Brojo?
Brojo!
I'm coming.
Are you deaf? It's past four. Take the master his tea.
Ay... hush.
Bankim... Bankim...
KAPAALKUNDALA
I've had a letter from Umapada, your brother. Did you know?
No.
He hasn't written to you?
When did dada ever write to me.
You know, he hasn't been doing too well as a lawyer.
He's written to ask if I could find him something here.
And, I was thinking, I could do with a manager.
You know what a mess I make of figures.
Would dada be able to do it?
Why not? It's not difficult... and I'll be there.
He couldn't put his mind to anything, really.
He will.
I've already written and asked him to come.
How can you judge unless you give him responsibility?
- Have some more lunch? - No.
You hardly eat anything.
The less I eat, the more I can work, Charu.
No other way of keeping the paper going.
OK...
Am I a lazy good for nothing?
Whoever said so?
That's what they call us - the idle rich.
I want to prove them wrong.
Money doesn't have to mean laziness, does it?
You don't have any regrets, do you?
Why?
I'm spending so much money on the paper.
Just the other day, I bought a new press...
What about it?
You're doing such good work, getting yourself talked about...
After all, we're not going to starve.
You have to hear Suren Banerjee speak, Charu.
One day, I'll explain all these political things to you.
Really, I will.
Intellectual power may be good, in it's own way.
But it is not intellectual eminence that constitutes
individual or national greatness.
It is energy, patriotism, devotion to duty,
the capacity for self sacrifice,
an unflinching regard for truth...
It is these...
Just a few minutes, Charu. I know it's very late.
It's not that.
Here, this is for you.
You did this?
Next time, I'll embroider you a pair of slippers.
How did you find the time, Charu?
You think I don't have the time?
You feel very lonely, don't you, Charu?
Oh, I'm used to it, now.
Loneliness is not something to get used to, Charu.
- Have you read Swarnalata? - What?
Swarnalata?
Why are you laughing?
Nothing.
Charu...
I've got my Charulata. That's enough for me.
Plays, novels, poems - no need for such things.
Understood?
I'll do one thing...
I'll write to your brother and ask him to bring his wife along.
Right?
Then you won't be lonely any more.
Club.
Heart.
Club.
Diamond.
Diamond?
Diamond!
Go on. Play.
Heart.
Diamond.
Heart.
Spade.
Diamond.
Go on, play.
Ice cream!
Forget the ice cream. Play now.
Spade!
Play.
Didn't I say you couldn't win with me?
All luck and no brains in this game.
Willpower does it, willpower.
I'm always telling my husband - if you only had willpower.
Club.
Spade.
Heart.
Spade.
Diamond.
Heart.
Club.
Heart.
Come on, now.
Oh no!
Help me now, oh God!
Oh no!
Now there are just three cards left.
Come on, now.
Oh no!
So much for your willpower!
It's gone four. Could you ask Brojo to take the tea?
Brojo!
- Oh, you... - All right, I'm going. I'm going.
Your Brojo must be going deaf.
Brojo.
Take some tea to the master.
Charu...
a storm is coming.
Get everything, quick.
Glory be to God!
Is everyone OK?
- Were you supposed to come today? - Where's Bhupati?
- Downstairs working. - Paper's still going strong?
Bless the Lord!
- What are you doing down there? - All these proof sheets...
Good heavens!
It is you. How come you're here?
I'd have been here earlier but for mother.
- And how is Aunty? - Fine. Whose tea is this?
Go on. Have it.
Have you got them all?
Tell Brojo to bring one more cup of tea.
So, then...
- So tell me... what are your plans? - To accept your generous hospitality.
That's my plan. What's yours?
Mine...
relaxation.
Second, literary endeavour. And third...
Third what?
Third... relaxation.
No, no. That won't do.
That second relaxation has to go.
There's work for you.
Work? Oh, that cursed word!
See what you'll get if you don't. Come on.
- Where? - Come and see my press.
Oh!
What? You here too?
Umapada's not like you. He works for the Sentinel.
Come. We'll just be back.
Very easy work. Two hours proofreading a day.
Oh my God! I don't even know how many "I"s there are in height.
Don't worry. There's only political news in my paper.
Just pass me a copy.
Here. Twenty fourth issue of the Sentinel.
Dated, April the 9th, 1879.
Careful, careful. It might still be wet.
Wonderful name, I must say.
