Avinash spoke almost startling her. ‘For us all, ma’am…it was going to be a chance…to reach high, to show the world. Dada would say, it’s not just a film, it’s a fight, for us to be recognized and be reckoned with. If Hollywood can set standards for us, we too can show them a few things. What we lack in money we will make up with our dedication and hard work…our talents. You know it, how he had insisted on those big sets, he had wanted to stop at nothing. It was going to be difficult, to match Miracle’s standards…scale, technique, everything. Shankar Da would say to me, there has to be a first and the first time is always the most difficult…but that should not stop us. He would say, let us not be content with what we have attained, for then we have nothing left to achieve. But now, without Shankar Da…? He stopped, suddenly awkward. He hadn’t ever spoken at such length with her. Anyhow, she knew it all…surely so much better than him.
‘Tell me Mr Mukherjee, will the sun not rise now that he is no more?’ Ramola’s eyes were fixed on the far wall behind him, so intently that for a fleeting moment Avinash thought she had seen something there. He opened his mouth then closed it again and looked out of the window at the green of the gardens outside.
‘Life doesn’t stop, you know, it goes on, in much the same way, only now we must learn to carry on without… Shankar…do the things as we ourselves can.’ Her eyes were on him again.
‘Certainly Madam,’ Anil broke in eagerly. ‘We must carry on. We must follow in dada’s steps. You need not worry, I will see to it all. Just as Shankar Da wanted it. Be assured Madam.’
Ramola left her chair, and walked back to the window where she had earlier stood. She looked out for some brief seconds, then turned back again, with her flourish, eyebrows raised, this time a small smile on her face.
’No Anil. Now it is no more about how he had wanted or would have done it. Does that shock you?’ She looked from Anil to Avinash, ‘And you too, Mr Mukherjee… does that sound rather awful? For a ‘widow’ to say? But the truth is I am now the chief of Bharat Talkies and my decisions might not be like Shankar’s decisions. They might be different. Because we are different…he was a different person, and I am not him. I could not be honest if I tried to do everything like how he would. Now this picture, would it be quite the same with me directing? Though, we…Shankar and I…we did think it together… it was our dream…but our thoughts were not always matched…not every time. Yet, I would try and read his thoughts, and be his Mira. Because after all, it was his picture. But now I will be the Mira that only I know, that I have imagined and lived, in my mind…’
‘But Madam, who is to be director? Who…who can match Shankar Da?’ Anil had abandoned his post by the door and advanced to the desk.
‘Perhaps nobody Anil. Yet we must make this picture…perhaps I wasn’t clear enough…’
Ramola had walked back to her chair. She seated herself slowly, stretched back and watched the two men as she spoke again. ‘I will make this picture, be director and lead actress…’ Her voice was low. ‘It will be a first, for our industry here…this country, for Bharat Talkies… and for me. Yet, I have led before, when I entered the movies, when respectable people would often not allow their girls and women to visit a picture hall. And I quite understand Mr Mukherjee that Miracle Pictures might not now wish to partner with us. Now that we have a lady at the helm.’ She almost laughed out her last words.
‘You coming here made me decide, you know, Mr Mukherjee. I had been uncertain…thinking about it…I couldn’t be sure. Could I fit in his shoes? Would I be able? Was the risk worth taking? But hearing what you said…about Shankar…it helped me make up my mind. I think, Mr Mukherjee, I needed someone to remind me that it had never all been so easy for him as well. Yet he did it. And it would be discreditable on our part, would it not, if we let that spirit die with him?’
