THE HEART OF DECEPTION
The double-bill film feature Kapurush-o-Mahapurush deals with the theme of deception, in subtle and explicit manifestations. While Mahapurush is about deception that is directed outwards (i.e. deceiving others), Kapurush is about deception directed inwards (i.e. deceiving oneself).
Both these short films are testimony to Satyajit Ray’s power to pack in layers of meaning and humanity even in short formats. Kapurush, especially, is enormously rewarding even though it may feel thinly-plotted to many. In fact, this is one of the most suspenseful films Ray ever made, and falls rather close in style and treatment to Film Noir.
Fear Of/In/And Relationships
Amitabha’s chance encounter with his ex-lover and her husband sets in motion the unravelling of his buried past. In the past, faced with the chance to elope with the woman he loved, Amitabha turned her down instead. On her family’s instructions, Karuna had to move to another city and eventually married someone not of her choosing.
Karuna is now married to Bimal, a tea estate manager, and lives with him on a plantation. Theirs is a life of luxury, with a sprawling bungalow and plenty of staff. The drawback is its remote location. That is also the reason why Bimal, who is unaware of Amitabha and his wife’s past, generously offers Amitabha shelter for the night as he waits for a connecting train for his onward journey.
As the night unfolds, we the audience can see there is more than meets the eye between Amitabha and Karuna. The fact that something’s up and Bimal doesn’t know is where the aforementioned suspense begins to build. The moody evening atmosphere, the talkative and occasionally menacing husband, the darkness surrounding their bungalow, all of these build the mood and keeps us in anticipation of some secrets slipping out.
While Amitabha is clearly shaken by the sight of his former lover, Karuna does a good job of concealing her own shock. But, are we to assume that she is equally dismayed by the encounter as Amitabha, or is she playing out a revenge fantasy by denying him any glimpse of emotion? She is an enigmatic character, a very powerful one, who is able to torment the one who betrayed her just by withholding her words.
In some ways, one could say, she acts like a femme fatale – powerful, seductive, and manipulative. Seeing Amitabha’s spirit break down minute-by-minute, we almost desire to convince her to soften up a little towards him, give him a smile or some kind words about being happy to see him. But she is determined to give no more than what polite company demands.
But Karuna is not a femme fatale, is she? She is the woman scorned. Someone who’s faith was not kept, so why should she keep anyone else’s? She will be as surprised by the chance meeting as Amitabha, but just because he collapses emotionally in no way compels her do the same. After all, Amitabha has lived a single man’s life since the time he rejected her, and seems happy enough with his work. On the other hand Karuna was forced to marry someone else and make a life with him. Her allegiance lies with her own self, firstly, and then to her husband. For all purposes, her former lover is an intruder in her marital home.
Despite this cold reception, Amitabha tries to convince Karuna that he is a changed man who is ready to accept the responsibility of a married life with her. Seeing her after so many years, witnessing her steely character, makes him desire her feverishly. He cannot lose her again. It’s human nature to want what we cannot have.
What he doesn’t realise is that his offer to elope now puts the entire burden on Karuna, instead of sharing equally like they could have in the past. Bimal has to be abandoned by her, she has to explain things to her family, all her possessions get left behind, she faces shame as a married woman leaving her husband. Every loss, every wound, will be hers alone.
Does Amitabha really think he is worth all that pain, or is he deceiving himself? He is a screen-writer, by profession, who is blurring the line between drama and real life and viewing himself as a much more sympathetic character than he really is. It’s ironic, from a screenwriting point of view, that the film plays out less on the written/spoken words, and more on what’s not written/spoken at all.
He doesn’t have the courage to face Karuna’s husband, just like he didn’t have the courage to stay with her. Amitabha drops a chit in her lap as her husband lies asleep, in which he asks her to meet him at the railway station to escape together. This is a morbid and cruel act, one which reeks of cowardice and irresponsibility. Even after so long, Amitabha is only willing to do what’s in his own comfort zone. He cannot face his fears, even though by asking her to run away with him, he thinks he has.
