India
is a strong example of a developing nation where, because of resentment and
resistance to the social impact of economic change, fundamentalism has been
strongly fed as entire cultural and religious groups have become marginalized. Patterns of resentment and resistance among
these marginalized groups have led to a situation where, paradoxically, the
national government is sustained by feelings and beliefs that are essentially
anarchist in their view of government.
Deepa
Mehta directed (Cracking) Earth, taken from Bapsi Sidhwa’s novel, fifty
years after the partition of India. Earth
is extremely contemporaneous, as it explores several relevant and pressing
themes: the way in which violence is internalized; the extraordinary power of
maps (interior and psychological, particularly) – the way that they are etched
not only on to lands, but to bodies as well; and the issues of partition and
postcolonialism – understanding cultural divisions, framing politics and
identities.
Earth
celebrates its narrator’s eighth birthday at the same time as Prime Minister
Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru triumphantly proclaims (by radio, as heard in the film)
that “India will awake to light and freedom, at the stroke of the midnight
hour.” Seen through the beautiful, and
certainly innocent, eyes of young Lenny-baby, Earth begins by engaging
us emotionally: Lenny is the baby in an affluent Parsee family, which meets in
the local park every week to discuss love, relationships, the
rapidly-approaching partition, and religion is incorporated as well.
The
focal point (from a narrative and from a filmic point of view) of these
discussions is young, beautiful Shanta – Lenny’s nanny. She is a Muslim, loved by both Hasan the
Masseur and by the multifaceted Dil Navaz – also known as “Ice Candy Man” to
Lenny. In many ways, Shanta’s body is
the “earth” upon which most of the love-narrative is fought.
The
film begins with several peaceful, beautiful images – such as the scene where
Dil teaches Shanta to fly a kite on a beautiful afternoon: Lenny watches on
with great admiration for her hero, Dil, as he woos Shanta with his kite-flying
abilities from high atop his apartment in the Sikh section of town. But even such an innocent, pastoral scene as
this one loaded with symbolism: on one level, it is very clear that – of the
two women, Lenny and Shanta – young Lenny is clearly the only one truly smitten
with Dil. The age gap undermines her
love for him, but – more important – it foregrounds the religious gap between
Dil and his “two women,” a gap that will grow but wider as the movie
progresses.
On
a much more significant level, Dil’s kite-flying is tinged with competition and
violence, as the two women alert him to the fact that his kite may be cut off
by other kites. They tease him lightly
when they point this out, but for Dil – he is obfuscated by his desire to not
be upstaged, and momentarily forgets his gentle female company as he
aggressively cuts off the competing kites.
This is a brief glimpse of the genuine violence that will soon spill
over into the movie.
Earth
takes pains to show the beauty of the pre-partition life (family scenes, trips
to secluded locales, dinners among students and families), only to crudely
destroy that peace in the second half of the film: this very cleverly depicts
the tragic loss of the beauty. Earth
becomes brutally serious when Dil awaits, late on Independence night, at the
train station: when the train arrives from Gurdaspur district, Dil enters the
train – only to find dozens upon dozens of brutally slaughtered Muslims; there
is also mention of the Muslim women’s breasts being excised. This is only the beginning of the sectarian
strife that – today – has truly yet to cease.
As Sidhwa was to say, when referencing this scene in an interview about Earth,
“Ghandi’s nonviolent revolution ended up costing the lives of one million
Indians.” And later on, he remarks that
this “was the beginning of the largest and most terrible exchange of population
known to history – seven million Muslims and five million Hindus and Sikhs.”
Even
today, India has witnessed a resurgent Hindu fundamentalism that threatens to
undermine the secular state created at the time of independence in 1947. Although the Indian government has attempted
to adopt a policy of strict neutrality between its Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim
subjects, Earth takes great pains to show the horrific communal violence
that frames the rawness of the nationalistic and religious fervor in
postcolonial India.
Earth
also demonstrates how difficult it truly is to testify to this kind of
violence: how, indeed, does one document the unspeakable? After Dil has witnessed the devastating
slaughter-scene on board the Amristar-Gurdaspur-Lahore train, dialogue begins
to diminish in the movie, and is replaced by muted and horrified facial
expressions, tears, screams, and anguish.
The
only respite amidst the fires, the burnings, and the slaughters, is the brief
love-scene between Hasan and Shanta, where they consummate their love for one
another – planning to leave immediately for Amristar. But they are a 1940s Romeo and Juliet, doomed
to failure as quickly as they have united: Dil has witnessed their lovemaking,
and most likely slits Hasan’s throat soon after. Sadly, in the estranged idiom of the lovers
can be read the tragedy’s proximity with this scene; Hasan’s murder lays siege
to the legitimacy of a world which deprives men and women of boundless love as
surely as it deprives the poor of their share in the world’s wealth, and as
surely as it deprives the different cultural groups in India of a peaceful
commerce with futurity.
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