Much of Raghupathi Bhatta’s artistic career has been spent in the revival of the traditional art of Ganjifa and the creation of delicate miniature paintings inspired by the Shastras. He has won a number of awards, including the National Master Craftsman Award and has exhibited in countries such as England, the USA, Germany, Japan and most recently, Belgium.
At his studio near Chamundi Hill, Raghupathi Bhatta is seated cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by eager young artists, in the guru-shishya parampara. With deft strokes, he gives the finishing touches to each ganjifa card, transforming the tiny disc into something mysterious and delightful.
How did you first develop an interest in Ganjifa, when this art form was almost dying and there were no mentors around to learn from?
In my childhood, I was fascinated by the tiny Ganjifa cards commissioned by the Mysore Maharaja, Krishna Raja Wadiyar III, in the 19th century. In the early seventies, I bought a few Ganjifa paintings from the Mysore Palace and spent a considerable amount of time researching materials at Melkote and Srirangapatna. At Nagamangala, near Mysore, I was able to trace the family of a traditional painter from whose work I taught myself. It was a slow process of discovery. At the Chitrakala Parishat in Bengaluru, I learnt the traditional Mysore painting from M.S. Nanjunda Rao, an established master. When I finally settled down to recreating the intricate work of the 19th century chitrakars or card makers, all this early experience stood me in goodstead.
Your art draws upon themes and images from the Ramayana, Mahabharata, Bhagavad-Gita and the Dhammapadha and also on classical ayurvedic philosophy. Could you dwell on some of the themes and images that occur most frequently in your work?
Nature is a recurring theme with me. My work is inspired by the brown and green tones of the forests around my native place at the foothills of the Western Ghats, the music of the birds and insects there. I am also fascinated by the ancient Indian sages and use these images frequently in my work. I remember you telling me that artists cannot afford to be mere imitators of their forefathers.
You said that if traditional art was to survive, artists like yourself must innovate. In what way/s have you innovated?
Today’s artists cannot afford to be complacent, saddled as they are with the awesome responsibility of preserving their art for posterity. While I work within a framework that is traditional, I have interpreted ancient themes in a contemporary way, based on my own understanding of mythology. And I continue to experiment and to explore the well-springs of my own creativity, without letting go of my traditional moorings. For instance, while the sources of my inspiration have always been the scriptures, my works, other than ganjifa, are done on canvas using acrylic paints.
Inevitably, change has also come to Ganjifa playing cards with their fascinating history going back to the reign of the first Mughal Emperor, Babar. Derived from the Persian word ganj, meaning “treasure”, the game of Ganjifa spread to all corners of the Mughal Empire. The Hinduisation of Ganjifa themes spawned a variety of new cards and games and some interesting variations. Once crafted on expensive materials such as ivory, mother-of-pearl and tortoise shell, these tiny discs 22mm to 32mm in diameter, are now cut from layers of cloth and paper glued together, starched and burnished.
A micro miniature painting of mine, half an inch in diameter, is the world's smallest Ganjifa. This set of the tiniest of tiny ganjifa cards features Maharaja Mummadi Krishnaraja Wadiyar of Mysore and his court.
And now, dismayed by the perception that the survival of Ganjifa is being threatened once more, you have returned to the passion for this delicate art and its preservation that defined your life’s mission thirty-five years ago.
Yes, you could say that I’ve lived for, and by, Ganjifa, and even when I wasn’t exclusively painting ganjifas, I have always focussed on the same attention to detail and complex iconography that characterise my ganjifa cards. The game of Ganjifa itself barely survives in places such as the environs of the Jagannath
Temple in Puri. Traditionally, it must be played with a used pack of cards, arranged face-down in the centre of a clean rectangular white piece of cloth. Yet, while the game itself is all but defunct, the art on Ganjifa playing cards is too precious a part of our heritage to be allowed to languish.
The piece de resistance of your oeuvre remains the set of 64 Ramayana ganjifa cards you made for the Victoria and Albert (V&A) Museum’s permanent collection in 1992. I visited the V&A two years ago and was told the cards were out on loan to another museum.
You have often recalled the enthusiasm of art lovers in the West and Europe, in particular. Would you like to share any experience that is particularly memorable?
Yes art lovers in the West are very enthusiastic as my concepts are purely Indian and very new to them. An unforgettable and touching experience was meeting an American who’d got my line drawings tattooed all over his back!
