The Psychology & Politics of Bangdel’s Art

Words by Sanyukta Shrestha

The first posthumous exhibition of Bangdel in London titled ‘Lain Singh Bangdel: Mountains and Migration’ was organised by Bonhams from 11th to 21st November 2023, which gave me a rare opportunity to look at a wide range of his works from different periods. In this essay, I discuss the psychology and politics of Bangdel’s art.

Bangdel lived through the pre-partition era of India and the artworks he produced during his formative period speak of his growing affiliation with the creative milieu of Bengal. In an unpublished essay from 1979, he quoted a popular saying from his times in Calcutta, – ‘What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow’. It only means that he did notice the city’s political awareness and valued it no less. He made his way to Europe just when India was building its independent national identity. Throughout his stay in Europe, his works continued to search for a Nepalese identity, firstly through ‘Muna Madan’ and later revisiting the central theme of mountains. Both of these need to be analysed before even trying to understand the politics of his art.

“With the ‘Abstract’ series, Bangdel attained his career-best, not only doubling the size of his canvas but also widening his artistic horizon.”

Mountains

Surrounded by Sikkim, Bhutan and Nepal, the Himalayan foothill of Darjeeling left a deep impression on Bangdel in his childhood. When he was twenty years old, life took him away from the mountains but they remained the central theme of his artworks for twenty-two-odd years until he eventually returned to Nepal. Serving as the refuge for his Nepalese identity, the theme of the mountains recurred in his works from the initial realistic watercolour ‘Himalaya’ (1955) to a semi-abstract ‘Moon Over Kathmandu’ (1962) and eventually a fully abstract ‘Abstract I & II’ (1969) and ‘Song of Himalaya’ (1973).

Moon Over Kathmandu, 1962.
(Source: Bonhams, London)

‘Moon Over Kathmandu’ was one of his first works on return to Nepal that paved the way for modern art in Nepal through a solo exhibition. However, it was not until he went to the USA for a Fulbright scholarship on Nepal’s art history that he gave the best out of his artistic genius. With the ‘Abstract’ series, Bangdel attained his career-best, not only doubling the size of his canvas but also widening his artistic horizon. What Beatriz Cifuentes Feliciano has called Bangdel’s aesthetic language referencing both Western trends and his local heritage, can be seen in full swing in some of these works. Starting from a more subtle palette involving various shades of brown, grey and olive, mountains fill in his subconscious through angular geometries that compose a cross-like stretch across the canvas.

The palette has then moved either to more figurative shapes and vivid colours along the same style or a greener rendition of the fertile soil of Kathmandu Valley. They looked more like variants than a complete branching off his newfound abstraction. While many of these were painted during his productive stay in Ohio, this very style also progressed to a more clustered and grid-like multicoloured montage like ‘My Childhood Valley’ (1971). The way he elaborated his ‘Abstract’ series during the 1970’s is also a great reminder of his consistent experimentation with art. In the same decade, much younger artists like Krishna Manandhar (SKIB-fame) also started experimenting with abstract landscapes. Still, Bangdel kept exploring non-figurative mountain themes which gave him his signature style.

Abstract I, 1969.
(Source: Bonhams, London)

“The recurring terracotta-coloured Moon … represents his search for the Nepalese identity of Darjeeling where the Nepali literary movement was strong”

Migration

Art historians like Owen Duffy have earlier drawn similarities between Bangdel’s ‘Full Moon Night’ (1952) and ‘Moon Over Kathmandu’ (1962) owing to the unmissable shared features including the salmon-coloured Moon, abstract cityscape and reflections of the mountain terrains in the overall composition. Bangdel’s paintings have been discussed for their geometric abstraction that amalgamates two of his lifelong inspirations, – the city and the mountains. However, his artworks are yet to be analysed through the rare lens of a migrant’s homecoming and the psychological elements that thus form the basis of his artistic expression.

Full Moon Night, 1952.
(Source: Bonhams, London)

Bangdel’s abstraction of Kathmandu is not necessarily a purely lived reality but a juxtaposition of the Kathmandu he viewed half his life from outside Nepal, and the one he eventually arrived but after a major political change. ‘Moon Over Kathmandu’ hence represents the ultimate culmination of a long search for his own identity as a migrant and his playing a part in the systematic development of a new national identity for generations to come. While ‘Full Moon Night’ has a striking similarity with ‘Houses’ painted by Sayed Haider Raza in the same year, this theme was also visited a few years earlier by Jaqueline Lamba. Unlike in Raza’s work, the houses in Bangdel’s ‘Full Moon Night’ do not stand straight but are almost melting like Salvador Dali’s iconic clock from ‘The Persistence of Memory’ (1931). They are chaotically disoriented, and their ugliness resounds the views of the artist. A naked tree is silhouetted in the foreground which reveals an inherent sadness of loss and inadequacy. The tree is also tightly fenced leaving minimal area around it, which hints at the artist’s suffocation in a foreign land.

To me, the recurring terracotta-coloured Moon in both of the above works from Paris and Kathmandu represents his search for the Nepalese identity of Darjeeling where the Nepali literary movement was strong. In his 1969 interview with Eugene Register-guard, he referred to the sunset in Mt. Kanchenjunga as a long-lasting impression from his childhood, which must have been a shade of golden orange in colour. In a two-dimensional canvas, Bangdel’s moon is on one side of the abstract cityscape stretching from top to bottom, whereas he helplessly looks at it from the other side. Besides the main moon, there are other faded and smaller moons too, which could represent several other social identities he had become a part of while living in Calcutta, Paris, and London.

“Borrowing heavily from Picasso’s blue period, the characters have lyrical bodies with elongated limbs that stretch towards each other.”

Muna Madan

While most Nepalese would be nearing a midlife crisis in their mid-30s, Bangdel was writing love poems from Paris to his wife Manu Thapa. Manu was a professional nurse in London who supported him financially. As an anagram of ‘Muna’ – the female protagonist in the love ballad, she embodied the melancholy of a long-distance relationship already immortalised in the all-time Nepali literary bestseller ‘Muna Madan’. Bangdel’s 1959 series ‘Muna Madan’, however, was more than just a visual narration of the celebrated literature. Borrowing heavily from Picasso’s blue period, the characters have lyrical bodies with elongated limbs that stretch towards each other. Standing tall across the height of the canvas, everything else is subdued by their inner grief while these figures invariably look down to the world around them. The colour gradually changes from bright and vivid to faded and dull, as the narration shifts from the couple’s union to a tragic separation.

Muna Madan Departing Scene, 1959.
(Source: Bonhams, London)

The series is also executed quite schematically in terms of the choice of backdrops. The lovers rejoice under an open sky with boundless pleasure. On the other hand, in ‘Muna Madan Departure Scene’, the pastel colour palette captures the emotional moment in all its softness and the suffocation inside the room is shared by an Okhal, a traditional Nepalese mortar. Known as Okhali in the local dialect, it is still preferred to modern grinder machines in most households of Darjeeling. Almost symbolically without its pestle, the same lonely mortar reappears next to a mourning Madan in the piece titled ‘Madan’s Agony’.

Unlike the more recent cover of the actual book where Tekbir Mukhiya has illustrated both Muna and Madan hugging each other, only Muna puts her hand around Madan in Bangdel’s version. Madan, who is leaving for Tibet to earn a living, consistently poses with his hands crossed which almost serves as a testament to Bangdel’s helplessness and longing for his supportive wife. Given that his country Nepal always formed the central theme throughout Bangdel’s breadth of work, one wonders if this series is also an outcome of something more than his personal love life, – the longing for a place he called his homeland but could only visit at an age of forty-two.

