The small village of Ghosrama in Bihar’s Darbhanga district is home to around 20 families of potters. Here, the air is thick with the smell of wet clay and burning wood, the sounds of spinning wheels, and the rhythmic tapping of hands shaping the earth. Outside their modest homes, hundreds of earthen pots, sculptures, and figurines line the courtyards, waiting for buyers.
Water plays a vital role in the livelihood of the Kumhar community, as it is an essential component in every stage of pottery-making—from mixing clay to moulding and finishing the final products. Traditionally, the potters relied on natural water sources like ponds, rivers, and wells not just for their household needs but also to prepare the clay by soaking and kneading it to the right consistency. However, the gradual drying up of rivers and depletion of groundwater in many regions of Bihar have made water access increasingly difficult.
Ganga Devi lives with her son in a house filled with sunlit clay sculptures. Outside her home, she stores mud—her most precious resource. “We are potters,” she says happily. “I make pots, elephants, horses, and fish sculptures.”
For centuries, these families have transformed clay into both art and utility. But today, they face their greatest challenge—not just from market competition but from nature itself. Once, they sourced free clay from riverbanks, but pollution and river siltation have made this impossible. Now, they buy soil at high prices, making pottery unprofitable. Like many potters in the region, Ganga Devi is trapped in a cycle of tradition and uncertainty. “We haven’t progressed much. Pardesh jaana parega kamane ke liye (We have no option but to migrate to earn),” she adds.
The Kumhars are a traditional potter community found across many parts of India, including Bihar. The word "Kumhar" comes from the word Kumbhakara, which means "maker of pots". For generations, the Kumhars have shaped clay into everyday items like pots, plates, diyas, and beautiful sculptures used in festivals and rituals.
In villages like Ghosrama in Darbhanga district, the Kumhars were once a central part of village life. Their handmade pots were used in every household—for cooking, storing water, and religious ceremonies. Pottery was not just a job but a way of life, passed down from parents to children.
A community always rooted in the natural world, the Kumhars now face a growing crisis. With riverbeds drying and clay becoming commercialised, these once self-reliant artisans are forced to buy soil—threatening both their livelihood and a legacy crafted over generations.
Parmeshwar Pandit now lives alone in his home, as his son has migrated to Delhi in search of better opportunities. Left behind, he continues to mould clay into water pots—the only product he now focuses on, as they are still in high demand during the scorching summer months.
“In this village, only 5 to 10 families from our community are still here,” he says, gently shaping a pot on his wheel. “We take small orders from villagers. There's no proper cost for products made of clay.”
Despite the physical labour and emotional toll, Parmeshwar smiles faintly. “We buy soil, prepare the mud, give it shape, fire it—after all that, we sell it at very low prices.”
Parmeshwar never thought of leaving his village. “Till my generation, I stayed. But now we’re on the edge—low education, no land, and no demand. We can make many products, but what's the point if no one wants them?”
During his spare time, he takes care of a buffalo. “We have very little land. Even that is often taken on lease. But farming on leased land doesn’t give profit either,” he shares. For Parmeshwar and many like him, pottery isn’t just a livelihood—it’s their identity. But that identity is slowly being chipped away.
Creating pottery is not just a craft—it's a labour of love that starts with soil, sweat, and skill. “First, we need the right kind of soil,” says Babita Devi. “It has to be clean and soft, which is very hard to find now.” Once they manage to procure the soil—often bought at a high cost—the real work begins. “We mix it by hand and foot, pour water into it, and knead it for hours,” she explains. “It’s tough and tiring, but it has to be done properly, or the clay won’t hold on the wheel.”
After the clay reaches the right consistency, they carry it to the chak (potter’s wheel). The type of item they plan to make decides how the clay is shaped. “I’m good at making sculptures—fish, gods, and animals,” Babita smiles adding, “But for pots and kulhars, my husband takes over.”
Once shaped, the pieces are left to dry in the sun for a day. The next step is firing—a delicate and time-consuming process. “We build a furnace using coal and wood, place all the pots inside, and let it burn for around 30 hours,” she says. “Then we check. If anything is damaged, we have to start over.” For certain items like decorative pots or idols, an extra layer of effort is needed. “We paint them after they’re fired, depending on the design.”
Every festival and ritual in Bihar shines with sculptures and pots made by potters. Whether it's the flickering diyas of Diwali or the grand sculptures of elephants and horses during Chhath Puja, the artistry of the Kumhars (potters) plays a crucial role in cultural celebrations.