Courage On Display
Bimal, on the other hand, is someone who likes to make a lot of fuss about his bravery. As the manager of a tea estate he likens himself to a local governor, or even like a coloniser. When he talks about exercising control over his employees, both in his home and in the fields, there is a gleeful cruelty in his voice. He exults in his ability to keep the lesser ones in check through his iron will and iron hand.
Anybody who knows the history of tea estates knows how fraught with danger the power balance can get. There are many instances of workers rioting against their managers, often ending in deaths. It is not a lazy comparison that I made between Bimal’s position as estate manager and early colonisers.
So what, then, should we make of such a display of courage? In contrast to Amitabha, is Bimal a truly courageous man?
Like the obvious lack of courage, the obvious display of courage can also be a deception. It indicates a fear of equal rights, a fear of criticism, and a fear of uprising. To strike someone pre-emptively, even if only emotionally, is an act of bullying. It tries to crush the spirit of someone you view as a potential threat. So, Bimal’s philosophy of keeping his workers in check by enforcing a strict class, or even caste, hierarchy is an act born out of fear.
And this is not all, the very fact that his guest is trying to woo his wife behind his own back shows how little in control he really is. For all the talk of power, he is a man who could easily lose the person closest to him if she had so chosen. Though Karuna indicates no inclination to leave him for Amitabha, she equally doesn’t display any indication that she loves her husband. The couple hardly speak to each other. Karuna looks on benignly while Bimal holds centre-stage in every conversation. He knows nothing about her mind, even though he may feel he is in control.
The notion of control, in any form, is to some extent an exercise in self-deception. There really is no such thing. And the more we think we can control other people’s actions, the more hollow our power looks in comparison. This is why the only person who has power in this film is the one who’s silently controlling her own actions.
Escaping To Slumberland
After their first frank conversation, where Amitabha asks Karuna if she is happy but gets no concrete answer from her, he requests her for some sleeping pills. She brings him a bottle of pills and warns him not to take more than two. It seems she’s aware of the overdose amount. Quite pathetically Amitabha asks what would happen if he does, implying he is lovelorn enough to try and overdose, she smirks dismissively and says she doesn’t think him capable of that.
She is right. The pills are an excuse. They are an escape. He doesn’t have the courage to end his life, only to escape the inconvenient bits.
Sleeping pills have a powerful role in the imagination, and especially in story-telling. It signals we have somehow been cursed, by strain or ill-health, to lose one of our life’s greatest comforts – sleep. When someone cannot sleep it feels like a fall from grace, worse than any poison or infection. To need medicine to fall asleep is like paying a ransom for your own soul.
Then there is the fact that overdosing was a popular method of committing suicide in films. Something so delightful as a good night of rest can easily turn into an unending nightmare with just a few extra white globules. Sleep can become a fairy tale curse, a friend can become a foe. Some innocent, widely available pills can lay one down forever.
But it’s clear that what Amitabha needs it for is to escape. He is not a regular user of sleeping pills or else he’d have his own bottle. What he’s looking for is a deep sleep that can help him forget everything that’s causing him to suffer in that house. He wants to see dreams about pleasant things, or better yet no dreams at all. Amitabha is displaying his weakness, and Karuna knows it. This is no tragic love story where the hero kills himself. This is a man who is in denial of his own true nature.
The very fact of a proper sleep after such tormenting events is an act of deception.
At the very end, when she does finally come to the station to see him, it is not to run away with him, but to ask for her pills back. There is probably no pharmacy nearby, so she needs her stock back.
And that’s the final display of deception from both of them. Amitabha deceived himself into thinking she came for him. And Karuna’s deception is also revealed as she cannot spend one night without her medicine, indicating that she is not content in her life.
And so, like popping pills, they continue to deceive themselves. Karuna thinks she is stronger than she is, Amitabha thinks she is weaker than she is, Bimal thinks he’s more powerful than he is, and so on.
How much of this do we ourselves practice in our lives – ordinary but definite acts of self-deception. Cowardice is not only about running away from mortal danger, anyone would be excused for doing that. It can also be about running away from our own reflection. We all do that, though it’s difficult to admit why. Maybe it’s because we know that without even that little mercy towards ourselves we are forever undone, never to sleep a good night’s sleep again.