That is Nishikanta's idea. The motto is mine.
Truth survives.
But will the paper survive?
But you missed the main thing - my editorial.
What's this? You're criticising the Government?
Why not?
Why not, Amal?
Why is the Government carrying on the Afghan campaign?
I'll tell you, the prestige of England in Europe is at stake.
So, why should India bear the cost of it?
Why?
Shouldn't we condemn them?
Shouldn't we condemn the Press Act too?
Three years now, they haven't changed it.
And what about the signature misuse?
What about the Arm's Act? The Salt Tax? The Rent Tax?
All right, the British Government is running the country.
Fine. But... in this business of running the country
why don't the Indians get a say?
Why? Because there is no representation.
I have exposed all this. Is that a crime?
And what if the police arrest you?
Why? To be outspoken is not necessarily to be disloyal?
Oh my God! I don't want to be involved in all this.
The tram was a mess today. The horse went wild.
Did you get any advertisements?
Only one. Holloways Pills.
Three months contract. Because I went personally.
Bathgate, Stanistreet... none of the big chemists?
- We must bring down our rates. - Why?
It's a new paper. Not many subscribers.
No prestige yet.
How can you ask the same rates as Suren Banerjee?
Besides, it's a political paper.
No pep, no laughs.
How can you make it pay without all that?
What do you mean by "all that"? Tit-bits? Spicy news?
All the scandals of the street?
No, Umapada. No.
No.
- I would sooner give it all up. - But I want a kick out of my job.
I wouldn't be surprised if this ship sinks.
It won't sink, Umapada. Not with me at the helm.
And you know what the bearings are? Our paper's truth. Integrity.
All right. You get on with it, then.
What are you saying, Umapada?
These days even a destitute widow can hold her head up high.
And you think we can't keep the paper going? But, yes.
The only way is the way of honesty.
What you are suggesting is not honest, Umapada.
It's the way of prostitution.
So, what am I supposed to do?
Why is it that you have no enthusiasm for the paper?
I think it is because you have no responsibility. Isn't it?
What is this?
The keys.
From now on, you handle the money, completely.
And advertisement rates are one anna less. Lets see if we can keep it going or not.
Look, Umapada...
Do you know what this paper means to me?
It's your sister's rival.
But don't tell Charulata.
Every flower and every branch
Sways softly with the gentle breeze
On the beach, the waves rock...
Is the room all right for you?
Charu...
since my hostel life, I haven't seen such luxury.
Now, enjoy it.
Now, your student life is over.
You've become so thin.
You still sing?
You'll never change!
- Charu... - What?
I want to do something.
Give me some ideas.
I know of one thing that needs to be done.
- What? - Marriage.
Don't you women ever...
- What's this? How are you here? - Why? Didn't you see my husband?
So if your husband's here, you have to be here too?
Yes.
Are you hungry?
Hey, thee triangular piece of food,
I'm going to...
The samosas are very nice.
She made them?
Why? I couldn't have made them?
- No. - Why?
If you'd made them, Manda would not have brought me so many.
Women don't understand women's psychology.
Men do.
Enough now.
Give me your shirt now.
Which one?
The one you're wearing.
There's a tear in it so big four samosas could fit into it.
Oh!
If there are more torn clothes in your box, give them to me.
In the hostel, we did all these things ourselves.
This isn't your hostel.
I'm leaving the city of Luck now...
Oh my! Your press is amazing!
Here, teachers demand work even from the back benchers.
Thank you.
- Is it all right? - Very good.
Dada, do you get the Sororuha magazine?
I get all kinds of things. But you won't find it here.
Have a look in the drawing room
where Charulata is always roaming about.
I see you don't much care for...
All these delights are not for me.
Sloppy tragedies modern writers come out with!
So, you don't think much of them.
Nishikanta once told me,
after reading one of Bankim's novels
he couldn't sleep for three nights.
So, I said to him, you must be crazy.
A healthy fellow like you with seven hours of sleep
and a novel comes along and messes it all up.
And, you allow it?
Dada, suppose the Government comes up with a new tax tomorrow.
Will you still get sleep at night?
Amal, politics is different.
Politics is a living thing.
Real. Palpable.
When the Government imposes a new tax,
and, it's happening all the time with Lord Lytton,
we can see before our very eyes
how the people of a poor country get affected,
how they suffer!
Is this a bigger tragedy or is it Romeo and Juliet?
