Adapted from “The Broken Nest” by RABINDRANATH TAGORE
CHARULATA
Starring SOUMITRA CHATTERJEE
MADHABI MUKHERJEE
SHAILEN MUKHERJEE
SHYAMAL GHOSAL GITALI ROY
SUBRATA SEN BANKIM GHOSH
Cinematography by SUBRATA MITRA
Production Design by BANSI CHANDRAGUPTA
Edited by DULAL DUTTA
Sound Recordist NRIPEN PAUL
Songs by RAJA RAMMOHAN ROY RABINDRANATH TAGORE
TANSEN, BAIJU BAWRA JOYDEB, NIDHUBABU
Produced by R. D. BANSAL
Screenplay, Music, and Direction by SATYAJIT RAY
Braja?
- Coming, ma 'am. - Are you deaf?
It's past 4:00. Take tea to the office.
Bankim, Bankim...
KAPALKUNDALA
Did I tell you I got a letter from Umapada?
No.
He didn't write to you?
When does my brother ever write me?
He hasn't been doing too well in law.
He asked if there was something here he could -
I'd been thinking myself that if I had a manager -
In money matters I'm not exactly -
Could he handle it?
Why not? it's not hard, and I'd be there.
He's never been able to put his mind to anything.
He Will.
I've already asked him to come.
Until a man's given responsibility, how do we know -
- Shall I serve you some more? - No.
You hardly eat anything.
That's why I can work so much, Charu.
Otherwise the newspaper wouldn't -
Tell me.
Am I a lazy good-for-nothing?
Who said that?
The British have a phrase: “the idle rich.”
I intend to prove them wrong.
Just having money doesn't mean you're lazy, does it?
You don't have any regrets, do you?
Why?
I spend so much money on the paper.
Just the other day,
I bought a new printing press.
What of it?
You're doing such good things
and making a name for yourself.
After all, we're not about to starve.
You know, when I hear Suren Banerjee speak -
Someday I'll explain this business of politics to you.
All right?
“Intellectual power may be good
in its 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 two more minutes, Charu. I know it's very late.
I didn't come to hurry you.
Here.
You made this?
Next time I'll embroider you some slippers.
When do you find the time?
It's not like I lack for time.
You're very lonely, aren't you?
Oh, I'm used to it now.
Loneliness isn't something to get used to, Charu.
- Have you read Swarnalata? - What?
Swarnalata.
Why do you laugh?
I have my Charulata.
I need nothing else.
Plays, novels, poetry -
I don't need such things, understand?
I tell you what:
I'll write to your brother
and ask him to bring his wife along.
All right?
Then you'll have company.
Clubs.
Hearts.
Clubs.
Diamonds.
Diamonds?
Diamonds!
Another round. Here we go.
Hearts.
Diamonds.
Hearts.
Spades.
Diamonds.
Come on, play.
Kulfi?
Forget the kulfi. Play.
Spades!
Another round.
I told you you couldn't beat me.
This game is all luck and no brains.
It takes determination.
I'm always telling my husband, “You have no determination.
That's why you never -” Clubs.
Spades.
Hearts.
Spades.
Diamonds.
Hearts.
Clubs.
Hearts.
Come on, clubs.
Darn it! Spades!
Come on, hearts.
Oh, no!
Just three cards left.
Come on.
There's determination for you!
It must be past 4:00.
Would you ask Braja to take the tea in?
- Oh, you! - All right, I'll go.
But your servant's deaf.
He never answers the first time.
Braja, take tea to the office.
Sister-in-law!
A storm's coming up!
Get everything in, quick!
Hail Krishna, slayer of demons!
Are you reading Amanda Math?
- Were you due today? - Where's my cousin?
- In the office. - Paper still going strong?
Hail Krishna!
- What's going on? - Look at all this.
Good heavens!
It's you! How come you're here?
I'd have been here earlier but for Mother.
- How is your mother? - Fine. Whose tea is that?
Go on, have it.
Did you get them all?
Tell Braja to bring one more tea.
Well?
Tell me: What are your plans?
- To live off you. - Already settled.
What else? - Besides that...
to relax...
pursue my writing, and -
And what?
And relax some more.
That won't do.