“the government was shaping how the liberal arts community should function and Bangdel was the chosen actuator.”

Politics

With dilapidated buildings and the presence of local dwellers, Bangdel’s formative watercolour titled ‘Suburbs of Calcutta’ (1943) is livelier than the sleeping city depicted in ‘Full Moon Night’. Interestingly, he did not choose one of the colonial buildings which perhaps presents him as a socialist just as most of his literary works do. It is hence important to research whether he was simply a ‘right man in the right place’ or his creativity was also critically engaged with the changing politics of the ’60s and the ’90s Nepal.

After banning the political parties in 1960, King Mahendra needed to establish a national identity which resonated with his idea of a new Nepal. In his agenda was also the modern art movement for which he invited Bangdel to Nepal. In a way, the government was shaping how the liberal arts community should function and Bangdel was the chosen actuator. One can hence argue whether Bangdel’s contribution to Nepalese modern art was out of his genuine feeling of the need for it and whether such an intervention could have been any better alternative for organic development. Bangdel believed that politics and art cannot go together. However, whether his career as an artist acted as a vehicle for a wider political movement is open to discussion.

It is hard to find any evidence either in Bangdel’s literary or artistic works if his idea of Nepalese identity leapt further in search of his ‘Rai’ ethnic identity. Darjeeling was a thriving as Nepali linguistic hub where authors like Paras Mani Pradhan and Indra Bahadur Rai were instrumental in standardising and further developing the Nepalese state-backed Nepali language. Whether he had any realisation of being an instrument to Nepal’s national identity building at the expense of cultural diversity is also not clear. 

Bangdel was fond of the French art critic Andre Malraux. In the early 70s, Malraux was vocal about Bangladesh’s liberation war against the suppression of its Bengali speakers. This was a time when Bangdel had just completed his Fulbright scholarship on art history in the US, and it is quite unlikely that he would have completely disconnected himself from Marlaux’s opinions.

In the year 1991, Bangdel returned to an abstract and semi-abstract series of paintings with Democracy as their central theme. After two terms as Chancellor of the Royal Nepal Academy, Bangdel had retired a year before the 1990 People’s Movement for Democracy which makes it clear that he was not a part of the movement. As a spectator’s narrative, his visual montage of street protests adopted a figurative style. The eventfulness of his themes overwhelmed the depth of his artistic expression and not the other way around. We are hence left to ask if it was actually ‘felt by heart and soul’ which he once claimed as his process of abstraction. In this last leg of his artistic journey, the colours began to distance themselves from nature, brushstrokes disagreed with any visual coherence and the compositional legacy from his earlier success with abstraction was more technical than subconscious.

“… final phase of Bangdel’s creative output was a response to a certain sociopolitical climate but hardly a precursor to change.”

My major critique of this final phase of Bangdel’s creative output remains that it was a response to a certain sociopolitical climate but hardly a precursor to change. They might have worked as a reminder of the then-political influences but did not even aim at becoming the creative strength of the society to provoke its politics. This holds to date for the overall dismal achievement since the advent of modern art in Nepal while it still has a long way to go.

Sanyukta Shrestha is an Art Historian associated with Art History Link-Up at the Courtauld Gallery in London.

The Literary Journey of Kumbhakar

Words by Sanyukta Shrestha

London, 31st July 2023.

(As published in ‘KarmaYogī Ganesh Rām Lāchi’ edited by Surya Prasad Lakoju, Bhaktapur, 2023)

Multiple facets of cultural contribution

Without an iota of doubt, Ganesh Ram Lachhi who hails from Capāco in Madhyapur-Thimi is known for his contribution to the field of music. Secondly, the way Lachhi set up his house as a museum of musical instruments and ceramic items, and called it ‘Ākhā Cheṃ’ in 1998 is an unprecedented example of one man’s effort not just for Nepal but also beyond. Besides the museum, his enterprising nature catapulted to a new height with the commencement of the cultural procession of YenYaa or Indra Jatra in Sikkim, India, in 2006. There he arranged to train hundreds of Newars in the traditional Newar drum called Dhimay.

While all of the above forays into Newar cultural preservation invariably had music as the backdrop, the third aspect of his applied research of Newar cultural heritage was culinary. His 2012 compilation titled ‘SikkimKo Yātrā ParikārKo Mātrā’ is a remarkable publication listing sixty-four different traditional mari or delicacies made out of flatbread and dough balls, including the recipes for nearly twenty of them. The fourth facet of his multidimensional personality can be analysed under the long list of Newah activist organisations that he has been associated with at both regional and national levels. The fifth dimension of Lachhi’s contributions is his creative involvement as an actor in noted Nepalbhasa movies like Māyā (2010), Timilā (2016) and Tuyumati (2016). Mostly directed by the acclaimed director Aryem Nakami, Lachhi leaves an unforgettable mark in all of these successful movies with his realistic acting despite not playing the lead role.

The sixth and yet important aspect of his multifaceted contribution to the Newar heritage is definitely fiction writing and here too Lacchi has not limited himself to a single genre. Most of his fictional works may be categorised broadly as either humour or poetry, under the pen name of Kuṃbhakār.

Kuṃbhakār

From Durgalal Shrestha appending to his name a ‘Khwobilu’, meaning teary or inclined to crying, to Sudheer Khwobi choosing a tear-drop for his half name, pen names among the literary circle in Nepal have been more literary and frequently melancholic. Not following such a trend, Lachhi demonstrated a poet’s refusal with what could sound a little weird to the uninitiated, – ‘Kuṃbhakār’.

Kuṃbhakār means a potter in Sanskrit wherefrom modifications like Kumhāḥ in Nepalbhasa, Kumhār in Hindi and Kumāle in Nepali have been derived. This struck me only when I first visited him in his Chapāco residence in 2013. Just outside his house a potter was laboriously moulding an earthen pulp and filling half the street with his pots laid to dry in the Sun. Lachhi’s other family name Prajāpati is worth remembering at this point which is the occupational caste of potters among the Newars. In Kuṃbhakār’s case, the mallet is replaced by a pen but he remains true to pottery producing several delicately designed works of creativity. While his sentiments are as vulnerable as the fragile earthenware, his words have also withstood the furnace of life.

Known mainly for his contribution to cultural preservation, there is no denying that Kuṃbhakār the author has been eclipsed by his own shadow as Ganesh Ram Lachhi the activist. A brief study of his literary timeline, however, reveals that he first set out as a major humour writer where he was also able to garner ample success.

The Humour Phase

Two of Lachhi’s published titles based on humour are ‘Hwagāṃkhiṃ’ (1987) and ‘Phyagaṃ’ (1999). When Hwagāṃkhiṃ was published in the mid-80s, the humour genre in Nepalbhasa was still in its infancy. This was a time when the Panchayat system was heading towards the end of its three-decades-long oppression of Nepalbhasa. While poets like Durgalal were writing revolutionary lines like ‘Ghā juyā jaka khwoigu kha jhī’ in Kathmandu, Lachhi in Thimi was doing no less by surfacing various social issues including not only cultural and economic but also political.

Unlike the Bhairav Aryal style of humour in Nepali which is effectively a monologue presented with an overdose of wordplay around the main theme of the prose (see his 1965 title Jaya Bhūṃdi), humour as a genre was already more established in Nepalbhasa as dramatics. This is the format which gave rise to the biggest names in Nepalese comedy from street theatre to the silver screen,  – the MaHa Jodi. According to the late critic Manik Lal Shrestha, during a discussion on Lachhi’s first book, the late Padma Ratna Tuladhar, a renowned humour writer in Nepalbhasa, had expressed his concerns over the lack of novelty in humour writing despite its long history in Nepalbhasa.