The Queen will be saved all right.
But, who's going to save the people of Bengal?
All this sloppy literature is ruining the people.
We must do something about it.
We must be strong, physically.
We can't get by on brains alone.
Of course not.
- Do you do club swinging? - Just feel and see.
- How old are you? - 23.
I'm 35. Come, let's see.
What? Elbows on the table?
One, two, three.
Go to bed now.
Hey!
There's something I wanted to talk to you about.
I think Charu has a literary bent.
She's always reading magazines and things. Anything in Bengali.
The trouble is, I can't spare any time to guide her.
But, I think she has talent. She writes well.
When I was in Monghyr, she wrote me letters.
She has a beautiful style.
The thing is, whatever talent she has
you can help bring it out.
Give her some of your time. Guide her. Make her write.
If she really has some talent, it should not be wasted.
Start from tomorrow.
But, one thing - she mustn't suspect anything.
Then she'd only resist and go back into her shell.
What kind of tax is this?
I thought I was going to write and now you want me to...
Do both. You're up to it.
I trust you.
Good night.
Oh my! How beautiful!
Charulata! Hey!
Oh, shut up. You're putting me off.
Why? What are you doing that's so special?
It's not what I'm doing - I'm thinking too and you're disturbing.
However much you concentrate...
Oh baba.
You cannot turn the tide of fate
Are you in fancy dress?
Kindly, fair lady. Prepare a paan for me
No sir, not for you.
- And, what's this? - Slippers for the master.
Dada is so lucky
You'll be lucky too
What? Slippers for me?
A wife for you.
Where have you been?
To the shop to buy myself a notebook.
And that makes you so tired?
Would you like to sleep? Want a pillow?
Finished exams, studies,
finished cutting classes, finished professors.
Anything not finished?
Finished fooling about? Finished knowing everything?
Poetry.
Rhythm.
You know, Charu, I was thinking...
What?
Life is a rhythm.
Birth. Death.
Day. Night.
Happiness. Grief.
Meeting. Parting.
Like the waves of the ocean.
Now up. Now down.
You can't have one without the other.
Don't you agree?
Are you going to write all that in your notebook?
Thank you.
How about a game of cards?
- Did you see if the washing's dry? - Not yet.
Shall we play?
Manda, are you a Modern or a Conservative?
Are you going to play? Or else I'll put the cards away.
Yesterday the queen of spades slipped under the pillow.
Listen.
"Any woman spending her time reclining on the bed
"gasping into the mirror, arranging her hair
"embroidering carpets, reading novels
"only concerned about her own well being
"may indeed be somewhat superior to an animal.
"But she has little justification for being born a woman.
"We humbly suggest that a woman of this category
"should put a rope around her neck and hang herself."
Are you of this category?
Do I embroider carpets? Do I read novels? You know I can't.
- Then you are a Conservative? - I don't know.
Conservative woman, leave this room. We are about to discuss literature.
- Go. - No, I won't.
All right, stay.
- Have you read Manmatha Dutta? - No.
- Have you? - Yes.
- Lonesome melodies? - Loathsome melodies.
- "Lonesome" melodies. - Loathsome melodies.
- I read it in last month's Sororuha. - You don't like Manmatha Dutta?
No taste. It must improve.
Who do you like then?
- Bankim Babu. - Bankim Babu!
Where's your originality?
How can I be original, Amal? I don't know such a lot.
I simply said what I liked.
I find him difficult in places.
And I have to use the dictionary.
And my! What descriptions! Especially of the women.
All the women are beautiful.
They're so perfect, they make me uncomfortable.
They are all beautiful.
Mrinalini's beautiful, Radharani's beautiful,
Saibalini's beautiful, Kapal Kundela's beautiful...
And Kunda?
Kunda's also beautiful, but not perfect.
Lufunnisa's not perfect either - too tall, thin lips...
- And a dark complexion. - Yes. And...
Look at the conservative woman.
You mentioned Bankim and she started snoring.
Just do one thing. Just pick up that mat.
Mat?
Come here, Amal.
What a mess the garden is in!
And dada wanted to make a Japanese garden here!
You know your brother. He only thinks office paper.
A pond here.
A few lotuses. Some ducks.
A bridge.
And flowers on each side.
No peacocks? To spread their plumes and dance?
No peacocks. No. No screeching.
It's too disturbing.
It would be nice to have some deer, though.
