(Maanvi is 24-years-old. She saw ‘Bandini’ (1963) for the first time and reviewed it here.)
Some films are like a long sigh.
As the end credits roll by, there is joyous exhilaration at the craft you just witnessed but sadness at how life turned out for the characters you’ve fallen in love with. Bandini (1963), Bimal Roy’s swansong, will make your heart soar with joy. But will leave you frustrated at the ultimate choice Kalyani (played by an incandescent Nutan) makes — choosing a prison (or a ‘bandhan’) of her own making, when freedom, peace and a loving Dharmendra await her.
Bandini is a reminder of how some loves must be let go.
A Prison’s Rhythms, And a Young Dharmendra’s Charm
The film starts with Kalyani’s life inside a prison — she is serving life imprisonment for a murder. Compassionate & self-sacrificing, she risks her life to nurse a fellow prisoner who’s a TB patient. Prison films are not a rarity in Hindi cinema, but I was taken aback by the sensitivity and understanding with which the rhythms of a women’s ward in a prison are shown by Bimal Roy. As the prison inmates work, the repeated action of grinding wheat and the stone mortar turns into music for the song O Panchi Pyaare...— a longing song about the joyous rush of a bird’s flight.
The song is shot in an intimate manner, but always with the lurking shadows of the bars of the jail which separates the inmates from the freedom they wish for. It’s why when the prison bully (played by a very effective Bela Bose) taunts Kalyani, it doesn’t feel melodramatic. Roy doesn’t reduce the prisoners into easy stereotypes and he ensures we understand the prison and the effect it has on people who’ve spent decades in it.
As trailers of Qaidi Band and Lucknow Central flood the internet, one wishes they’ve taken a cue (or more) from Roy.
While caring for her patient, Kalyani meets Devendra (played by Dharmendra). A young, charismatic and sensitive prison doctor who doesn’t believe in the “dirty-prisoner” stereotype. For people in my generation, Dharmendra and jail evoke images of him standing on a water tower and shouting “Chakki peesing” in Sholay.
But in Bandini, he is a revelation. Restrained when expressing love but using his smouldering eyes to tremendous effect, I sighed aplenty while watching Devendra/Dharmendra woo Kalyani. Forget “Dharam paaji”, a young Dharmendra will set highly impossible standards of the ideal Indian man for you.
A Woman’s Honour, And a Breakdown
But Kalyani is not an easy woman to woo. Convinced that she’s not worthy of love (sigh!), the story behind her committing murder is revealed. As a young and dutiful daughter of the village postmaster, Kalyani is happy until she falls in love with a revolutionary Bikash (played by Ashok Kumar).
The film is set in 1930s in Bengal at a time when a “krantikari” was a bad word. So, naturally Bikash’s entry into the village is accompanied by scared whispers — akin to a notorious rockstar. And Ashok Kumar plays the role with trademark panache and a stylish, full-throated laughter. He is the feminist and idealistic freedom fighter, and Kalyani falls in love despite knowing that he has a nomadic lifestyle as the state’s prisoner.
Bandini was where Gulzar made his debut, and as Kalyani playfully sings Mora Gora Ang Laile..., it’s apparent that the wordsmith always liked to conjure magic with words.
One rainy night, Bikash comes to Kalyani to visit her and since he is running a high fever, Kalyani asks him to stay in. Nothing happens, but the next day, the entire village blames Kalyani for ‘losing her honour.’ Bikash leaves the village, asking Kalyani’s father for permission to marry Kalyani. (Without asking her even once, by the way.) He promises to return soon, but months pass and Bikash is not to be heard of. And what does the village do? They ostracise Kalyani and her father.
Um, what?
I bristled with indignation as I watched the whole village consequently ostracise Kalyani and her father, for no fault of hers! Why didn’t the village empathise with her abandonment rather than boycotting her because she had apparently ‘lost her honour’? Maybe it’s a generational thing, but thank God for 2017, when at least in the privileged space of the cities, a girl left high and dry by her fiancé isn’t her biggest worry.
Kalyani and her father are completely cut off by the villagers, to the extent that she is forced to leave her home. As she steals away from the village in the dead of the night, the shadows move to the rhythms of Mukesh’s haunting dirge O Jaane Waale Laut Ke Aaana...
In the city, she finds a job as a servant who’s responsible for taking care of a neurotic woman. Kalyani puts up with all the insults thrown at her — until she can’t anymore. Her breakdown is precipitated by the news of her father’s death and the revelation that her demanding patient is Bikash’s wife. (It’s always a small world in Hindi films, no?)
In cinematography masterclass, Kamal Bose, the film’s cinematographer, shows a docile Kalyani’s transformation to a murderer with the clang and flash of welding in the background, projecting the shadows of prison-bar like on her faces. Every frame in Bandini is a painting, but this scene is the standout masterpiece.
A Tricky Choice, And a Stunning Song
Every film has a centre — a pulsating heart around which the movie revolves. Based on a Bengal story, Tamasi by Jasarandha, the soul of Bandini may be its writing and exceptional direction. But its heart lies in SD Burman’s O Re Maajhi.... Everything in the film has been building up to this song, and when it plays out, it’s magic.
At the time of the song, Kalyani has convinced herself that she’s worthy of Deven’s love and is on her way to be with him. As she waits for her train to depart, she hears the dulcet tones of a steamer and sees a ghost from her past — Bikash. He is severely ill, coughing blood and as his servant informs Kalyani, is living out his last moments. The two are sitting on opposite signs of a thatched partition in a waiting room, and as they wait for their separate destinies to play out, Bikash clarifies his betrayal and asks for forgiveness.
I loved how Nutan played out Kalyani’s despair in this scene — she is faced with a past love, and she is curious about his betrayal and illness, but still wants to retain her self-respect. As Ashok Kumar’s Bikash tells her how he was compelled to marry a politician’s wife for the “welfare of the country,” Kalyani’s resolve wavers.
The steamer’s foghorn sounds again. And Bikash moves to going back to his village – to go back to face his inevitable death. And with SD Burman’s music highlighting the dilemma, Kalyani follows him — he is after all, his ‘bandini’.
I sighed when when Kalyani went back to Bikash. It was a choice which made no sense to me, leaving me frustrated and bitter. Why did Kalyani forget her hardship and heartbreak, to give up her independence for an old love? It’s undeniable that Bikash was in a tricky situation, but why didn’t he have the courage to stand up for her? How can a sacrifice to the nation be premised on opportunity and an erosion of personal values?
Surely, the least Bikash could have done was to reply to her countless letters? How could Kalyani forget her father’s death, eight years in jail, how she lost everything, and return to him? At a time when she had an intelligent and mature Deven waiting for her? Someone who loved her not as a naïve and innocent village girl, but as a mature woman?
“Mera kheenchti hai aanchal,
mann meet teri har pukar.”
As Kalyani bows to the rhythms of her heart in going back to Bikash, despite a hint of an unfulfilled future, I couldn’t help but think of first loves. And how sometimes, despite worldly wisdom, we’re held prisoners to our hearts — a beloved’s call we can’t ignore.
Especially, if it’s in Sachin Dev Burman’s voice.
(This article is from The Quint’s archives.)
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