Lachhi seems to have taken this advice so seriously that he went on to deliver in this direction with unparalleled dedication. It took Lachhi a little more than a decade to bounce back with his second title Phyagaṃ but when it finally arrived, both Shrestha and Tuladhar expressed deep satisfaction. Kuṃbhakār had finally arrived.

With five out of seven plays already winning awards before publication, Phyagaṃ was destined to gather critical acclaim. In this collection, the exceptional list of dramas consisted of ‘Paiṃtis Pratiśat’, ‘Phyagaṃ’, ‘ByāgaḥDyaḥ’, ‘Bayli’, ‘Faujawāḥ’, ‘Mahākālī’ and ‘Pākaḥciyā Hilākhwāḥ’. They were staged between 1994 and 1998 mainly in the annual Palisthā Khyālaḥ Kāsā drama competition, – a path-breaking literary event to which Lachhi himself has also expressed his gratefulness for pushing him as a playwright. Among these dramas, Pākaḥciyā Hilākhwāḥ or the changing face (read nature) of a man called Pākaḥci was the latest addition and unstaged until publication. This was also picked as his outstanding work by all reviewers alike. While Shrestha applauded its sophisticated criticism amidst a generous mix of comedy, Tuladhar praised its witty dialogues.

In general, acclaimed playwright Ramshekhar appreciated Phyagaṃ for its metaphorical presentation of the then government’s failure to deliver to the public who had high expectations post multiparty democracy. In this regard, Phyagaṃ can be considered a timeless work and the best of Kuṃbhakār. The number of characters in his dramas ranges from four to seven but his speciality as a playwright is in effectively conveying the bigger message with lesser characters. The characters are frequently from the lower class society and get their voice through his razor-sharp dialogues.

The Post-Humour Phase

Although Lachhi set off on his literary career with humour, he later moved on to non-fiction in the form of cultural history and research-based titles like ‘Nepālmaṇḍalyā Khwāḥpāḥ Pyākhaṃ’, ‘Thimi Deyyā Siddhikālī’, ‘Thukathaṃ Palisthā Jula Shaṃkhadhar Sirapā’ and ‘‘SikkimKo Yātrā ParikārKo Mātrā’.

Towards the third leg of his journey as a writer, he transformed himself yet again. This time he resumed his initial genre of creative writing but instead of humour, he chose poetry. For instance, his 2009 poem ‘Kusi Ghāḥ’ expresses his disbelief as a citizen of the state through stronger metaphors. Another poem ‘Surdyaḥ’ from the same year rides on the lyrical value of his choice of words in describing the colours of the Sun yet culminates in the voice of a citizen. One notices that his affiliation with critique is maintained but there is a clear departure from humour. Although Lachhi has penned a good number of poems, ghazals and haikus even before this phase, I consider this as a distinct phase in its own right for the conscious effort to switch genres and leave fiction behind.

In the post-humour phase, he published two anthologies titled ‘Chanta Lumanewoṃ’ (2012) and ‘Bhatkiyekā Sapanāharū’ (2013). The poems compiled in these two titles are also different to the kind of poems he had penned before. Here, poetry becomes his refuge to channel an inherent sadness and disappointment. A near-depressed Lachhi tries to gather himself once and again but fails. He is writing more for himself than his readers which is not a problem on its own but what Kuṃbhakār is best known for is sorely missing.

Not unaware of it himself, he changes genres more often in this phase than ever before yet struggles to regain focus. In 2014, he published three books including a drama ‘Hālemāḥgu Mye, Kanemāḥgu Bākhaṃ’ in line with his post-humour phase, then a novel ‘Khwāḥpāḥ’ and finally a humour after long – ‘Human Flu’. Albeit this is his most productive phase in terms of quantity. Post a brief stint with light-hearted poetry between 2012 and 2013, irrespective of his changing genres, he maintains a level of seriousness with his choice of subjects.

There is a lot to expect next from the seasoned writer that is Kuṃbhakār and with his latest innings with Human Flu, I personally believe that taking up humour was one of the best decisions he took in recent times. Here’s wishing Nepalbhasa’s beloved humourist Kuṃbhakār all the best and needless to say, if anyone can redefine this genre once again and take Nepalbhasa as a language to yet newer heights then Lachhi is definitely another name for hope.

References

1. Ganesh Ram Lacchi. Phyagaṃ. Thimi: Suprakalā, NS 1119.
2. Ganesh Ram Lachhi. SikkimKo Yātrā ParikārKo Mātrā. Kathmandu: Laxman Gamal and Menka Tamrakar, 2069 BS.
3. Subhash Ram Lachhi (ed.). Madhyapur, Year 1 / No. 1. Thimi: Thimi Sahitya Parishad, NS 1118.
4. Subhash Ram Lachhi (ed.). Madhyapur, Year 13 / No. 1. Seattle: Newatech Inc., NS 1130.
5. Subhash Prajapati. YouTube Video – Ākhā Chheṃ – The Cultural Museum (2008).

Home isn’t where the art is

First published here in The Kathmandu Post daily, 16th Dec 2017.

Words & Photos | Sanyukta Shrestha

Stumbling upon Nepali art antiques in London

In the winter of 2006, my first visit to Victoria & Albert (V&A) Museum in London was for a rare exhibition of Leonardo da Vinci’s original sketches. But having failed to get a ticket, I decided to check out other wings of the building. Wandering around the museum, I discovered that their permanent collection of Newar metalworks was astounding, and it remains one of the best examples I have seen outside of Nepal. Somewhere, I had a feeling that London had many other Nepali art antiques that was yet to be revealed, should I continue to look for them.

It was not until cultural expert Satya Mohan Joshi insisted on visiting the British Museum during his visit in 2011 that I booked a whole day to spend there with him. During the course of the day, he showed me how to evaluate the same artefact from various different perspectives and why. We even found the Ranjana script of the Newars of Kathmandu printed around the brim of an ancient Chinese bowl. He hypothesised that it could have very well been taken to China by Araniko, the legendary Newar artist in Kublai Khan’s court.

Among others, we stopped at a miniature version of a royal crown much like the ones worn by the Shah kings. This, the British museum has labelled as potentially the ‘Crown of the Kumari’. As we studied this unique artefact, Joshi confidently argued that the crown most likely belonged to a prince as the Kumari does not wear a male headgear. What is given as a description is not always correct, however big the authority—this was something that I learned that day from Joshi’s ever inquisitive character.
That day, I also realised that if all the specimens of Nepali antiquity scattered around the world could be brought together, it would perhaps match the number remaining in Nepal. The fact that almost every major Asian art archive in the world has a dedicated portfolio for a country as small as Nepal speaks volumes of its importance in world art history.

There are two distinguished art schools, at least in western archives, that compose the overall definition of Nepali art—Mithila Art of the southern plains and Newar Art from Kathmandu Valley. While Mithila Art exhibits a tribal format, deeply-rooted in its folk culture, the art of the Newars demonstrate a classical edge within the breadth of devotional narratives spanning from Animism to Hinduism and Buddhism, and everything that came in between. Owing to the historical trade ties with Lhasa, Newar Art flourished as far away from the confines of the Valley as Tibet and beyond. This gave birth to what today is cumulatively termed as Himalayan Art.

In the international stage, traditional Nepali art is widely represented by the art of Kathmandu Valley from as early as 1st century, as can be seen in the Cambridge University’s collection of the world’s oldest illustrated Sanskrit manuscripts. Notably, the University recently celebrated this very Nepali masterpiece as a part of the ‘UK-India Year of Culture 2017’, while the Nepali embassy in London couldn’t broaden its vision for the ‘200 years of Nepal-Britain Friendship’ beyond the praise of Gurkha soldiers. In many ways, it seems to me, Nepali Art is best understood by everyone except Nepalis themselves.