You could write a whole Rubaiyat here.
Amal. Hey Amal.
Give me a push, will you?
Just once, then I will keep it going.
Modern woman, this is going too far.
What, young sir? What's going too far?
Do you know they're putting a tax on swinging?
Gently, gently, sway the flowers
Softly, softly, blows the breeze
Gaily, gaily, runs the river
Flowing with a gentle ease
From the tree tops, young and green
The cuckoo calls, "Hello, hello"
Why my heart is filled with sadness
Tell me, tell me, I don't know
Amal...
Hey, Mr Clever!
What are you thinking of?
Just thinking.
What?
About writing.
Writing what?
I'm thinking.
What?
I'm thinking.
Good, but don't just think. Think and write.
But not in that notebook. I'll make you one.
One inkpot and one pen.
SHRI AMAL KUMAR BASU
Hail thou, virgin page!
My imagination has yet not stained thy purity.
The day when I reach the last page and write that last line...
when will it come?
Good Lord! What magic there is in my notebook!
The moment you hold it, you're in spirit.
- But you must promise me one thing. - What?
Whatever you write stays in that book.
It won't be published.
- All right? - All right.
New Night
The beautiful evening...
in August...
The tainted sun...
At the time when all old memories...
You missed an accent.
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you...
Done.
End of the essay, end of the book.
Now write a story.
Why? You think an essay is no good?
Listen.
"Even as Prince Abhimanyu, while still in the womb,"
"learned only how to penetrate the enemy ranks"
"but not how to withdraw,"
"so a river, emerging from the mountain's rocky womb"
"can only move forward and knows not how to turn back."
"Oh, flow of the river! Oh, youth."
"Oh time! Oh, world! All you can do is advance."
"You never look back along the path where the golden past lies strewn."
"Only the mind of man looks back."
"No such concern perturbs the Universe."
How is it?
Go on, say something. I want your opinion.
If it's good, why it's good. If it's bad, why it's bad.
Say something. Is it bad?
- I don't say it's bad. - Then?
I say that's enough of that.
River, sky, cloud, moon...
Enough? There's no "enough" in literature.
And why only write stories?
Addison, Steele, Emerson - did they write stories?
All right, all right. Write whatever you like.
No, now I won't. It's your turn now.
Good Lord!
Why not?
I don't get ideas like yours.
That doesn't matter. Write your own ideas.
Write about your childhood. Your village, the river, the religious festivals, fairs...
all those things you told me about.
- No. - Why not?
- I can't remember. - Try and remember.
If you don't write something, Bhupati will want an explanation.
Explanation?
Dada will say I'm not teaching you anything.
Oh! So, it's because of him that you...
I mean, he didn't appoint me as your regular teacher with a salary.
Now what? Where are you off to?
Time for tea.
I'm going to publish my essay.
Do what you like.
Why my heart should feel such sadness
Tell me, tell me, I don't know
Charu!
On the roof.
From there, you can get a nice view of the church tower. Go and see.
- No. I won't. - Then stay.
- Do you want another paan? - Give.
OK, Manda, what paper shall I send my essay to?
What?
What paper shall I send my essay to?
Good Lord! How should I know!
It's because you don't know that I'm asking you.
Those who do know can't make up their mind.
Quickly, say one or the other. Bishwabandhu or Saroruha?
- Saro what? - Saroruha, which means lotus.
Say which one. Come on, quick.
Lotus!
Right.
Bishwabandhu won't accept articles from new writers.
Will they accept articles from new writers?
They will.
Good.
Blessings upon you, dear Manda.
Blessings won't do. If I'm right, you must give me a treat.
What would you like? Cake from Pelleti or sandesh?
- Ice cream. - What?
- Ice cream! - So be it.
You didn't get the washing in. Suppose it had rained?
- Amal! - Coming, dada.
Amal has started writing these days.
Have you read anything he has written?
Charu?
What?
I was just wondering whether he has any real talent
or is he just wasting time.
There's a very good offer of marriage come for him. From Burdwan.
Raghunath Mitra's daughter.
That's good.
- Dada? - Ah, there you are.
I have still not finished the proofs...
- Why? - I've been doing a bit of writing myself.
- What writing? - Nothing much. Just...
Go and get it.
- You'll read it? - Yes, of course.
Listen, nothing sloppy, I hope.
- No. - Go and get it.
Go now. Run, run, run.