The “relax some more” has to go.
You'll have to work. - Work?
Oh, that cursed word!
- I'll slap you one! Come on. - Where?
Come see my press.
Oh, you're here too?
Uma is not like you. He works for The Sentinel!
Come on. We'll be right back.
Just two hours' proofreading a day.
I don't even know how many H's there are in “phthisis”!
No need for that. Only political diseases.
Let me see a copy.
Careful! it's still wet.
- Very nice name. - That was Nishikanta's idea.
The motto was mine. - “Truth survives.”
But will the paper survive?
You missed the most important thing - my editorial.
What's this? Criticizing the government?
Why not?
Why not, Amal?
Why are they carrying on the Afghan campaign?
Because England's prestige in Europe is at stake.
But India bears the cost.
Why?
Should we support this?
And what about the Press Act?
Three years now, and they haven't changed it.
And what about the Civil Service scheme?
What about the Arms Act? The salt tax? The rent tax?
The British government is running the country - fine.
But in this business of running the country,
the Indians have no say.
Why? There is no representation.
They've left no scope for that. Am I wrong to condemn it?
- What if you're arrested? - Why?
To be outspoken is not necessarily to be disloyal.
Good Lord - sedition!
I'm not getting involved!
The storm wreaked havoc
with the streetcar today.
Did you get any advertisers?
Just one. Holloway's Pills.
A three-month contract - because I went in person.
Bathgate, Stanistreet - none of the big pharmacists?
- You have to lower your rates. - Why?
Four annas per line is too high.
It's a new paper, with few subscribers.
It has no prestige yet.
How can you charge the same rates as Suren Banerjee?
Besides, it's a political paper.
No sizzle, no spice.
How can it survive without all that?
You mean silly satire and saucy news?
All the scandals of the marketplace?
No, Umapada.
I'd sooner give it all up. - But I need motivation.
There's no rudder, no mast. This ship just might sink.
We have a rudder!
I hold that rudder, and I'm not letting go.
And our mast? The paper's truth and integrity.
Fine. Then you run the whole thing.
What are you saying?
Even a penniless widow can stand on her own these days.
And you think we can't keep a paper going?
But the only way is the way of honesty.
What you're suggesting isn't honest.
So what am I supposed to do?
Why don't you feel motivated?
Because you haven't been given enough responsibility - right?
What's this?
The keys.
From now on, you take complete charge of the money.
And we reduce rates by one anna.
Let's see if we survive that way.
See here, Umapada.
You know what this paper is to me?
Your sister's rival.
But don't let that slip to Charulata.
Every bud and e very blossom
Nods and sways in the gentle breeze
Rippling, laughing in wave and billow
Will this room do?
Cousin-in-law...
you ask if this room will do,
and I wonder if I can take such luxury after college life.
What luxury?
The hardships of your student days are over.
You've gotten so skinny.
The cuckoo roams from bower to bower
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, she cries
You still sing?
Deep within my heart is yearning
Alas, alas / know not why
You'll never change!
- Cousin-in-law. - What?
I need to do something.
What should I do?
From the way you're going on, it's very clear.
- What? - Get married.
The female mind always -
She's here too? - Didn't you see my husband?
So spouses have to travel in pairs?
Of course.
You're hungry, aren't you?
O triangular tidbit...
I shall thee -
The singara are good! She made them, right?
Why? Couldn't I have?
- No. - Why?
Then Manda wouldn't have brought me so many.
A woman can't understand the female mind.
Only a man can.
Fine, Mr. Know-it-All. Give me your overshirt.
What overshirt?
The one you have on.
It's got a tear so big four singara could fit inside.
And give me any other torn clothes you have.
At the boarding house we did these things -
This isn't a boarding house.
When I leave my beloved Lucknow
Cousin, your print shop is really something.
It's like correcting exams by the worst in the class!
Thank you, bhai.
- Is it all right? - Very good.
Do you get The Lotus?
I get all those magazines, but they're not in here.
Have a look in the next room,
where Charulata's usually roaming about.
You don't care for all that?
Those delights are not for me.
The maudlin tragedies writers churn out these days!
Writing off tragedy, are you?
