by Waryam Singh Sandhu  

Afilm based on Gurdial Singh’s novel Alms for the Blind Horse ('Anhey Ghorey da daan)' is in the news. It has won a number of national and international awards. For the first time, Punjabi cinema has earned such honours. It has also won the national award for direction and cinematography. The film has come first among all languages in the national awards, and at the Abu Dhabi national awards, it has bagged the $50,000 award for direction and cinematography.

Recently, the film was shown at on the last day of the PIFF film festival at Rose Theatre in Brampton, near Toronto, Canada.

There is a big crowd at the theatre. I am told that the crowds were not so big for any of the previously shown films at the festival. When I enter the hall, the film has just started. The film is moving very slowly. There are no fast-changing scenes that rush through the film. The story is about the dalit community. In their everyday lives, there is nothing that is very dramatic that happens. So how could it happen in the story? Like the stagnant and stopped lives of those people, the story in the film too seems to move hesitantly.

In the row behind me, I can hear some folks from Toronto’s (Punjabi) press- some of them are associated with progressive organizations, talking in hushed voices. They don’t seem to find the story tying up. Slowly, there is a note of irritation that emerges from their murmurs. One of them sarcastically comments on a scene, ‘Now, now, this is all we needed!’ His colleagues laugh to express their agreement. I think to myself that they should not rush with their comments. After all, film critics and judges at many international and national film festivals have given awards and honours to this film. There must be something in this film.

In the beginning, I could not grasp the story either. The film starts with an old man of a dalit family asking his wife to make tea for him. At that point, the village guard comes to invite Dharma to attend a village panchayat meeting to address the issue of the demolition of Dharma’s neighbour’s house. Like others, I too wonder how the story that begins with the demolition of a person’s house reaches its logical culmination. Soon it became clear that this is not the story of one dalit family whose house has been demolished, but the story of all dalit families whose houses are demolished daily. The distress of the entire dalit community has been presented in the form of a collage.

The film ends while moving at this slow pace. In the last scene, the daughter of this family, fatigued and tired, comes out into the alleys holding a flashlight. At this time, her brother Melu, who lives in the town, but who too is tired and fatigued from that life, returns to the house in the village and meets her in the alley. The audience claps to announce the conclusion of the film.

The film’s director Gurvinder Singh comes on the stage. Till now, he has shown the film only to intelligent international audiences associated with films. It is the first time that speakers of his native language have seen the film. He is probably optimistic of receiving praise. He asks innocently: “Please tell me, what did you find wrong with the film?” Three or four hands go up. The first one asks: “What have you tried to show in this film?” The second one says: “I and my wife sitting next to me have not understood the film at all.” Gurvinder looks crestfallen. How does he now explain the gist of the film? He tries to describe the story of the film in brief: “This is a different kind of film. Open-ended. I have not tried to explain anything in the film. You have to understand it yourself. You have to search for the meaning of the film yourself. I have made the film.”

I again start thinking about the last scene in the film.

 

The film that I could not understand till now suddenly becomes clear. The apparently broken and scattered threads of the narration seem to be coming together in my hands. I feel that injustice is being meted out to Gurvinder. No, the artistic sensibilities of us Punjabis is being mocked at. We are ourselves making a joke of ourselves. Even before fathoming the depths of art, our minds surrender. We do not feel the need to raise ourselves to art, instead we want to cut the height of creativity so that it matches ours. If that doesn’t happen, then we exclaim, “Leave this aside. Why should we waste our time on this?”

I want that I should speak up against this injustice. I raise my hand. But before I can speak, another person starts speaking: “You have made a wonderful film. Even Bade Ghulam Ali Khan was not understood by anyone. But Bade Ghulam Ali Khan was Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. Those that understand, they know what he is. As this film is understood slowly, its value will be appreciated.”

The audience that has heard the questions raised by the initial critics has made the silent audience inquisitive. They don’t seem to convincingly agree with those critics. That is why, when the film was praised, they welcome it by clapping. I had needlessly become critical of the perceived lack of appreciation of Punjabis. It seems that there are people in the hall that admire the film.

Now it is my turn. I stand up and raise my voice so that my voice can be heard in the entire hall.

“Friends! The kind of films we are used to watch a have linear storylines and are a special type of entertainment films, this one is really different from those. This is neither about those characters nor about their life. Neither was it the intent of the director to make a film like those. To learn about this film, to understand this film, one has to first step into the shoes of the class of folks that have been portrayed in it. It seems that it is not easy for those who live comfortable lives in Canada, to relate to the lives of those whose that are hell and full of injustice. For a moment, try to think like those people. Identify with their pain, and then see the story. Try to think how you would feel if this was your story. You will understand everything if you put yourselves in their place.”