A good bride. All we need is Amal's consent.
He only needs a little pushing and he'll be ready.
No question of force, here.
Here.
- Will you read it yourself or... - Er... no, you read it.
Sit.
One minute.
Right. Go ahead.
"Light of the Moonless Night.
"Whenever we..."
- Wait, what did you say? - Light of the Moonless Night.
Light of the Moonless Night?
Hmm.
You've written about starlight? Is it something scientific?
No, dada. I am a student of literature.
I can't write an astronomical treatise on the moon and stars.
Oh! So, there's no moon?
No.
- No stars either? - No.
What about the night? No night either?
There is. But not your kind of night.
Oh!
And no light, then? Not my kind of light.
No.
I see. I think you should get married.
Married?
There's a very good offer from Burdwan.
Burdwan's lawyer, Raghunath's daughter.
Good-looking girl and well educated too.
Tell me if you're willing.
No doubt about it. He's willing.
How do you know? If you can't understand my writing, how can you understand me?
Oh, I understand.
- No, you don't. - Yes, I do.
Of course you do!
Now, stop squabbling.
I've not told you the main thing yet.
Mr Mitra is going to send his son-in-law to England.
You understand? England!
Sit.
Sit down, Amal, and let this sink in.
Suppose you come back a barrister... that wouldn't be so bad, would it?
Just think about it.
It's a big chance, Amal. England.
The land of Shakespeare.
Why just Shakespeare? Burke, Macaulay, Gladstone...
You can go and listen to their speeches in Parliament.
You can be there in person and hear it. I never managed it.
That's my big regret.
Once, I got as far as booking the passage but...
The Isles of Greece.
Exactly.
Why just England? The continent too.
France. Germany. Greece. Italy.
The land of Mazzini and Garibaldi. You will see this all.
How many Bengali boys have this opportunity?
Aren't you tempted?
Mediterranean.
What a wonderful name, dada.
Like running your fingers over the strings of the tanpura.
Mediterranean.
Just think, Amal.
New Years Eve - the last decade of the 19th century.
You hear Big Ben.
It's snowing and you're walking down the street.
Overcoat, gloves...
The confident strides of young Bengal.
Oh, if only I had your opportunity, Amal.
Well? Ready?
Mr Amalchandra Basu.
All right?
Ready?
Rich streams of water, full orchards...
cool winds of delight...
green fields swaying...
- Dada... - Yes?
- No. - What?
But why?
Our lovely Bengal! That's the land for me
- Good night. - But, but...
Bless the Lord!
- What shall I say to Mr Mitra? - Ask for time.
How much? One week?
One month!
Did you see him? Why are you laughing?
He wants it.
But didn't I tell you? He won't admit it.
No, Charu, you don't understand. This is a great opportunity. It won't come again.
Don't worry. Do what he is asking you to.
Ask for the time. And in a few days, he will say yes.
Don't you know your own brother?
Manda.
Yes?
Come here.
Tell me.
No, come here.
Come.
What?
- Come close. - I am close.
Closer.
- Look at me. - I'm looking.
What?
You haven't been up to anything, have you?
What if I have?
You drink on the sly, don't you?
My Mandakini...
A good girl with a bad husband.
Why do say "bad"?
Why? Am I not bad?
It's our luck that's bad.
Why is it bad?
It's bad. Otherwise why would we have to leave our house?
Why? Don't you like it here?
How can I like it? Besides...
Besides what?
No. Nothing.
Just two months more.
Just two months?
Just put up with it for two months more.
And then?
And then what?
What are you planning?
Could you tell a lie for my sake?
Tell me how much you love me.
Oh my God! What lie?
All right, all right. I'll make it easy for you.
I'll tell the lie and you'll back me up.
My God, what are you up to!
When fate kicks you in the teeth, hit back at those he favours.
I know you, I know you, O fair one from afar
Beyond the seven seas you dwell
O fair one from afar
So, my paan's not to be eaten?
- You won't eat it? - No.
I saw you on an Autumn day
And then again one night in May
I saw you on an Autumn day
And then again one night in May
Your thoughts my heart can never dispel
O fair one from afar
I turn my ear to the sky And catch your song go by
My love for you I can't deny, O fair one from afar
I've roamed over land and sea And come to a new place
I seek your hospitality, O fair one from afar
O fair one from afar, O fair one from afar
I know you, I know you...