Nishikanta once told me...
that after reading one of Bankim's novels,
he couldn't sleep for three nights.
I told him, “You must be crazy!
A healthy fellow like you needs seven hours' sleep.
A novel comes along and wreaks havoc with that,
and you allow it?”
Cousin, suppose the government announces a new tax tomorrow.
Will you still be able to sleep?
Amal...
politics is different.
Politics is a living thing.
Real. Palpable.
When an unfair tax is imposed -
which happens all the time with Lord Lytton -
we can see with our own eyes
how the people of this poor country are affected,
how they suffer!
Which is the greater tragedy -
that or Romeo and Juliet?
The queen will be saved, all right.
But will the Bengali people be saved?
With all this maudlin literature, they're going to the dogs.
We must do something about it.
We must be strong - physically.
Merely exercising the brain won't do.
Absolutely not!
Have you been exercising?
Just feel and see.
- How old are you? - Twenty-three.
I'm 35. Come on.
Elbows on the table. - But I'm -
One, two, three.
Off to bed now.
I've been meaning to talk to you about something.
You know, Charu has quite a literary bent.
She's always reading magazines and such,
anything in Bengali.
The trouble is,
I have no time to give her any guidance.
But I think she has talent. She writes well.
When I was in Monghyr, she wrote me letters.
She has a wonderful style.
What talent she has, and how much,
is for you to discover.
Give her some of your time.
Guide her. Get her to write.
If she really has talent, it mustn't languish.
Understand? Start from tomorrow.
Just one thing - she mustn't suspect.
She'd only resist and withdraw into her shell.
What kind of tax is this?
Instead of writing myself, I'm to help your wife write.
Do both. You can manage.
I trust you.
Good night.
Oh, my!
How beautiful!
Sister-in-law! Hey!
Stop shouting. It grates on the ears.
What are you doing that's so special?
A person can't even think with all that noise.
No use worrying and fretting
oh, my!
What is destined to happen will happen
What's this getup?
O cousin-in-law, prepare a paan for me
No, sir, / will no!
- What's this? - Slippers for the master.
What good fortune my cousin has!
You shall have what he has
You mean slippers?
A wife.
Where did you go?
To the shop to buy myself a notebook.
That's what made you so tired?
Sleepy? You want a pillow?
All done with studies, exams,
professors, cutting classes.
What's left?
Foolishness and mischief?
Poetry.
Rhythm.
You know...
I was thinking...
What?
All of life is like a rhythm.
Birth... death.
Day... night.
Happiness... sorrow.
Meeting... parting.
Like the waves on the ocean,
now rising... now falling.
One complements the other.
Don't you agree?
Will you write all that in your notebook?
Thank you.
How about a game of cards?
- Are the pulse cakes drying? - Yes.
Shall we play?
Manda, are you a traditional woman or a new woman?
If you're not playing, I'll put the cards away.
Yesterday the queen of spades got lost under the pillow.
Listen.
“Any woman who spends her time reclining on her bed,
arranging her hair in the mirror,
embroidering carpets, reading novels,
concerned only with her own well-being,
may indeed be somewhat superior to an animal,
but she has little justification for being born a woman.
We humbly advise a woman of this ilk
to put a rope around her neck and hang herself.”
Are you of that ilk?
Can I embroider carpets or read novels?
You know I can't.
- Then you're a traditional woman? - I don't know.
Traditional woman, leave this room.
We're about to discuss literature.
Leave. - No.
Then don't.
Speak just a few words
Ana' a glimpse of your bright teeth
Will dispel the gloominess in my heart
Just as your face
Gleaming like the moon
Captivates my partridge-like eyes
- Have you read Manmatha Dutta? - No.
- Have you? - Yes.
- “Lonesome Melodies”? - Loathsome melodies.
- Lonesome melodies! - Loathsome melodies.
Yes, I read it in last month's Lotus.
You don't like Manmatha Dutta?
No taste. This must change.
Then who do you like?
Bankim-babu.
How original!
How do you expect me to be original?
What do I know?
I simply said what I liked.
Though I do find him difficult in places,
and I have to use the dictionary.
But my, what descriptions! His women are so beautiful!
So much perfection isn't right.
They make me feel ugly.
