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It was Diwali - the Hindu Festival of Lights - and fourteen-year-old Jayantilal
Shihora was ducking excitedly through the crowds that filled the town of Bhavnagar
in Gujarat State. Houses were illuminated with traditional oil lamps and everywhere
there was the report of crackers and the lurid glare of fireworks while in the
temples ceremonies were held in honour of the goddesses of Lakshmi and Kali. Suddenly
Jayantilal's laughter turned to a scream as his arms were engulfed in a gush of
firework flame - and in that instant his life was changed forever. He had to face
a future without hands. | |
Jayantilal
Shihora was born a normal healthy child in Bhavnagar, the son of a grain
merchant. 'My father was very kind to me but in my early childhood I was deprived
of maternal love when my mother died,' he explains. 'My father married again and
within three years of that my elder brother died of brain fever. 'After this shock
my sister married so that I was left very lonely'. At school Jayantilal compensated
for the two bereavements in his young life by dreaming of the future. He would
become an engineer - or a teacher - or a doctor - at least a man with a profession.
Those dreams ended with the explosion of a firework. The following months were
what Jayantilal describes as a 'dark period of depression', and when the
pain of his injuries faded it was replaced with a deeper pain as he heard relatives
and friends murmur, 'Without his hands there will be nothing that Jayantilal
will be able to do.' Young Jayantilal brooded on these words, particularly
at night when he lay in his bed and wondered what the future could hold for someone
who could not even put on his clothes or eat with a spoon. In no way could he
become an engineer, a teacher, or a doctor ... His past ambitious mocked him and
again and again he asked himself, 'Am I a useless person?' Then Jayantilal underwent
what might be described as a mystical experience. In answer to his nightly question
it seemed that he heard an inner voice. Describing it to the author he said, '
I heard words that seemed to come from a great teacher - "You have lost only
your hands but not your mind or soul. They are whole. After that I felt my confidence
awaken." From then on Jayantilal tried to do things for himself. Many
times he failed but when he succeeded in performing some normally simple action,
such as combing his hair or taking a bath, it was one more step on the long road
to rehabilitation. Somehow he learned to eat with a spoon despite the fact that
his arms ended just below the elbows, and his greatest triumph came when he managed
to ride a bicycle 'no hands'. | |
But though
he was now less dependant on others, Jayantilal was still faced with the question:
How to earn a living? Five years after the Diwali festival misfortune a friend
named Giriraj Bhartiya sent Jayantilal some postcards from Calcutta. The remarkable
thing about them was that they had been painted by handicapped artists using brushes
either held in their mouths or between their toes. These greeting cards were a
revelation. 'Why can't I do this?' Jayantilal asked himself. From then on he spent
hours at a time with a pen clamped between his teeth endeavouring to write. |
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At first
he experienced the frustrations encountered by most disabled people when they
begin the often painful task of learning to control a pen or pencil whose point
is only inches away from their eyes. Things would be going well and then the line
would be ruined as the pen faltered or the ache of fatigue led to disheartening
results. But Jayantilal persevered, from printing he graduated to 'joined-up'
writing, and he began to manipulate a paint brush as well as a pen. Using either
oils or water colours, he painted landscapes and achieved a standard so
high that when he submitted his work to the Association of Mouth and Foot Painting
Artists he was awarded a scholarship.'At that time I was the only Indian member,'
he says. 'I was so happy and I worked harder than ever. And I remembered the saying
"When God closes one door, He opens a second." Now that he had been granted
a regular stipend Jayantilal was able to study in the Faculty of Fine Art at Baroda
University. His art master Chandubhai Pandya became his guru as he not only instructed
him in painting but in aspects of life that the disabled young man found to be
of great value. In 1964 Jayantilal won a first prize for art from the Lalit Kala
Academy in Gujarat and from this point success followed success. The next year
he received a prize for his work from the Kenny Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago
and his first one-man show was held in Bombay, and since then there have been
many more awards and exhibitions. The Press took up the story of the first Indian
to become a member of the AMFPA and a sentence in The Indian Express was typical
of the journalists' reaction to him - 'The painter from Bhavnagar has no hands
but plenty of spirit'. Inspired equally be European classical painters and
Indian artists, Jayantilal has developed his own distinctive style. |
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'In the beginning I painted landscapes and sea scenes,' Jayantilal says. 'But
now I concentrate on folk art using tempera colours. I love nature and like to
ramble on the sea shore, in woods and on the hills and from this I seem to get
strength and inspiration for creative work. I like lonely places where I feel
that the natural things about me are my friends. In particular I like to sit in
silence on the shore of a lake, especially at sunset which is a very special time
for me.' The year 1974 was a very special one for Jayantilal. In it he married
Kiran Mehta, a Bachelor of Arts who, luckily for Jayantilal, shares his
passion for nature and wandering off the beaten track. 'This was a love marriage,'
he says emphatically. 'And thanks to the support Kiran gave me I have taken steps
forward with my painting. We have two sons, Sagar and Samir. Both are students,
Sagar being interested in art and technology and Samir in computer studies.' |
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As the Festival of Diwali comes around in October or November each year Jayantilal
is reminded of the accident that robbed him of his hands but none of the despair
that once haunted him remains. He has found his profession as an artist and as
he once told a newspaper reporter, 'I do by mouth what other artists do by
their hands - there is no other difference.' | |
