Feminine? Yes. But today's bold heroine doesn't fight in tandem.
Mother India (1957) and
Gadar: Ek Prem Katha (2001), both of them larger-than-life nationalistic sagas but with a gap of more than four decades between them, are two of the biggest commercial successes in Hindi cinema. Mehboob Khan's rural epic is the story of Radha and her lonely struggle to farm her land, bring up her children and lead the village to better days.
| | | | Mainstream films portray women mostly between the extremes of brave and docile. | | | | |
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Anil Sharma's jingoistic drama is the story of Sakina, rescued during the Partition riots by a man she later marries. In the first film, Radha is depicted as brave and independent. On the other hand, Sakina is depicted as passive and docile. When her father doesn't let her go back to her husband, she replies, "
Main intezaar karoongi. Woh zaroor aayenge." Eventually, her husband appears, crossing the border to bring back his wife.
Most women characters in mainstream Hindi cinema can be located somewhere between these two extremes. Closer to the Radha mould is Bimal Roy's Paro in
Do Bigha Zameen (1953) who, pregnant and malnourished, collects water chestnuts for money before she leaves the village to come to Calcutta. In Chetan Anand's war film
Haqeeqat (1964), the quiet heroism of women is shown in back stories about mothers, wives, bhabhis and lovers waiting at home—and also the local woman Kammo, who cares for the wounded men, carries a message to the man she loves, escapes after being assaulted by enemy soldiers, and dies fighting.
Govind Nihalani's
Ardh Satya (1982), which comes at an interesting point on the timeline—roughly midway between
Mother India and
Gadar—shows a more brutal face of the nation. Jyotsna Gokhale is not only involved in a relationship with police officer Velankar, she is also his conscience and witness to the collapse of his integrity. But in their final meeting, after Velankar has beaten a man to death in the lockup, she can't quite bring herself to touch him. She drops her hand.
This seems to be the moment where the man-woman partnership breaks down, as far as nationalistic cinema is concerned. In the '90s, women, even in films that feature them as terrorists, are largely defined by their femininity. In Mani Ratnam's
Dil Se (1998), the terrorist is a beautiful woman and an object of desire; it is the brave and patriotic hero who, although he loves her, will not let her harm the nation. In Santosh Sivan's
Terrorist (1999), the female terrorist (Ayesha Dharker) rejects violence in favour of her unborn child. In Gulzar's
Maachis (1996), Veera first speaks for non-violence when she takes the gun out of Kirpal's hands. But in the final section, she has joined the terrorists—not only to shoot missiles but to take on the conventional womanly role of cooking and cleaning.
In
Mother India, questions about the patriarchal order, women's 'honour', social injustice and exploitation remain unresolved; and yet, the strength of Radha's integrity shines through the narrative. Radha begins her marriage as a partner, even offers her jewels to reclaim the family's land. She works side by side with her husband in the fields, her baby strapped to her back. After he leaves, she struggles on. When a drought strikes the region, she calls on the villagers to stay back and till the land. Finally, when she inaugurates the dam that will bring water to the village, she does not forget that the blood flowing in the water is blood that she herself has shed by killing her son. The film has all the elements of classic Bollywood, including its length, sentimentality and kitsch. But at its best moments, it dreams of a nation built in partnership. When will we dream that dream again?
(The author is a civil servant based in Mumbai.)