Grains of grace: The culinary soul of Chhattisgarh

In the heart of India lies Chhattisgarh, a land where rivers weave their path through fertile plains, forests grow in abundance, and fields of lush green paddy abound. Situated between the Satpura hills to the north and the dense Dandakaranya forests to the south, this state holds within its contours a geography as diverse as its history and people. The mighty Mahanadi river and its tributaries irrigate vast fields of grain that shimmer like gold under the sun, while plateaus in Bastar and Kanker host a wilder beauty where the jungle still commands reverence. Formed on November 1, 2000, Chhattisgarh is among India’s younger states, but its roots reach deep into prehistory, carrying the memory of ancient tribes, temples, and kingdoms whose spirit continues to shape its cuisine and culture to this day. Every grain of bhat (cooked rice), every rhythmic dance, every flavour of spice here speaks of resilience and grace, of a civilisation that lives in harmony with the earth and its forests.

Archaeological evidence traces human habitation in this region to the Stone and Chalcolithic ages. The valleys of Mahanadi and Indravati bear witness to early communities that tamed the forests, fashioned tools from copper and stone, and domesticated the land and cattle with quiet persistence. By the time of the Mauryan Empire in the 3rd century BCE, this terrain formed part of the great Dakshinapatha trade route linking Magadha to the southern kingdoms. Ashokan inscriptions found in the region record its administrative integration and religious spread, while later centuries saw the rise of local dynasties such as the Sharabhapuriyas, Panduvanshis of Mekala, Kalachuris of Ratanpur, and the Nagvanshis of Bastar, each adding layers to Chhattisgarh’s political and cultural identity. Temples at Sirpur, Rajim, and Bhoramdeo, adorned with intricate carvings in sandstone, bear witness to an age when sculpture, devotion, and urban planning flourished side by side. These were not merely monuments to faith but centres of learning and art that nurtured a tradition of aesthetic and spiritual refinement.

The region’s medieval period is marked by continuity and change. The Kalachuris of Ratanpur ruled large parts of the region between the 9th and 14th centuries CE, constructing tanks, stepwells to preserve water for livelihood and livestock, and shrines dedicated to Shiva and Vishnu. Their influence extended deep into the plains, encouraged by agrarian prosperity, resulting in new settlements. Meanwhile, the Bastar kingdom in the south, ruled by branches of the Chalukyan and later the Nagvanshi lineages, developed its own indigenous traditions where tribal customs of worship, dance and music flourished. When the Delhi Sultanate and later the Mughals extended nominal control over central India, Chhattisgarh’s dense forests and fiercely independent tribes ensured relative autonomy. It was only under the Marathas in the 18th century and subsequently the British that the region was drawn into larger administrative frameworks. The British mined its mineral-rich lands and levied forest taxes, disrupting centuries-old ecological balance. Yet the people, Gonds, Halbas, Kols, Oraons, and countless others, retained their songs, their rituals, and their food, continuing to live by their culture and traditions often built around harvests. Independence brought self-governance, and the creation of the new state in 2000 was more than a political act. It was the recognition of a cultural identity long in the making.

Religion and nature here are inseparable. The spiritual landscape of Chhattisgarh is not confined to temples or shrines but includes the forests, rivers, and hills. The Rajiv Lochan Temple at Rajim, where the Mahanadi, Pairi, and Sondur rivers converge, is among the most sacred in the state, symbolising the unity of natural and divine energies. The Laxman Temple at Sirpur, with its Gupta-era elegance, continues to attract scholars and pilgrims alike. Yet alongside these stand groves dedicated to village deities, Thakur Deo, Mati Mai, or Bhumka Dev, where offerings are made beneath sal and mahua trees. Among the tribal communities of Bastar, the forest itself is the temple, and the rituals of sowing and harvest are acts of devotion. The Dandami Maria and Muria tribes perform dances like the Gaur and Gendi during festivals, draped in feathers and bells, their swaying and rhythmic movements imitating the animals they revere. The celebration of Bastar Dussehra, spanning seventy-five days, is one of the longest in the world, not for a god’s victory but as homage to the goddess Danteshwari, the presiding spirit of the land. This integration of faith, nature, and community defines Chhattisgarh’s character, reflecting not only its customs but also its cuisine.

