The petrichor hangs heavy in the air after a fresh round of showers. A dense smoke emerges from a corner of the grounds of the Belgadia Palace in Mayurbhanj, Odisha, as two men squat uncomfortably close to the source – a small pit dug in the ground. One of them holds up a skewer of sorts with a clay-like mass at its end over the flames emanating from the pit. “The temperature is 800 degrees celsius,” says Gopal Sahu, as he swiftly takes the mass in his hand, kneads it in between his palm and fingers before putting it back on the fire.Sahu is a dhokra artist from Kuliana, a village in Mayurbhanj, Odisha’s largest district, which houses over 30 artisan families of the artform. He, however, is among the last few who continue to practise it as their primary source of livelihood. Gopal Sahu demonstrating Dhokra casting (Image: Anik Dutta)The clay-like mass is beeswax. Sahu mixes the now-malleable dough with mustard oil, then shapes it into a small cylinder, and puts it in a pichki – a wooden tool with a small sieve in the centre. He then puts the tool in between his knees and crouches to put pressure, and in an amusing sight, the clump of beeswax falls on the ground as thin noodle-like strands. As he picks up a small clay sculpture, which would eventually transform into an owl, and starts wrapping a beeswax noodle around it, he explains, “Our wax threads are much thinner than the ones used in Purulia (a region in West Bengal known for dhokra art), which create much finer rings on the metal.”Sahu, 35, talks with a pride that comes from an unmissable awareness of inseparability between the art and the artist. He should know. He has been at it for over 15 years. For him, he says, dhokra has been a way of life. About 17 km north of the palace, his village tells a different story. Beeswax threads coming out of a pichki (Image: Anik Dutta)Often a dhokra artist’s home is an immediate giveaway of their profession. Mud walls, thatched roofs and an elongated courtyard that serves as an open-air workshop. It is in this courtyard that the furnace — like the one Sahu dug on the palace grounds — is created. Next to it sits a hand-cranked wheel that keeps pumping air into the furnace to keep the fire burning. When the fire raises the surrounding temperature, the mud walls keep the indoors cool. In Kuliana, Sahu’s is the last mud house standing, where his entire family — father, mother and sister — continue to practise the art form. Every other house now boasts a modern concrete structure. “Most people have found other work as their primary source of income. Some do farming, others have opened shops to make ends meet,” he says, adding he, too, has a paan shop for low-income seasons. A clay sculpture being covered by beeswax (Image: Anik Dutta)Back on the palace grounds, multiple clay structures, now wrapped with beeswax, lie on the ground. Sahu is slowly putting them into a vase-like structure — the mould — made of clay. He then tops it with pieces of metal scrap and seals it. “This will now go into the furnace,” he explains, pointing to the mould, “As the metal melts around the sculptures, it will take their shape and the wax will melt away”. Through what is widely known as the lost-wax technique, the wax disappears through tiny perforations in the clay mould. A small mould generally takes about two to three hours, but to be sure, artisans watch the flame closely. “When the orange flames turn blue or green, we know the process is nearing completion,” he says.Often, 100 pieces of small dhokra figurines that cost Rs 50 each take about eight days to be finished. A much larger one that will go for Rs 15,000 will take slightly over a week alone.Story continues below this ad Gopal Sahu demonstrating Dhokra casting (Image: Anik Dutta)That the labour-to-income ratio is skewed is an understatement, which is why Sahu, a fifth-generation craftsman, never assumes a patronising tone while speaking about his fellow artisans who have or are on the verge of giving up the craft. He understands why.For the craft of dhokra is much more than just casting the sculptures. It all begins with finding the right wood — often sal in the region; the right wax, which they buy from local tribes; and most importantly, the right weather, which restricts business to a single season in the year.While the summer heat makes working around the furnace unbearable, often causing the clay to crack; monsoons render the wood and soil moisture-laden, making the casting process much slower, leaving only a few winter months – from late November to February – to bring in the cash. “December is usually when the sales are the highest. Besides several fairs and festivals, the region also sees a lot of tourists,” says Sahu.Also Read | Why is the trend of vinyl records and gramophones suddenly making a comeback in the age of Spotify? Dhokra figurines at the Belgadia palace (Image: Anik Dutta)A steady patronage from the royal family of Mayurbhanj — the Bhanj Deos — has only helped. “I requested him to come demonstrate metal casting despite the rains, while warning him that there may not be any sales. He simply said he was thrilled that someone wants to know more about what they do,” shares Akshita Bhanj Deo of the royal family, who regularly commissions workks from different indigenous artforms. The family frequently host a master artisan like Sahu for their guests as a way to encourage them and their products are available for purchase at the in-house boutique Hasa Atelier.Story continues below this adDhokra figurines occupy pride of place sometimes in the quiet corners of the palace and at other times shine brightly as table centrepieces. “They helped us during the pandemic with rations and after that, kept commissioning pieces and showing our work to the guests at the palace. They have also helped organise exhibitions for us during the annual Chhau Festival. That keeps us hopeful,” Sahu says, adding that the state government’s Hasta Shilpa programme, too, helps promote their work, although it hasn’t been as beneficial economically. The royal family’s biggest contribution, though has been in the form of design intervention, where they introduce the artisans to a contemporary visual vocabulary. Besides the traditional designs of lanterns and figurines and jewellery, they now also make photo frames and bottle openers. A particularly innovative display is the palace’s dhokra door handles featuring traditional motifs such as revered animals and floral patterns.Standing on the moist soil of the palace grounds, Sahu wipes the sweat off his forehead and says, “It’s time.” As the flames emerging from the pit, against all odds, turn green, they mirror the fire within.