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Mysteries of a majestic manuscript

The Great Mysore Bhagavata is the latest work from the prolific pen of Dr BN Goswamy.

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Neelam Mansingh Chowdhry

The Great Mysore Bhagavata is the latest work from the prolific pen of Dr BN Goswamy. It also includes essays by historians Robert J. Del Bonta and Caleb Simmons and is a fascinating account of miniature paintings from the Royal Wodeyar court of the erstwhile Mysore state.

It blends the art of storytelling with a scholarly commentary, not only accessible in its approach, but one whose illustrations can “sweep readers off their feet”. The 19th-century manuscript, housed in the San Diego Museum of Art in the US, has nearly 500 miniature paintings depicting the complex and diverse geographic regions and historical eras of India.

There is, however, no information about the scribe who compiled the intensive text or the painters who embellished the illustrations in the manuscript that remained secreted with the Wodeyars for almost a century-and-a-half before making an appearance on the London antique market.

According to Dr Goswamy, the manuscript remains anonymous; it neither has authorship, nor publishers’ colophon, nor a simple date to furnish a clue to its antecedents. In the preface, he states that commissioning a manuscript that deals with an ancient religious text like the Bhagavata Purana can only be an act of piety and deep commitment by the devotee.

Research, however, has revealed that the anonymously complied manuscript was commissioned in 1825 by Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (1794-1868), who was nominally appointed ruler by the British after Tipu Sultan’s death in 1799. It is among the few surviving examples of miniature art from South India whose Sanskrit text is rendered in Kannada and embellished with stunning artwork that defy linearity.

While illustrating, the painter has tried to remain faithful to the text, but has exercised some artistic leeway not only with the imagery and interpretation but also with the style. The painter plays freely with time, melding the present and the past with ease, spontaneity and vivacity. Georgian windows and Venetian arches, for instance, merge with ancient palace pillars and it is somewhat quirky to see the Union Jack fluttering in the wind in scenes depicting Indian mythology. In many illustrations in which Lord Krishna and Balram are leading their cohorts against their enemies, their soldiers are wearing knee-length boots of the East India Company army. Despite the anachronism, however, nothing jars and the contrary images separated by eons flow seamlessly together without contradiction.

The Bhagavata Purana is a revered and graphically illustrated ancient Vaishnava text with 18,000 shlokas that offer an unusual exposure to the miniature style of painting emerging south of the Deccan. Prosaically most of us associate miniature painting with either the Mughal era or Pahari and Rajasthani paintings from northern and western India, so, the exquisite artwork of the Bhagavata Purana comes as a refreshing revelation. 

What is even more remarkable is the subject of this manuscript: the tenth skanda of the Bhagavata Purana, which describes the life of Krishna, though the latter part as king, warrior or the uttara-ardha. Goswamy believes the portion depicting Krishna’s earlier half — or the purva-ardha — must have once existed, though it is probably lost forever.

Whenever we conjure an image of Krishna, we tend to visualise him as a capricious lover playing the flute with irresistible charm. The many miracles associated with Krishna’s childhood — the killing of Kaliya, the serpent, slaying of Putana, the ogress, or revealing his godhood to his mother, Yashoda, by opening his mouth with the cosmos revolving within — are absent from this particular narrative. What we instead see are battles that he fought as the ruler of Dwarka, a city built by the divine architect Vishwakarma. But now in the narrative, Krishna is no longer the master of his destiny or circumstance. Images of him timidly running away from the onslaughts of Jarasandha or Shishpal, or hiding beneath a mountain with Balram are surprising and at variance with the popular myth. And though these diminish his widely perceived heroic status, they render Krishna human, vulnerable, and, above all, identifiable. 

What is particularly striking in this manuscript is the visualisation of the sky. The curling, swirling scalloped stylised skies are complete paintings on their own. Alongside, the earth, sky, land and water, all flow into one another, dissolving the lines between the mundane and the mythic and between gods and demons in one uninterrupted continuum.

The manuscript has the vision of Goswamy, and his signature on it is unmistakably singular. He remains an alchemist, who has enriched art history through erudition and scholarship. His lecture at the recent launch of this book was greeted not only with wonderment, but also excitement that surfaces normally at a pop concert.

There were no dreary diatribes, clichés or pedantry; his matter-of-fact but incisively charming lecture was laced with anecdotes, poetry and subtle humour. Goswamy’s capacity to strip away centuries of cultural accretion by opening a down-to-earth door to the world of gods and goddess, demons, and mythic characters obscured by time, made them all come tantalisingly alive; their captivating lives and equally mesmerising times were presented with a casual elegance that kept the packed auditorium on the edge of their seats.

Despite the scholarly appearance of the book, it is not only readable, but also a visual delight capable of being heard and felt through the heart and mind. Seeing the illustrations, the reader is sucked into the mesmerising world of Balram and Krishna with Jarasandha running wild surrounded by armies with horsemen, chariots, elephants.

Painted in brilliant colours and dazzling in their richness is Krishna’s fierce battle with the bear-king Jambavana, in which the surrounding Khandava forest is burnt to ashes. In other illustrations, the city of Hastinapura is dragged from the waters, pilgrimages are undertaken and Krishna marries 16,000 enslaved women after their release from captivity, further cementing his reputation as an amorous lover. Image after imaginative image, all coalesce to create a majestic narrative, with energy, tinged with devotion and imagination of the unknown painter.

If that were not enough, the cover of the book too is spectacular. Framed against a flat black backdrop is a mountain surrounded by the tongues of yellow-orange flames — both ravaging and benign — surrounded by trees and shrubs in intense red, blue, green and white.

“Imagination in these illustrations competes with and at times completely overpowers reality,” says Goswamy.

Without doubt, it does.

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