The audience probably agrees with me. The hall resounds with their clapping.

“To those friends who say that they haven’t understood the film, I would like to submit that the meaning of the film lies in the last scene of the film. Melu, the rickshaw driver had run away from the village to the town to find relief, but he could not breathe easy there either. He was living there in a death- like existence. Disappointed with life in the city, he returns to the village, where in the middle of the night, he finds his sister roaming in the alleys. The brother who has just returned from the city asks her the reason for being out at that time of the night. She tells him that she felt suffocated inside the house, she felt restless. Evidently, life in the village too is full of insults and disgrace. For this class of people, where is the place where they can breathe easy? They find solace neither in the village, nor in the city. Where do they go? It is midnight, the flashlight is dim, and the moon is under an eclipse. The alley is dark. This film is about the stationary lives of these folks who walk in dark alleys. It can be seen and understood only in this manner.”

The audience claps as if to say - “Now we understand it.” There is a smile on Gurvinder’s face too. He comments: “Only a writer can understand and narrate it thus.”

Now he has dug in his heels. From the other corner of the hall, an ultra revolutionary person states, “You have not explained in the film, which classes are responsible for this oppression.” He replies: “The village sarpanch is representative of the elected upper classes.” The other person is, however, not convinced. “No, you should have shown the uppermost echelons (of power responsible for the conditions shown in the film).” “I have not written an essay, I have made a film.” He is right.

The film narrates a story of one day. In reality as well as symbolically. Much of the story lies in understanding the meaning of the symbols. The film starts early in the morning and ends at midnight. But the dawn is not of “Remembering the Lord’s Name and High Thoughts’, but covered in soot. It is bitter and poisonous. Instead of peace, there is sorrow. There is tumult. The villagers are gathering. There is a powerful party that has purchased land for setting up a factory, they have razed to ground the worker Dharma’s house that was built there. Dharma’s family and his neighbours find this unjust. Brute force.

In Punjab and all over the country, this kind of brutality happens daily. Governments elected by the people themselves are party to this. Various industrial organisations and corporates are being given land. Villages upon villages are being uprooted. This is no longer the story of one village, but that of the entire country, where any protests against such brutality are answered with bullets and police batons. Poor Dharma is an easy prey. Behind the perpetrators stands the might of the state. Police jeeps, and uniformed men holding guns stand in the background. The new owner curses Dharma and grinding his teeth asks him to clear off ‘like a gentleman’.

The people of Dharma’s community come together and go to the village sarpanch (village head). They had to go. The lowermost representative of an elected government is the sarpanch. A member of the panchayat from their own community also accompanies them. Despite being aware of everything about the case, the sarpanch feigns ignorance. Instead, his men gather around him and curse Dharma’s men. They insult them. One of them holds a rifle in his hands.- a symbol of the power of those of wield it. Their moustaches are twisted up, bolstered up by their conceit. This is the outer face of the hidden political games that he has played.

The director has not put the two men with upturned moustaches and rifles next to the sarpanch without a reason. ‘The law of the land has to be respected!’ and ‘The government has already pampered these people by giving them concessions [through affirmative action - Tr.] - these men riding high on the sarpanch’s shoulders are nothing but Chitragupta - his hidden face. The sarpanch has the obvious look of a hypocrite and a pretender. He promises to reach the courts even before the group that has come to meet him. But his words and behaviour leave no one in doubt that he stands up for those who, according to his inner voice, have become the ‘legal owners of the land’ and not those that have come to him for help.

Even those who have come for help, know that his promises will not be kept. Their own elected Dalit member (of the panchayat), is ‘woman- like’ in the face of Jatts’ bullying, unable to forcefully speak up and make him agree. The hollowness of the symbolic representation given to Dalits is laid bare open. The Dalit members are also under the pressure of the upper castes. To follow the whims of the upper castes is their political compulsion. To put pressure on the stronger side and speak up for their brethren is not their cup of tea.

The group of the community men roam through the dark streets in pursuit of justice. Their desperation binds them together, but they do not have the strength to fight the circumstances. They even come together hesitantly, probably out of a sense of shame. Melu’s father falls behind as he follows around with the group. He stops. When the crowd returns, he re- joins them hesitantly. What kind of a battle will such a group of unconvinced men fight? How can it fight?

All through the film, the old man has a blanket wrapped around him. His arms are shown to be always covered by the blanket, and are shown out only when only when he is tying his hair into the turban; or when he helps his daughter to make tea or when he is eating with the roti in his hands. The film tell us that the as yet the arms of this section of society come out only to the extent of bringing food to quench the stomach’s hunger; these hands as yet are not capable of fighting. These arms are not yet capable of coming out of the blanket and challenging the enemy.

