Till college, the National Museum remained one of my favourite places. I would just wander in when I had a few spare hours, and pore over the beautiful sculptures, mesmerised and marvel at their workmanship. However, now when one hears of this treasure trove being rudderless without a director and many of its departments headless and collections god knows where, it fills me with deep sadness.

In this scenario, when a veritable jewel emerges from the National Museum, it certainly needs to be commended. The jewel in question is the excellent publication Buddhist Paintings of Tun-Huang by Lokesh Chandra and Nirmala Sharma. It is a matter of pride that the National Museum is one of the three major repositories of the Tun-Huang paintings, the other two being the British Museum in London and the Musée Guimet in Paris.
It is for the first time that these paintings have been reproduced and the best 143 scrolls have been narrated and that too by highly respected scholars, who are known authorities on the subject. Lavishly produced by Niyogi Books, the publishers have spared no cost in creating a world-class publication that can hold its own at the international level. Moreover, since the collections of the other two museums have been published and this collection will see light of day for the first time, it will fulfill the long-felt need and will cover a major lacuna in research on the subject.
The Tun-Huang caves hold a pivotal place in Buddhist art. Situated at the foot of the Mountain of Singing Sands, they are considered the brush of the Buddha. Legend has it that a peripatetic monk Yueh-ts’un watched the sparkling peaks in the luster of blue and settled down to excavate the first cave in AD 344, and paint its walls with colours “brought by the birds”. He had begun the journey of 1,000 years of Buddhist meditation in the astounding ecstasies of murals, scrolls and sculptures. The book traces the history of Tun-Huang from the dreams of Chinese emperors to control the Deep Sands, the role of Yueh-chihs, the excavation of the first cave, the folk legends, the iconography of the paintings, the three periods of the art of murals from AD 397 till 1363.
The other jewel that has emanated from the Niyogi stable is the absolutely endearing publication My Days with Ramkinkar Baij by Somendranath Bandhopadhyay. Published in collaboration with the National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) in time with the huge exhibition on India’s finest sculptor, curated by one of his students, the effervescent sculptor of no mean achievement himself, K.S. Radhakrishnan, the book is a delight. Translated to great impact from Bangla by Bhaswati Ghosh, it captures the moments from his life, the times, the works he lived for and more. Translations tread the tough path of either being over simplistic or losing the flavour or worse, both! But after a long time, one has come across a translation that falls in no such trap, but probably enhances the original.
His works are part of one’s cultural heritage and have been a part of my growing up years — be it the Yaksh and Yakshi outside the Reserve Bank of India in New Delhi, or the Saraswati in the Modern School New Delhi or the large number of works that dot Santiniketan, the extensive collection with NGMA, a few works with Sankho Chowdry, Baij has left his stamp — indelibly.
Often coffee table glossies are accused of lacking depth, but this book uses the medium of the coffee table to best advantage wherein the works are shown in their glory and the text captures the creator. There must have been many moments while writing the book when Bandhopadhyay must have had to sift through a deluge of memories, considering their long and very close association. Yet he does a fabulous job of not mincing words and has tried to be true to his memories.
The one subtext that runs through the book is an unsaid one: The portrait pictures of Baij over the years. From a handsome young man well into his twilight years, where he seems almost half crazed, they are all there. The fascination with Binodini, and the varying interpretations make one smile. The Shantiniketan style of water colours, the dramatis personae in Baij’s life including his beloved Mastermoshai Nandlal Bose, they are all there. For anyone interested in Bengal art, sculpture, or life of Indian painters, or India’s modern heritage this is book that is a must read. I, for one, found it unputdownable.

Alka Raghuvanshi is an art writer, curator and artist