Delhi’s Ram Leela is a spectacle of towering mythological figures, illuminated tableaux, dramatic performances and crowds gathering to witness the triumph of good over evil. But much before Ram, Sita, Hanuman, and Ravan appear before an audience, there are artisans bending bamboo, layering paper, painting faces, and assembling the structures that bring these characters to life.
Photographer and visual artist Promila Bahri turns her lens towards this lesser-seen world in "Gods Were Here," a photographic project on display at the Red Fort’s Ram Leela grounds till October 20, 2026, as part of the annual celebrations organised by the Shri Dharmic Leela Committee.
For Bahri, the project is deeply personal. Having grown up between Civil Lines and her maternal grandmother’s home in Dariba, in the heart of Old Delhi, she remembers watching the decorated tableaux pass through narrow lanes before heading out to see Ram Leela in the evening. Returning to the tradition as an artist, she began to see a cultural world that was changing, along with the people and skills that sustain it.
“I think for me, it was a personal connection when I thought of 'Gods Were Here,'” she told Outlook Traveller. “I thought that it's a dying tradition, and let me document this because everything is going to fade away.”
Bahri spent two years visiting the artisans of Titarpur–Rajouri Garden, where generations of families make the figures associated with Ram Leela and Dussehra. Her attention shifted from the finished figures to the labour behind them: bamboo frameworks, paper, cloth, paint, and the hands that assemble these materials into recognisable mythological forms.
The work is seasonal, and the financial uncertainty is considerable. Bahri recalled meeting artisans who told her that orders had declined, while rain had damaged their work during the previous season. Rising material costs, limited profit margins, and the difficulty of persuading younger generations to continue the craft add to the pressure. Some makers take up other occupations during the rest of the year, while family members, including women and children, contribute to production.
Bahri estimates that around 40 to 45 families may be involved in the trade, although she is careful to point out that she has not independently verified the figure. The craft itself continues to rely on bamboo frameworks, paper, cloth and hand-executed decoration, with artisans producing figures of different sizes depending on orders.
The exhibition connects this work to the festival grounds, tracing how the figures acquire meaning as they move from workshop to public spectacle. In Titarpur, Bahri said, enormous figures displayed along the roadside can become part of the everyday landscape. At the Ram Leela grounds, the same constructions take on a different presence.
“I was very interested in this transformation from materials to figure and from labour to spectacle,” she said.
A Visual Conversation Between The Past And Present
The photographs bring together mythological characters and the historic architecture of Old Delhi. Bahri has rendered the architecture in black and white, while retaining the saturated colours of the characters. The distinction is deliberate: she wants the two visual elements to hold their own without competing for attention.
The monochrome treatment evokes historical continuity, while the vivid colours preserve the theatrical intensity of the festival. Together, they create a visual encounter between the city’s built heritage and figures drawn from mythology.
For the project, Bahri photographed performers associated with the Dharmic Leela Committee’s Ram Leela, which she identified as the oldest of the three Ram Leela celebrations in that part of Old Delhi. The committee’s tradition dates to 1924, according to her account. Rather than photograph the characters amid the crowds in Dariba, she staged the portraits at Kathika, a haveli in Old Delhi that hosts cultural events.
Some of her most revealing encounters took place behind the scenes. In the green room, she observed performers before and after they assumed their mythological roles. She asked whether playing Ram, Lakshman, or Hanuman over several days influenced their everyday behaviour. The performers told her that inhabiting these characters affected their conduct, making them more restrained and humble when faced with provocation.
For Bahri, these exchanges opened another way of looking at the tradition: through the people who temporarily embody its characters, rather than through the spectacle alone.
What Remains When The Gods Depart?
The exhibition also raises questions about the environmental cost of a festival built around objects designed to be temporary. Bamboo, paper, and cloth are joined by paints, wire, and adhesives, but the materials do not necessarily share the same fate once the celebrations end. Effigies are burnt or dismantled, leaving questions about waste, disposal, and the materials used in their construction.
Bahri is not approaching the festival as a criticism of its cultural or religious significance. Instead, she wants to understand what sustainability could mean for both the environment and the communities whose livelihoods depend on the tradition.
“Sustainability must include both the environment and the livelihoods of the people who make these figures,” she said.
That concern gives the project its central question: what does it take to keep a cultural tradition alive when its materials, audiences and working conditions are changing?
By following the figures from their earliest frameworks to their public appearance and eventual disappearance, "Gods Were Here" documents more than a seasonal celebration. It records the human work behind a collective cultural experience, and the uncertainty faced by those who make it possible.
For a few evenings, these figures dominate the landscape and the public imagination. Then the lights go out, the crowds leave, and the structures disappear. Bahri’s photographs ask viewers to look again at what remains: the memory of the spectacle, the labour that created it, and the people who must return to their workshops when the festival is over.
"Gods Were Here" is open to visitors till October 20, with Ram Leela performances beginning around 4–5 pm and effigy burning scheduled for approximately 6–7 pm on Dussehra.
Venue: Madhavdas Park, Lal Quila Maidan, Delhi-06
FAQs
1. What is Gods Were Here by Promila Bahri?
Gods Were Here is a photographic project by artist Promila Bahri documenting the people and traditions behind Old Delhi’s Ram Leela, including the artisans who make mythological figures and the performers who bring them to life.
2. Where is the Gods Were Here exhibition being held?
The exhibition is being held at the Ram Leela grounds at Delhi’s Red Fort as part of the annual celebrations organised by the Shri Dharmic Leela Committee.
3. Until when can you visit the Gods Were Here exhibition in Delhi?
The exhibition is scheduled to run till October 20, 2026, at the Red Fort’s Ram Leela grounds.
4. What does Promila Bahri’s photography document?
Bahri’s photographs focus on the artisans who construct Ram Leela figures, the performers who embody mythological characters and the cultural traditions of Old Delhi. The project also examines the economic uncertainty faced by artisans and questions surrounding the environmental impact of festival materials.
5. Who makes the Ram Leela effigies featured in Gods Were Here?
The project documents artisans in Titarpur–Rajouri Garden, where families make figures for Ram Leela and Dussehra using materials such as bamboo, paper and cloth. Their work involves seasonal production, specialised craft skills and family participation.
