Long hours in the office, not much opportunity to talk to friends or family, thinking about work much after office-hours and generally feeling low have been some of the symptoms. And then I talked to the doctor in me, and I prescribed myself some serious movie-watching, (not as in ‘art-films’, but like non-stop, one-after-the-other, everyday, day-after-day). Well, I submerged myself in the DVDs which had been lying at home; some watched umpteen times already, some the packing still unopened, some watched in theatres and later DVD bought as a collection. My DVD-player had been playing smart with me lately, sometimes stopping, sometimes jumping chapters, sometimes making screechy-noises, primarily sulking like an ignored housewife, probably because I had started favouring my laptop lately for the mere convenience of it.
Anyway, I promised myself to make amends by watching all the movies on the DVD-player, till the underemployed lens of my dusty-and-rarely-used-DVD-player would repair itself and start behaving like a child once more back in favour. Well, the movies were picked at random, but I must confess I didn’t have peace of mind, since I was literally spoilt for choices, and would start thinking about any alternative film much after I had decided upon one. The genre of the films has varied from comedy to social drama to action thrillers to horror films to typical art-house (Ray, Benegal and the likes).
I watched Basu Bhattarcharya’s Teesri Kasam (once again, of course, but the first time I was too young to appreciate the film’s concept and had watched it merely as a film) and felt compelled to spend some time pondering over it, and eventually share my take on it .
Well, let me put the records straight by admitting that ancestrally I belong to almost the same part of the country where the film is set (well, almost, because Darbhanga is a bit away from Purnea, but both are primarily theMaithili heartland), and I could relate with and appreciate the nuanced detailing that the filmmaker has gone into. It immediately impresses you and you start taking the film per se more seriously for its other inherent qualities, knowing that you will not be cheated as a discerning audience. The way Raj Kapoor says “Issh” is the way you actually say it in those rural parts, and it brings the local flavour in its truest form. The film is filled with such perfect detailing.
Another example would be when Raj Kapoor brings the breakfast “Chooda-Dahi” (Beaten Rice & Curd – a local delicacy in Mithila) for Waheeda, and then says, “Pehle Aap Paa Leejiye”, literally meaning “first you have it”. It’s just so authentic! One more example is when Waheeda tells Raj Kapoor that she will not call him by his name Hiraman, but “Meeta”, because they share the same first name (Waheeda’s name is Hira Bai in the film), and people with same name call each other “Meeta”. The pleasure is in watching the sense of “belongingness” on Raj Kapoor’s face, and the innocence with which Waheeda declares this with that typical platonic feel to the whole ‘relationship-development’.
Cynics / sceptics might argue that the film is based on Phanishwar Nath Renu’s eponymous novel “Maare Gaye Gulfaam” and Renu belonged to that area, enabling him to bring out the local dialect and culture in his dialogues. But we have seen innumerable other adaptations where the soul of the original work is missing in the cinematic adaptations, and more often than not, it comes out as a hollow take, and falls flat in its overall impact. Not so with Teesri Kasam. Another major achievement of the film is in the fact that it doesn’t celebrate or pamper the central character for the sake of it, and at times, Raj Kapoor’s character is relegated to being secondary in the scheme of things. Case in point is in the picturisation of the song “Chalat Musafir Moh Liyo Re”, in which Raj Kapoor joins the already singing crowd in the middle of the song, and is shown playing Dafli and singing as a chorus, a mere extra, rather than the lead, a far cry from the usual ‘hero-worshipping’ ways our films, where the hero has to be central “doer” of all things important.
The story of the film is quite simple. Hiraman (Raj Kapoor) is a naïve and honest bullock-cart driver, and comes across certain problems in his course of trade, resulting in his taking vow of not doing that thing ever again. In the first instance, he is almost caught by the police carrying some contraband items in his cart, despite having raised his suspicion but being assured by the owners of the goods that no harm will come to him. He vows never to carry the contraband goods again. In the second instance, he is carrying bamboo in his cart, which results in an accident with another motorist, and he vows never to carry bamboo again. Up to this point, one thinks of the naivety of Hiraman, and even the frivolity of the plot movement, since Hiraman is prone to taking a vow at the slightest hint of discomfort to his simplistic and ideal lifestyle. However, the film takes off from here, and almost the entire film is the story build-up of his taking the third vow, Teesri Kasam, of never ferrying a Nautanki Company woman in his cart. To an unsuspecting audience, the logical explanation for this third vow becomes a completely humbling experience, and allows seeing the inherent simplicity of the character, thereby justifying why he took the first two vows despite their apparent frivolities.
