Carving a life out of wood in Bastar

Women walking with baskets, men with axes, farmers guiding the bullock carts, young men and women dancing to the rhythms of Gaur Maria – the world of the Gond Adivasi community has descended on the courtyard of this old mud house with bamboo fencing in Garhbengal. A village inside Narayanpur’s dense tropical forest area. The place is filled with a warm, earthy, verdant scent of planks and pieces of freshly cut wood, some half carved, strewn all around. Each one waiting to tell a story. As does the old man, Pandi Ram who sits surrounded by his tools, timber and trainees.

Sitting on his haunches, bending over a small piece of carved wood, squinting his now weak, cataract-hit eyes behind his protective glasses, this 70-year-old is giving the final touch to an artwork. He occasionally calls out for his special tools by their local names –chheni, trikon, regi, pataasi, hathori. He guides his students with each move of his working hands and words of advice or caution in his mother tongue, Gondi, every now and then. Each line Pandi Ram carves on the wood breathes of the forest, and a life lived in harmony with it that a generation in his Muria Gond community remember vividly.

But these days it is hard for him to work, and even harder to stay away from it. “He just has to touch a piece, and he knows what is right, what needs working on,” says his son Baldev, also an artist. “This art is as important as my breath,” says Pandi Ram, “if I leave it, perhaps I will not live any longer.” He is sitting in the porch with four to five people busy grinding wood, carving statues or moving the wood around.

"I used to think this is just a village thing,” says Pandi Ram. “Then the city people started appreciating it and I realised it could be my livelihood. I decided to make this my life by gradually honing the skills I received from my father.” His 35 years of practice is dedicated to keeping the rich heritage of his community and the age-old art of wood carving alive. Wood and items made from it, both household and decorative, have been an integral part of the homes, rituals, festivals, and daily life of the community and not a way to make a livelihood.

“It wasn't easy for my father at that time to give up farming,” Pandi Ram says speaking of such a time. “In the beginning, even I didn't even know it could be called art. I used to try to capture on wood whatever I saw in the forest—animals, trees, plants. I used to watch my father at work, accompany him to the market; from him I learnt to make a finely carved wooden comb."

"Koi badi baat nahin hai, ye kaam sikha hai. Ab koi nakkashi nahin jise mein na kar sakun. Par vo kanghi jo meine banai thi use aaj tak mere bete nahi bana paaye. [It's not a big deal; I've learned this craft. And now there's no engraving that I can't do. But that comb I had made then, my sons have never been able to make it till this date]," he says with a proud smile.

Four of his twelve sons are also doing wood carving work, while others are in different professions. "My family depends on this art. My four sons support me in this work. Their wives and children also help when needed." When the demand is high, women rise to the occasion and help in peeling and cutting the wood. Pandi Ram has also trained many artists in the community.

Sukdev Mandavi in his team hails from Bhonda panchayat (in West Singhbhum district) and has been working in this field for 28 years. Six years ago, he came to Pandi Ram Mandavi to learn the intricacies of the craft done entirely by human hands, without a single machine. Babulal Mandavi, another person in the team, has also been training under the septuagenarian master for a year. He has imparted his knowledge to many artists across the state.

The scene though is changing in Garhbengal, which has a population of 1,700 Adivasis according to the latest census. Pandi Ram's son, Baldev, believes that it is because of the smart phones. “People used to be more connected to their roots earlier. Now the mobile phones have arrived and so they are forgetting their own culture and are moving away from it,” he adds.

“No one celebrates the tihars [festivals] like the way we used to before,” says Baldev, his eyes tracing the images of community celebrations carved by his father on wooden panels and pillars. Amus to mark the beginning of an agricultural period, Nuakhai to celebrate the first yield of the season, Diyari after the harvest to honour the cattle that made it possible, Charu to express gratitude to mother earth and Mati to celebrate the soil.

“The ways in which the festivals were celebrated, the new generation will not know. There will be no inspiration left for artists like us,” says Baldev mourning the loss of traditions. “There used to be a gotul here once [a community learning centre, a dormitory like space for the young Adivasi men and women] that got washed away in the floods. Now they are building a new one. But gotuls are no longer active. The government wants to build those now only so that it appears like they are saving the culture of a people. These sculptures are the real reminders of a time when forests, festivals, and sharing were inseparable from life,” he adds.

But the story is not of loss alone; there are gains too. “There are also good things that the mobiles have brought. More people know about our work now. We can even get orders over the phone,” says Baldev. His father agrees and adds, “The world beyond our village knows us because of this work. And we are proud.” The pillars and doors made by Pandi Ram are on display at the Tribal Museums in Bhopal and Hyderabad. His carvings are permanently installed at tourist destinations like Chitrakote in Bastar. “I still teach my sons the intricacies of this art so that the tradition can continue,” says Pandi Ram.

His journey to fame though, predates smartphones. It began in 1980s. He was only 25. Jagadish Swaminathan, known for establishing the multi-art complex at Bharat Bhavan had a vision and a plan to build a collection of tribal art. He saw Pandi Ram’s work and called him to Bhopal. “Until then, I often used to think I should just quit everything and go for wage labour. But my heart only wanted to do this work. And that is why I had decided to pursue it whether or not anyone was ready to buy my pieces. But when I returned from Bhopal and I saw the appreciation that my art received it became easy for me to survive on this. I actually began to make more in wood carving at that time than what I got from agriculture,” says Pandi Ram.

And yet farming remained a part of his life. Now with his eyes getting weaker it is hard to sculpt figures like before. He has started making more rounds of the field now, but his heart still beats for the wood-work. “Now things are tough. The one essential thing about this work is good quality wood – teak, sal, mahua. We get this through the forest department’s auctions. But these days neither the forest officers are like what they used to be nor is the availability of the wood,” says Pandi Ram.

“We want every carved figure to be durable. That's why we never compromise on quality, even if we have to use expensive wood," says Baldev. The team earns a good income from the orders now. “A gotul pillar sells for 35,000 rupees, and a board 70,000 rupees. “I still remember the day when someone bought the first sculpture from me. He was a government employee. I got a good amount of money for that too. At that moment, I felt I was the happiest man in the world.

“The difference now is this: earlier there was dire poverty, no market, and people did not recognise my art. Now I am old, my eyes are weak and the apathy among the young people in the community is taking this art to its slow extinction,” says this master-artist.

When I saw him in August last he had received the Padma Shri from the Government of India. He wanted to start an art centre in the village where children could learn to identify the wood, work with the tools, and keep their culture alive. “Hum chahate hai ki yah kala bachho mein jie. Jangal ki bhasha, lakadi ki smruti – sub aanevali peedhi tak jaae. I want this art to thrive among the children. The language of the jungle, the memory of the wood – let all these reach the next generation.”

This story is originally reported in Hindi.

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).