
In a film I saw many years ago, an old man has a last bath in the large village pond in which he had luxuriated his entire life. He was leaving for the city to live with his son. The following morning, at his son8217;s house, he was given half a bucket of water to bathe with. He was traumatised and did not know what to do with that water.
Art and life overlap each other. We are today as traumatised as the old man because in a sense our large pond has disappeared as we fight over water tankers, wait in despair for taps to come alive or gag over brown muddy water, reluctant to brush our teeth.
Where is that water, rushing, gushing, rippling, sparkling water?
Our ancestors respected water and considered it sacred. They were rewarded by its abundance and its beauty. As far as possible, they lived at the water 8217;s edge, using it for navigation, to bath with and frolic in and to be nourished by this mighty giver of life. Great cities sprung along rivers everywhere in the world. These cities continue to protect their rivers only to be protected in return by them. In all good relationships only when we give do we receive. The same is true with nature. But it appears that in our country such wisdom has passed us by while we are gradually being forsaken by all our rivers, the way we have forsaken them.
Indian artists from earlier times converted their delight and reverence for water into unforgettable images in painting and sculpture. They had perfected art conventions dealing not only with water but also with every aspect of nature. Embedded in their creative responses, therefore, was a sophisticated visual vocabulary capable of showing water in its many moods and seasons.
Their most important device was the line, which was used in many ways to depict water. Fine straight lines suggested calm, still waters. In many miniatures and wall paintings, bathers could thus be seen through the shimmer of water, a marvellous way to suggest the nude bodies of Krishna8217;s nayikas. In innumerable miniatures gently moving rivers and streams acquire a leaf-like pattern Matsya Avatar. The leaf pattern can be bent and twisted to portray swiftly moving waters. Turbulence occurs, either because of the weather, a rushing stream or bathers who create it. Here the lines could become wavy, group together Vastraharan, or separate to suggest movement, ending in little circles to make eddies and whirlpools. In a similar way, different linear designs in stone suggest the flow of water Sanchi.
The Vastraharan miniature is also typical of paintings which suggest the summer heat and diminishing water levels which expose the lotus flowers and show more of the nayikas with their flimsy clinging clothes. Together with the Jalakrida paintings summer water sports with an erotic flavour, the Vastraharan paintings provide artists the excuse to depict the sensuality of nature and the visualisation of Krishna8217;s philosophy. He does not actually steal clothes but takes away souls that he makes his own.