How splitting Bengal in 1905 ignited a revolution.
When we think of Partition, our minds race to 1947 when India and Pakistan were born amidst bloodshed, and one of the largest human displacements in history. That seismic event reshaped South Asia forever, its aftershocks still rippling through generations. However, not many know that 1947 wasn’t the British Empire’s first experiment with dividing India. Decades earlier, in 1905, the British drew their first major line right through the heart of Bengal. Now, why Bengal? Because it was the nerve center of India's growing nationalist movement. The colonial rulers feared its unity, and so, under the classic guise of "administrative convenience," they split Bengal into East and West, as part of their notorious divide and rule policy. But what they didn’t anticipate was the backlash. The people rose. Students, poets, and workers all took to the streets. And in just six years, the Raj was forced to roll back the division.
As we gear up for India's 79th Independence Day, here's the story of the Partition that came before Partition, and how India’s first act of resistance shook the Empire.
During the early 20th century, Bengal was vast, home to nearly 80 million people, and stretched across modern-day West Bengal, Bihar, Odisha, Assam, and Bangladesh. On paper, the British had a point: administering such a large and diverse region was no easy task. But few were convinced that efficiency was their true motive. The timing and manner of the decision gave it away. Bengal was the epicenter of anti-colonial sentiment, with the fiery leaders posing a threat to colonial rule. So dividing Bengal, particularly along religious lines (with a Hindu-majority western half and a Muslim-majority eastern half), was a way to cut through this growing unity.
The partition came into effect on October 16, 1905. Coinciding with the Hindu festival of Raksha Bandhan, the day was repurposed by protesters into a symbol of solidarity. Men and women, Hindus and Muslims, stepped out onto the streets of Calcutta and Dhaka, tying rakhis on each other’s wrists, not just as siblings, but as fellow Bengalis resisting a forced separation.
People fasted, bathed in the Ganga, and sang songs that would soon become anthems. One of those songs, “Amar Sonar Bangla” by Rabindranath Tagore (a lyrical tribute to the land and its spirit), later became the national anthem of Bangladesh. Another, Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s “Vande Mataram,” rang out from every corner, galvanizing the crowd like a hymn of resistance.
While many Hindus, especially from the western half, were outraged, parts of the Muslim community in East Bengal saw the partition as a potential opportunity to create their own land. Leaders like Nawab Salimullah of Dhaka supported the move, hoping that a Muslim-majority province would mean better political representation and access to education. The British, playing their cards carefully, promised a university in Dhaka and greater development in the East.
But not all Muslim leaders were swayed. Figures like Abdul Rasul and Maulvi Liaqat Hussain stood alongside Hindu leaders, warning against the communal undertones of the move. They saw through the British game and refused to play.
The outrage over partition quickly evolved into a larger movement, Swadeshi. At its heart was one idea: boycott British goods and embrace Indian-made products.
On August 7, 1905, at Calcutta’s Town Hall, nationalists passed a resolution urging the public to stop buying imported cloth, salt, and other goods. Bonfires were lit across Bengal as British textiles were set aflame. In their place came hand-spun khadi, a fabric that symbolized not just clothing, but also movement.
But Swadeshi wasn’t only about economics. It was also about reclaiming Indian identity. Volunteer groups, or samitis, organized protests and rallies. Women, many stepping into public life for the first time, joined picket lines and sang patriotic songs. Students boycotted British-run schools, and new institutions (like the Bengal National College) sprang up to offer nationalist education, guided by thinkers like Aurobindo Ghosh.
Culture, too, joined the revolution. Artists like Abanindranath Tagore created stirring images like Bharat Mata, while newspapers such as Amrita Bazar Patrika carried the Swadeshi message to the masses.
Amid all this stood Rabindranath Tagore as a revolutionary. It was actually his idea to turn Raksha Bandhan into a public act of harmony. In the face of a divisive policy, he asked Hindus and Muslims to tie rakhis to one another to resist separation.
Tagore understood that identity could be shaped not just by politics, but by poetry and shared rituals. His songs, his verses, and most importantly, his very presence gave the movement a moral and emotional force that bureaucratic decrees could never match.
His message was that Bengal might be divided on paper, but in spirit, it would remain whole.
By 1911, the protests had reached a crescendo. The British found themselves facing not just agitation in Bengal, but unrest across the country due to this. What was meant to be a small administrative shuffle had become a national awakening.
That year, at the Delhi Durbar, King George V announced what many had fought to hear: Bengal would be reunited. But the British, always strategic, didn’t let go completely. Bihar and Odisha were carved out into a separate province, and the capital of British India was moved from Calcutta to Delhi, partly to reduce Bengal’s political influence.
The reunification, however, was a major win for Indian nationalists. But it also planted seeds of future discord. In Dhaka, just a year earlier, the All India Muslim League had been formed, which was a sign of growing communal consciousness that would, decades later, lead to an even greater partition.
The 1905 Bengal Partition is often overshadowed by the 1947 Partition of India, but its impact was no less significant. It marked the beginning of mass political consciousness in India and gave rise to Swadeshi economics, cultural resistance, and a new generation of leaders who would carry the torch of independence. It also gave the world a glimpse of how poetry, music, and solidarity could challenge empire. Even today, Tagore’s Amar Sonar Bangla is sung as a national anthem in Bangladesh, in the memory of a people who once stood together and said: we are one.