They're all so beautiful.
Mrinalini's beautiful, Radharanfs beautiful,
Saibalini's beautiful, Kapalkundala's beautiful -
And Kundanandini?
She's beautiful too, but not perfect.
Lutfunnessa's not perfect either.
She's too tall,
and her lips are a bit thin.
- And she's dark-skinned. - Yes -
Look at our traditional woman.
You mention Bankim and she starts snoring.
Would you get the mat over there?
The mat?
Over here.
The garden's a disaster!
And my cousin said he wanted a Japanese garden here!
Your cousin thinks of nothing but his newspaper.
A stream here,
with a few lotuses and some ducks,
and a bridge across it,
and flowers on both sides.
No peacocks to spread their plumes and dance?
No, no peacocks.
None of their screeching.
It would disturb my work.
But some fawns would be nice.
One could sit here and compose an entire rubaiyat.
Cousin-in-law.
Give me a push.
Just once. Then I can manage alone.
New woman, this is going too far.
What's the harm in a push?
There's a tax on swinging now, you know.
Every bud
And every blossom
Nods and sways
In the gentle breeze
Rippling, laughing
In wave and billow
The river flows
With carefree ease
The cuckoo roams
From bower to bower
Cuckoo, cuckoo
Cuckoo, she cries
Deep witi/n
My head is yearning
Alas, alas...
Cousin-in-law.
Mr. Know-it-All!
What are you thinking about?
I'm just thinking.
About what?
Writing something.
What will you write?
That's what I'm thinking about.
What?
I'm thinking.
Good. Keep thinking.
Think and write.
But not in that notebook. I'll make you one.
Here's an inkpot and pen.
MR. AMAL KUMAR BASU
Hail to thee, my virginal notebook!
My imagination has not yet stained thy purity.
The day I shall write my last line on your last page -
how far off is that day?
My notebook is enchanted!
Just one touch and inspiration flows!
- But you must promise one thing. - What?
Whatever you write stays in that notebook.
It's not to be published.
All right?
NEW NOTEBOOK
You forgot a stroke.
Thank you, thank you...
Done.
End of essay and end of notebook.
Now write a story.
Why? ls there something wrong with this?
Listen.
“Even as Prince Abhimanyu, while still in the womb,
learned only how to penetrate enemy formations
but not how to withdraw,
so a river, emerging from the mountain's rocky womb,
can only advance and knows not how to turn back.
O river! O youth!
O time! O world!
You too can only march onward.
You never turn back along the path
strewn with memory's gilded pebbles.
Only the mind of man looks back.
The rest of creation never does.”
Well?
Go ahead. I want your opinion.
If it's good, why, and if it's bad, why.
Say something. Is it bad?
- I'm not saying it's bad. - Well, then?
There's just been so much of that:
river, sky, cloud, moon.
Enough? What is “enough” in literature?
And must one only write stories?
Addison, Steele, Emerson - did they write stories?
Fine. Write whatever you like.
No, I've written enough.
Your turn now. - Heaven help us!
Why?
I don't get ideas like yours.
So what? Write something else.
Write about your childhood, the river near your village,
the religious festivals, the fairs...
all those things you've told me about.
- Hush! - Why?
- I can't remember. - Well, try.
If you don't write, my cousin will want a reason.
A reason?
He'll think I'm not teaching you anything.
I see. So he told you -
I mean, he didn't exactly
appoint me as your regular teacher with a monthly salary.
Now where are you off to?
Time to arrange for tea.
I'm going to send in my essay.
Go ahead.
Deep within my heart is yearning
Alas, alas
I know not why
Cousin-in-law?
On the roof.
You can see the church clock from there.
Go and see.
- No. - Then don't.
- You want another paan? - All right.
Manda, what paper should I submit my essay to?
What?
What paper should I submit my essay to?
Good Lord! How should I know?
That's why I'm asking you.
Those who do know can't make up their mind.
Quick: The Lotus or The Philanthrope?
- The locust? - Not locust - lotus!
Quick, pick one.
The Lotus!
You're right.
The Philanthrope doesn't publish new writers.
But will they publish me? - Yes!
Good.
Blessings upon you, dear Manda.
