Kolkata

They are the “sculptors of the common people”: for centuries, in the street named after them, the potters of Kolkata have been producing – first and foremost - goddesses and gods. The technique is handed down from generation to generation – wood, straw and mud are their materials.

In the “Potua Para” (Potters’ Street) the workshops are crammed in close proximity. Near the apartment of Mamata Banerjee, the Chief Minister of West Bengal, one family business after the other lines the street like a string of beads.

Nikhil Pal, for example, is the son of Shrish Chandra Pal, who was awarded the Indian President’s Prize of Recognition for his art. Although this was some time ago, the photo of this ceremony is of course proudly presented above the entrance. Shrish Chandra had learned his craft from his father, and Nikhil is now passing on its secrets to his son.

The principle has not changed for centuries. Archaeologists found terracotta figures from the era of Ancient India, later gods made of stone and wood were discovered. The clay artworks must have been the version for the common people, says Mandira Mitra, co-worker of the journalist and PR consultant Basav Bhattacharya. The two of them accompany me through the district where Basav grew up and which he knows like the back of his hand.

And he also explains to me the method of making the statues – some small, some large – which are to be found in many (if not most) Indian homes: it all begins with a simple wooden frame of varying size. This is then draped with straw, such that the basic form is already discernible. A first glance at the lump of straw and Basav is already able to tell me which god or goddess it will become.

Then comes the mud. It is applied with great dedication, and the details are formed with loving care. For the head and the lotus blossoms forms are used, for the rest of the figure this is not possible. It is really amazing how these people mould, for example, fingers and toes out of mud. No auxiliary implements can be used here, for these limbs are formed quite individually and are often crooked and bent.

Now one can definitely see quite clearly what the end product will look like. But Nikhil and his 25 co-workers (for the main season before the Durja Puja, Kolkota’s great festival in autumn) still have to put on the finishing touches: first the mud has to dry, then it is painted (also in ancient motifs). – And when I then look at the brilliantly colourful figures, I can hardly believe that they consist of nothing but straw and mud. The surface is so smooth that I would never have suspected this.

“There’s not so much as a trace of metal in there,” says Basav with great enthusiasm. “ If nails have to be used in the bigger figures to stabilise the construction, then they are made of bamboo. They keep the mud in place. With an iron nail it would just slip.”

These goddesses and gods, for whom the Indians pay between 500 and 1,000 rupees (8 to 16 Euros), are, by the way, “ephemeral artworks”. After the anniversary of the respective deity, these products of nature are taken to the Hugli (or Ganges) or another river.

In the water they disintegrate. Thus the gods return (according to the Hindus’ faith) to their home. The wooden frames remain – and are used again for the gods of the next year. For Basav and his compatriots this ritual symbolises the circuit of life. For them it is a way of worshipping Mother Nature.