Seventy-year-old Dwarka Prasad Jangid carefully dabs his paintbrush on a wooden panel, bringing a story to life with each delicate stroke. The brush glides over the small, vibrant doors, each colour being a new character alive on wood. Today, he is painting the story of Meena—a young girl from Rajasthan’s desert region who defies gender odds and becomes a pilot.
Once the work is finished, he holds up the Kaavad—a portable wooden temple with intricate visuals unfolding across its hinged doors—for all to see. In Rajasthan’s Mewar region, Kaavad Banchana, the ancient art of oral storytelling, has long been practiced by the Kaavadiya Bhat (storyteller) community. Jangid, a Suthar or Kavaad maker, is among the last of Rajasthan’s once popular Kaavad craftsmen.
Kaavadiya Bhats would carry painted Kaavads to dramatise the narration of their stories. Each door is opened along the way adding a new twist to the story. “The craft of storytelling through Kaavad is over 400-years-old,” says Jangid, who has been making these intricate wooden temples for over five decades.
“Earlier, Kaavadiya Bhats would narrate tales from the Mahabharata and Ramayana and recite caste genealogies. These were folk traditions. Entire families would gather to listen to their recitals, captivated by the evolving flow of stories. Sometimes, the Bhats would even recount a family’s ancestral history using Kaavads,” he explains.
The tradition is approximately four centuries old. Like several oral traditions in India, its origin is attributed to mythology or a mysterious power. However, with the rise of modern storytelling methods, podcasts and online entertainment, this once-thriving art form is slowly fading like others like it. Jangid is among the few remaining artisans who continue to make the traditional Kaavads.
“Once most villagers were not literate. Kaavad Banchana was one of the few ways to spread religious stories,” says Jangid. “The Bhats would come to me with different tales, each meant to be expressed using a different Kavaad. But now, hardly any storytellers are left. Most people buy Kavaads as decorative pieces rather than storytelling devices,” laments Jangid, who sells his work mainly through exhibitions.
Made from mango or sheesham wood, each Kaavad consists of 8-12 doors depending on the story. Making one is a time taking process which starts with cutting a wooden log into door shaped panels. Jangid says it takes about three-four days to make a piece. “Once, I hinge all the doors, I spread white paste over it. Then I paint each door with illustrations of the characters and setting,” he explains.
Although previously these story telling boxes were used in the narration of religious stories, Kaavad has expanded to depict other genres. Jangid also paints popular anecdotes from Panchatantra, folklore and stories with specific social messages such as ‘Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao’.
The 2007 National awardee says, “I learned this craft from my forefathers. Now I’m teaching it to my children. Whenever I show it to a new child or student, their initial reaction is joy and curiosity, which is what motivates me to pursue my work.”
Despite all the hardship, every painted door opens a vista afresh. Jangid hopes the tradition will continue, one story at a time.