One of the earliest admirers and documentarians of Newar art and culture was the British resident during the Rana Regime, Brian Houghton Hodgson. Along with animal remains, the thousands of paintings he bought during his stay and dispatched to Europe and Calcutta was an eye-opener for the West in the mid-19th century. Today, it, by and large, is the single most authoritative reference for Kathmandu Valley’s socio-cultural history.

As a film maker on historic Kathmandu, one of my primary objectives of examining historical paintings has been to learn about the socio-cultural lifestyle from the past. This has taken me back to Hodgson’s collection time and again, and more recently to the Royal Asiatic Society’s collection of sketches by the artist Raj Man Singh Chitrakar from around 1844. This archive is particularly intriguing for the quality of information it presents on historical landscapes, original architecture and the undocumented social strata.

The earliest known Nepali realist painter, Raj Man Singh Chitrakar, is virtually unknown in his own birthplace. What adds to this irony is that he has already proved his mettle in the European art arena, thereby setting a high standard for Nepali artists as early as the 1820s. What can be gathered from the records of Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland and the Asiatic Society of Calcutta is that even a few critical discussions on Raj Man’s artwork had taken place among the experts of that time.

While the V&A and British Museum house two of the biggest and rarest collections of Nepali Art on public display in Britain, much lesser known Indian art galleries and smaller antique dealers frequently store random interesting Nepali artefacts. These establishments range from those in posh London streets to inner dark alleys, and specialise in items that include manuscripts, paintings, metalworks and woodworks.

One of the biggest successes among them has been Sam Fogg in Clifford Street, Mayfair, who is considered as one of the leaders in London’s manuscript sales. An upstart family business that grew from a simple stall in Portobello, in West London, today they showcase some varieties of Nepali illustrated manuscripts which are rare even in Nepal. While most London galleries are focussed on Indian Art, Sam Fogg’s 2007 Nepal-centric exhibition of Hindu and Buddhist illustrated manuscripts from as early as the 11th century was a sold-out success.

Fogg’s rare collections encouraged my search for Nepali Art in London which I continue to pursue till date. Yet another interesting dealer who I came across in 2014 was Joost Van Den Bergh in Jermyn Street. What formed a part of their proud collection was a pair of study work for various Tantric and Hindu deities. Painted in gauache on broad pieces of cloth, they were clearly not older than the 19th century but effectively illustrated the transforming religious beliefs in the then Kathmandu Valley.

 

In the same year, I also remember visiting Jonathan Tucker & Antonia Tozer Asian Art in St. James Street. A wooden sculpture of Uma-Maheshwor from their collection, most probably from the 19th century, was the most difficult piece to examine because of its worn out condition.The London collector had, however, invested a good amount of time and expertise to keep it in the state it was received in.

There are several things I practice when I see any historical object of art. For instance, I always look for any accompanying inscription which can help me date it. In the absence of an inscription, it is the style of rendition which can be the basis. Moreover, if we can compare the piece with any other dated ones from other existing archives around the world, it serves as a strong evidence helping date the artefact. Their age can be from few hundreds of years to centuries. This nature of randomness in encountering artworks is something that makes it all the more interesting.

When I hold them in my hands, I know that I share the same origin, and also that I might never see them again, once some bidder has made them theirs. The connection is strong yet momentary, and it’s always better to learn from one item and move to the other. The next one is always as exciting and undiscovered.

As I continue to meander through museums and antique shops in the UK, I know that there is a lot more on offer than what has been uncovered. How these priceless artefacts ended up halfway across the world is a whole another story, but the more I run into them, the more I realise that at least adequately documenting them is the least that we can do, before these remnants of our storied past disappear altogether.

Modern Usage of Manda: Art

words & graphics by Sanyukta Shrestha

Some histories are written in words, others in art. The latter generally tells the story of people like you and me. Leaving behind the story of authorities and their achievements, it shifts focus on those nameless people who collectively lived as cultural communities. To some extent, and given the magnitude of its influence, it may also help to define our future societies.

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When I joined Guthi in London in 2010 AD, Mha Puja was almost the only annual cultural event. Since then, despite my team’s attempts to introduce various other cultural festivals like Paha Chahre, Ghya Chaku Sanlhu, Yomari Punhi and Kwati Punhi, the popularity of Mha Puja has been unparalleled and remains the only one observed continuously for the last 17 years with some 500 guests only in London.

In the visible core of Mha Puja is the manda: or mandal. One of the most popular of its types is that of an eight-petalled lotus. This is one design in which I see endless possibilities to interprete many different ideas. This blog will explain how, and will try to provide some inspiration to whom it may concern.

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While drawing this manda:, we draw a water circle outside it, and an oil circle at its centre, while rest of the other additives differ as per family traditions. One then enshrines one’s body and soul on this sacred pedestal before performing a worship of rejuvenation, that is Mha Puja.

So how would it look if this symbolic manda: was translated to a graphic design? An answer to this was what I sought with my first design for Guthi’s marketing material in NS 1131 (2010 AD).

In the following year NS 1132 (2011 AD), I tried a more radical design for Guthi’s Mha Puja promotion by placing the word “Mha Puja” itself on the pedestal of the deities. A lotus pedestal still made it to the centrestage but this time, the point of view altered. Rather than the human body, I wanted to enshrine the act of worshipping itself.

In the same year, the community summer picnic got a traditional makeover. This was inspired from an old Newah manuscript found in London, which I much recently learnt from a senior paubha artist, is the manda: of VajraYogini. In this design, I have mainly exploited the radial symmetry of a manda: in compositing various different attractions of the picnic, while retaining a traditional look and feel.

Later in NS 1133 (2012 AD), I felt the idea of tradition was getting a little bit too much. At this juncture, I felt a more slicker rendition could be a welcome change. The result was a generous dose of graphic constellation of manda’s, visible from a distance as well as in its details.

That year’s picnic poster again revisited the idea of manda: but in a triplet to house three main offers of traditional mask painting, feast and board games; still maintaining some semi-contemporary style-guides.

By NS 1135 (2014 AD), I had called it an official quit from Guthi’s executive board whilst stepping down as a lifelong volunteer. There was less for me to learn and even least to teach. My leaving wish was to see my Guthi sending its message all over the UK, which is exactly what I portrayed in my last Mha Puja poster that year.

They say, never say goodbye. I came back as a board member in 2014 AD. Funnily enough, the journey which started with re-designing the logo of Guthi in 2010 AD, finished with a logo for the board’s annual UK-wide convention, the Brihat Newah Muna, which again, was nothing but a lotus on a pond!

This time, with a Kumari’s eye in the centre to depict a higher level of authority.

Everything was well thought of. Nothing was unplanned. When it is, it can never be a true Newah art.
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Beside these, I had many more non-manda: design fun as well, some of which are annexed below.
I may not have stayed forever but I did live it to the full,
– the Guthi life that was!

PS: All graphical artwork on this page were designed free of cost.

The World Map of Nepal Samvat

Words by Sanyukta Shrestha  |  Photos by Keshav Maharjan.

“NepaliHaruKo Mahaan Chaad Dashain ra Tihar”. I grew up with this line.

In textbooks and newspapers, then in magazines, radios, and TV channels. I never had a problem with it and neither did all my friends who went to school and colleges with me.

Much later, I made some Rai friends. Not that I never had a Rai friend but these were a little different. They knew what being a Rai means. In them, I met citizens of my country who did not celebrate Dashain and Tihar. But when I found that my situations were even worse, someone just pulled the rug out from under me.

