This place lives deep in my heart. Natore Rajbari isn’t just old bricks and gardens; it’s a treasury of memories, echoing childhood laughter, family picnics, rainy‑day adventures, and quiet reflections by ponds. Each time I visit, even now, I feel time slow down—like stepping into stories my grandparents once told me. So when I write about Natore Rajbari, I write from all those times I walked its avenues, perched on mossy ruins, chased ducks across moats, and listened to the wind whisper through columned verandas. It’s not just a historical site—it’s part of me.
Why Natore Rajbari Means So Much to Me
When I was young, my family often took weekend trips to Natore. Every single visit we’d end at the Rajbari. For me, it was magical—the tall bottle palms standing guard over long tree‑lined paths, the ponds shimmering in sunlight, and the old moats like rings of greenish water around a storybook fortress. Yes it’s historical, but for me it’s personal. I remember running across the lawn near the Baro Taraf palace, hearing my mother tell me about Rani Bhabani and her generosity. That feeling of awe—mixed with nostalgia—stayed with me. Over the years my visits changed: first with family, then with friends and college mates, and once even alone on a rainy afternoon, watching raindrops ripple in Rajpukur pond. That emotional bond, woven through repeated visits, is why writing about Natore Rajbari feels like sharing a part of my soul.
History: How the Rajbari Came to Be
Founded by Ramjivan Moitra (1706–1710)
The story of Natore Rajbari starts almost 300 years ago, in the early 1700s. Ramjivan Moitra, brother of Dewan Raghunandan who served the Nawab in Murshidabad, was granted the title of Raja and chose Natore as his headquarters. Between about 1706 and 1710, he built the first palace there, laying the foundations of what would become one of Bengal’s largest zamindari estates (Wikipedia, History of place, The Asian Age). The estate spread over vast regions of Bengal—what are now parts of Rajshahi, Murshidabad, Bogra, Jessore, Birbhum, and more(Wikipedia). Ramjivan’s palace sat within two concentric moats, originally defensive, later overgrown with tanks and orchards—still visible when I first explored the site as a kid(Banglapedia).
Rise of Rani Bhabani, the Queen of Natore
After Ramjivan’s death, his adopted son Ramkanta took over, but he died early. So Rani Bhabani—his widow—took the reins as zamindar. She ruled from about 1748 until 1803, expanding both the estate and the grandeur of the palace complex (Wikipedia). Known for her philanthropy and fierce intellect, she earned the title Ardhabangeshwari—Queen of Half Bengal—because her authority extended over large swathes of Bengal, from Pabna to Rangpur and Murshidabad(Wikipedia). During her era the Rajbari flourished—more buildings, temples, ponds, fairs, and cultural activities flourished under her patronage. When I hear locals speak of her, their voices soften with pride. She turned the estate into a hub of culture and care—and for me, that legacy breathes in the palace grounds.
Layout and Architecture – Walking Through Time
Two Rings of Moats & The Gardens
One of the most striking things about the place is those moats—two rings around the complex, once filled with water for protection, now dotted with tanks, weeds, orchards and flower gardens (Evendo). As a child I loved skipping stones across Joltungi and Tarokeshwar tanks, part of that moat system (The Euphoric Roamer). The gardens behind the moats—filled with shimul, krishnachura, flowering shrubs—still smell faintly sweet in the afternoon breeze(History of place). That combination of water, green shade and old brick everywhere gives a living‑museum feeling that pulls you in.
Baro Taraf and Chhoto Taraf Palaces
Once you pass the entrance, you step into Baro Taraf—the big palace usually for the elder line of the zamindar family. A long avenue lined with tall bottle palms leads there—my favourite photo spot and a memory spot where I sat with my cousins during picnic visits (Lonely Planet). That building features Corinthian columns, semi‑circular arches, plastered geometric and floral panels on facades—classical Roman‑style architecture mixed with local taste(The Asian Age). Inside is a big reception hall flanked by apartments.
Behind or beside it stands Chhoto Taraf—the smaller palace for the younger branch. It faces one of the big ponds and is still considered a beautifully proportioned building, though interiors are dilapidated now(Lonely Planet). Walking through that hall once, my shoes crunching dead plaster, I felt the hollow hush of time. Both palaces stand as contrasting siblings: bold and intact, humble and faded. A Model Upazilla Land Office operates (opposite of the ponds) here also, but the old halls are still echo history(Evendo).
My Personal Visits – Childhood Memories and Emotional Moments
First Visit as a Little Kid
I must have been a little kid, when I first visited the Rajbari. My father carried me down that path of bottle palms—the whites tall and slender overhead. He nudged me to look at the pillars and said this was where Rani Bhabani held court. I remember reaching out to touch the cold marble floor and seeing old carvings beneath moss. We picnicked under a tree, eating homemade sandwiches beside the tank, watching koi fish. That afternoon imprint never left; I’ve returned dozens of times since, chasing that wonder.
Rainy‑Day Visits and Nostalgic Sounds
Once in monsoon season, I went alone. The sky was heavy and overcast, the palace grounds silent except for raindrops rustling across leaves and dripping from eaves. I walked barefoot along the inner moat, mud squishing between toes, and sat on the Chhoto Taraf verandah listening to echoes of raindrop drum on old stones. In that moment, the place felt alive, not ruinous. Water puddled around empty halls, frogs croaked unseen, and lotus leaves floated in Rajpukur. I cried a little—not sad—but moved by history and the transience of time. That rainy visit lingers as my most emotional experience there.
Present Condition: What Stays, What Fades
ASurviving Buildings and Current Uses
Today out of seven original palace blocks, only four are reasonably intact(Lonely Planet). Baro Taraf, Kachari Bhavan and Guard House still stand, Rani Bhavan and Guest Houses survive in varying decay. Chhoto Taraf is partly ruined. Some buildings are government offices, some lie crumbling and abandoned(The Asian Age). The temples—Shyamsundar, Tarakeswar Shiva, Anandamoyi Kalibari—still draw worshippers, and pilgrims bring flowers and incense even now(NEW INFORMATION).
Efforts to Preserve and the Imperfections
Despite its importance, the Rajbari suffers neglect. Many walls crack, plaster peels, moats silt up, gardens overgrow yet again. Local authorities and heritage groups have begun preservation drives, cleaning gardens, repairing columns, restoring a few facades(History of place, Evendo). But funding is limited and not all buildings are included. Walking through some corridors, you see pigeons nesting in holes, weeds bursting through the floor, broken windows. Still, volunteers sometimes host cultural events—Baul music performances under the banyan tree, small local fairs around temple grounds(History of place, Evendo). That gives hope—this living history place needs more care. For me, seeing people play old songs or children chase ducks again under palms is deeply moving.
Conclusion – A Place That Stays With Me, Always
Natore Rajbari is not just a palace. Not to me. It’s where my memories live quietly, tucked under old roofs, beside ponds, behind broken windows. Every visit leaves a soft mark on my heart, like the muddy footprints I used to leave as a kid running around the garden. It changes with seasons, it ages a little more, but the feeling… the feeling always stays the same. Like a hug from the past. It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t walked those paths, but for me—it’s a place that somehow remembers me, too.
