For thousands of years, Bonobibi and her stories have been synched with the lifestyle of the people of the Bengal Delta through the oral story. Still, it gets a different look when the same story is printed on cloth canvas, which is known as Patachitra, an art form that existed with the weal and woes of the people of this delta for thousands of years. Ratan Pal, a middle-aged man from Rajshahi, is one of those artists who carries those stories with his brushes, colours and canvases.
Folktales have their place when it comes to entertaining people. However, it is not limited to an entertaining sense but a relation between person to person, place to person, an era with another era, a legacy, emotion, and, in a broader sense, an identity of the people.
By becoming extinct, as Ratan Pal feels about the Patachitra, it is as if our identity is getting blurred. He believes people's taste and admiration towards arts have changed with time.
"People don't value such arts; therefore, it is getting rare day by day. Patachitra has been a part of our culture as it portrays the lives of the rural people. So the unwillingness to buy these arts is like showing unwillingness to acknowledge one's identity."
The question is why and how this unwillingness comes to the people of Bangladesh when it comes to accepting their original creation. Associate Professor Abdus Sattar Toufiq from the Department of Drawing and Painting of the University of Dhaka has a say on this unwillingness.
He believes the recent digitisation process in art has taken people away from real art. The evolution of technology has cast its shadow on the folk arts.
Professor Abdus Sattar Toufiq remarked, "Artificial intelligence has already taken the jobs of humans. Now, the digitisation of painting, AI, and other tools are occupying artists' creative space. So, people are showing interest in digital arts; therefore, we see a lack of interest in buying these folk arts."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows on the stalls, the Karushilpa Mela left an indelible mark. Ratan Pal, as a torchbearer of a fading art form, speaks of his art as a legacy passed down through generations. "They are priceless, to be honest," his eyes twinkled with an artist's fire, "how can anyone label them with money?" To Ratan Pal, the Patachitra is one of the rare arts in Bangladesh. Not many artists are alive or interested in making these art forms.
Echoing Ratan Pal, Professor Abdus Sattar Toufik said, "There has to be a market to sustain a particular art. In the past, artists used to make this art and come to sell it in Puja and other festivals, which today we don't see many. So, gradually, the artists have given up their folk art and started doing other jobs to earn their livelihood. Some have given up their forefathers' creative work, take formal education, and come to town to do other jobs. So, not only the Patachitra artists but today we don't get to see the Lokkhi and Mansa pot makers as well. However, we see a good number of pots for sweet keeping as there is a huge market of sweets in the country."
Ratan Pal sells his Patachitra in diverse ranges varying in size and the complexity of works. A 12 by 8 inches painting, he sells around 1 thousand taka to 12 hundred. However, some paintings are more than two or three feet long and one and a half feet in height. He sells them at a starting price of 4 thousand Tk.
He pointed towards a 12 by 8 inches painting, narrating folk tales, and explained, "This art costs around 300 Tk to make if you consider the cost of brush, colours, and the canvases. However, the true value lies in the days of meticulous work, the stories whispered by each brushstroke."
As Ratan Pal's words paint a picture of dedication, a melody floats through the air, drawing listeners to a different artistry. An elderly man, his face etched with the stories of his life's journey, sits enthralled by his flute. His seasoned hands were adorned with the calluses of a thousand melodies, whispering soulful tunes from the wooden instrument. His eyes, crinkled at the corners with the laughter of countless sunrises he spent in his village market and the sunsets on the bank of a river playing the flute, seem to hold the wisdom of ages, each wrinkle of his cheek a testament to a life dedicated to his craft.
Like Ratan Pal, the flute player is a recipient of the government's patronage, a testament to the recognition their art receives. He speaks of his flutes, each one made for stories yet untold, "They start from 100 taka. But even if they don't sell, the 1000 taka a day we receive sustains us." His words carry a quiet dignity, a contentment born from the knowledge that his art transcends the realm of commerce.
Alongside Patachitra and the wooden flute, there are some other prestigious art forms displayed at that festival. One of those is wooden-made items of daily necessities crafted by the hands and rickshaw paints.
A father and son were busy preparing handmade wooden items. Floral patterns were carved delicately on the skin of brown wood with chisels and knives, crafting a design that almost every middle-income Bengali household has in their homes.
In this festival, artists are seen creating rickshaw art live. They organised their tools as if they were preparing dishes for the guests coming to their house. Without intending to sell the rickshaw, artists concentrate on their paintings.
Women carrying water-filled pots walking by the side of a river, a woman proposing to a boy with a water Lilly in her hand, and a fox carrying its passenger lion on a rickshaw all are portrayed in darker tones of red, yellow, and pink colours depicted the diversity of artforms.
With these numerous genres and forms, The Karushilpa Mela at Sonargaon became a stage where these individual narratives converge to sustain Bangladesh's artistic heritage. In this Mela, 100 stalls have been installed where 64 artists from 17 districts of the country came to show and sell their works to show that they are still relevant, even in the age of artificial intelligence.
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