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 Ghatashraddha 1977

Photo: chitraloka.com

Centre cannot hold Ghatashraddha, like the greatest of stories, speaks of ruptures coming from within

An arid emotional state, where people are driven not by warmth and affection but are dispassionate carriers of dry rituals and a bone-dry religious zeal; Girish Kasaravalli’s haunting film “Ghatashraddha” leaves you shaken with its portrayal of a cloistered, traditional Brahmin community. More: the image of the broken pitcher (the culminating act of the Ghatashraddha, the excommunication ritual itself) which coldly proclaims the alive Yamunakka dead, sticks on stubbornly.

Based on the renowned writer U.R. Ananthamurthy’s short story, the film came exactly six years after “Samskara” (1971), which was also based on the writer’s novel by the same name. Both these films critique the conservative Brahmin society, however, “Ghatashraddha” seems the more incisive strike, probably because of the film’s organic-cohesive structure.

The film, largely true to the original, does make a couple of departures from the story. The at once helpless as well as compassionate note on which the film ends is as powerful as the ironic finish of the story.

Throughout the film (/story), you find yourself frantically holding on to the little Naani, just in the way Yamunakka does. Naani – the story teller and observer – who turns out to be the sole, humane element of the community, becomes our point of redemption too.

“Ghatashraddha” tells you a story of the past, but acquires a contemporaneity for the manner in which it faces up with the present. Interestingly, Siddalingaih’s film “Hemavathi” based on Gorur Ramaswamy Iyengar’s novel was also made in the same year. This film too, is a critique of the Brahmin stranglehold, but gets simplified in its hurry to offer solutions.

Like in the greatest of stories, in this story too one sees ruptures coming from within.

It carries in it the ominous forebodings of W.B. Yeats’ poem, “…Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.” The film forcefully puts it in three points of defiance: in Yamunakka, in Naani and in Shastri.

While the first two are more forthright, Shastri is surreptitious and hence susceptible. He hankers to de-canonise and de-mythify (defiling the Nagara Kallu, smoking…), but for fear of alienation, he does it in secrecy. And ironically, the religious order that he so suspects, has successfully dehumanised him.

Religious codes are clearly discriminatory and nothing ever changes for the woman.

Yamunakka, the young widow is denied desires true of her age, whereas there is a marriage in the offing for her wobbly, old father after she is ostracised. Yamunakka’s life is not her own, but the way her community defines it. Sadly, women too become partners in brutality, as one sees it in Godavari.

However, Yamuna transgresses the boundary; and unable to withstand this, the community punishes her severely. Suppressed, but it is the most powerful act of rebellion.

In fact, it is in Naani that one finds the writer as well as the filmmaker. Naani, in all his helplessness, holds on to his mild defiance. He refuses to leave Yamunakka to her heartless tormentors and goes through her agonising moments just as intensely.

The agents of the conservative system try to co-opt Naani into their notions of right-wrong, moral-immoral, but in his innocent way, Naani chooses to stand by Yamunakka. For him, Yamunakka’s affection scores over the dry, heartless morality of the system.

In fact, the broken pitcher as part of the excommunication ritual becomes the symbol of cracks coming from within. Nothing gets resolved at the end of the film, and things seem just as they were, but it is in Naani and his kindness, that one rests hope.

“Ghatashraddha” is surely among the finest films of New Wave in Kannada. Not just in terms of its artistry, but for the way it stays with you, even after years.

To be remembered for: The film doesn’t have a single song, but B.V. Karanth’s music casts a spell. The resounding jagate right at the beginning of the film, hammers on your heart, setting the tone for the rest of the film.

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