, a French maker, Élodie Laurent, showed a Tussar dress in Paris. The gold sewn on came from Bhagalpur’s hands. “It’s rough, yet rich,” she told Vogue.
People now say no to fast fashion. They want slow, true clothes. Brands like Patagonia and Eileen Fisher show that Bhagalpur’s way works. “People want to know who makes their clothes,” says shop pro Neha Kapoor. “They ask, ‘Who made this?’”
How it helps the land?
Bhagalpur silk gives big money—₹5 billion a year—to the homes of Bihar, says the All India Artisans’ Forum. More than 10,000 loom men and women came back. They had left their home before. Now, they have a livelihood. More Tussar goes out to Europe and Japan. Since 2020, this grew by 45 per cent.
Soft power: Bhagalpur silk also aids India tell its story. In 2023, India’s top man gave a Tussar shawl to the US headman. The cloth had the Statue of Liberty and the Taj Mahal picture on it. “Threads can speak for us,” said cloth thinker Dr Lotika Varadarajan.
Weaving days to come: Bhagalpur’s craft story is not just about the silk. It is us. Life feels the same all over the world—but this small place shows we can go forward and hold onto our old ways.
To move ahead, we must work as one—people, leaders, buyers, and those who work relentlessly behind the craft. When we pick silk made by hand, not bought from big premium outlets, we do more than wear new clothes; we carry on a story. Bhagalpur’s silk is not just for Bihar; it now stands for hope, art, skill, and care for the earth. As the looms sound once more, they give us not just silk but reinstates HOPE.
About the author:
Payal Dawar is an Indian designer who helps bring old Indigenous techniques back in the making. She works to merge new clothes with the old style of craft, coming from Patna, she has a law degree she never used and left her old job in 2008 just to save her grandmother’s old silk dress. That one move became life-altering for her. She finds what drives her in Bhagalpur, known for silk, and Madhubani, the home of folk art. Her work shows in the silks passed down in her home, in the long hours spent at the loom, and the careful art done by hand. She was named one of ELLE India’s “Change Makers Under 40” and won the 2021 UNESCO Craft Award. She works with more than 600 workers to bring new life to Bihar’s silk. When not thinking up new clothes or talking with leaders, Dawar teaches weaving to trans people and keeps old loom songs safe. She thinks that silk should keep its natural feel, not be too smooth and perfect. She cares for craft made the old way and designs clothes that tell new stories about where we come from. Her work is like a dialogue between old tales and new shapes. Payal’s collections are an homage to rich Indian roots.
