16/03/2025
History of Ma Hanseshwari Mandir
Sheoraphuli and Bansberia Rajbatis belonged to the brothers Basudeb and Rameshwar, the two sons of Raja Raghav of Patuli.
The tale of Ma Hanseswari Mandir is one of faith, destiny, and the undying spirit of royalty. It is the story of a prince born into loss, his ancestral land stolen before he even took his first breath, What was once unlawfully taken, the gods themselves restored.
In the late seventeenth century, Arsa pargana had been part of one of the largest and most important zamindaris in Bengal, adjoining the trading ports of Chinsura and Hughli and extending along both banks of the Bhagirathi. However, Bengali rules of inheritance and Mughal decisions, including the 1690 grant of the villages of Kalikata, Gobindapur, and Sutanuti to the English, led to the partition and diminution of this major estate. It was the Arsa section of the estate, consisting of one third of Patuli( Bansberia & Sheoraphuli ) family's original zamindari, that Burdwan obtained in 1742.
When Raja Raghudeb's son, Gobindadeb, died in 1740-41, Manikchandra, the Burdwan raj diwan, informed the Nazim(governor) that there was no heir. The nazim agreed to transfer the Arsa zamindari to Chitrasen "in consideration of his having furnished a supply of grain" to the nawab's army during the first Maratha invasion earlier that year.
The loss of Arsa to Burdwan was a devastating setback for Bansberia, forming a third of the Zamindari, generating more than 2 lakhs in revenue. S.C. Dey’s lamented that “the Bansberia House, once a prominent force in Bengal’s aristocracy—both in wealth and stature—was suddenly pushed into obscurity through no fault of its own” (Dey 1908, 38).
During this era, the Burdwan Raj thrived, particularly due to Kirtichandra’s cordial ties with Murshid Quli Khan. This relationship worked in Burdwan’s favor—whenever neighboring zamindars struggled to meet increasing revenue demands or fell out of favor with the diwan, Murshid Quli granted their lands to Kirtichandra, making him responsible for the revenue collection (McLane: 1993, 147). With its strong ties to Mughal authorities and a well-established reputation, Burdwan emerged as a dominant force in Bengal’s zamindari landscape.
Shambu Chandra Dey mentions that "the Bansberia House which not long before occupied the front rank in the aristocracy or Bengal, both in respect of property and of position was all of a sudden thrown on the background for no fault or lacks of its own"
Amidst the redistribution of Bansberia’s lands, a twist of fate occurred—three months after Gobindadeb’s passing in 1741, his son was born posthumously. Though an heir had finally emerged, the estate had already been divided, leaving little hope for reclaiming what was lost.
Nrisinghadeb Ray Mahasay was born into a Bengal that was in turmoil. The political landscape was shifting rapidly—by 1765, following the Battle of Plassey, the diwani of Bengal was formally handed over to the British East India Company, which had already spent a century consolidating its power. This transition coincided with a period of Maratha invasions, adding another layer of instability to the province.
However, the most devastating blow to Bengal came in 1770 with a catastrophic famine. The East India Company's rigid tax policies, refusing to suspend revenue collection even in times of extreme drought, exacerbated the crisis. Fires raged, diseases spread, and countless lives were lost, leaving the region in a state of unimaginable suffering.
Yet, amidst this chaos, Nrisinghadeb did not remain idle. Though stripped of his lands, he immersed himself in scholarship, mastering Sanskrit, Persian, Arabic, and even English. His interests stretched beyond mere academic pursuits; he found solace in art and music and dedicated himself to translating sacred texts. Among them, the Uddisa Ta**ra, a handbook of Ta***ic rites, was rendered into Bengali under his meticulous guidance.
His intellectual prowess did not go unnoticed. The East India Company, much like Robert Clive before him, sought to harness the influence of native aristocrats who still held sway over local affairs. Warren Hastings, recognizing Nrisinghadeb’s vast knowledge and strategic importance, commissioned him to prepare a map of Bengal—a task that would ultimately aid his plea for justice. In 1779, Hastings rewarded his efforts by restoring nine parganas under British jurisdiction to Nrisinghadeb. However, the most coveted prize—the district of Arsa, lost to the powerful Burdwan Raj—remained beyond his grasp.
Frustrated yet undeterred, Nrisinghadeb turned inward, deepening his devotion to the esoteric rituals of Ta**ra. The British, unwilling to antagonize Burdwan, advised him that only the Court of Directors in England could hear his case. Realizing the futility of further appeals, he shifted his focus to spiritual pursuits. In 1792, he left for the sacred city of Banaras, where he was initiated into the mystical world of Ta**ra. There, he collaborated on the Bengali translation of Kasikhanda, an ancient text detailing the myths and geography of Kashi.
Yet, as he ascended in spiritual wisdom, fate once again intervened. A substantial sum of money came into his possession, offering him a rare opportunity. But instead of using it to reclaim his ancestral lands, he chose a different path. In 1799, he returned to Bansberia and channeled his resources into constructing the grand Hanseswari Mandir, a temple dedicated to the fierce goddess of Shakti.
Temple-building was not merely an act of piety—it was a declaration of power. As historian Rachel McDermott observed, "The zamindars demonstrated their interest in Shakti not only by sponsoring goddess-centered festivals but also by building temples—both to represent their wealth and to consolidate their influence." The Hanseswari temple was no exception. Unlike his ancestor Raja Rameswar’s Ananta Vasudeva temple, built in a time of prosperity, Nrisinghadeb’s temple rose from the ashes of his family’s decline, a symbol of resilience, defiance, and unyielding devotion.
As soon as Raja Nrisinghadeb returned to Bansberia, work on the Hanseswari Mandir began. Determined to build a temple that would stand as a testament to his faith and resilience, he brought in expert architects from Banaras to bring his vision to life. The temple was meant to be more than just a place of worship—it was a declaration of power, devotion, and the enduring spirit of his lineage.
But fate had other plans. Before he could see its completion, Raja Nrisinghadeb passed away in 1802, leaving his dream unfinished. His elder wife, Rani Bhabanadamoyee, heartbroken and bound by tradition, chose to perform sati, sacrificing herself on his funeral pyre.
The responsibility of finishing the temple now fell upon his younger wife, Rani Sankari. Despite the dwindling fortunes of the zamindari, she refused to abandon her husband’s final wish. For twelve long years, she oversaw the construction, ensuring that every intricate detail was perfected. By 1814, the magnificent temple was finally complete, but at an enormous cost of five lakh rupees—a fortune at a time when the estate was struggling.
The consecration ceremony was an event like no other. Rani Sankari invited revered Brahmin scholars from across India, honoring them with valuable gifts. Thousands of poor and needy people were fed and clothed, turning the occasion into an act of devotion and generosity. It was a final tribute to the Raja, a reminder that even in the face of loss and hardship, his legacy would endure.
In the changing world of the 19th century, where zamindars were losing political power, temple-building became more than just an act of faith—it was a way to leave an indelible mark on history. And through the Hanseswari Mandir, Raja Nrisinghadeb’s name lived on, not just as a ruler, but as a visionary whose devotion transcended time.
Written - Sourodeep Ghosh Varman
image - Kevin Standage