V
For a small time that evening Anil had wanted to set fire to Bharat Talkies, burn it all down, raze it to the ground…get it over and done with. She was the boss’s widow, and he a nobody, the way she had scorned him that morning, like he was no better than the chaprasi stationed outside her door…waiting there for Madam’s orders. After all that he had done, the years of everything that he had given to Shankar Da and Bharat Talkies. If Ramola and Shankar had created Bharat Talkies, hadn’t he as well? Could they have done it all by themselves? Without a lieutenant like him? He who had slaved his days into the nights, forever beyond the call of duty. And the others…Kedar Da, Palash Da, Bimal Da…who had faced every test…only because Shankar Da had asked it of them. Kedar Da even stopped going to his sasurbari, because of the things they said about bioscope work, even refused the New Talkies offer though they had wanted to give double almost…all of them that had stayed with Shankar Da through everything because they thought Bharat Talkies was theirs also, what they had together created.
Those early days of Bharat Talkies, when nobody knew Ramola Devi, and when Shankar Da was struggling to get the studio running. He himself had one year still at college and had started work at Bharat Talkies, only for Kedar Da, his elder brother-like neighbour from his hometown in Comilla. Kedar had joined Bharat Talkies as their sound engineer. He had admired Kedar Da since he was a boy. And Kedar had been like another son to his widowed mother. Kedar had told him that bioscope was not a place of just beshyas and baijis, women of the bazaar. ‘That is just the front of it, women, all the jhakmak, glitter…that is just what we see in the bioscope hall. But behind it all there are people like you and me, educated people working in the studios. People like Shankar Da. Do you know Shankar Da could have made a name in Hollywood? But he came back here, for the love of art, to create something that we, slaves of the British, can call our own. Bioscope is art bhaya, we have to make this thing our own. Even educated ladies are coming in…Shankarda’s own wife…educated abroad. People like Shankar Da need us Anu, only the educated like us can help create something truly great, not just naachgaana like the Parsi companies, but something that we can very proudly show to the world.’
If he had first hesitated, thinking what his mother would say, that trip to the new Bharat Talkies studio with Kedar Da and just some hours with Shankar Da had been enough for him to make up his mind. Shankar Da was that kind of man. He could make you dream, and he had the will to make dreams come true. ‘I want educated young men like you Anil,’ he had said. ‘The art of bioscope is based on science, inventions, many inventions…made by pioneers through the years…our studios are like laboratories. Where we experiment, with light and shade and sound, what you see on the screen is the outcome of months and years of tapasya.’
He had pointed to Kedar Da. ‘Kedar here, a brilliant student of science, he could have become a professor, gone to Oxford or Cambridge even for further studies. But he chose a much more difficult path. To work in this denigrated field of ours.’ He had placed an affectionate arm on Kedar Da’s shoulder. ‘Do you know what experiments Kedar has undertaken…on his own? In his sound van? He is trying to devise a way to record sound that will allow us to add the sound later…to the picture. We need more people like him. We talk so much about Swadeshi. But do people see the Swadeshi in our bioscope films? Our sacrifices? Our efforts to make something out of nothing? Do we have the wherewithal of Hollywood? But still, we are not ready to give up.’
They had spent many evenings at the Elgin Road house, talking about the future, laughing, even Ramola had joined them sometimes. They would often invite him to eat dinner with them in the mahogany dining hall and though he had first been awkward, his shyness soon left him. Ramola would eat like a memsahib, her roast chicken and potatoes or some soup, but Shankar Da would have his bhat, like a true Bangali. ‘Anil, khachho na, you’re eating like a bird, come on, eat up,’ he would scold, sometimes heaping kosha mutton or pulao on his plate despite his pleas that he was quite full. They had sat together after Ramola had retired and talked late into the night and even the early hours of morning. Once when it had gone past midnight, Shankar Da h
ad himself gotten out his brand new Chrysler and driven him home. That was him, a true leader, even those that did not wish him well had secretly admired him.
