A temple keeps close company with a mosque. A Hindu priest performs a ritual under a tree surrounded by Muslim saints. The theme of communal harmony is a recurrent one in Bahar Chitrakar’s paintings, especially in the years following the demolition of Babri Masjid in Ayodhya. A Muslim patua or patachitra artist from Paschim Medinipur in West Bengal, Bahar arrived in the city last week with son Sirajul. They have put up their paintings at a stall at Kala Ghoda, provided by the Kala Ghoda Association. Bahar, around 65, and Sirajul, about 27, says all the 22 members of their family are involved in patua art, often made in the form of scrolls. The paintings, executed on paper and mounted on long metres of cloth, some of them stretching up to 15 feet, cost between Rs 400 and Rs 1 lakh. In keeping with tradition, Bahar says he uses natural colours — black from lamp soot, blue from the aparajita (butterfly pea) flower and red from betel leaves. Some of them are also made in the Kalighat style, recognisable by the unique shapes of the bodies and eyes of the figures. Despite being Muslim, their art has a proliferation of Hindu gods and goddesses. “I believe in Allah, but I love painting Hindu gods. It is my karma and my dharma,” Bahar said, adding that the scrolls collectively cover a range of legends, lesser-known folk stories and instances from Hindu life. On Tuesday, Bahar regaled passersby and curious customers with songs that narrate the stories in the scrolls — patua was originally meant to be used for oral storytelling. Unfurling one scroll, he sang the story of how snake goddess Manasa gained more followers in West Bengal. Another scroll of interest narrated the story of Satya Pir. Unfurling yet another patua on the street, Bahar and Sirajul explained how a Muslim fakir once blessed a Hindu king and helped vanquish a rival. The scroll, made for a dramatic narration, narrates how the fakir, moved by the king’s devotion, reveals his true form as Lord Vishnu. Having studied only till Class III, Bahar’s fate is little different from the many other patua artists in the country. “In the age of the internet, our livelihood is over,” said Sirajul. The father and son have now pinned their hope on visitors frequenting the Kala Ghoda area.