O, sweet wife of my brother
Move.
- What is it, Brojo? - Letter for you.
I've been standing here with it, listening to your song.
Manda, Sororuha has accepted my essay. My essay has been accepted by Sororuha.
- Really? - Look at this letter!
Didn't I tell you?
Charu!
Charu! Charu! Sororuha has accepted my essay.
Stop that banging. I'm busy.
Dada! Sororuha has accepted my essay.
- Light of the Moonless Night? - No. Dark of the Sun.
Good.
Didn't I tell you to stop banging?
Charu?
- Charu? - Just a moment.
What happened?
What's the matter? What are you doing?
Cockroach.
- If it escapes... - Cockroach?
- Where did it go? - Hmm...
Under the bed, perhaps?
Oh then...
You know the new news? There's going to be an election in England.
We're all very excited.
The party in power now - the Tory Party -
they'll never do India any good.
So we all want the other party to win - the Liberals.
Bipin says he'll pray to Mother Kali for their victory.
Come, then.
Here, smell this. Fresh from the press.
Tell me, who'll win? Disraeli or Gladstone?
Er... who do you say?
Gladstone. Liberals. I've bet Nishikanta 50 rupees.
Good. Liberals, then. Gladstone.
Charu... have an ice cream?
- Why not? Have one. - No.
Manda, ice cream?
Ice cream?
- There's one extra. - No.
Why?
Gives me a toothache.
Hey cat... some ice cream?
Look.
Charu, if I write something good, should it stay in your notebook?
Nobody else sees it. It never gets printed. That's wrong, isn't it?
Of course.
Then you must admit, I write very well, don't I?
Of course.
This is something that deserves respect, don't you think?
Of course.
Then, I can hope for a little more respect in future, right?
Are you going out?
I'll just go and show this to my friends.
BISHWABANDHU
The Cry Of The Cuckoo
The Lament Of The Cuckoo
My Village
Hey! What on earth...?
Look.
Look, look, look.
Something by you.
In Bishwabandhu!
Too much spice in Amal's paan burns his mouth. I'll do it from now on.
Charu, you...
You...
What are you doing?
What's come over you?
Don't you realise how well you've written?
When I told you to write about your village
I had no idea that you'd write so well.
Really! You've made me feel very small.
So simple, so flowing!
You can't stop this, Charu. You must keep writing.
Otherwise, this wonderful talent...
I won't write anymore. Never again.
I can't write.
Why are you crying? Don't cry.
Of course.
How silly of me.
Now, your shirt's all wet.
To the Liberals!
Liberals. Liberals!
Bhupati has won his bet.
And with that money, we're celebrating.
But, whose party is this?
Because the money was originally mine - I lost the bet.
So, who is the actual host?
Bhupatinath Dutt or Nishikanta Choudhary?
Why should you be the host?
The money was originally your father's.
Order, order!
Bhupati, the musicians are all waiting.
What's the point in wasting time talking?
Perfectly right, no point.
Certainly, we'll have our music.
But first, I want to say something.
We're celebrating because the Liberals have won today.
And, in our present political scenario, we should.
In my opinion, today, we should honour one very special person.
This celebration, the Sentinel paper, our political consciousness,
is all because of Raja Rammohan Roy.
Absolutely right.
If it wasn't for him, it wouldn't matter
whether the Parliamentary elections were won by the Tories or the Liberals.
That's why I think, today,
it is our duty to respect him.
Now, Jaidev will sing a song that he has himself written.
I second Bhupati's proposal.
- Hear, hear. - But, I want to say something.
I want to say that, after this first song,
we can all get more liberal
and listen to Nitu Babu's song.
Hear, hear!
We should get Shashank to sing the song.
You're making fun of me.
Go ahead, Jaidev. Carry on.
Remember!
Remember that last day, which was horrifying
Remember!
Remember that last day, which was horrifying
Others may talk but you will be speechless...
So horrible!
Remember!
All worldly attachments with family...
Thinking of them
To keep them safe
You sacrificed ego and pride
To keep them safe
You sacrificed your ego and pride
Give up all these attachments
And depend on truth alone
Give up all these attachments
And depend on truth alone
And depend on truth alone...
What are you thinking?
Hey Amal!
Thinking about going abroad?
Why should a great man of our country die abroad?
All alone, over there.
How many Bengalis are there to see his burial?
So you'll go?
Not now, I can't.
