Adapted from “The Broken Nest” by
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
CHARULATA
Braja?
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 b*at 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.
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?
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 b*at 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!
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 c*ptive.
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.
Come in.
THE BROKEN NEST
Charulata (1964)
Moderator: Maskath3