Tracing an artist

B N Goswamy has produced a formidable suggested timeline for an anonymous artist whom he admires greatly

It’s interesting that B N Goswamy begins the preface of his book on the 18th century painter, Manaku of Guler, with a description of Hiranyagarbha — a painting of the golden womb/golden egg from which all creation sprang. It’s also the first painting in his 2014 publication of the Spirit of Indian Paintings; 101 great artworks 1100-1900. By that definition, he seems to think that this is essentially the finest painting in the entire history of Indian art.

It’s a dazzling work with the egg resting on a sea that fills the page from end to end with grey concentric circles — rather like the circles denoting age in trees. The egg itself looks a turgid brown till it’s tilted, when it reveals itself to be pure gold in colour, referencing the fact that it was supposed to contain the sun itself. But it’s the complexity of thought that’s truly awe-inspiring — as is the realisation that this painting is still in India and not in some foreign collection somewhere. 

Goswamy is most famous for, Vasari like, unearthing the histories of Pahari painters. He’s proved that it was the family workshops from which their styles emitted even as they travelled from kingdom to kingdom in search of patronage. The artist he’s most intimately associated with is Nainsukh of Guler, although he’s written about his father, Pundit Seu, and two generations of artists after him. But Manaku, Nainsukh’s elder brother, has always been a shadowy figure whose existence has been a subject of controversy. Also, his body of work has always been disputed because of the complete change in styles between folios. For example, his Gita Govinda series bears the glittering beetle wing cases and the extreme stylisation that we associate with Basholi paintings, while the drawings that we see in the Bhagavat Purana series are very natural.  

Goswamy uses slim evidence to prove his existence — a line in a bahi of a pandit in Haridwar that records the names of Manaku and two cousins in 1736, along with a simple line- drawn portrait on the page as well as a line from another bahi in 1763 where Nainsukh mentions his brother Manaku.  He’s also unearthed two portraits that he says are Manaku’s — one possibly posthumous, that help narrow down the timelines.  

Behind this is years of scholarship by this Indiana Jones of Indian Art. To locate two lines of text in bahis across all the pilgrimage spots in North India is like locating two needles hidden centuries ago in all the haystacks in North India. 
 

But, what this book actually does is catalogue as much of the artist’s works as Goswamy could locate, so that similar stylistic devices can be seen. There are 15 full paintings and drawings from the Siege of Lanka series (that he worked on, but didn’t complete); 30 from the Gita Govinda series; 58 drawings and paintings from the Bhagavata Purana series; 7 from the Ashwa-Shastra — an unusual series that’s drawn on rough paper and looks at horses ailments, and 5 others. There are also smaller versions of extant works that either weren’t in a condition to be printed or Goswamy couldn’t get permission to print.  

This is a lifetime’s work. Most of these folios aren’t signed, so Goswamy depends on style and topic. He’s helped here by Manaku’s love for dense narration. Manaku produced work after work looking at tiny shifts in action in small cantos from the Ramayana or Gita Govinda — almost as if he doesn’t want the viewer to lose any part of the action. When you look at so many pages from a single folio, it’s easy to see there are similar stylistic devices in different series. 

Hiranyagarbha is also a fantastic example of the amount of thought that Manaku put into his interpretation of the religious books. Goswamy calls it Manaku’s conversations with Gods because throughout the folios he uses no honorifics for the gods — almost as if they’re equals. He even portrays them with foibles — the Bhagavat Purana shows Indra taking the shape of charlatans as he flees King Prithu, and the Gita Govinda shows Krishna pining for Radha and doing her bidding. 

But the most underrated series that Goswamy locates is the Ashwa-shastra. Even though these drawings are produced on coarse paper, there’s a story that Raja Govardhan Chand, who occupied the throne in 1741 — a period that would have overlapped with Manaku —  was so fond of a horse that he fought a war with the Governor of Punjab, Adina Beg Khan, over it. Certainly, Manaku’s gorgeous paintings of horses in the Bhagavat Purana and Ashwa-shastra show that his deep study extended beyond the religious. 

Goswamy has produced a formidable suggested timeline for an anonymous artist whom  he admires greatly. The last inscription that Goswamy could find about Manaku is on the back of a painting in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London that states that Manaku was so pleased by a picture (possibly by a younger member of his family) that he gave a gold ring set with an emerald as a reward. 

At least during his lifetime, he was revered for the master painter he was.