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When a language starts to disappear, it takes away from us the meaning of many things we once knew. When I started learning Nepalbhasha in my early 30s, I thought I was doing a favour to my mother tongue. By my late 30s, I realised how wrong I was. If there was anyone gaining from it, then it was myself. And if I had not done that, I would have died without knowing myself.

 

Being cultured and knowing one’s culture are two different things. Not having lived as someone’s grandchild means a dangerous business given your state education is not inclusive. More so if you refrain from seeing beyond what is fed to you through schools and media.

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Tihar in Khasbhasha Nepali is a word that is simplified from Tyohaar in Hindi which actually means any festival celebrated on a fixed date every year. Literally any festival.

Deepawali and Diwali are the specific names given to the festival that lies during this time of the year. These are explicitly Hindi words which have been used from much earlier than when they appeared in Nepali texts.

 

The problem with an economically dependent sovereign country like Nepal is that our insecurity is larger than our understanding. We write our language in Devanagari script. We record our dates in Bikram Sambat. Both of these were originated in India and are eternally welcome to displace our original heritage of script – Nepal script, and calendar – Nepal Samvat.

 

This clearly explains how our unity and solidarity is limited to pro anti-Indian sentiments and the citizenship of Buddha, while we have no clue how much of cultural dominion is already an integral part of our lives.

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Raised in a family with no grandparents but parents whose biggest fear was of their kids being insulted in public for their Ta-Ta-Ma-Ma, the thick phonemes that Newars use in all nervousness to replace the thin sounds appearing in Khasbhasha Nepali, my love story with Mha Puja started as late as it did with my mother tongue.

 

I found myself organising a Mha Puja for 350 odd guests in London as the Joint Secretary of Pasa Puchah Guthi UK. This was in NS 1131 (2010 AD) when I was experiencing and offering an experience at the same time. Literally a hell of an experience indeed.

10th London Mha Puja – Organising committee, 2010.

My head turned a 360 rotation when I did a tapaaLan, manda:, samyeBaji, bhwoye and dhimay, all in the same evening. That day, I was introduced to myself. Living in an opposite corner of the world for 14 odd years, this one experience still makes me feel at home.

 

Offering a bhwoye to unknown faces can have a meditative effect on you. Someone calling you “oh Bhai, chhoila deu na!” from nowhere makes you feel they own you. These and many other fantastic experiences of volunteering at community feasts of the Newar festival, I have already blogged here in the past.

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To let you experience the same, by helping you find yourself if you haven’t yet, I would like to remind that “Mohani” and “Swonti” are the original names of the September/October festivals of Kathmandu valley which is derived from nowhere else.

 

On the second last day of Swonti, we celebrate the new year of authentic Nepali era/calendar, the Nepal Samvat. It is a unique process of revitalising one’s inner self for the coming year by worshipping oneself, called Mha Puja. A relatively modern practice is also to greet everyone “Nhu DanYaa Bhintuna!” (New Year’s Wishes).

 

Finally, as a direct challenge to the unfair tag of “NepaliHaruKo Mahaan Chaad” to a selected few festivals which not everyone observes in Nepal, below I have mapped the worldwide events of Mha Puja and Nepal Samvat New Year celebration with up-to-date details for this year.

If you are away from home, find your nearest one and join today!

 

Zoom the map, scroll the map and click the destination pins to get link to the events!

 

To learn Nepal script, click here.

To know today’s Nepal Samvat date, click here.

To find out about the history of Nepal Samvat, watch this video.

In The Memory of A Master

By Sanyukta Shrestha

March, 2017

 

1^st September 2010, a chilly evening in London was when I first heard his name.

 

I had bumped into Yogesh sir after a year or so, near Kings Cross. We both immediately cancelled all our plans and walked in to a café in nearby Pentolville Road.

 

After a few updates, I opened my laptop and asked him to see a painting, which had completely changed my views on traditional Nepali art, – an elaborate composition of Vajravarahi inked in black.

 

“This is Gyankar’s work!”, sir looked into my eyes and immediately pointed out.

 

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Whenever I visit Nepal, I generally have a few people in mind, whom I must meet. Gyankar is always a prime name for me.

 

For me, spending days observing the curved lines he painted and learning to appreciate them, is normal. Ditto with spending months trying to decipher his compositions and failing uncountable times.

 

There is something about his works. They reflect his deep understanding of compositing various elements of a super structure together, in a way that resonates perfectly with what is seen in the ancient manuscripts of Nepal. The school of iconography that his works belong to, comes straight from the local bahas and bahis that have preserved till date the only living Buddhism from the ancient world, that of the Newars.

 

On 19^th June 2013, I took a local bus to Bhaktapur Bus Park where I met Yogesh sir, years after our last conversation on Gyankar. Keeping his promise, sir took me to Gyankar’s paubha studio at the eastern corner of Bhaktapur Durbar Square.

 

My heart pumped quicker as I climbed the three steps leading to his studio’s door. With every step, I felt I was growing smaller and lighter. I was leaving behind what I had already learnt about paubhas.

 

“So this is the young lad from London who considers you his guru. I told you about him, didn’t I?”, Yogesh sir hinted Gyankar.

 

Gyankar was a tall man in his late fifties, lean and not-so-fair with a few grey hairs. His eyes had a shine in them and his face was a glowing expression of life. Very calm and cautious about what he would say next, his hands were the most active part of his body all the while.

 

I realised I never took time to imagine how he looked. He was a name for me and his detailed works always had enough to keep me engaged.

 

The moment he asked me to sit in front him, I felt he accepted what Yogesh sir told him about me. That moment, he wiped off the biggest regret of my life from the deepest corner of my heart. That of not having been to an art school.

 

Hanging all around me, on the three walls as well as outside the three doors of the studio’s front façade, were his paintings. Some coloured, some not; but all in his distinctive style, depicting the mastery of Nepal’s art in its original best. Time stopped ticking for me.

 

“Do people do these kind of works in London?”, Gyankar asked me in awe.

 

“No.” My first word.

“But the museums, galleries and libraries are full of our ancient works.” I added.

 

He smiled.

 

I don’t know why I couldn’t gather the courage to actually call him guru-ji but I never felt a need to address him throughout the conversation.

 

His wife was leaning on the inner door of the studio. He asked her to bring some tea for me in a way that I wouldn’t understand.

 

When I walk about in London, I am the one who advises my family not to eat or drink if it’s not organic or check nutrient contents etc. However, this cup of tea was so much I could ask for, as I knew I would never get to live a piece of life with him. By then, I had completely surrendered myself to the aura of this great artist.

 

“Go on now, ask him all that you always wanted to ask!”

 

Yogesh sir made it easy for me to carry on, as we both sat facing each other exactly like many of the deities around us, in a perfect padmaasana.

 

Those days, I was researching about the door art of Kathmandu. So I started with the meaning of a small comma-shaped symbol often found in the doors. I knew I could never discuss advanced level of iconography with him so I would just ask only the simplest of questions that one could ask.

 

“Why is this colour used here?”

 

“What is the meaning of that shape?”

 

“Are we allowed to do this symbol here and that symbol there?”

 

This was how I would sound for the next couple of hours pointing everywhere around me while his level of energy remained unchanged. Until it got dark outside and less people were seen walking in the street, and Yogesh sir started looking at me more frequently than before, hinting we should then let him rest.

 

On my leaving, I invited him to London and he smiled but didn’t turn me down.

 

Unaware of what he had already given me all these years before even meeting me for once, he gifted me a print of one of his recent paintings. It was an outstanding composition of Vasundhara mandala, something I could spend years trying to learn from.