Yes, you can.
First Burdwan and then England. Right, isn't it?
Not quite.
First Burdwan. Then, marriage. And after that, England.
- And after that? - Then Bristol.
And then... a barrister!
And after that?
And then... back to Bengal.
Black native! Tail between my legs!
What do you say?
Bengal? Nothing else?
And Bankim!
Babu Bankim Chandra.
Byron to Bankim.
Vishabriksha.
And me?
I'm bad? No good? Huh?
Here you are.
Why aren't you singing at the party?
You've got such a good voice.
Charu?
- We're leaving tomorrow. - Where to?
Manda's father is sick. We got a wire today.
Oh!
The money I owed you.
Does dada know that you're leaving?
Yes. I have told him.
Moreover, I'll be returning in a few days.
Do help him a little while we're away.
It's tomorrow's early morning train. We must start packing.
We'll go.
Manda.
Lend me a copy of the magazine with your article.
Manda.
If nothing else, I can read your name.
Dada will find it difficult by himself.
Why? You're here.
You don't expect me to be the manager of the Sentinel, do you?
Yes I do.
Sit. You're captive.
You stay as long as the paper stays.
Fantastic!
Before the party breaks up, I have a proposal...
sorry, a complaint to make,
and that complaint is directed at our editor of the Sentinel paper.
I mean, our host tonight.
It's against Bhupatinath Dutta.
Bhupati is acting as he doesn't know what I'm talking about.
May I first enquire...
whether you are aware of this magazine?
Or whether perhaps, you even read it?
No, no.
Are you saying that you haven't read
the contribution on page 22?
No.
Would you take an oath on that?
Yes.
What's all this mystery? Tell us.
You sly devil!
Your wife is writing for a magazine like Bishwabandhu
and you keep it a secret?
Hey, hey!
I haven't read it.
What does this say? Mrs Charulata Dutta!
Hmm?
- Something by Charu? - Yes.
Girish Ghosh had better watch out. He has a rival.
It must be something she wrote long ago.
Long ago? Prehistoric?
Hip hip hooray!
Here. Just sign here.
Right then. You'll get your order on Wednesday.
Right, good morning.
Come.
Tell me, what can I do for you?
What's the meaning of this letter?
- Oh, it is our letter. - I know.
What about the meaning? Is the English wrong?
- You know very well what I mean. - Go on.
We owed you 2,700 rupees for paper.
Yes, that's right.
Three months ago, in February, my manager paid this to you.
So what is the meaning of this solicitor's letter?
Oh. So, your manager says he paid this money, huh?
- Certainly. - Oh.
All twenty-seven hundred?
- There must be some mistake. - Hmm.
- Where is your manager? - He's not here just now.
Oh, so he's cleared out.
Tell me whatever you wanted to say to him.
What could I have to tell?
As if he didn't know how much he had paid.
Oh here. Just a minute.
Look here. 300 rupees in all.
Yes - and that too, after we sent out three reminders.
Here you are.
What?
Look. Here are copies of all the correspondence.
Everything is perfectly clear.
Sir, we only send solicitor letters as a last resort.
It does us no good to offend customers.
Where would we be without them?
But, we have to look at the business side as well, right?
I mean, our relationship...
All right. I'll look into it.
...give money and take goods.
Look at this. Oh sir!
- You forgot your... - Oh!
So, by the end of this month?
His stick alone would fetch a hundred if he sold it.
Amal?
Dada... this late?
Won't dada come up?
I'll go and see.
Amal.
Promise me, whatever happens, you won't go away.
- What could happen? - Promise me.
What are you afraid of?
Promise, please. Whatever happens, you won't go.
Tell me. Promise me.
Dada's come. Let me go and see what happened.
Promise me. Please. Why won't you promise?
You won't go. You won't go.
Promise me. Promise me.
Let me go. Leave me.
Dada.
You've seen dead soldiers in the theatre? There's one there.
But this one will not get up when the curtains come down.
My favourite smell.
Smell of printing ink.
Let's go.
What a man!
So near to me, a relative.
No, more than that, a friend.
To think a man like that would betray me, Amal.
Forget about the payments that he withheld...
he also took loans in my name.
I can't tell you how shamelessly he has been exploiting my good name.
And I put all my trust in him.
When I came to know, I got such a shock.
My head started reeling.
I told Abdul to drive anywhere.
I needed some fresh air.