His one fault was his blind love for his wife. He would hardly ever see her faults. And in any case she always had a way of getting around him, she always had her say no matter what. Still…Shankar Da would say, sometimes, that he would leave the studio to them all… him and Kedar Da, Palash Da. Would he say it only in jest? Or did he secretly fear that if ever left to herself she would destroy his life’s work? The studio built with his blood and sweat. They said a person close to death sometimes could see into the future. Had Shankar Da felt his end was near? Was he afraid? He had been restless those last days. It hadn’t seemed much then, only the strain of long days at the studio, the Miracle deal, the approaching tour, the hundreds of small things that he had needed done before he left. He would send for an Aspirin, most afternoons…still, who could know that he was living his last days? But he had said some things, sometimes, which were telling, even more now…after this morning’s revelation from Ramola. ‘Anil, acting and directing are two things altogether. It takes talent and charisma to be a star. But to be a fine director one has to look over and above stardom…personal likes and dislikes…friendships, even one’s own self. That is why it is so difficult for a director to also be an actor. There remains the struggle always, between oneself and one’s responsibility, to the others…other actors. To art…not everyone can rise above himself…’
Could Ramola Devi rise above it all? Be like Shankar Da. She who treated those around her like they were nothing, those to whom she really should be grateful. Did she think she would set a milestone: ‘Ramola Devi…first woman director from India’. Get the whole world singing her praises? She who had ridden on Shankar Da’s back. Forever shielded by him, taking advantage of his love for her…all those roles written just for her. What would she have been, without Shankar Da? Another rich girl with a pretty face? Did she know what it was to have to earn her living? Like those other girls in the pictures…girls like his Raju, who worked like slaves and still did not get their dues. Raju, now she had made her own way. No one to hold her hand, no one to show her any kindness… the hunger and despair of being fatherless and poor, and then the hunger to make something of herself. Did Ramola know hunger? Picking on her food, complaining about this or that, nothing ever was too good for her. And now she wanted them all…all of Bharat Talkies to dance to her tunes.
It could not happen. He would not allow it. Shankar Da would say jokingly, ‘Bioscope is a level playing field, bujhle…even more so than your cricket. The audience can lift you from the dust and put you up there…on a throne.’ Bioscope was a blessing of their times, it was opportunity for one and all, not just the privilege of a few like Ramola Devi. It was a way to progress…to be one with the rest of the forward-moving, thinking world, without injustice or unfairness. Shankar Da had taught him that. ‘Do you know the power of bioscope, Anil? It can make people believe that a person in the bioscope picture is Rama or Krishna or some god. It can change a person, through his work in the bioscope… one’s life can change…through a creative enterprise… become more meaningful, unnato…’ Why, then why, should that advancement not be for those that most needed it? Anil gritted his teeth. Should Raju be stuck at Unique studio doing her Raju Darling acts? When she deserved a chance at the very least? To prove herself better. And Ramola Devi go from strength to strength? Star to director? Ramola Devi, a great director? Not so easy, madam…not so easy. Anil smirked, his eyes bright. Would it do you justice to have such a great actress like yourself to direct? No madam, you are gold, you are every director’s dream, you would make the director’s work ever so easy…with your understanding of art and your education and your good manners. Madam, a great lady like yourself ought to strive harder…why, you could mould from dirt a devi like yourself, could you not? Something from nothing? Now…would it not be your greatest achievement Ramola Devi if you could bring about a truly matchless performance from a girl of the gutter, one that has neither your class nor such good manners? By all means, Ramola Devi, make your own Mirabai…but surely we cannot allow you to have it all so easy. That would take away from your greatness, would it not? No, we must not let that happen.
VI
‘I’ll need them…all of them with me…’ Ramola had jerked awake from her uneasy slumber.
