Myth, Memory and Form: Tracing the Sacred Stories of the Pardhaan Gonds

When you step into the Varija Art Gallery at DakshinaChitra, the first thing that grabs you is a massive, accordion‑folded book that stretches over seven and a half metres. Titled The Pardhaan Continuum, it reads like a visual encyclopedia, mapping the mythic origins, rituals and deities of the Pardhaan Gonds – a sub‑group of the larger Gond tribe that has roamed the heartlands of Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Maharashtra and Odisha for centuries.

The Gonds are among India’s oldest Dravidian peoples, and within their society the Pardhaans have traditionally worn many hats: priest, hereditary bard, and the keepers of genealogies. Their stories, passed down by word of mouth, have rarely been set down on paper – until now.

Curated by architects‑researchers Apoorva Mishra and Achyut Siddu, the exhibition Myth, Memory and Form is a product of Loksutr, a design‑research studio based in Madhya Pradesh. Loksutr’s niche is translating oral lore and classical texts into illustrated manuscripts, a task that feels almost paradoxical when the source material is fluid, ever‑changing and deliberately resistant to fixed dates.

“Every Pardhaan narrator reshapes the tale in his own way,” Mishra explains. “That’s why we didn’t try to create a single, authoritative version. Instead, we gathered a chorus of voices and let the visual language echo that plurality.”

To bring those voices onto canvas, the curators invited three National Award‑winning artists: Gond painters Kailash Pradhaan and Ajay Marko, and Pattachitra master Prahallad Moharana. Working side‑by‑side with Pardhaan elders, the artists recorded oral narratives and then transformed them into paintings that now line the gallery walls – each stroke a bridge between ancient belief and contemporary expression.

One of the standout pieces depicts Bada Dev, the supreme creator in Gond cosmology, emerging from a swirl of forest foliage and riverine motifs. Another shows a communal ritual where the Pardhaans chant, their voices spiralling into the pigments that mimic the sound of wind rustling through sacred groves. The visual language is unmistakably Gond, yet the composition feels curatorial – a testament to the delicate balance Loksutr sought.

Beyond the aesthetics, the exhibition poses an uncomfortable question: what is lost when a living, oral tradition is frozen into a book or a painted panel? Some community members worry that codifying these myths could stifle their organic evolution. Others celebrate the chance to share their heritage with a broader audience, hoping that the art will inspire respect and preservation.

Visitors are invited to linger, to read the sprawling illustrated book, and to listen to audio recordings of Pardhaan storytellers. The experience is deliberately tactile – you can trace the fold of the parchment, feel the texture of the pigments, and even taste a hint of incense that the curators have placed to evoke a ceremonial atmosphere.

In the end, Myth, Memory and Form is less a static exhibition and more a conversation. It reminds us that cultural memory is both fragile and resilient, that the act of documenting can be an act of reverence, and that art can serve as a living archive for communities whose voices have long been whispered on wind‑blown hillsides.