[Contains spoilers, a lot of them.]
The first thing I noticed about Chauthi
Koot as I took my seat in the blacked-out movie auditorium was that it
didn't take more than a few seconds to engage me. I had rushed in a bit late,
and ferreted around for my seat in the dark. But the sound of train screeching as
it pulled into the station drew me into the world of Chauthi Koot even before I had the chance to look
at the screen. The sound design was excellent. I had walked into a film late on many occasions in the past, but I
used to always try to not take my eyes off the screen even as I searched for my
seat so as not to miss much. Since a majority of these films had dialogue-heavy
opening scenes, it was difficult for me to bother with something as trivial as being
seated for them. But Chauthi Koot opens with silence, followed by more
silence. It opens with hurried footsteps and commonplace sounds. The only
telling visual detail in its first scene is the anxious look on the faces of
the two men we are introduced to.
Indian filmmakers have two ways of approaching historic events
that have violence attached to them. They either lead us directly into the
heart of them, like Gulzar did with Maachis and Anurag Kashyap did with Black Friday, or they merely
inspect the consequences of the violence caused as a result. This is the path
less taken but, I believe, the more cinematic one. (But that remains to be
argued.) Satyajit Ray did it memorably in Shatranj Ke Khiladi, where the bloodless
battle on the chessboard was far more important than the actual battle
happening miles away. By implying bloodshed, the suspense is amplified by a few
notches, because it uses the viewer's imagination to tell a tale. Chauthi Koot is the kind of film that relies
heavily on that technique. There is palpable tension in the proceedings, and
this tension translates the implied violence into something far bloodier and
terrorizing in the imagination. When a shot is fired, punctuating the stillness
of the village, we sit up. To see any act of violence would have surely lessened the
visceral experience. Thankfully, Singh knows this and all too well.
The opening half-hour of Chauthi Koot is great, great filmmaking. After
missing the last train to Amritsar, two Hindu men desperately begin asking a few indifferent policemen patrolling the station for help. They
are joined by a Sikh gent, also keen to get to Amritsar as soon as possible,
in their attempts to convince the guard of a train headed there to let them in.
The problem is, the train is supposed to leave the station and reach Amritsar
empty. The guard's answer is a stern no.
Neither of them wants to sit in one place or spend the night at the station for they fear they would be picked up on suspicion. It's never said out loud, but the
shifty glances are informing. As the train begins to chug, buckling under
despair, they force their way into the guard's cabin, ignoring his weak
protests, only to find themselves in the company of two Sikh strangers and a
few others. This sequence unfolds languidly over the course
of twenty-five minutes, but so smooth is its execution that each moment of it
feels like an opportunity to immerse ourselves in that world. I felt incredibly
lucky.
One thing I acknowledge now that I have seen both Chauthi Koot and Anhe Ghore Da Daan,
Singh’s National Award-winning debut, is that he can’t be faulted for his
filmmaking. His style is reminiscent of Mani Kaul, his mentor, and is quite
effective. The first half of the film is well crafted (although some people may
have some problems with how he merges the two stories namely "Chauthi Koot" and "Hun Main Theek Thaak Haan" by Waryam Singh Sandhu
the film is adapted from) but that is only a slight wrinkle. Perhaps Singh wants us to
know how the turmoil touched so many lives in Punjab back then, even two people
who meet quite by accident have their lives disrupted by it. We move to the other story, where a Sikh farmer and
his family are pestered every night by Khalistani militants who want him to
kill his beloved dog to stop its incessant barking that may alert unwanted passersby.
When the military comes knocking the next day and ransacks his house, he
doesn’t know which side to take, for both sides cause mental turmoil in their
own ways.
This particular chapter is marked by a few lows, notably in the way
the mood is dealt with, but it does manage to get under our skin. The
information is also dealt with in a manner that makes the opening sequence look comparatively
stronger in comparison, with characters launching into lengthy stories about
the acts of violence in other parts of the state as opposed to the opening sequence, which left it
to us to imagine what it felt like to live in those times. But even when things
are a little too simplified for them to have a powerful impact, Singh makes this
portion look impressive. There is a moment when the terrorists are about to
leave, promising menacingly to return, and the dog begins barking from the
barn. The terrorists only look at each other, then at the farmer, who looks
down. It’s a marvelous moment that is at once funny and frightening. The
barking dog symbolises the human spirit, the courage of those who lived through
difficult circumstances, and its placement in that scene captures it
beautifully.
A storm indicates the end of the first half, suggesting, perhaps, what is about
to come. But in the second half, the film meanders for a long time, thinning
out some of the film’s carefully built-up intrigue. We hear about Operation
Bluestar on the radio in one scene. We see how the farmer finally lashes out
violently at his dog, unable to stand its barking any longer. The circumstances he has found himself in have turned him into someone who would now hurt his beloved. They have caused
him long-term mental trauma. They have put fear in his heart. It’s not
immediately affecting, but the more we think about it, the more we comprehend its impact. But one can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. The deviation from the central story feels unnecessary and forced. A tighter second
half would have made the film more moving.
As the film nears its conclusion, we return to the people in the
guard’s cabin, now closer to Amritsar. Upon the guard’s insistence, they
alight before reaching the station, where the two Hindu gentlemen hurry away
into the darkness so as not to be seen with their Sikh companions. The Sikhs
catch up with them, requesting them to proceed as one for they fear getting
shot if seen alone, and the Hindu men agree out of compassion. The group then
navigates the metaphorical darkness as one. Ending on a hopeful and
humanistic note is Chauthi Koot’s quietest – and biggest – triumph. There’s humanity to be found in times of fear and paranoia. Here is a film
that celebrates that.
(Not For Reproduction)
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