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.

 

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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.

 

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.

Significant Tales of Insignificant Lives

A Book Review of ‘A Cry in the Wilderness and Other Short Stories’

by Sanyukta Shrestha, London

Published: The Himalayan Times Online, 01 June 2012

Translation is a challenging art in itself as there is always a high risk of loosing the crux of a written piece. However, Nepalbhasha to English translation of ‘A Cry in the Wilderness and Other Short Stories’ is credited to two of those names which leave no ground for any further debate, – Keshar Lall and Tej R. Kansakar. That sealed with the editing attributed to someone like Prof David Gellner, simply adds fuel in skyrocketing readers’ expectation from author Srilaxmi Shrestha. Before even reading a single line, her acid test begins in a curious reader’s eyes, so this review will be keeping things as down to Earth as possible.

The first in the collection, ‘Bent But Not Broken’ was written a couple of years even before this reviewer was born. That it is still relevant today proves that time has not changed for Nepalese women even till date! It is one of the shortest stories but speaks volumes of what is to unfold in the remaining majority of pages. Readers’ expectation keep rising whether or not it is doing any good to the book.

Then comes the second story ‘Fickle Fortunes’ as an account of NhuChhenMaim‘s tragic life. Here, of course, the main character is again a lady, again facing biggest of life’s challenges, but she keeps fighting with all odds as an ordinary and no big hero. Basically, the characters’ lives are insignificant here but their tales are not. A stereotypical climax would have in it a lot of preaching and revolt probably establishing NhuChhenMaim as a demigod, but what we get is a much colder reality unfolding in a few daily life sequences, and that still works. What doesn’t work in the entire package is the repeated quoting of traditional proverbs, which after a while sounds forced. Had she carried on with this pattern, the entire collection could have reached its monotonous low but fortunately she doesn’t.

Most of Mrs Shrestha’s characters seem directly lifted from real life. The backdrops change, family histories change, relationships change but what get retained are the character’s lows and highs in life, mostly in that order, dealt with a fresh new social issue. Sometimes the story is that of a saviour daughter, sometimes a sacrificing mother, sometimes a supportive wife, but more often a combination of these emphasizing the importance of woman in the male-dominated Nepalese society. The female lead generally follows social customs but does not hesitate to cross every orthodox boundary when needed for herself or her family.

The other genre of stories depicting her experience of a Nepalese lady’s life in the Netherlands comes as a gust of fresh air in the enterprise. These stories not only involve computers, Internet and pen drives, as in ‘The Suspect’, but also deal with cultural differences like in ‘The Funeral’. ‘The Funeral’ can very well be considered her classic work as it interestingly peeps into the life of a working Nepalese housewife in a foreign land, gradually getting to learn about the Christian society. She cries when her Dutch friend’s father dies and hugs her; the land is foreign for her but the grief is not.

It is not until the title-story ‘A Cry in The Wilderness’ that Mrs Shrestha actually proves her mettle as a gifted storyteller. The narration opens up with a countrywoman washing dishes. As she removes sticky food grains from the dishes, it reminds her of overcoming life’s equally stubborn obstacles. Shrestha’s characters generally go through the toughest test of time, often involving extreme poverty and/or loss of family member(s). What makes her climax believable is not climbing back the ladder to prosperity but learning from life. Most of her happy endings generally involve forgetting about the miseries of life in the happiness of one’s children.

Mrs Shrestha, for sure, likes indulging in detail characterization but on a flip side, it challenges the reader’s patience at times. If you had enjoyed a more complex psychoanalysis of Nepalese society handled by the likes of Vishweshwor Prasad Koirala et al, Mrs Shrestha’s works may sound somewhat one-dimensional. She mainly excels in looking at characters through the window of culture, and depicting their social behaviour realistically. Because her stories have been translated from Nepalbhasha, it can help the readers in two ways, – a general non-Nepalbhasha reader can find out more about socio-cultural aspects of the Newars, whereas a more analytic observer can draw important conclusions about the state of story writing in Nepalbhasha literature, and that of Nepalese women’s involvement in writing.

Publication details:

Title:               ‘A Cry in the Wilderness and Other Short Stories’

Author:           Srilaxmi Shrestha

Translators:     Keshar Lall & Tej R. Kansakar

Editor:             David N. Gellner

ISBN:              978-9937-506-62-5

Publisher:        Vajra Publications, 2011.

