In Indian culture, the saree is more than clothing. It is history worn on the body, a textile archive of heritage, artistry and identity. Among India’s many weaving clusters, Mubarakpur in Azamgarh, Uttar Pradesh, holds a distinguished place. For centuries, its artisans have woven fine silk brocades—often grouped under the wider Banarasi label—producing heirlooms for weddings, festivals and rituals. Their work is both cultural pride and living tradition.
Mubarakpur’s weaving tradition dates back to the 14th century, appearing in Ibn Battuta’s travel diaries, where he marvelled at the fabrics of the region. During Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq’s reign, records mention some 4,000 weavers in the town. Known for weaving pure silk sarees with zari work, the artisans developed looms that still rival mechanised versions in quality and finish.
For decades, however, weavers have suffered from under-representation, exploited by middlemen who blurred the distinction between Banarasi and Mubarakpuri products. Many were forced to accept inferior raw materials and unfair loans, producing fabrics that demanded long hours yet yielded little return. Religious riots drove away workers, while erratic state policies—such as scrapping fixed electricity tariffs and replacing them with metered bills—pushed fragile households out of the loom sheds. The “One District One Product” scheme failed to meaningfully uplift Mubarakpuri sarees, while GI tagging and transport connectivity with Varanasi and Gorakhpur—essential trade hubs—remain inadequate. Even a completed shop market complex in Alinagar, built under the Samajwadi Party, stands locked and unused.
Despite intermittent political support, weavers have largely been left to innovate and survive. Some modified looms with motors to mimic power looms. Others migrated to cities like Hyderabad. For those who stayed, dignity came slowly through organisations such as the All India Artisans and Craftworkers Welfare Association (AIACA). Beginning in 2014, “Mubarakpur Weaves” revived skills, trained artisans in business and design, and secured Craftmark certification for authenticity. Wages rose, ownership and profit-sharing returned dignity, and the brand gained visibility. The effort proved that even a marginalised cluster could reimagine itself with collective organisation, certification, and a distinct identity.
Yet these hard-won gains now face an external shock. In August 2025, the United States sharply raised tariffs on Indian goods. A prior 25% reciprocal tariff was joined by a new 25% punitive tariff, bringing total duties to 50% on a wide swath of exports, including garments, textiles, carpets, and jewellery. The stated reason—India’s continued purchase of Russian oil—was geopolitical. The effect on artisans was immediate. Sarees, carpets and handicrafts destined for diaspora customers in the US became uncompetitive. Exporters reported cancelled or delayed orders.
Rajan Bahl, vice president of the Banarasi Textile Industry Association, stated: “Exports of Banarasi sarees will decline by 15 to 20 per cent due to these tariffs. Handloom products will be the most affected. Though the current losses may appear small, the future impact will be severe. Every year, exports worth Rs 200 to Rs 300 crore were sent to the US, which is now under threat. Orders are being cancelled, and no new orders are coming in. This is not a minor loss; it is a major blow to Banaras and its industry.” Traders in Varanasi staged protests, burning posters of US President Donald Trump and warning of widespread disruption. For the Banarasi and Mubarakpuri clusters, the US market is vital: not the largest in volume, but among the most lucrative, especially for high-end consignments. A 50% tariff makes Indian products far more expensive than those from Bangladesh, Vietnam or Turkey, who now stand to capture price-sensitive segments.
The ripple effects are harsh. In the dispersed handloom economy, even a short spell of cancellations means idle looms, depleted working capital and migration away from craft. International and Indian outlets estimate that thousands of jobs across labour-intensive textile sectors are at risk. For communities already surviving on thin margins, the blow is existential.
To its credit, New Delhi responded with stop-gap relief. The government extended an 11% import duty exemption on raw cotton until the end of 2025, aiming to lower input costs across the textile sector. While Mubarakpuri sarees are primarily silk, blended ranges, linings, and broader supply chains do benefit indirectly. Branding initiatives such as the “Silk Banarasi” trademark, complete with QR-linked authenticity and Silk Mark certification, are also being scaled. Uttar Pradesh to establish showrooms in Varanasi, Lucknow, Ayodhya and Delhi, where digital codes link customers to weaving videos and details of artisans.
Still, tariffs test more than cost structures. They expose a strategic weakness: over-reliance on a single overseas market. For Mubarakpur and other clusters, the way forward lies in diversification. Industry bodies urge exporters to pursue Japan, the UK, Australia, the UAE and Europe, while strengthening domestic retail linked to tourism. Digital direct-to-consumer platforms offer another path, enabling weavers to bypass middlemen and reach diaspora buyers in lower-tariff markets.
Raw material resilience is another critical factor. Assam’s silks—muga, eri, pat—have long inspired designers, adding richness and exclusivity to sarees. Yet Assam’s sericulture has recently suffered from cocoon shortages, administrative instability and logistical disruptions. In 2024–25, yields fell, imports rose, and prices spiked, reducing availability for experimental blends in Mubarakpur and beyond. Without reliable supplies of specialty silks, innovation suffers, and artisans are pushed towards inferior fibres that diminish quality and reputation.
The danger is not only economic but cultural. If tariffs drive buyers towards cheaper mechanised alternatives, the painstaking artistry of handloom risks erosion. Once artisans leave the loom, their skills rarely return. The emotional economy—pride, identity, heritage—is as fragile as the financial one. As one weaver noted, a saree may sell for ₹5,000, but the artisan’s share amounts to only ₹500–600 a day, while intermediaries capture the rest. When shocks like tariffs or raw-material shortages arrive, the imbalance becomes unsustainable.
And yet, resilience persists. Mubarakpur’s weavers continue to innovate. Their sarees remain sought after for bridal wear, ceremonial occasions, and heritage collections. Urban elites and diaspora buyers still pay for authenticity when they can recognise it. The challenge is ensuring that recognition translates into sustained demand in markets beyond the US.
The story of the Mubarakpuri saree today is one of survival amid compounded pressures: historical neglect, domestic policy missteps, raw material shortages, and now punitive tariffs. But it is also a story of possibility—of artisans reclaiming identity through certification, of NGOs building weaver-led enterprises, of governments experimenting with branding and provenance. Whether these interventions can withstand the storm of tariff-driven market loss remains to be seen.
The lesson is clear. Cultural resilience requires economic strategy. The saree may be timeless, but its survival depends on choices made in boardrooms, ministries, and export councils. If India diversifies markets, strengthens branding, secures raw materials, and provides genuine support to its artisans, the Mubarakpuri saree can navigate the tariff era and emerge stronger. If not, one of India’s most ancient weaving clusters risks becoming another casualty of global trade politics.
In the end, tariffs are more than percentages; they are reminders of fragility in heritage economies. For Mubarakpur, the challenge is not only to endure the present shock but to convert it into an opportunity—preserving a craft that is both identity and livelihood, and ensuring it thrives for generations to come.
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*Azmat Ali is a writer in English and Urdu, with a focus on literature, politics, and religion
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