There are a number of short scenes in which many doors in the lives of these small people open. The main woman in the household is sad that she has to hear insulting words for a few stalks of mustard the from the landlord for whom she works in the fields. To vent her  feelings burning with insults, she talks in a screaming voice. Her pain and her screams are heard only by those within the house or the walls; those whose ears it should reach, never hear it. The weaker strata has to daily bear humiliations from the more powerful group. The young son of the family goes out to graze the goat and is beaten up by a Jatt. He strikes the goat with a hoe and wounds it. This humiliation is not just of a day, but everyday. The boy’s sister treats and caresses the goat.

Perturbed by all these events, she starts to walk out in the middle of the night, when her brother asks, “Where are you going?” She replies that she is going to check is all is well with the goat and that it hasn’t got a fever. How can a poor animal tell? The goat is symbolic of the lower strata. The lower strata; which is wounded every day, is compelled to remain silent. 

It’s angst is boiling inside. It is not just the goat that has fever, the entire lower strata suffers from it.

It was probably because of this daily bullying by the Jatts that the elder son of the family, Melu, had gone to the city in search of work. He gets drunk with his comrades. The scenes behind the Thermal plant show that industrialization has either not provided enough, or in fact has snatched away food from them. Life is not easy even in the city. Melu, penniless and passenger- less, cycles around his rickshaw around the town in the night. He is not ready to go to his house. How can he go home with empty pockets? He himself eats at the dhaba on credit, how will he fill the stomachs of his wife and children?

This is not a matter of a day or a night. The film is about one night only. It must be a matter of every day. In fact the film symbolically tells that urban life is not worth living either. Melu’s comrades are also homeless and away from their families. They drink, play cards. They are representative of the many others that are deprived of homes. All seem to be running away from the circumstances. Melu himself, instead of taking up cudgels against the circumstances, veers towards committing suicide. Happenstance, he is saved. It seems that this strata is saved by happenstance. It is walking alive. Otherwise, their life is miserable. They are looking for a meaning to live like a fish without water. They can’t find the meaning of living. They can’t find a way.

To find a way, Melu had run away from the village. He returns home in the night while still searching. He has left his wife and children in the city. His parents and siblings are in the village. If he had left them, then to whom has he returned now? Why has he left the others back in the city? The watchman’s drinking-hut can’t be his permanent home. Even his own community members and relatives had refused him a place to stay for the night. The village that he had run away from, would that village now provide him relief? He had left the house in the village towards the city. After losing the house in the city, he had returned to the village. Where is his own and real home?

Dharma’s house has, in reality, been demolished. But isn’t it symbolic of the broken, and lost houses of this entire community? The film raises this and many similar questions. For example: the moon is in an eclipse. Rahu and Ketu have surrounded the moon. In this dark night, where should these people go? The lower classes have been trying to appease the two demons with the alms of their labour. For how many generations and centuries will Rahu eclipse the moon? Who are the Rahu and Ketu that control their destinies and lives? For how long will they donate the alms of their labour to these Rahu and Ketus? How can the new generation free its own moonlight?

When Melu’s friend throws the empty bottle of alcohol from the old fort towards the thermal plant, his own voice echoes back to him,” If I had it my way, I would set fire to this entire thermal township.” There is no one except himself and his friends that can hear his words.

One is reminded of Paash’s lines while watching the brother and sister and the mass of recognisable faces in the crowd in the dark alleys of the village: When my own voice echoes back while walking in the dark tunnel/ like life Then the only thing left to do is to chase the flying falcons.

In the defiance of Melu’s friends, there is an urge in the sparrow’s wings to follow the falcons. If this defiance finds a direction and leadership, then the new generation can turn revolutionary and if this does not happen, then there are possibilities that they might turn to drugs, lumpenism or commit suicide on the railway tracks.

This film gives voice to this restlessness and angst.

Whatever I have said is not just made up by me. This and a lot more is told by the film, provided one knows how to view and understand it. This craftsmanship has to be attributed to the director, his technical team and the artists. The film is so realistic that it does not seem that any character is acting. It seems as if the characters are living and talking their daily life. This is probably because except for two or three theater actors, all the characters in the film are played by ordinary villagers. It is also for the first time it has been experimented that the very class of people about whom the film has been made are playing out the characters on the screen.

Certainly, all this is due to the film’s director Gurvinder Singh. This miracle is because
of him.

[May 2012]

Translated from the original in Punjabi by Bhupinder Singh

(http://readerswords.wordpress.com)