The dawn of formal Newah Folklore study

A Book Review on “Newa: LokVaartaa” (Newa: Folklore)
by Sanyukta Shrestha, London
Published: The Newarland, Dec 2011 – Jan 2012
Elohan Publications, Kathmandu

Much has been written and said about the greatness of Newah culture and the need for preserving our traditional practices. Very few people/projects have devised a solution towards creating a favourable environment for those who want to learn. One such exemplary work that encompasses almost every element of our tradition has been realized by Central department of Nepalbhasa (CDN), TU. “Newa: LokVaartaa” (Newa: Folklore) is a compilation of research papers written by it’s own faculty members as a course material for MA in Nepalbhasa.

Folklore is a very interesting subject that helps one explore established communal practices. I have been following the activities of world’s first Folklore Society (London, estd. 1878), and I hace seen nothing like Newah folklore so rich in symbolic practices. The more one learns about its hidden meanings, more one falls in love with it. If Newah Folklore could be translated in English, folklorists from all over the world coould cherish it.

None other than present CDN chief PremShanti Tuladhar herself holds the editorial reins of this gigantic venture. Known for her handling of a vast subject matter that would have been otherwise unexplored, like her earlier published history of Nepalbhasa, she once again leaves a first onlooker in awe with the vivid perspectives through which this book explores Newah folklore. While our part of the sub-continent draws most of its cultural knowledge from religious and classical records, the book takes a giant leap towards establishing folklore as a formal subject of study in Nepalese academia. It rightly focuses on the aspects preserved by folk community and that is exactly where it stands out.

The book’s contents can be equally interesting material for serious research as well as just a light-hearted read. Apart from the chapter on language, rest of the papers are simple enough for anyone new to the topics covered. For this successful balance and maintaining homogeneity in contents from various contributors in terms of style and simplicity of language, the editorial team owes sincere appreciation.

Lok Baakha (Ravi Shakya) includes material on international classification system for folk stories, which was earlier given in ample detail in preface to Griffin & Shakya’s ‘Tales of Kathmandu’, 1980. This is a good sign, as it not only proves that CDN’s effort complies with international formats wherever applicable but also foreign readers can relate to the contents easily though in parts.

Baakha Mye (Yogendra Rajkarnikar) has elaborate list of sample traditional songs. I personally found a few papers stand out as interesting accounts of less published topics like Tisaa wo Samaa (IshworiMaiya Shrestha), Vaastu wo Jnaan (JeevanKumar Maharjan), Nakha wo Nasaa (JeevanKumar Maharjan), Lokopachaar (IshworiMaiya Shrestha) and Bujyaa (Kajiman Dangol). Each of these chapters leaves the reader asking for more.

In Andhavisvas, Ras Joshi’s entire effort is devoted towards making his readers agree that what is belief for a particular community can be superstition for the other, in which he somehow succeeds. He reminds me of a time when I was researching on mathematical model for randomness. After working on pattern recognition, I was more or less convinced that what is random for us today can be a pattern tomorrow when our understanding of the particular system improves; something in lines of Joshi’s idea of superstition!

Like every good work, the book is also not free from flaws. First quarter of the book comes with an enormous number of typing mistakes but they are easily decipherable. A few chapters like LokJeevanYe Kwaa and Khatwaa, KhaBhaye wo Chhunaakha come with repetition of context and lack variety in example. If one complains for limited depth of research, it will be a great injustice to these writers who have dared to write so painstakingly on hitherto unwritten topics. However, some sections do miss out on available material e.g., Vaastu wo Jnaan could have drawn ideas from many manuscript handbooks of Newah civil engineers preserved till date. Finally, I believe this is just a beginning and CDN will build upon this pathbreaking framework. Following this promising publication, one can only hope that Newah Folklore will be established in near future as a much developed area of study making every Nepalese proud of their heritage.

Publication details:
Title: “Newa: LokVaartaa” (Newa: Folklore)
Editor: Prof PremShanti Tuladhar
Publisher: Central department of Nepalbhasa, TU
Edition: 1st, Nepal Samvat 1130
Price: NRs 300.00
ISBN: 978-9937-524-15-5

Bisket Jatra : A Young Perspective

Guthi in London