Blessings aren't enough. If I'm right, you owe me a treat.
Cake from Pelleti's or sandesh from Bhim Nag's?
- Kulfi. - What?
- Kulfi! - So be it.
You could have brought these in! What if it had rained?
- A mall - Coming, cousin.
Amal has been writing these days.
Have you read anything he's written?
Charu?
Why?
I was just wondering if he has any real talent,
or if he's just wasting his time.
A very good offer of marriage came for him from Bardhaman.
Raghunath Mitra's daughter.
Good.
- Cousin? - Ah, there you are.
- I haven't finished proofing yet. - Why?
I've been doing some writing myself.
- About what? - Nothing much.
Let me see it.
- You're going to read it? - Yes.
Nothing maudlin, I hope. - No.
Bring it here.
Go on. Run, run, run.
A good bride. Amal just has to consent.
That's nothing. He just needs a little coaxing.
I'm not sure coaxing -
- Will you read it yourself or - - No, read it to me.
Sit down.
Just a minute.
Go ahead.
“Light of a Moonless Night.”
Hold it. What did you say?
“Light of a Moonless Night.”
So it's about starlight? A scientific article?
No, I study literature.
I can't write an astronomical treatise.
So there's no moon?
No.
- No stars either? - No.
No night either?
Yes, but not in a literal sense.
And no light... in a literal sense?
Listen, I think you should get married.
Married?
There's a very good offer from Bardhaman.
The daughter of a lawyer there, Mr. Mitra.
A good-looking girl, and well-educated too.
Just tell me if you're interested.
He's interested, all right. Plenty interested.
How would you know? You don't understand me or my writing!
- I understand just fine. - No, you don't.
What's all this squabbling?
I haven't told you the most important part yet.
After the marriage,
Mr. Mitra intends to send his new son-in-law to England.
Sit down.
Sit down and let that sink in.
Suppose you came back a barrister - would that be so bad?
Give it some thought. It's nothing to sneeze at.
England!
The land of Shakespeare.
Why just Shakespeare?
Burke, Macaulay, Gladstone!
You could go hear them speak in Parliament,
listen to their speeches in person!
I never got there myself.
I regret it to this day.
I got as far as getting my passport once.
The Isles of Greece.
Exactly!
Why just England? You'll see the continent.
France... Germany...
Greece... Italy!
The land of Mazzini and Garibaldi -
you'll see it with your own eyes.
How many young Bengalis get such a chance?
Aren't you tempted?
“Mediterranean. .
What a wonderful word...
like the strains of the tanpura.
Just imagine it, Amal:
New Year's Eve...
the last decade of the 19th century.
Big Ben is tolling,
it's snowing,
and you're walking down the street
in overcoat and gloves -
the spirited demeanor and confident strides
of Young Bengau
How I wish I were in your place!
Well? Are you ready...
Mr. Amal Chandra Basu?
Brother?
What do you say?
“Rich with thy hurrying streams, bright with orchard gleams,
cool with thy winds of delight,
dark fields waving...”
- Cousin. - Yes?
- No. - What?
But why?
Long live my Bengal
Good night!
Hail Krishna, slayer of demons!
- What do I tell Mr. Mitra? - Ask for some time.
How long? A week?
A month!
Did you see that? Why are you laughing?
Didn't I tell you he was interested?
He just won't admit it. - You don't understand.
An opportunity like this won't come again.
Don't worry.
Do as he says and ask for some time.
In a few days he'll say yes on his own.
You think I don't know your cousin?
Manda.
- Yes? - Come here.
Tell me what you want.
Come here.
The sky is ﬂtled with the luster of the moon
Come here.
The eafih is adorned with a smile
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.
What's all this about?
You don't think I'm rotten?
Why should I think that?
Then who is?
It's our luck that's rotten, having to leave our own home.
Why?
Don't you like it here?
How could I? And besides -
Besides what?
No, nothing.
Just two months more.
Two months?
Just put up with it two more months.
And then?
Then what?
What are you planning?
Could you lie for my sake?
Tell me how much you love me.
Dear God! What kind of lie?
All right. I'll make it easy.
I'll do the lying. You just back me up.
What are you up to?
You have to beat them at their own game.