 

Walking the three steps down from his studio, I was unsure if I would ever be able to make the best use of what I had just learnt. I was but sure that my fundamental knowledge of Nepali traditional art was redefined for the rest of my life.

 

*   *   *   *

 

On 22nd February 2017, I emailed Yogesh sir just to say I am not feeling good.

 

Two days later, I woke up to read that Gyankar is no more. I wish he had not stopped me when I wanted to touch his feet.

 

 

Gyankar Bajracharya passed away on Friday 24 February 6:00 PM (NST) at his Bhaktapur residence at an age of 62 after years of suffering from sugar and blood pressure. He had already dedicated 50 years of his active life in producing highest standard of traditional Nepali art.

 

2015 Nepal earthquake came in the way of his plans to exhibit his works of which even a catalogue was already printed. Art lovers around the world have collected his works but he also deserves the proud audience from his own countrymen.

 

Nepali Youth using Technology for Earthquake Rehabilitation & Reconstruction

By Sanyukta Shrestha

Presented at Nepal’s Earthquake One Year On: Resilience, Relief and Remembering organised by Britain-Nepal Academic Council, School of Oriental and African Sciences (SOAS), London

18th May 2016.

With the passing days and months after the April 2015 earthquake, people gradually started leaving those Facebook group chats one after the other. The chat rooms which once grew exponentially with the addition of every friend who could potentially help, slowly turned quiet. The social media groups that frequently bore names like “Rescue Team”, “Earthquake Help” or “Relief Coordination Group” and so on, would bring information about some hotel or school building offering space for hundreds of people, or a source of free food citing some wholesale supplier’s contact details. All different kinds of information; some about the needs, others about the resources, – and the question was, who would connect the dots and how.

Connecting the dots

From the official report of the government to the headlines in mainstream media, everyone spoke at length about the unparalleled role of Nepali youth in post-earthquake rehabilitation and reconstruction, both on ground and from the diaspora. Less was discussed about the various technological innovations that the technical-minded youth put together in fighting with the prevailing ills of nature. It were groups like these that most software developers like me found themselves in.

While Internet giants were already playing some exemplary roles like the Google Person Finder and Facebook Safety Check, launched immediately after the first tremors hit international headlines, they indeed were a great boost to the computing generation of Nepali youth ranging from non-resident professionals to the fresh local graduates with great enthusiasm to make their knowledge into use for their country in dire needs.

The PlatformsOne of the simplest among those was an interface to capture updates from Hospitals about the latest data on casualties and the medical facilities available. It gathered some important information on severity of the injuries, type of physician needed, type and quantity of blood needed, etc. Another was an earthquake resource sheet prepared to map the need for water, food, shelter and medical resources. It maintained a big pictorial database of the types of relief needed over earthquake-hit regions, mainly useful for those ready with relief materials to be distributed but did not know what is to be distributed and where.

While there was a similar project under construction by Stanford University, Nepali youth responded pretty quickly in releasing different kinds of effective earthquake mapping interfaces for information on earthquake damage, relief needs, people trapped, missing person, blocked roads, shelter area, or recovery needs. One could also get alerts after registering one’s local city. Research and Monitoring software were also developed for the assessment of immediate humanitarian needs of people affected by the earthquake whilst collecting real-time data during field surveys.

Moreover, an ideathalon which conducted by Nepali software engineers from USA, UK and Nepal. Following an open call for ideas of technical projects from college-level students, 200 proposals from various technical backgrounds were received from all over Nepal. The winners went on to the next phase of apprenticeship and development of their projects which got implemented in earthquake-hit areas.

The Undercover Youth in Social Media

By 2014, Facebook users in Nepal had reached a soaring 4.5 million compared to just nearly 1 million until 3 years back. Some of the early hands-on information from Sindhupalchowk had arrived from Facebook status and photos posts while users were traveling to district offices for supplies. It went viral easily as popular actors like Nischal Basnet were updating the news from their destroyed houses in Sindhupalchowk, while popular tweeters like Kunda Dixit were one of the first to update about inner settlements of Bhaktapur.

While all these news updates were making rounds, thanks to non-resident Nepalese circulating it as much as they could, the Nepalgovernment was trying hard to centralize the incoming international support including those from non-resident Nepalese. As the government had failed beyond comprehension in the much-debated constitution-building process for almost a decade, and demonstrated no sign of responsibility in reaching up to public even after weeks of the major earthquake, a large group of undercover youth were active in diverting the relief materials from the airport to those teams who were distributing relief items on the ground-level, from as far as Barpak to the inner cities of Sankhu.

Nepal government had created a clear competition among its embassies around the world, publishing the list of funds they had collected from donors in their countries in the name of transparency. Embassy offices from London to the Saudi Arab published special notices promoting their contact details for donation, while the ambassadors were also reaching out to Nepali communities in the diaspora as a total role reversal not seen before then. As there was no track record of the government in mobilizing funds transparently, and that was what it was most criticized for, there was a clear mistrust in general public, except for those who were either already trying hard to influence the embassy authorities for personal agenda, or in the blind faith in strengthening an institution which had been internationally slashed for top corruption charges and systematic irregularities.

The way the undercover youth group (UYG) carried out its activities was in quite an integrated fashion yet very simple. They would collect and circulate information over social media, list out both needs and supplies over chat groups where members were added and removed as per need, and someone will be appointed with those information at the airport to receive incoming supplies, at the district offices to facilitate and guide the volunteers until they reached the locations which were worst hit by the earthquake, and update the progress to rest of the team.

Some of the above software tools were also utilized by this undercover youth group in tracking down the supplies and needs in question. Many of the members of UYG would be active participants and the rest would be silent observers. Those inactive would be removed regularly in order to make space within the limited 100 and something capacity of Facebook message groups. They would not do anything illegal but made sure whatever information they had about the needs would be fulfilled, and they would do their best in influencing potential donors who would otherwise contribute to either international charities who pay fat salaries to their staff, or the government which was repeatedly failing to gain their trust through events like the infamous distribution of tents to the member of parliaments when the general public were in much worse situation.

A year on

A year on from the April 2015 earthquake, the kind of news we are getting from Nepal, be it the NRs 22 lakh worth of expired relief medicine being burried under earth in Nawalparasi after the government failed to mobilize in time, or the 160 tonnes of WFP’s rice grains that got rotten in the store houses of Sindhupalchowk, have left less ground to disqualify what UYG did immediately after the earthquake, while the government was issuing statements that publicly declared personal distribution of aids as almost illegal.
After a year, the government has finally released a 5 year plan for rehabilitation and reconstruction while the local youth groups in some of the areas like Sankhu and Bungamati have even voluntarily reconstructed he major settlements and heritage sites. While the 5 year plan excels in creating 36 internal departments with only one section that engages the community, called “Training and Capacity Building Section”, it does not make use of the youth intelligence and skills as much as it could. Given the kind of mainstream media we have in Nepal, which blindly follows celebrity culture and the show-off earthquake voluntarism, I felt the need to present this collection of information on Nepali youth whose potential is as much in every sector as it is in the technical, which they have proved in the year gone by.

Dhungedhara : A Nepali Technology to Supply Water

By Sanyukta Shrestha

Published in DREAMS Magazine, August 2015

I was born to a household opposite a big marshy pond. When I was about six, local people dug it up to reveal a beautiful water conduit with hundreds of ancient sculptures lying around. I then realised why the town was called Naxal-DhungeDhara.

