Artist Jayasri Burman on how her love for the the Ganga flows through her canvas

Indian Express

15 hours ago

By Jayasri Burman
I was still a child when the river Ganga became an indelible part of how I perceived the world. Growing up in Kolkata, visiting the ghats of the river with my family for Mahalaya was an annual ritual. We would offer prayers for our departed ancestors and my father would bathe in the river. Though I participated in the rituals with sincerity, what truly captivated me was the array of activities on the banks. Any ghat we visited across Kolkata — whether Bagbazar, Nimtala or Dakshineswar — it was like a theatre stage, with so many scenes unfolding. If at one end people would be performing aarti, at another they would be mixing black rice and banana to be offered to the river for their ancestors. There would be mourning widows casting their precious shakha-pola bangles into the holy river and another side had people oiling themselves, performing surya pranam exercises.
I think it was my admiration for the Ganga that led to the presence of water as an element in my art. Even as a six-seven year old, I would often have a river in my drawings, flowing from the mountains. I still have some of those drawings. Later, of course, the thought-process became more layered, enriched with mythological references merged with my own fantastical imaginations. The river transformed into a mother figure for me.
I found it mystical and mysterious how one river could hold such ability to empower and evoke such enduring faith. In many ways, I am still looking for answers. Tracing its course — spanning over 2,500 km from the Himalayas to central India and Bangladesh — you realise how it has been a source of fertility and joy across the region. Even in mythology, she marries King Shantanu and goes on to drown her eight sons for their moksha. This represents the selfless spirit of motherhood, her willingness to suppress her emotional attachment to her children.
Over the years, I developed a primordial relationship with the river. I made a conscious effort to pay my obeisance at different ghats, planning trips to places such as Haridwar, Rishikesh, Varanasi and across West Bengal. At every place devotion to her brings people together, yet what we encounter as pilgrims differs. If in Rishikesh the serene waters invite quiet contemplation, in Varanasi the burning ghats flicker with fire at night. There are sadhus with faces smeared with bhasma, vendors selling bead necklaces. Draped in saris with no adornment except the streak of sindoor on their heads, women selling shiv lingams appear to be manifestation of Durga herself.
As my admiration for the Ganga deepened, I found myself immersed in the rich mythology, literature and history that detail it. In 2021, when during Covid we saw dead bodies floating in the Ganga, my desire to paint its determination and resilience grew manifold. Though a passage for the dead, the river remained pristine.
I began to explore the countless stories that its waters carry, imbibing them into my own imagined landscapes, using creative liberties that I have as an artist. If as Nandini, in my depiction she is seated graciously on a Kamadhenu-like cow in conversation with ducks and hybrid humans, as Adhishree she takes the form of a mermaid in a lotus pond. Kumudini portrays her under a floral umbrella, and as Panchaya Kanya she sits on an elephant, calmly controlling the flow of water with her hands. A series of drawings dedicated to Haridwar have abstract lines come together to create figurative forms and weave narratives of life around it.
In the 22-foot bronze sculpture, Jahnavi I — where we see mother Ganga with a lotus headgear, standing on a crocodile and holding a baby girl who morphs into a bird — the river becomes the universe itself, urging people to safeguard the Earth, represented by the child who embodies our shared future. We'll face the consequences of our actions in the years to come. The sculpture's features and form were also inspired by my time learning traditional sculpting techniques from potters at Kumartuli, located near the Hooghly River (a distributary of the Ganga). The lessons I gained there, much like the wisdom imparted by the Ganga, are lifelong. As a river of unwavering faith, the Ganga inspires me with her unbounding resilience.
As told to Vandana Kalra