/ know you, / know you
0 fair one from afar
You dwell across the waters
0 fair one from afar
You don't want paan if I prepare it?
You won't have it? - No.
I've seen you autumn moms
I've seen you summer eves
I've seen you
In the depths of my head
0 fair one from afar
/ turn my ear to the sky
And hear your song go by
I dedicate my life to you
0 fair one from afar
After roaming heaven and earth
Here lam in this new land
Now / stand at your door
0 fair one from afar
/ know you, / know you
O cousin-in-law!
What is it, Braja?
A letter for you.
I was listening to your song.
Manda, The Lotus is publishing my essay!
- Really? - Look at this letter!
Didn't I tell you?
Cousin-in-law?
The Lotus accepted my essay.
Stop that banging. I'm busy.
Cousin, The Lotus accepted my essay.
- “Light of the Moonless Night”? - No. “Dark of the Sun.”
Good.
Stop that banging, I said!
Just a moment.
What's going on?
What's the matter?
A cockroach. If it gets away -
A cockroach?
Where did it go?
Maybe under the bed.
In that case...
Big news - an election in England.
We're all very excited.
The party in power now, the Tories,
will never do India any good.
So we all want the other party,
the Liberals, to win.
Bipin says he'll offer a prayer for them at the Kalighat temple.
Here, take these keys.
Smell this. Hot off the press.
Tell me, who will win? “Dizzy” or Gladstone?
What do you say?
Gladstone. Liberals.
I bet Nishikanta 50 rupees.
Good. Liberals. Gladstone.
Charu...
kulfi?
Have some. - No.
Manda, kulfi?
There's one extra. - No.
- Why not? - Makes my teeth ache.
Hey, cat...
kulfi?
Look.
Charu...
if I write something good but it stays in your notebook,
nobody will ever see it, and it will never be printed.
Doesn't that seem wrong?
Of course.
You were wrong about my work. I write very well, don't I?
Of course.
It's quite an honor for a new writer, isn't it?
Of course.
Then from now on show me a bit more respect, all right?
You're going out?
I want to go show my friends.
THE PHILANTHHOPE
“The Cuckoo's Call”
“The Cuckoo's Lament”
“My Village”
What?
Look!
You wrote this?
In The Philanthrope?
Too much lime in Amal's paan burns his mouth.
I'll prepare it from now on.
Cousin-in-law...
You...
What are you doing?
What's come over you?
Don't you realize how well you write?
When I told you to write about your village,
I never imagined you could write so well.
Believe me...
I'm really quite amazed.
So natural...
so flowing!
You mustn't stop.
You must keep writing.
Otherwise, all your talent -
No, I'll never write anything again.
Never.
Never again.
Why are you crying?
Don't cry.
You're right.
How silly of me.
I got your shirt wet.
To the Liberals!
Bhupati won his bet,
and we're celebrating with his winnings.
I lost the bet,
but the money was originally mine.
So who is the actual host?
Bhupati Dutta or Nishikanta Chowdhury?
And why should it be you?
It was your father's money originally!
Order, order!
Bhupati, the musicians and singer are ready.
What's the point of all this useless talk?
Absolutely right. There's no point at all.
We will certainly have our music.
But first...
I want to say something.
We're celebrating today because the Liberals won.
And given the political situation in India today,
it's our duty to do so.
In my opinion,
there's one person we should especially remember today.
This celebration, The Sentinel,
and our political consciousness
are all due to one person: Raja Rammohan Roy.
If not for him, we wouldn't have cared
whether the parliamentary elections had been won
by the Tories or the Liberals.
That's why I think
that our first and foremost liberal of the 19th century
should be remembered today.
And now Joydeb will sing a song he composed himself.
I second Bhupati's proposal with all my heart.
But I too wish to say something:
After this first song,
suppose we get a bit more liberal
and listen to a Zappa by Nidhubabu.
We'll ask our friend Shashanka to sing it.
Why me?
Go on now, Joydeb.
Think of that day
That last day
So terrible and frightful
Others around you will speak
But you will remain silent
That terrible day
Think of that day
Al/ your worldly attachments
Whether to son or to wife
Just thinking of them will bring distress
80 beware
Se! aside vanity and pride
Practice renunciation
Put your trust in truth alone
What are you thinking about?