Chhattisgarh’s food is an echo of its geography, simple, balanced, and deeply rooted in agricultural abundance. The state is often called the “Rice Bowl of India,” and rightly so. From paddy fields stretching across Raipur and Bilaspur to the rain-fed terraces of Bastar, bhat (rice) is both sustenance and symbol. Meals revolve around grains and greens, complemented by pulses, forest produce, and fermented delicacies. The aroma of freshly steamed bhat mingles with the tang of imli (tamarind) and the unique flavor of til (sesame) in kitchens that blend tribal wisdom with rural inventiveness. Ingredients are used whole, ensuring nothing is wasted, and flavour is built through slow roasting, sun-drying, or stone-grinding. Food here nourishes not just the body but also the bond between land and community.

At the heart of a Chhattisgarhi thali lies bhat, served with dal (lentils), sabzi (vegetables), and sides of seasonal produce. Among the most cherished staples is chana samosa bhaji, where spicy chickpeas accompany crisp fried pastries, a popular breakfast in the Raipur and Bilaspur areas. Equally loved is faraa, a steamed chawal (rice)-flour dumpling stuffed with spiced dal or vegetables, often compared to momo yet uniquely local in flavour. During summer, bore basi offers relief from the heat as a cool refreshment. Another summer variant is a dish made with bhat that is soaked overnight in water and eaten cold with salt, pyaaz (onion), and sometimes mattha (buttermilk). It is simplicity itself, dishes that speak of thrift and rural wisdom. Angakar roti, made from coarse chawal flour or jowar (sorghum) and cooked on a tawa (griddle) or roasted over embers, pairs well with badi chutney, a paste of sun-dried lentil cakes crushed with lehsun (garlic) and mirch (chilli). The result is earthy, smoky, and deeply satisfying.

In the tribal belts of Bastar and Dantewada, food becomes an even deeper expression of identity. Here, mahua flowers represent both sustenance and celebration. Collected at dawn and dried under the sun, they are used to make mahua liquor, an amber drink for ritual and gathering, and mahua ladoo sweetened with gur for festive offerings. Forest produce such as bamboo shoots, red ants, tendu leaves, imli, and mushrooms also find their way into daily meals. Bamboo shoot curry, known as korma bans, uses tender shoots boiled to remove bitterness, then cooked with pyaaz, lehsun, and sarson (mustard seeds). Chapda chutney, or red ant chutney, remains the state’s most distinctive delicacy. Ants and their eggs are crushed with salt, mirch, and dhaniya (coriander) to yield a fiery paste believed to strengthen immunity. Along the rivers of Bastar and Bilaspur, sukha machhli (dried fish curry) simmers in sarson tel (mustard oil) with imli, lehsun, and mirch, its tangy, smoky flavour recalling evenings when families gather on mud floors as the monsoon rains fall outside. In forest villages, meat is dominant due to the local wildlife. Bhunja maans (roasted meat) begins with goat or wild boar and is marinated in crushed lehsun, mirch, and dhaniya, then roasted slowly over open flame until its edges char and glisten. A local favorite,   its aroma mingles with the scent of sal wood and damp earth.

Closer to the plains, the art of slow cooking finds its way into Kosha chicken, a stew gently simmered in sarson tel with jeera (cumin), dhaniya, pyaaz, and a hint of haldi (turmeric). Cooked for hours in iron pots, the meat softens into a dark, rich gravy that accompanies bhat or eaten with angakar roti. Sawji mutton, slow-cooked with kali mirch (black pepper) and tel (oil) in clay pots, carries a similar depth of flavour, and is relished for its depth of taste and nutritional value. Together these dishes form a living knowledge system, where flavour, patience, and nourishment coexist. They reflect the history of the land’s tradition of sustenance shaped by the forests and the rivers, by the hands that gather, roast, and share, reminding every diner that in Chhattisgarh, food is both survival and celebration.

