Divine alchemy: Translating Vedic elements into a transcending display of public art on Durga Puja
In this exclusive interview with The Business Standard's Shaikh Mohammad Atahe Rabbi, Partho Protim Saha, the designer of the Panchabhuta mandap, shares his philosophy on public art, the challenge of adapting tradition, and the emotional resonance of ephemeral beauty
The arrival and immersion of goddess Durga followed through the almanac is more than a religious observance; it is a seismic cultural event, a moment when philosophy, art, and community converge in a spectacular yet fleeting fashion.
For two decades, designer Partho Protim Saha has been one of the architects of this convergence, transforming impermanent structures into reflective metaphysical experiences.
This year, his design for the Gulshan-Banani Sarbojanin Puja Foundation, titled "Panchabhuta: Invoking the goddess through nature's five elements," was a masterful expression of this vision, one that transcended mere decoration to become a meditation on nature, existence, and devotion.
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The theme centres on the thought of Panchabhuta — the five great elements of existence: Kshiti (Earth), Ap (Water), Tej (Fire), Marut (Air), and Vyom (Sky/Ether).
In Hindu and Yogic cosmology, the entire material world, including the human body, is composed of these five primordial forces.
The core philosophical angle of Partho's work, and the lens through which it must be viewed, is its connection to Bhuta Shuddhi, the Sanskrit term that refers to the fundamental yogic sadhana of gaining mastery over the five elements or, more accurately, purifying the elements within the human system so that they liaise.
Partho's mandap, therefore, did not merely represent the elements; it created an environment designed to activate them in the visitors. It was, in effect, a large-scale, open-air Bhuta Shuddhi practice.
Kshiti (Earth)
The foundation and the grounding element. The entrance is built with intricately woven bamboo from Jashore, jute sticks from Narail, hogla and maloi leaves from Pirojpur, mats from Bogura, and straw from Satkhira. The use of these and red clay from Tangail immediately grounded the visitor with the scent and texture of earth.
Ap (Water)
The flow and movement of life. Inside the pavilion, the concept of water was translated into lightness and motion. Decorated banners were hung and arranged to "float playfully," mimicking the rhythmic, fluid motion of a river or a stream.
Tej (Fire)
Transformation, power, and illumination. The fire element was the energetic heart, expressed through bold red accents and strong, symbolic structures of a bold sun. The interplay of natural sunlight filtering through the bamboo weaves, alongside the devotional smoke of incense, provided the kinetic and luminous energy of Tej.
Marut (Air)
Breath, space, and the intangible. The open courtyard was designed for the free movement of air. White lattice leaves and soft, cotton-like clouds blended to evoke the sense of breath and vastness. Air is the medium of life. And here, it facilitated the spiritual flow of the devotees.
Vyom (Sky/Ether)
The all-encompassing void and cosmic consciousness. Vyom was the crowning glory, represented by a cosmic circle atop the pavilion, dotted with countless lights resembling a star-filled expanse.
Partho Protim Saha's execution was meticulous.
The mandap's commitment to using locally sourced, biodegradable materials was not an afterthought but a crucial part of the design philosophy. By ensuring that the structure would decompose and return to the earth, the artisans completed the elemental cycle, honouring the Kshiti itself.
Walking through Panchabhuta, in conversation with Partho Protim Saha
In this exclusive interview with The Business Standard's Shaikh Mohammad Atahe Rabbi, Partho Protim Saha, the designer of the Panchabhuta mandap, shares his philosophy on public art, the challenge of adapting tradition, and the emotional resonance of ephemeral beauty.
When you design a mandap, as a storyteller, what stories do you want to tell?
I practice mandap construction as a form of public art. I don't wish to tell any stories here. Rather, I wish to give the viewer a journey, an experience. The arrangement of the art is more important than the statement itself.
Was there a moment early in your life that first made you realise that mandap was more than just a structure, but a stage for meaning?
Mandap is a branch of public art where hundreds of thousands of spectators are present even without a personal invitation. I understood that early in my career. And this puja mandap is a giant canvas for creating compositions of various structures and bursts of colour.
How has your own cultural background or personal story shaped the way you design?
That is due to my family. My father is a good craftsman for various kinds of artistic works. His presence and the form, essence, and rhythm absorbed from my family's cultural milieu still supply me with all sorts of resources for work.
Do you believe every mandap carries a soul of its own? What gives it that soul?
Every mandap has its own unique feeling. You could call that its soul if you wish to. Just as rubbing the body with a stone and rubbing it with cotton grass produce separate feelings, every piece of art gives the viewer a separate feeling.
When tradition meets modernity, what's your guiding principle — preserve, adapt, or reinvent?
In my artworks, I present Puranic and traditional motifs and textures in a modern form. In doing so, I have always engaged in adaptation and reinvention, while still preserving the traditional and historical characteristics.
Amid the environmental urgency, how do you balance the desire for extravagance with the responsibility of sustainability?
The desire for extravagance is a social disease. I have to play the role of the doctor to cure that disease. From the presentation of the artistic concept to the construction, I repeatedly acknowledge humanity's responsibility to nature. I have to prioritise biodegradable raw materials and environmental balance.
Do you think the "impermanence" of the mandap — built for a few hours, then dismantled — adds to its meaning?
There is a great celebration within this temporary presence and visualising that is enough joy for me.
How do you navigate when clients have conflicting visions for the mandap — tradition vs trend, simplicity vs spectacle?
Such pressures were not there at the beginning of my career, meaning two decades ago, but in the middle, a few years before Covid-19, there were sometimes proposals from clients to follow glamorous trends. Now that's not the case. Now, Partho Protim Saha means a synthesis of thought-driven, eco-friendly, and simple philosophy.
Have you ever refused to create a design because it didn't feel authentic to your artistic values?
I have said no to many clients many times for this. I'm not interested in working outside building mandaps based on fundamental philosophical concepts.
Across cultures, the mandap is both sacred and celebratory. How do you balance the weight of ritual with the joy of spectacle?
The answer to your question is within the word Durga-Utsab (Durga Festival) itself. This Durga Puja, the 'untimely awakening' in the month of Ashwin, is more of a festival than a mere puja. Religious solemnity and the philosophy of celebration merge together in Durga-Utsab. I don't need to maintain a separate balance.
Do you see mandap design as a form of cultural preservation or cultural evolution?
Mandap design is an industry, although a very small one in Bangladesh. Here, the wheel of the economy, the preservation of culture, and the evolution of thought are all happening simultaneously.
What do you think people remember more — the visual grandeur of a mandap, or the feeling it creates during the ceremony?
Glitz and glamour are always temporary, like a soft drink. It gives momentary pleasure, but it cannot last in the memory. However, if an artistic idea generates joy in the mind of the visitor — a joy they carry and pass on to others — that is the success of the artwork.
Mandaps are temporary works of art. How do you deal with the paradox of pouring so much into something that disappears within hours?
I really enjoy building on fresh ideas every year. So, after the image of the artwork reaches five million people in five days, what sadness can an artist have?
And from a technical standpoint, when I build the mandap, I work with the method in mind that it can be easily dismantled. Therefore, both building and dismantling the mandap are equally important and enjoyable to me, because the first step of preparation for starting a new, different idea the following year is taking down this year's mandap.
How do you see mandap design changing as younger generations embrace global influences yet crave authenticity?
The crisis and need that led Ram to perform the 'untimely awakening' and worship Goddess Durga are no longer the same. Who or what is the asura (demon) for today's generation? What exactly is being worshipped for deliverance from now? This generation will decide that. And it has already started.
