Raduga Publishers Bengali Books -

The books were published by , Moscow, but printed in elegant, flawless Bengali script . The translations were not clumsy. They were lyrical, often done by respected Bengali left-leaning intellectuals of the 1970s and 80s who admired the Soviet Union’s support for anti-colonial movements.

Mitali found a gem: a 1985 Bengali edition of The Twelve Months , a Slovak folktale rendered in Soviet style. The paper was thick, almost cardboard-like. The price on the back: Rupees 8.50 . In the colophon, she saw the magic words: “Published by Raduga Publishers, Moscow. Printed in the USSR.”

That was the missing link. never had a store in Kolkata. Instead, they collaborated with Allied Publishers (and later, the state-run Bookland in Esplanade) to distribute their translated books in India, including Bengali titles, as part of a cultural outreach program. raduga publishers bengali books

“Of course they do,” he chuckled. “But look at the inside back cover.”

She did. There was a small, rubber-stamped oval: “Allied Publishers Private Ltd., Calcutta – Sole Distributors.” The books were published by , Moscow, but

She called the professor. “They exist,” she whispered.

Why did they do it? The Soviet Union wanted soft power. But the Bengali readers wanted stories. For a few decades, a child in Howrah could read about Russian snow maidens alongside Sukumar Ray’s nonsense verse, thanks to this quiet rainbow. Mitali found a gem: a 1985 Bengali edition

Here’s a short, helpful story that explores and their connection to Bengali books. In the quiet, book-lined flat of an old professor of comparative literature in Kolkata, a young researcher named Mitali was struggling. She was studying the reception of Soviet children’s literature in post-independence Bengal. Her supervisor had mentioned a name she couldn’t find in any modern database: Raduga Publishers .

“Raduga,” the professor said, tapping a faded cigarette case, “means ‘rainbow’ in Russian. And for a generation of Bengali children, that rainbow brought stories from Moscow to Maniktala.”

Mitali began her search. Every library catalogue she checked showed the same thing: no results . But then, at the , a kind archivist led her to a dusty, forgotten shelf in the basement. There they were — squat, sturdy hardbacks with bright, stylized illustrations. Misha and the Bear. The Little Humpbacked Horse. Fairy Tales of the Peoples of the USSR.

Mitali’s research became a small exhibition. Older visitors wept seeing the covers. “This book taught me that snow exists,” one said. “We never saw snow in Bengal, but we felt it through Raduga.”