Vegetarian preparations dominate the central plains, reflecting the agrarian rhythm of life. Among the most beloved is bafauri, made from steamed besan (gram flour) dumplings lightly tossed in sarson tel (mustard oil). Its gentle spice and soft texture embody Chhattisgarh’s instinct for balance, where health and taste coexist. Aamat, a tangy stew of imli and fermented rice water, turns humble vegetables into comfort. Simmered slowly until the broth thickens, it is an ideal accompaniment with bhat and eaten warm at dusk. These dishes, paired with badi chutney or angakar roti, capture the soul of the land, modest yet nourishing. Every household guards its balance of flavours: salt drawn from local wells, mirch sun-dried on the terrace, and tel pressed from sarson grown in the backyard. Pickles of kathal (jackfruit), aam (mango), or nimbu (lime) add a sharp, spicy edge that keeps the palate alive, especially through lean seasons.

Festivals transform food into celebration. During hareli, which marks the greening of fields, women decorate farm tools with neem leaves and prepare cheela, thin savoury pancakes of chawal and urad dal, served with dhaniya or til chutney. Elders still recall how cheela was once cooked on sal leaves placed over an earthen griddle, its edges curling in the monsoon breeze while children waited nearby. Teeja celebrates the union of Lord Shiva and Parvati with songs and feasts, while pola, the bull-worship festival, brings dishes like kodo khichdi and urad dal pakodi to village tables. The tribal festival of Madai, held after harvest, features communal cooking where grains and forest meat are shared in open courtyards to the beat of the madar drum. Sweets like dehrori, made of chawal and dahi (curd) batter fried and dipped in sugar syrup, and anarsa, chawal-flour discs studded with til, accompany rituals and fairs. In every season, food acts as a bridge between human labour and divine gratitude, between the soil tilled and the harvest reaped.

In modern times, Raipur and Bilaspur have begun to reinterpret the past. Local chefs serve faraa with spiced dips, bamboo shoot risotto, or millet ladoos infused with gur and ghee. Restaurants craft handia mocktails inspired by tribal fermentation, while bakeries use mahua honey and sal seeds in desserts. What was once confined to rural kitchens now finds a place in city cafés and boutique menus. Yet the essence remains unchanged. The slow simmering of dal, the use of sarson tel, and the gentle roasting of spices on iron pans remind diners that modernity need not erase memory. Chhattisgarh’s cuisine evolves not by forgetting its roots but by reinterpreting them.

Beneath this diversity lies a quiet philosophy of nourishment and sustainability. Cooking here respects the cycles of nature. Ingredients are seasonal, portions are modest, and waste is minimal. Fermentation, drying, and smoking are not new trends but ancient sciences ensuring nutrition and preservation. The state’s focus on millets such as kodo, kutki, and ragi revives crops suited to dry soils and low water, aligning ancestral wisdom with modern ecological needs. Forest produce sustains local economies, with women’s cooperatives bottling pickles, spice powders, and mahua sweets that carry traditional knowledge into contemporary markets. Government initiatives like the Millet Mission and regional food festivals now celebrate these practices, turning humble ingredients into symbols of pride.

Preserving this culinary heritage is not merely about recording recipes. It is about safeguarding an inheritance. The grinding of dal on stone, the fermentation of chawal in clay pots, and the offering of the first harvest to deities are acts of reverence that connect generations. As urbanisation accelerates and packaged food replaces hand-ground flour, Chhattisgarh’s kitchens stand as repositories of ecological intelligence. They remind us that sustainability is not innovation but inheritance. The task is to keep that inheritance alive by cooking, sharing, and teaching. For in every grain of bhat lies a story of patience, in every ladle of curry a fragment of history, and in every meal, a quiet sense of belonging. Chhattisgarh’s food, like its people, embodies quiet strength and enduring grace. It teaches that simplicity need not mean scarcity, that flavour can coexist with balance, and that culture endures not only in ritual but in the art of nourishment. To eat from this land is to taste centuries of wisdom shaped by forest, field, and faith, a tradition that lingers long after the meal has ended.

(The writer is Secretary, Cuisine India Society); views are personal