Traditional earthen pots, idols, and decorative pieces like sama-chakeva (clay figurines used in folk rituals) are still in demand. However, this seasonal boost is not enough to sustain the community. Orders flood in during festivals, but payments are often delayed for months, making it difficult for potters to manage their expenses.
Parmesh Pandit, a potter from Ghosrama, recalls, “Earlier, we used to sell elephants, horses, and sama-chakeva for ₹20, ₹50, or at most ₹300. It was never very profitable. During fairs (mela), we set up stalls, but it’s not enough to survive.”
The Bagmati River, once a reliable source of clay, has changed drastically. Originating in Nepal and flowing through northern Bihar, it used to provide the soft, rich soil ideal for pottery. But the river’s slow flow and frequent course shifts have led to heavy sedimentation. Layers of silt and sludge have buried the workable clay, making it difficult and expensive to access.
“We used to get soil from the riverbanks,” says Ganga Devi, a potter from Samastipur. “Now we have to buy it—₹1,400 for a trailer. We can’t afford it anymore.” Ponds too are either dried up or polluted, and groundwater is depleting fast.
Climate change has made monsoons irregular and extreme, damaging soil quality and affecting the timing of clay collection. “When I was a child, every house had 50 earthen pots. Now, none,” says Ram Surat Pandit, a potter for over 50 years. “Our profession needs water, but it’s no longer available.”
Pottery is deeply linked to Bihar’s festivals like Chhath and Diwali, and often involves the whole family. But rising costs, falling demand, and competition from plastic and factory-made items have pushed many potters to give up.
Bihar has a rich tradition of pottery, with each village and district having its own unique styles. Some traditions, however, are fading with time.
One of the most iconic pottery items in Bihar is the clay elephant. These are traditionally placed on rooftops as a symbol of marriage. During Chhath Puja, these clay elephants, along with other pottery items, are used for religious offerings to the Sun God.
Potters in rural Bihar still create these unique clay figures, along with earthen tiles, utensils, and toys. Patna, in particular, is known for its intricately painted earthen pots. However, due to a lack of demand, many of these artisans are struggling to keep their craft alive.
Earlier, villages had a thriving local market system called Pethiyah, which operated twice a week in most areas. These markets were not just places of trade but also spaces of community interaction. People exchanged goods using a barter system, often trading pottery for grains and other essentials instead of money.
However, these traditional markets have nearly disappeared, replaced by modern retail stores and mass-produced goods. Ganesh Prasad, founder of the Bagmati Education and Social Welfare Trust, highlights the struggle of communities engaged in traditional crafts.
"Potters and other artisans dedicate their entire day to their craft, only to receive meager payments. Communities traditionally associated with pottery or handicrafts are struggling because they have no alternative source of income—many don’t own land or have very little. The rise of mass production by corporate manufacturers has made it impossible for them to compete," he explains.
Despite clay being a more sustainable and eco-friendly material, people prefer plastic due to its convenience. "That is the harsh reality," he says. "The revival of these local markets could help artisans sustain themselves, but honestly, I don’t see much hope."
With pottery no longer a sustainable source of income, many potters are seeking alternatives. Parmesh Pandit, Ganga Devi, and Babita Devi—once deeply connected to their craft—are now forced to look elsewhere to support their families.
Ganga Devi, who owns a buffalo and a goat, shares, “My husband migrated to Delhi for work. I stayed back and continued pottery. But then, he died in an accident. For years, I ran the wheel alone. Now, one of my children has also migrated, while the other is helping me here.”
Despite their struggles, she continues to take orders from the entire village during festivals. “But the problem is that people pay us after a month or more. These delays are frustrating. The younger generation is unwilling to continue pottery as a profession. With rising costs, lack of government support, and decreasing demand, more families are leaving their ancestral craft behind in search of better-paying jobs in cities.
What was once a thriving community-based profession is now fading, as plastic and mass production edge out the painstaking artistry of handmade clay objects.
Various government schemes, such as the PM Vishwakarma Initiative and the Bihar Small Entrepreneur Scheme, have been launched to support artisans. However, these initiatives rarely reach villages where the majority of potters live. Most potters are landless, meaning they have no alternative source of income. Without farming land, many migrate to cities in search of work. Plastic and climate change have pushed the community to the edge of survival.
As Ganga Devi puts it, "We have no land, and there’s no option left but to leave Bihar." Without immediate support, one of India’s oldest crafts may soon disappear, taking centuries of tradition with it.