As I turned twenty, a pond next to Thamel, some 2 Km west from Naxal, was dug up to reveal another dhungedhara in working condition and accompanied by a number of Lichhavi period artefacts including a 397 years old inscription! I realised that my neighbourhood could be just one such example and a huge number of other dhungedharas could be well under the ponds or even the ground level waiting to be unearthed.

(Photo: Naxal-DhungeDhara, Kathmandu. Sanyukta Shrestha, 2013)

A more classic case being the excavation of HandiGaun in 1989 AD, which unearthed a dhungedhara dated 726 AD. Furthermore, the meaning of “BhotaHiti” would have lost in oblivion had there not been discovered four water conduits with an inscription dated 596 AD, according to historian Shanker Man Rajvamshi.

Furthermore, wherever the settlement of Newars expanded outside of Kathmandu, along with their festivals and food, they took their architectural expertise with them. That is the sole reason why dhungedharas are not a rare sight as far away as TeenDhara of Gorkha.

Technology & Challenges

Rainwater is absorbed from the ground to form natural sources that provide water to dhungedharas. In order not to depend entirely on rainwater, channels called rajkulo were built to supply water from rivers to the sources of dhungedhara. Also, several ponds were built around the dhungedhara so that water can seep through the land around it.

(Photo: The present state of GairiDhara, Kathmandu. Sanyukta Shrestha, 2013)

Speciality

The speciality of dhungedharas is in their use of gravity in channelling the water; systematic flow-control to regulate the amount, advanced drainage to avoid blockages, water-purification and waterproofing.

While modern basement constructions struggle to keep it waterproof, we can see implementation of advanced waterproofing technology in dhungedharas, – it is only the pout that delivers water without any leakage below ground level. How Nepali architecture was as advanced by the 5th century is unexplainable today!

The Architecture

Besides being primarily stone-built, the use of gold is common in royal versions like the ones found inside the palaces of Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur, alongside some public constructions like SunDhara located in each of the above three towns; an interesting exception being Dhalko‘s wooden dhara.

(Photo: Sundhara, Kathmandu. Bikkil Sthapit, 2014)

The basic architecture of a dhungedhara includes HitiMangah or the main spout structure, and HitiGah or the conduit’s basin. The HitiMangah further forms the most common trinity with a cult image above and a relief of Bhagirath below it. This fundamental combination is often housed within a sunken courtyard perhaps to facilitate the flow of water utilising gravitational pull. Often a paati, or resting platform, can be seen outside many dhungedhara complexes, to be used by travellers.

While common number of spouts per dhungedhara are either one or three, extension to four or five are also found. With one each to sample, Godavari‘s NauDhara, Balaju‘s BaiseyDhara and Muktinath‘s Ek-Saye-Aath-Dhara include nine, twenty-two, and a hundred and eight spouts respectively.

(Photo: Bhagirath as seen under the spout of Naxal-DhungeDhara. Sanyukta Shrestha, 2013)

As a beautiful blend of technology and art, dhungedharas are unique to Nepal as its spouts flank the iconic mythical character frequenting in Nepalese art, – the makara, carrier of Hindu goddess of water, Ganga. The usual presence of Bhagirath underneath these spouts is justified, as he is believed to be the one who brought Ganga from the heaven to earth.

According to a research by Riddhi Pradhan, other animals that are featured in the spouts are cow, goat, elephant, tiger and cock. Two such examples I could trace are the gomukhi (cow-headed) spouts found in Swayambhu‘s Bhuye Kheo and the NarayanHiti of Kathmandu.

History

While the earliest mention of dhungedhara is in an inscription dated 550 AD found in HadiGaun, the oldest among existing dhungedharas is the MangaHiti of Patan built in 570 AD. This unparalleled Nepali technology continued for as long as fifteen centuries, with some 300 more successful constructions between Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur, until the last and the largest known among these, Kathmandu‘s SunDhara, was built by Queen Lalit Tripura Sundari Devi in 1828 AD.

(Photo: MaruHiti, Kathmandu. Bikkil Sthapit, 2014)

While the most spoken language in Kathmandu valley kept changing over centuries, from early Lichhavi period through the Malla period, traditional water conduits were firstly called ‘Kirti’ (merit), then ‘Pranali’ (method), then ‘LwoHiti’ (stone tap) and more recently ‘dhungedhara’. As it stands literally, for early Lichhavi era, these conduits were a medium of earning religious and social merit; late Lichhavi period was when its construction became more systematic, and during the Malla period, it was taken to a completely next level of art and technology.

Religious Connection

The water from many dhungedharas has religious significance. While water from the left spout of Patan‘s MangaHiti initiates the character of Hiranyakashipu in Kartik Naach, that from its right spout is needed for the worship of Krishna temple. Likewise, Bhaktapur offers water from its SunDhara to goddess Taleju and serves those joining ShivaRatri from BhimDyoHiti. Also notable is the fact that major pilgrimage sites like Godavari, MataTirtha and Balaju have dhungedharas installed within their premises.

(Photo: MangaHiti, Patan. Bikkil Sthapit, 2014)

Social Beliefs and Myths

As a child, I could never understand this magic but my mum always asserted that dhungedhara’s water is cold in the summer and warm in the winter. She did prove her point by making me go and have a bath but something I failed to attest in the absence of geological surveys, was many people believing dhungedhara’s water to come with medicinal bonus; people drink water from Kathmandu‘s Sundhara as a cure for arthritis, and Bhaktapur‘s GahHiti is supposed to cure goitre.

Being a part of our social life for such a long time, dhungedharas share a significant space in Kathmandu‘s social belief system, whether it is our knowledge, superstition or even myth. About 700m west from Naxal-DhungeDhara, is the legendary NarayanHiti, – a dhungedhara that gives its name to the historic Royal Palace of the last Shah rulers of Nepal. Its spout is perhaps the most mythical of all, bearing a makara turning its head backward!

(Photo: NarayanHiti, Kathmandu. Prawesh Rajkarnikar, 2015)

I grew up listening to this local story:

Having to sacrifice a flawless person in order to run the NarayanHiti spout that had stopped working, King RaghavDev disguised himself after asking his son ManDev to severe this person in disguise. When ManDev was draining his father’s blood from his sword at the spout, the makara on the spouts couldn’t bear it and turned their heads backward.

“That’s why the trunk of NarayanHiti‘s makara is seen reversed, the only one of its kind in Nepal”, my mum would always whisper at the end, even for the hundredth time of re-telling this story.

As a grown up, her story really confused me how history actually repeated itself in the form of 2001 Royal massacre at NarayanHiti Palace just across the road. To me, the so-called ‘reversed’ trunk looks more like an accentuation making space for a smaller cow’s head protruding out of it.

The Future

When I was twenty-five, I moved to the metropolis of London and the everyday sight of dhungedhara would then make up a big part of my overall longing. Carefree kids diving in cold water to escape the mid-day summer heat, the common place for local ladies to have a bath and for the dhobi community to make best use of the courtyard on a business-as-normal day, – all seemed an idea far from the comforts of the first world.

Not that I would not meet Nepalis over here but their idea of development would sound as big as it could get, – engineers planning to build metro trains across the heart of Kathmandu, or IT experts suggesting a load-shedding Nepal to go for e-voting.

After solid two decades of the introduction of piped tap water in Kathmandu, it has fallen flat in catering the urban demand, and the forever setting back Melamchi project has had no other impact than political parties wooing their voters. We have by far lost the indigenous knowledge of all our engineering feats including dhungedharas.

Dhungedharas outside our houses have been running for as long as 1500 years but in the last 35 years of engineering education in Nepal, we have not found it necessary to revive our traditional water conduits despite the valley’s water crisis. This is also how a country loses its identity, – by forgetting its native technologies; pushing it further away from economic independence. It’s not just about heritage, it’s about failing to realise where our strength lies before even thinking of global competition.

