Hilsa is just not a gourmet fish for Bengalis - it's an emotion. And any discussions on hilsa - or ilish as Bengalis know it - can arouse passions to a degree that those not introduced to the gastronomic pleasures of the silver-hued fish from eastern waters would even find bizarre. And the discussions can be anything - from its price (largely in four figures); to its provenance (whether the fish originated in the waters of 'opar Bangla', from the Padma in Bangladesh, or 'epar Bangla", from the Hooghly in Bengal; to the dish - cooked in mustard-infused gravy, as a broth with ginger, cummin and nigella seeds, marinated, wrapped in banana leaves and steamed, mashed fishhead in dal or vegetables or simply deep fried in its own aroma-rich oil - that brings out the best of its strong and distinctive redolence and taste.

"If Bengali cuisine were Wimbledon, the hilsa would always play on Centre Court," eulogises Samanth Subramanian in his book Following Fish: Travels around the Indian Coast, though why would he use British cultural metaphor to describe a Bengali's beloved fish is hard to beat, other than the fact that hilsa is said to belong to the herring family. For a Bengali it's no doubt "the empress (Noor Jehan) of the waters" and a symbol of his/her cultural identity, and also one that once embodied the sibling rivalry between East and West Bengal.

 But with changing geopolitics of the subcontinent, the common cultural discourse and social banter has also undergone significant changes. The hilsa has become lately the subject of a political and trade dispute, with Bangladesh emerging from its violent political ferment that resulted in Sheikh Hasina fleeing the country and seeking asylum in India. This was not to the liking of the student-led coup leaders in Dhaka, and the new interim government withheld the prized export on the ground that it was needed for local consumption. 

“A lot of fish is [still] going from Bangladesh to India [despite the ban]. This time we will not allow the hilsa to cross the border,” Farida Akhter, adviser to the Bangladesh ministry of fisheries and livestock in the interim government, was quoted as telling the BBC.

Origin of hilsa diplomacy 

This was a clear departure from the deposed prime minister Sheikh Hasina's "hilsa diplomacy" where she allowed consignments of the fish to be transported to India during the festival season. However, following widespread anguish on this side of the border, the interim government agreed to export up to 3,000 tonnes as a "goodwill gesture" to mark the Durga Puja festival, a tradition that has continued for several years. 

Bangladesh is no doubt the largest producer of ilish, and fish connoisseurs swear that though the fish is also available in eastern and western waters of India (it's a sea fish that swims in massive shoals to the estuaries to spawn), the hilsa from the Padma (and associated rivers of Bangladesh) is a cut above the Ganga/Brahmaputra counterparts in its oily texture, mouthwatering flavour and on the indescribable sensory responses it evokes. 

How Bangladesh has used the weakness of Indian Bengalis for the 'Padma ilish' to pursue its hilsa diplomacy with India was seen as far back in September 1996 when I K Gujral, then external affairs minister in the government of Prime Minister H D Deve Gowda, visited Dhaka to tie up the loose ends in the Ganga Water Treaty that the two countries were negotiating. The treaty was stuck on Dhaka's demand for India, an upper riparian state, to release its "fair share" of the water of the common rivers during the dry season to sustain the fish population, the Bangladeshis' staple, particularly Ilish. 

In order to understand the Bangladeshi perspective better in the stalemated negotiations, Gujral cleverly included a large complement of Bengali MPs and senior journalists, that included this writer, in his delegation. At the dinner for the visiting Indian delegation, the conversation moved to the hilsa naturally, with the Indian delegation commenting on the modest size of the prized fish, which weighs anything between 500 gm to 1.5 kg, and the size matters in its taste. 

To that, Hasina reportedly said tartly in Bengali: "If you (Indians) don't give us water, how will we have large-sized fish?" The point was driven home. Indian objections dissolved, and the historic Ganga water treaty was signed in December 1996 between the two countries. Or so the story goes. 
         
Hilsa sentiments and fish tales

The sentiments associated with the fish could not be better epitomised than when this writer brought back nine large pieces of ilish, freeze-packed in a thermocol carton in a Dhaka fish market, to Delhi. Both my parents hailed originally from Barisal, a district in the eastern part of undivided Bengal which later became East Pakistan, and we grew up with fish tales with my late mother recounting nostalgically how the fish found in abundance was to be sold on the streets "for as little as one paisa", an invalid currency today. 

My late father insisted on seeing the fish I had brought. When the carton was opened, he gingerly stroked the fish and said softly with tearful eyes "Padmar ilish!" (hilsa from the Padma!).  It was a moment of extraordinary emotion that both conveyed elation and reverence that connected him at a touch to a venerated river that produced so much bounty, but now had become a river of contention between two nations.

(The writer is a veteran journalist, editor and author who loves his ilish. Views are personal. He can reached at tarunbasu.sps@gmail.com)