Hey, Mr. Know-it-All.
About England?
Why did our great Raja Rammohan Roy
have to die in a foreign land?
In far-off Bristol.
How many Bengalis will ever see his grave?
You Will.
Will I ever go there?
You'll go.
First to Bardhaman, then to Britain.
Right?
Well?
First Bardhaman...
then betrothal...
and then Britain.
And then?
Then Bristol.
And then... a barrister.
And then?
And then...
back to Bengal.
Black native, bolting from the British.
What do you think?
Bengal? Nothing better?
And Bankim.
Babu Bankim Chandra.
Byron to Bankim.
Bishabriksha.
But what about me?
“O being celestial, you who dwell in my house
in the form of a witch...”
Am I so bad?
So beastly? So brazen -
“I bow before you...”
Here.
Why didn't you sing today? You should have.
You have such a nice voice.
Charu?
We're leaving tomorrow. - For where?
Manda received word that her father's very ill.
The money I borrowed.
Does my cousin know you're leaving?
Yes, I told him.
Besides, I'll be back in a few days.
Give him a hand, will you?
It's an early train tomorrow, and we must pack...
so good night.
Send me the magazine with your article.
If nothing else, I can read your name.
This will make things hard for my cousin.
Why?
You're here.
What, am I to manage the paper now?
That's right.
Sit down. You're a captive.
You'll stay as long as the paper's in operation.
Before this gathering breaks up,
I have a proposal -
no, a complaint
directed at the editor
and owner of The Sentinel -
in other words, our host tonight...
Mr. Bhupati Dutta.
Our distinguished editor is acting
as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about.
May I first inquire...
as to whether you are acquainted with this magazine
or perhaps even read it?
You mean to say you haven't read
the contribution on page 22
of the current issue? - No.
- Would you swear to that? - Yes.
Come straight out with it!
You sly devil!
Your wife's writing for The Philanthrope
and you keep it a secret?
I haven't seen it.
What does this say? Mrs. Charulata Dasi!
- This is Charu's writing? - That's right.
Girish Ghosh had better watch out.
Bhupati rivals him as an actor.
This must be old.
Sure! Prehistoric, right?
Just sign here.
Good.
We'll deliver your order Wednesday morning.
Fine. Good day.
Yes?
What can I do for you?
What's the meaning of this letter?
- That's from us. - I know.
Something wrong with the English?
You know very well what I mean.
We owed you 2,700 rupees for paper.
My manager paid you for this in February -
three months ago.
So why this letter from your lawyer?
So your manager says he paid that bill?
Of course.
- All 2,700? - There must be some mistake.
- Where's your manager? - Away at the moment.
Cleared out, has he?
Tell me whatever you have to say to him.
What's there to say?
Doesn't he know how much he paid?
Oh, here it is.
Look here: 300 rupees paid.
And only after three reminders.
See for yourself.
What?
Here are copies of the letters.
See for yourself. It's all perfectly clear.
We don't send out legal notices without good reason.
What would we gain by losing our customers?
We're only here thanks to them.
But we're running a business.
We have to keep that in mind too, don't we?
Very well. I'll look into this.
Sir!
You forgot your -
By the end of the month, all right?
He could get 100 rupees just for that cane.
These people!
Amal?
My cousin's never this late.
Isn't he coming up?
I'll go see.
Amal.
Whatever happens,
promise me you won't go away.
- What could happen? - Promise me.
What are you afraid of?
Give me your word you won't leave.
Promise me.
My cousin's back. Let me go see what happened.
Give me your word
you won't leave!
Promise!
Let me go.
Let go of me.
Brother?
Have you ever seen actors play dead soldiers onstage?
There's one.
They get up again when the curtain comes down,
but this one won't get up.
My favorite smell:
the smell of printing ink.
Let's go.
Someone so close to me!
My own relative.
No, more than that -
a friend.
To think such a man would betray me, Amal.
It's not just the payments he never made.
He even took out loans in my name.
I can't even tell you how he exploited my goodwill.
When it first dawned on me, I was so stunned
that my head reeled.
I told Abdul to drive along the Ganges.