She had dozed on the chair by the window, like how she had sat on the night Menoka died, the lamp glowing. It made her uneasy to get into bed, though she had often slept by herself when Shankar was alive. Knowing that he was in the study next door, hearing him through the walls as he had walked across the creaking wood floor or called Bibhu for tea. It was so very different now, knowing that only she inhabited their bedroom. It almost put her on guard, though what she feared she really didn’t know. Sailen Kaka had given her some pills to help her sleep. But they didn’t agree with her. They left her feeling listless and dreary. She had never had trouble sleeping before. Unlike Shankar, who would often toss and turn through the night. But then, she had never had to carry work worries home. She had always left work behind at the studio, when she had left for the day. The worries…they had all been his. The studio’s running, its troubles…ironing things out with different people. She had known it all, still, how could she have understood it, this way, until it all came on her? Why Shankar had had those sleepless nights, kept awake, gotten those headaches, eaten too much or sometimes just left the food on his plate. When all the time she had rested so peacefully. Sometimes chided him for being overworked. Ramola dragged herself out of her chair and poured herself a glass of water. It was past midnight.
Her thoughts went back to that afternoon’s encounter. Avinash Mukherjee had exited in a stumbling hurry as if overcome by her announcement.
He’s terribly odd, thought Ramola as she put her glass down, wondering if she should take a pill. Jumpy…
He had stared at her fixedly, on hearing she was going to make Mirabai herself, even after she had returned his gaze, forcing her to look away. Ramola felt a sudden tinge of anger. There had been something about his face then, a kind of indulging half smile that she just couldn’t get out of her mind. Almost like he was egging her on. Though he had made a hasty exit soon afterward. Anil had stayed silent after her little speech though it had seemed he had things to say. He’d shuffled his feet, chewed his lip, looked her way but then looked away when his eyes had met hers. She had not stayed on long at the studio, almost like she had then wanted to run from it all. Should she have thought this through a little bit more…the making of this picture…? She needed to speak with Anil. She would speak with them all. She wasn’t really angry with Anil, only vexed with his changed demeanour. He was not himself. But then, she wasn’t either. She wondered if he too was keeping awake at night, like her. Shankar’s passing had made their lives all awry. All of them at Bharat Talkies.
They would need to put their heads together now, them that had been Shankar’s arms and eyes and ears. Them that had made Bharat Talkies what it was. If they were going to see this through. Tomorrow was Sunday. On Monday, she would speak with Nishith Babu. He could be tiresome but he still hadn’t lost his touch. And Kedar Gupta, their sound recordist… Shankar had had great regard for Kedar Babu. He had joined Bharat Talkies even before their studio was up and running, setting up station in an old van, making it his laboratory. And, there was Bimal Pal, chief of photography and cinematographer of Mirabai. What if Bharat Talkies did not live on very much longer…what if Mirabai failed? Ramola bit her lip. The more reason then that this picture should be a fitting homage to Shankar. An endeavour from each and every one of them that had believed in him…Shankar had meant so much to those around him…unlike her, he could be one with the people around him. True, he had had to keep up appearances… the balancing act…pleasing and placating the likes of Nishith Babu, still, most of it was not a façade, really. Shankar had been one of the few real people in a world
that was peopled by fakes. Once he gave his word he would stand by it. And by the people that had stood by him. Like Palash Babu, their laboratory-in-charge…when his name came up in that sedition matter and the police had arrested him…Shankar had stopped at nothing to get him back.
‘I know Palash…he is a nationalist but not a terrorist…’ Shankar had not wavered no matter what anyone had said.
He had given them their due. Their names had appeared at the start of every Bharat Talkies picture, before any of the other studios had started that practice…Bimal Pal, Shankar had given him a picture to direct, about this time last year. Bimal Babu’s entry into direction. He had asked to have her in the picture, but Shankar had turned that down. Though Bimal Babu had seemed to think it was she that had refused to work with a new director. The picture hadn’t done too well, but it didn’t matter. ‘We are not a one film concern…’ Shankar had said to a crestfallen Bimal. ‘We have a standing built over many pictures. I believed that you had a good script and that was why I gave you this picture to direct. I still think you made a fine picture…and who knows, in another ten years from now when many more people will have seen it, that the verdict will not change? We must find satisfaction in our work Bimal…and in what we believe…not only be guided by hits and flops…’
An overwhelmed Bimal Babu had tried to touch his boss’s feet.
Menoka has hanged herself Page 9