 

Acknowledgements:
Prof. Sudarshan Raj Tiwari, Culture Expert Ganesh Ram Lachhi, Historian Shanker Man Rajvamshi, Engineer Prayag Raj Joshi, Researcher Riddhi Pradhan, SanuMaiya Shrestha, Documentarian Alok Siddhi Tuladhar, Artist Udaya Charan Shrestha.

Additional Researcher:
Reetu Joshi

Photographers:
Bikkil Sthapit, Sanyukta Shrestha, Prawesh Rajkarnikar.

 

The Nepali Door

by Sanyukta Shrestha

Presented at Symposium of South-Asian Murals and Floor Drawings, University of Westminster, London, Oct 2013
Presented at Annual Nepal Study Day, SOAS, London, April 2015
Published in DREAMS Magazine, April 2015

If you have been to Kathmandu, you must have asked yourself, “Why these paintings of parrots and eyes around the front doors?” Well, I did that too. But then, I needed my answers, really!

The Uniqueness

Although the city of Kathmandu boasts of some 2000 years long history, it was opened to rest of the world only 65 years ago. During the 2 centuries of isolation, the culture of Newars, believed to have originated around 300 BC, flourished in and around the valley. Today, their cultural heritage forms a part of the proud collection of almost every museum of the world. Particularly noted for their mastery in art, Newars create artwork in almost everything and everywhere, and the building of their residence is no exception. Much has been written about the ritual act of drawing manda: or madala on the floor but their door art is yet to be studied in depth.

Unlike the floor art of manda:, or even the Indian counterpart of Rangoli or Kolam, geometrical patterns do not form the basis of door art. While the practice of door art is on rapid decline following the last two decades of urbanization, it is definitely one of the unique features of Nepali culture.

Photo: Hiranyavarna Maahvihaar

Caa-Cin (read ‘Chaa-Chin’)

Artwork around the front door is called ‘Caa-Cin’ (clay symbols). Also referred as ‘Anga: Kipaa’ (wall art) or even ‘Lukhaa Dvaa’ (entry gate), it is mainly associated with decoration used to welcome the new bride which also signifies the status of women in the community. It includes figures of a parrot, an eye and a kalash on either sides of the door.

Religious Connection

The idea of a sacred or honorific gateway, or a torana, is quite popular in most Hindu and Buddhist traditions in South Asia. From the stone-carved monumental gates to flowers, leaves and fruits hanging between two posts or uprights is a popular tradition in many parts of the sub-continent. They are generally linked with religious practices and help to create an auspicious atmosphere besides making the guests feel welcome.In Nepal, while Buddhists paint Pancha Budhha on top, Hindus paint Bramha-Vishnu-Maheshwor-Ganesh-Kumar. This variation within the tradition of door art is in itself the hallmark of Nepal’s age-old religious tolerance. The artwork in Nepali doors is relatively simple, includes no elaborate design patterns and gives more freedom to the artists compared to how it is in classical painting; perhaps, due to the temporary nature of door art.

(Photo: Patan Gate)

The Artists

Historically, skills were passed on from one generation to the other within the family lineage of Newars. Families involved in creating artworks were from the occupational caste called Puns or Chitrakars. According to Prof David Gellner, Newars can be divided into 64 castes; and in 1995, Gerrard Toffin estimated around 1200 (0.3% of total Newars) as Chitrakars in Kathmandu. Toffin further identified some 20 different occasions in which Chitrakars were supposed to provide their artistic services.

Nepalese artists have been heavily involved in creating art for centuries. However, least importance was given to documentation and dissemination. Hence the present situation where neither the practitioners are able to explain anything clearly, nor the consumers of art can appreciate in its essence. Even when the clients commission for door art, they have it around their doors as a ritual requirement without necessarily knowing its inherent meaning.

The Missing Knowledge

Struck by the lack of available literature on parrot-eye-kalash, I decided to set off for Nepal even in the much awaited British summer of 2013. There, I found myself knocking the doors of every other traditional artist of commendable repute. None of those discussions were much enlightening at all.

(Photo: Door art, Patan)

While veteran PremMan Chitrakar rightly noted the varying design of eyes among Buddhists (meditative) and Hindus (wide-open), master artist Gyankar Vajracharya saw the Swasti-Chi (a unique auspicious mark with which most Nepalese scriptures start) as another regular inclusion just above the parrot. Lok Chitrakar agreed that in light of no available records, there is a lot of confusion as to why these symbols are actually painted.

Culture expert Tejeshwor Babu Gongah assumed parrot as a representative of wisdom or perfection, eyes for vision and kalash for completeness and prosperity. Prof TulsiLal Singh suggested if it had any connection with the Shuka-Baakha, an imported Nepalbhasha fable involving a parrot. These were but entirely their personal interpretations based on no available records.

(Photo: H. A. Oldfield’s paintings, 1850s)

It was not until I examined British surgeon Henry Oldfield’s paintings from 1850, that I found the eyes as the original symbols on the doors, and then the kalash, but parrots were nowhere to be seen. Even when I try my best to remember, either peacocks as the vehicle of Kaumaari, or swans for Brahmaayani are the only two birds making frequent appearance in classical Nepalese paintings. Parrot is hence a more recent addition.

There was no ultimate answer but something struck me on my flight back to London. People never felt the need to preserve their tradition but they were well ahead in exploiting it politically.

The Exploitation

Perhaps Nepali door art can be considered as one of the most interesting and rare phenomena in traditional art history in light of how it was exploited by the Panchayat system (1960-1990) to fulfil its undemocratic policy of “one nation, one language”. Not only did it marginalise ethnic languages, it also misrepresented traditional art; the evidence of which can be seen in various public gates erected in Kathmandu.

(Photos, from left to right: New Road Gate, Tundikhel Gate and a more recent Manakamana Gate.)

In an attempt to force a false patriotism, the then ruling government insensitively contaminated the profound meanings of traditional art elements with symbolic replacements like a cow, which was declared the national animal, and rhododendron, the national flower. While it effectively catered to their plan of Nepalisation, it also grossly misled the known theories of iconography. I felt like I was returning from the biggest show of insensitivity towards an ancient culture.

(Photo: Door art, Sankhu)

The Forgotten Artists of Nepal

The hitherto isolated Nepalese traditional art took its biggest turn exactly 200 years ago when BhajuMan Chitrakar was allowed to join the team of Nepalis visiting Britain for the first time ever, led by de-facto ruler Junga Bahadur Rana. Although we know very less about how photography started in Nepal, thanks to Sussane Von De Heide’s account of DirghaMan Chitrakar’s career and works, we know that the Chitrakars were expert cameramen by the late 19th century, finding themselves busy taking portraits and family photos of the Ranas.Puns or Chitrakars who were hired at every wedding or any other occasion for their painting services, today, stay away from the Newar doors which used to be incomplete without their art. Their clients happily go for a much cheaper alternative of custom-made prints on paper. Those who gave Nepal its artistic identity have far been forgotten.

Acknowledgements:
[1] Late Min Bahadur Shakya, Gyankar Vajracharya, PremMan Chitrakar, Lok Chitrakar, Tejeshwor Babu Gongah and Bakhat Bahadur Chitrakar for their valuable insight.
[2] Dr BalGopal Shrestha, Basu Kshitiz, Keshav Koirala, Niyukta Shrestha, Ramesh Lal Nakarmi, Dr Renuka Gurung, Sewa Bhattarai and Sunita Junu for resources.

Bisket Jatra : A Young Perspective