The film has soul-stirring songs, some of them golden gems in their own right. Sajan Re Jhooth Mat Bolo, Sajanwa Bairi Ho Gaye Hamaar, Paan Khaye Saiyaan Hamaar Ho, Chalat Musafir Moh Liyo Re, Mare Gaye Gulfam, Aa, Aabhi Ja, Laali Laali Doliya Mein Laali Re Dulhaniya, Laila are some such. However, the core of the film is based on perhaps the best of the lot, Duniya Banane Waale Ka Tere Mann Mein Samaayee, Kaahe Ko Duniya Banayee. The feelings of the character of Hiraman in the film is best summarised by the following lyrics from the same song:
Preet Banake Tune Jeena Sikhaya, Hansna Sikhaya, Rona Sikhaya,
Jeevan Ke Pathh Par Meet Milaye, Meet Milake Tune Sapne Sajaye,
Sapne Sajake Tune Kaheko De Di Judaai, Kaahe Ko Duniya Banayee…
The songs have another importance in terms of their mood and placement. All the songs filmed on Hiraman are a reflection of his simple heart and lack of worldly-wisdom. The songs in the Nautanki, filmed on Hirabai, tantamount to either the rural folk songs when she is merely entertaining the crowd, or a deep pang of love lost when she is reflecting her relationship with Hiraman. The Chalat Musafir Moh Liyo Re song is an absolute rural-chaupal song, the types heard even today in those parts of the country. Duniya Banane Waale is the manifestation of Mahua-patwaran folklore, which is a real-life incident of rural Bihar, as legends would have it. However, my personal favourite would be Laali Laali Doliya Mein Laali Re Dulhaniya song, which is not as famous as the other songs from the film, but has a tremendous feel of the central characters who are contemplating a future through vicarious character-interpolation.
The film is different in many aspects from the regular run-of-the-mill films of the same genre, and the sense of loss, longingness for one’s soul-mate, non-vindications of one’s desires, the inherent moral values among the characters, and the power of sacrifice is reflected most beautifully. Both the central characters ultimately opt to lose what they so badly wanted, but they take back with them a lot of worldly experience from their apparent loss, which makes them a better human being, if nothing else. The climax of the film is heart-wrenching, at least for a certified ‘romantic’ like me, and it becomes more effective with the minimum of outward emotions that both the characters show while taking their life-altering decision.
One of the greatest lyricists, Shailendra, who was a good friend of Raj Kapoor, was so enamoured by Renu’s novel that he wanted to produce the film adaptation. He roped in Basu Bhattarchaya as the director, a protégé of the great Bimal Roy, and Basu Chatterjee, an upcoming director assisted him in direction. Shailendra had planned for Mehmood and Meena Kumari to play the lead, but that didn’t materialise due to various reasons, and his old friend Raj Kapoor volunteered to step in as the lead, and also brought another friend, Waheeda Rehman, as the female lead. Raj Kapoor even agreed to work for a nominal fee of only Re. 1 for the film.
Shailendra declined taking any cinematic liberties for his film, lest the rustic local flavour of the novel is lost in translation. He wanted to shoot the entire film in B&W, despite colour processing facilities being available by then, and did exactly that, in order to retain the local village milieu. He didn’t compromise even though his friends and well-wishers from the industry, Raj Kapoor among them, warned him of the imminent commercial failure of the film in its conceived form. As providence, the film didn’t make any money for Shailendra, and he died within 3-4 months of its release, not being able to digest how such a masterpiece could not be accepted by the so-called matured audience.
The film went on to win the President’s Gold Lotus Award for Best Feature Film of 1966, Best Lyricist (Shailendra) and Best Director (Basu Bhattarchaya), but Shailendra did not live long to see all the critical accolades showered on his masterpiece. The film also remains one of the finest works of Basu Bhattarchaya, who went on to direct the marital-trilogy of Anubhav, Avishkar and Griha Pravesh, as well as Aastha, among others. However, he could never match the rustic brilliance of Teesri Kasam in any of his future works, except maybe in the tele-serial directed by him – Byomkesh Bakshi.
In today’s times the reference of Teesri Kasam becomes all the more relevant for the absolute puritan ways in which love in those days used to be nurtured. All aspects of the film ooze simplicity and maturity at the same time, and the film may well be the benchmark of understated and unrequited love for the generation that is fed on the mixed flavour of popcorn.