I felt like I was suffocating.
It's not the money that upsets me.
I'll pay whatever's owed.
But...
if this is how one man treats another,
if a man I put such trust in shows not the slightest respect,
then what have we got?
How do we go on living?
Trust, faith - are these just empty words?
Is there no honesty? Is it all just sham and lies?
Can you not even trust a man who's so close to you?
How can people live and work together?
It's been a terrible blow, Amal.
It feels like my whole world is crumbling.
What can I do to help?
You don't have to do anything, my friend.
Just stay as you are, that's all.
I've told you so much.
I can't tell Charu everything.
Have you had dinner? - Yes.
Tell you what: Let's all go to the seashore for a few days.
I mean it. Think it over.
You know?
Yes.
Charu, you wrote such a nice piece
that got published in that magazine,
but you never showed me anything.
When Nishikanta announced it in front of everyone,
I was quite embarrassed.
I felt very hurt.
When could I tell you?
You're always so busy.
I won't be busy anymore.
I've gotten rid of your rival, you understand?
Now I can give you all the time in the world.
“Dear Cousin...
I believe I'd only be a further burden to you
if I stayed here under the present circumstances.
I've learned of some work out of town,
and I'm going to see about it.
Best wishes to both of you,
Amal.”
“P.S.: Charu mustn't give up her writing.”
Did you see this?
- What is it? - He's gone!
- Who? - Your cousin-in-law!
Packed his things last night and cleared out!
He left a letter. “I don't want to be a burden.”
As if he could ever be a burden!
- What are you saying? - It's the truth.
Where are you going? His room's empty.
He had some of my proof sheets,
and I came to get them,
but he'd vanished!
You're right. He's gone.
How strange!
Braja!
Are you deaf? - I did answer, ma'am -
- Put away his bedding. - Whose bedding?
Amal's! Whose do you think? These old servants!
Charu, you're angry,
and I know you have reason to be.
But just consider one thing:
how responsible and mature he's become.
He left out of concern for me,
yet like a child he forgot to say where he was going!
Silly boy!
I know perfectly well where he's gone.
To Bardhaman. Just make some inquiries.
Bardhaman?
That's a good one!
Charu...
Yes?
No. I can't say these things properly.
Perhaps I should read some Bankim, eh?
My first gray hair.
Charu...
won't you write some more?
You know why I like your writing so much?
Why?
Because I understand it all.
I don't understand what others write.
Keep writing, Charu.
I Will.
Start your paper again and I'll write.
You'll write for my paper? Politics?
- Why must it be politics? - What else?
Can't a paper cover more than politics?
Have politics in English and all the rest in Bengali.
You take care of the one, and I'll handle the other.
- What? - Aren't I right?
That's a wonderful suggestion! Brilliant!
I never thought of it. - Can you manage?
If I can't manage alone, Nishikanta can help.
Two people can do it. - Three.
The three of us.
Let's not waste any more time here.
They talk about the roar of the waves.
Let's go. - Where?
Come on.
I should have written Nishikanta to come to the station.
Then we could have discussed our new plan.
Put those down here, Braja. It's easier to unpack.
Where's my bag of shells?
Would you like some tea? Or some cool sherbet?
- Now? - You don't want anything?
I'd rather go see Nishikanta right away.
- This minute? - I won't be long.
Now's best, before he gets started on something else.
Moti-ma!
Have Braja bring up a copy of The Englishman.
I haven't seen a paper in days.
I wonder what's been going on.
It's so hot!
Moti-ma! - Coming.
Bring some water. I'd like a bath.
Did you call?
Amal is in Madras, staying with a friend.
Read it. It's good news.
Take it.
I'll be back.
Cousin-in-law, why did you go away?
Why did you leave without a word?
Why didn't you tell me?
Amal!
I've brought your water, ma 'am.
All right.
Dearest Cousin...
I'm in Madras, at a friends house.
I'm fine, but for a few days now
the strains of the tanpura have been ringing in my ears.
You may Write to them in Bardhaman if you wish.
A re you still trying to revive the dead soldier?
My salutations to both of you.
Yours, Amal. ”
' Braja? . yes?
Light the lamps.
Come in.
THE BROKEN NEST