BN Goswamy and the art of conversation, in all its hues

Ira Pande

AT a time when one yearns to hear civilised voices on topics other than politics and elections, I was delighted to receive a book appropriately titled ‘Conversations’ by a man whose intellect I have long admired. Dr BN Goswamy belongs to a rapidly vanishing breed of intellectuals (although I hesitate to use this debased word to describe him) whose writings never fail to delight. His association with The Tribune spans almost three decades and it is a tribute to his knowledge and fine eye that it remains ever fresh and educative. To those who know him and have studied under him, he is a guru like no other but even those of us who have attended his public lectures or read his erudite books and articles, he is best described in his own words (in his tribute to that great art collector, Gautam Sarabhai), as belonging to an intellectual aristocracy.

This magisterial tome is a collection of the short pieces he writes every other Sunday for this newspaper. It is difficult to speak about each jewel he has lovingly placed before us but some need to be highlighted. Foremost among them are the tributes he pays to all those great art collectors, historians and museum builders who have left us with such a treasure that they deserve to be declared national treasures themselves. Ananda Coomaraswamy, WG Archer, Karl Khandalavala, Mulk Raj Anand, Gautam and Giraben Sarabhai, Rai Krishnadas — the list is long and distinguished, yet it is a small dedication right in the beginning to ‘Karuna’ that first caught my eye. Karuna Goswamy was not just his beloved wife but his most devoted student and research associate and I dare say, many of these pieces were actual conversations between them. The mystery of the enigmatic title may lie elsewhere but this is what I would like to believe.

Dr Goswamy is a world authority on Indian (specifically Pahari) miniatures and naturally those are the pieces that first catch one’s eye. His work on Nainsukh and Manaku of Guler has dazzled readers but his ruminations on Mughal and Rajput miniatures, as well as some extraordinary Deccani and colonial portraits are as compelling. Fluent in several languages, one can only marvel at the author’s ability to quote from Persian and Urdu, Sanskrit and Takri (a forgotten script from the Kangra hills), as well as his astonishing ability to ‘read’ an artwork with a depth that few can rival.

Equally fascinating is his strong attraction to the Sufi way and its depiction in art. In fact, these are perennial wells that slake one’s thirst for meaning in life in a way that the spoken or written word cannot always achieve. This mystic vision appears in several entries but two will forever haunt me. One is the portrait of an old Sufi pir, a 17th century Mughal painting in the Aga Khan collection in Toronto and the artist is Abu’l Hasan, one of Emperor Jahangir’s favourite painters. ‘All he does here,’ says Goswamy, ‘in quiet, hushed tones, is to render an old, bare-footed man who leans on his staff and makes his way slowly forward….(t)he body is bare in the lower part, the feet are unshod….But the painting goes far beyond mere brilliance of technique and finish…. (it) is nearly perfectly thought out…’. Yet Goswamy adds to its perfect ambience by quoting some lines from Ali Sardar Jafri’s ‘Mera Safar’, completing it in a way that gives it another dimension altogether. Do spend some time on this entry.

‘A Mystic Vision’ is another jewel. The painting titled ‘The Birds’ Gathering at a Convention’ by Habibullah of Sava is from New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, and is believed to be inspired by the words of Farid-ud Din Attar, the great 12th century Sufi poet and philosopher, regarded by the great Rumi as his master. The story behind this exquisite work is too long to recall here but it highlights, as so many Sufi saints do, the ephemerality of this life. Dr Goswamy believes it is a reference to one of the great mystery-laden works of Attar, the ‘Mantiq al-tayr’, in which a host of birds fly across and pass seven valleys in the search of a fabled phoenix-like bird as beautiful as the bird of paradise. I am convinced not many could have unearthed this reference.

‘There is incredible elegance, and refinement, in the manner in which the painters of the past treated the female form in India.’ This is the start of an entry that dwells on the countless nayikas and lovers that our miniatures celebrate. As he grapples with the question of purdah and the strict rules that govern the depiction of cloistered women by male painters, Dr Goswamy leads us to another mystery: ‘Was painting exclusively a male domain?’ Read the chapter on ‘Cardamom’ and the ‘Lotus Lady’ to find the answer to this abiding puzzle.

I could go on but there are two marvellous paintings that stand out even in this dazzling collection: the first is the spectacular use of glistening, luminous beetle wings by the great Manaku in the Gita Govinda series in the Chandigarh Museum. The second took my breath away: it is a detail from a 19th century pichwai from Nathdwara where two gopis offer flowers to an absent Lord. Look closely, however, and He is there outlined in the fragrance of their devotion.

Through the long, hot summer, I intend to read and savour the infinite variety of these conversations as often as I can.

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