Once upon a time, two fishes had a grand wedding. Guests came from far and wide to attend the feasting and merriment that accompanies weddings. The bride sat coyly in her palanquin while the groom swam up to the wedding with his friends. Suddenly, a larger fish arrived. Miffed at having been left out of the guest list, she ate up the entire wedding party.
“Uff,” said I wincing, “what a nasty end!” I’d been so engrossed in the story that had been unfolding in the painted scroll and Moina Chitrakar’s folksy voice that the end had come as a shocker. “That’s the impact this story has on many people in the audience,” her husband Jayadev Chitrakaar said smiling. The couple, members of the Patua community from rural West Bengal, have been doing this folksy version of ‘Show and Tell’ — an ancient rural tradition of storytelling with painted scrolls and song — ever since they remember.
“We go from village to village, singing and showing our stories,” said Moina, “and this is what my people have done for centuries…” Villagers, said she, love their shows, and I could quite understand why. The figures on the scrolls were bright and eye catching, all the women depicted with flashing, painted eyes so typical of Bengali art. The themes of their stories were largely mythological, Jayadev pointed out, as Moina showed me a long scroll on the Ramayana painted by her mother. “She is a national awardee and quite a legend amongst the Patuas,” said she proudly. I reflected that their stories were actually a little like cinema. As the scroll unfolded and Moina’s voice worked her magic, the audience was able to suspend disbelief pretty much like they would in a picture hall.
However, although their stories have been around longer than cinema has, I wondered whether there had been any change in the way people received them now, compared to the time when there were no movies. “Things have changed,” she admitted, “although we have received a lot of recognition by the government and many foreigners too.” One sign of change, I observed, was in the stories they were telling. “People these days enjoy our social commentaries,” said Moina, showing me a scroll about education being a dead end.
“Other popular stories these days are about the Tsunami and the World Trade Centre bombings,” said Jayadev, “we need to make our stories more contemporary to keep the interest of our audience.” As I looked at the large serpent (symbolising the killer wave that ravaged coastlines across Asia) and the two planes that crashed into the Twin Towers (represented with ominously familiar bearded faces on their noses), I was entranced. This was New Age folk art at its best.
Sadly, while this craft has been attracting the dollars, its rural audiences have reduced considerably. “They probably like the movies and television more,” said Jayadev without rancour. So while earlier, the Patua’s scrolls were his most prized asset, today these can be bought for ludicrously small sums. “There are still some scrolls I’d like to keep,” said Moina wistfully, “but I will consider selling even them if I get a good price…”
A crowd had gathered around when they sang about the Wedding of the Fishes. A foreigner bought a little scroll on the story. “I wonder if it will be as interesting to look at the scroll without hearing the Patuas singing in the background?” I mused. “Probably not,” said he, “but I took a video of them that I’ll upload on YouTube!” Folk art had just gone digital, I mused.
