Table of Contents
Introduction
In western Madhya Pradesh, where the land slopes gently toward the Narmada basin and villages sit between fields of corn and mustard, the walls of tribal Bhil and Bhilala homes are not silent. They are alive. They breathe stories of gods, ancestors, animals and seasons. They remember vows. They remember sacrifices. They remember the rain. This is Pithora.
Often described as a ritual wall painting, Pithora is far more than a decorative mural. It is a sacred performance that unfolds inside the home, binding ecology, agriculture, belief and community into a single visual universe. To understand Pithora is to understand that art here is not separate from life.
The land and its rhythms
Madhya Pradesh, often called the “heart of India” has long been a crossroads of cultures, from Mauryan and Gupta rule to Gond kingdoms and Maratha courts. But beyond temple complexes and courtly traditions lies another visual history, one that is carried in mud houses and oral memory.
In villages near Alirajpur and Jobat, places like Mashan Phatia and Debri, Pithora continues to survive. Senior artists cultivate small plots of land, growing corn, mustard and vegetables. Agriculture dictates time. The painting season begins only after the first harvest and the festival of Deepavali. Without a good crop, there is no ritual. Without ritual, there is no painting.
The Harvest Tradition: Exchanging Grains in Pithora Art by Chanchal Soni
Preparing the sacred surface
Traditional Pithora begins with the wall itself. Mud is mixed with fresh cow dung and layered carefully to create a purified base. Once dry, a white coat of lime or chalk is applied repeatedly until the surface glows softly. This is not merely technical preparation; it is ritual cleansing.
Colours were once derived from earth, plants, flowers, seeds and minerals, mixed with milk or Mahua extract as binder. Brushes were handmade from bamboo twigs wrapped in cotton or horsehair. Pigments were stored in folded leaves. Everything came from the surrounding landscape. The mural was literally made from the village itself.
Before the first mark is drawn, the ritual painter, the lakhara, seeks divine permission. Prayers are offered to Baba Pithora, Baba Dev and ancestral spirits. Only adult married men, ritually sanctioned, are permitted to paint. The act is not artistic self-expression but divine responsibility. The first white line appears under the full moon after Deepavali.
A multisensory painting
What distinguishes Pithora is its belief in panchendriya gyan (knowledge through all five senses). The painting is not meant only to be seen. It must be smelled through the fresh scent of dung plaster, heard through the roar of the tiger and the rhythm of drums, touched through the imagined hide of sambar deer, tasted through the memory of goat’s milk from monsoon grass and felt.
Stories are recited as the painter works. The wall becomes a theatre of gods: horses of Baba Pithora and Pithori Devi, celestial sun and moon, elephants, peacocks, deer, tigers, farmers, dancers, toddy tappers, trees heavy with beehives. Over 165 motifs may populate a single composition.
Baba Pithora and Pithora Rani Riding Horses in Pithora Art by Chanchal Soni
The composition follows order. Horses dominate - each representing divine presence. The upper register carries celestial symbols, the central field fills with gods, animals and social life. The mural grows dense, rhythmic and alive.
Nature in Harmony in Pithora Art by Chanchal Soni
Once complete, the Barwa ritual consecrates the wall. Offerings of coconut, fowl and Mahua liquor seal the painting as a sacred presence within the home, not just as decoration but a visualisation of the cosmology.
Change, migration and the canvas shift
The villages of Alirajpur are changing. Roads connect more easily to Gujarat than to Bhopal or Indore. Seasonal migration has become common. After harvest, many men travel to Gujarat for construction or factory work. Economic necessity competes with ritual time.
Earlier, elders recall, Pithora murals were commissioned forty to fifty times a year. Today, perhaps one or two. Traditional ritual sacrifices sometimes requiring dozens of goats and hens have become financially impossible for many families. Concrete houses replace mud walls. Calendar gods replace painted ones. Simplified Hindu rituals coexist with Bhil cosmology.
Government interventions and craft revival initiatives encouraged artists to move toward portable formats like canvas, paper, fabric colours, synthetic paints. The shift brought visibility and Pithora reached metros and travelled to Europe. It entered galleries. But something changed. The multisensory experience flattened into visual appeal. Oil paints replaced earth pigments. Murals that once took a month are completed in days. Some artists now depict modern themes like Kargil War, Ram Lila alongside or instead of tribal deities. There are only seven to eight artists who continue full ritual practice today.
Gender and invisible labour
Pithora remains a male-dominated ritual art. Women do not paint. Yet women sustain the households that make ritual possible. They farm, raise cattle, manage domestic labour and sell produce at weekly haats. In many families, women are primary breadwinners while men migrate seasonally.
Earlier, women collected natural dyes and helped prepare walls. Today, their labour remains essential, though ritual visibility does not extend to them. Silver jewellery replaces bead ornaments. Houses shift from mud to brick. The visual world changes.
A tradition at a crossroads
Pithora is often described as “languishing.” But the word feels incomplete. The tradition is not disappearing quietly; it is negotiating survival. Canvas paintings provide income. Younger artists experiment cautiously. Government schemes offer exposure but implementation gaps remain. Local officials may lack sensitivity to tribal lifeworlds. Markets exist, but infrastructure and tourism remain limited.
The greater question is not whether Pithora can adapt, because it already has, but whether adaptation can occur without erasing its ritual core. Can a painting meant to be smelled still survive on canvas? Can divine permission translate into gallery approval?
The Bus Ride In Pithora art by Chanchal Soni
The Take Off: Airplane In Pithora art by Chanchal Soni
Why Pithora matters
Pithora painting reveals a worldview in which art, agriculture, ecology and belief are inseparable. The wall is not a surface but a field.
The Farmer Life in Pithora Art by Chanchal Soni
The painting is not an object, it is a vow fulfilled. The horse is not an image, it is a god arriving.
Baba Ganeh in Pithora Art by Chanchal Soni