The money doesn't matter so much.
What's owed, I'll pay.
But...
for a man to behave like this!
A man I put such trust in - to show no appreciation.
It makes you lose all faith in men. What is there to live for, Amal?
Trust, faith, integrity -
are all these empty words?
When you can't trust a man so close to you...
how can people go on living together?
It's been a terrible blow, Amal.
My whole world seems to be crumbling.
What can I do to help, dada?
You don't have to do anything, Amal.
Just stay as you are, that's all.
I needed to talk to someone.
I couldn't tell Charu the truth.
- Have you had dinner? - Yes.
Lets do one thing. How about going away for a few days by the sea?
I mean it. Think it over.
You know what's happened?
Yes.
Charu, you wrote such a nice piece in that magazine.
You never showed me anything.
When Nishikanta came out with it in front of everybody,
I felt so embarrassed and hurt.
When could I tell you?
You're always so busy.
I won't be busy any more.
I've got rid of your rival.
Now I can give you all my time.
Dear dada, I feel that after what has happened
my staying here is only an extra burden on you.
I have heard about a job out of town
and I'm going to see about it.
I'll write when I arrive. Best wishes to both of you.
Yours affectionately, Amal.
P.S. Charu must not give up her writing.
Did you see this? Do you know what has happened?
- What happened? - He's gone away.
- Who? - Your dear friend, Amal.
Packed all his things at night and cleared out.
Look, he left a letter saying he didn't want to be a burden.
As if Amal could ever be a burden!
- What are you saying? - I'm telling the truth.
Where are you going? The room is empty.
He had some of my proof sheets. I thought I'd come and take them.
What do I see? He's gone!
Yes, you're right. He's gone.
How strange!
Brojo!
Brojo! Brojo?
- Brojo! Are you deaf? - But I said I was...
- Go and put away his bedding. - Whose bedding?
Amal's bedding. Who else? You stupid old...
Charu, I know you're angry and you have reason to be.
But, just think...
Amal's sense of responsibility.
Think of how he's matured! To go away for my sake!
But he's still a child. Forgot to say where he's going.
Silly boy!
Where would he go? There's only one place possible. Burdwan.
Just enquire and you'll see I'm right.
Burdwan?
What a silly notion, Burdwan.
Charu...
Yes.
No. I can't say these things properly.
Perhaps it would be easier if I read Bankim. Right?
My first grey hair.
Charu, aren't you going to write any more?
Do you know why I like your writing so much?
Why?
Because I can understand it all.
The others I can't.
Write, Charu.
I will.
You start a new paper, then I'll write.
You'll write in my paper? Politics?
- Why? Why only politics? - Then?
Must a paper be full of politics? Why not have both?
Politics in English and other things in Bengali.
You look after one, I'll look after the other.
- What? What? - Is it not possible?
But that's a wonderful suggestion. Brilliant.
- Do you think we can do it? - We can.
We're not alone.
Nishikanta can help.
- Two people can do it. - Three people.
Yes. Three of us. Hooray!
Listen, we won't stay here anymore.
They talk about the roar of waves
but there's nothing like the sound of a printing press. Lets go. Come.
- Where? - Come on, come on.
Come.
I made one mistake.
I should have written and asked Nishikanta to come to the station.
Then we could have discussed our new plan.
Put these down here, Brojo.
Where's my bag of shells?
Listen... would you like some tea? Or something cold?
- Now? - Don't you want anything?
I thought I'd go and talk to Nishikanta straight away.
- Right now? - I won't be long.
Now is best. Before he gets started on something else.
Moti ma!
Tell Brojo to send up the Englishman.
I haven't seen a paper for so many days.
God knows what is happening.
It's so hot today.
- Oh, Moti ma. - Coming.
Bring some water. I'll take a bath.
Charu.
Did you call?
Amal is in Madras. With a friend of his.
Read it and see. It's good news.
Take it.
I'll be back.
Why did you go away?
Why did you not tell me?
Amal!
I've brought the bucket of water, madam.
All right.
Greetings to my respected brother.
I'm in Madras, at a friend's house.
I'm fine
but these few days, I've been hearing the notes of the tanpura.
You can write to them in Burdwan.
Is your attempt to revive the dead soldier still going on?
My salutations to both of you.
Yours, Amal.
- Brojo? - Yes?
Bring the lamps in.
Come in.
A BROKEN HOME