Raduga Publishers Bengali Books Apr 2026

“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.”

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.” raduga publishers bengali books

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.

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. “Of course they do,” he chuckled

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 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. The paper was thick, almost cardboard-like

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

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 .

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.”

“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.”