Bhisham Sahni in his youth.
With Bhisham Sahni reading history is both agonising and ecstatic. As his memoirs hit the market, it is time to reflect on the contribution of Sahni brothers in bringing a humane touch to creativity.
As I go from one page to another of “Bhisham Sahni: Today’s Pasts, A Memoir”, now translated into English by Snehal Shingavi, my mind goes back a little under 40 years and my tryst with the Sahnis. It started in reverse. Back in 1978, it happened twice over in a week or so. I happened to be riding pillion on a scooter when my eyes fell on the hoarding of “Nawab Sahib”, Rajinder Singh Bedi’s film that was much talked about those days. “I want to wach the film,” I told to no one in particular as my eyes stayed focussed on Parikshat Sahni’s larger-than-life visage at Eros cinema in South Delhi’s Jangpura. A little later, I was walking the distance from Dariba Kalan to Town Hall with my mother when, yet again, my eyes fell on the hoarding of “Nawab Sahib”, then playing at Kumar Talkies, now renamed as Abhishek Cineplex. I was keen to watch the film. My mother would have none of it. But Parikshat Sahni, he of melancholic eyes and a face to lose in the crowd, stayed in my mind. Of course, I got to see him in sundry roles in many films later on, but the longing to watch “Nawab Sahib” remained. Until one fine day, a cycle rickshaw-puller told me to hurry up at a traffic intersection in Lajpat Nagar’s Krishna Market. “Jaldi ghar jaana hai. Aaj ‘Garam Hava’ aa rahi hai,” he announced, as he rang the rickshaw bell loud and louder. I too scurried home to ask my mother what is “Garam Hava” all about. She had not time for an elaborate explanation. Instead, the family settled down in front of black and white Televista television whose shutter I loved to open and shut.
This time it was different. I was hooked to “Garam Hava”, a tale of a Muslim family that chooses to stay in Agra at the time of Partition. Here was the other Sahni, Balraj. He was miles ahead of Parikshat, I thought in my innocent ways. It was much later I discovered he was the father, after all!
His portrayal of Salim Mirza had a lasting impact on me. For hours after M.S. Sathyu’s film was over, I could not eat, could not even bear the prospect of going to play with children of fellow refugees from Lahore, Rawalpindi and Peshawar, who were all my neighbours. Balraj Sahni’s name stayed in my memory; it struck me not that he himself had come from Rawalpindi. Until one day, in the Urdu magazine Shama I read his profile and discovered that there was much more to him than “Garam Hava”, outstanding though the film was. He had had a fine stint in theatre, working with the likes of K.A. Abbas and Kaifi Azmi. I had little interest in theatre, so I went and decided to look for Bimal Roy’s “Do Bigha Zamin” where he played Shambhu, the man who loses his land in the village, moves to the city and ends up plying a rickshaw. So powerful was Balraj’s portrayal of Shambhu that a few years later when I read Dominique Lapierre’s “City of Joy”, my mind could not waver from the rickshaw puller of “Do Bigha Zamin”.
Around the time I watched “Do Bigha Zamin” in a morning show, Doordarshan became the talk of the town by playing “Tamas”, as searing an essay on Partition as you are ever likely to see. The elders equated the film with Manto’s literary brilliance in “Thanda Gosht” and “Toba Tek Singh”. Others felt their Partition wounds started festering all over again. Some, less knowledgeable ones, blamed it on Govind Nihalani, the director. Others reminded them that it was penned by Bhisham Sahni, who also enacted the role of Harnam Singh in the film. The name sounded familiar to me, but Bhisham was not to be confused with Balraj, and certainly not with Parikshat. A review in a daily a couple of days later cleared the picture: Bhisham and Balraj were brothers while Parikshat was Bhisham’s nephew. Ah, all in the family! From son to father to uncle, my journey of discovery continued.
And now I find myself with Bhisham’s memoirs – incidentally some three decades ago he had written “Balraj: My Brother” – the brothers’ career trajectory often ran similar to each other. Both imbibed the family’s Arya Samaj values, both developed love for literature when quite young; Balraj worked as an academic in Shantiniketan and Wardha, got involved with Indian People’s Theatre Association, directed/acted on the works of Tagore, etc. Bhisham, who preferred to write the first part of his name in the native Punjabi way, too worked in the world of academics in Ambala and Amritsar before getting fired from both places for his involvement with union activities. He too was involved with IPTA, did memorable works with the likes of Rajendra Nath, M.K. Raina and others and cultivated a niche in cinema too. He was involved in the freedom struggle too, tending to refugees in Rawalpindi even as the city went up in flames. It was an experience that was to have a lasting impact on him, something that came through in a trenchant manner in “Tamas”, which, in many ways, was a lived experience.
Yet “Tamas” was written not after Rawalpindi, but some 20 years later in the wake of communal riots in Bhiwandi. The human tragedy reminded him of the past. And it came through in a scathing fashion both in the novel and tele-film. But, as in the case of Balraj, whose career was much more than mere “Do Bigha Zamin” and “Garam Hava”, there was much, much more to Bhisham than “Tamas” – few can forget his brilliance in “Mohan Joshi Haazir Ho” or “Mr and Mrs Iyer”. “Tamas” is merely the abiding public memory of a man who lived and thrived in the world of letters. This comes across even from the latest memoir when he recalls his stint in Banaras in pursuit of his doctorate. “For the first few days, I stayed with Dr Hazari Prasad Dwivedi, who was one of Balraj’s closest friends. Balraj continued to work under his leadership at the Hindi department at Shantiniketan. Later, he made arrangements for me to stay in a hostel at the university. It was summer vacation at the time. He had to go to his ancestral village with his family. He got everything arranged for me and even gave me his library card. I started going to the library of the Nagari Pracharini Sabha (Society for the Promotion of the Nagari Script). This is how I carved out a significant amount of time to study.”
Films were but a small part of his oeuvre. He started his career as a mute horse of Rana Pratap – elder brother played the hero in the play. Many summers ago when I was admiring the hoardings of “Nawab Sahib”, Bhisham Sahni’s play “Hanish” was getting rave reviews. A few years later came “Kabira Khara Bazaar Mein” – M.K. Raina and Arvind Gaur have performed. It remains my introduction to Bhisham’s theatre though Bapi Bose’s “Muavze” comes a close second in terms of popularity. And to think, I am not even half way into his literary genius! His serene ways, his gentle yet lasting sense of irony, his ability to weave in wry humour, his abiding compassion for victims of communal violence, his ability to go on, his relentless momentum. These and many more things have to be learnt, lived, passed on to the next generation.
A generation that changes its heroes every week needs the abiding genius, the timeless humane qualities of the Sahnis – Bhisham or Balraj. “Today’s Pasts” can be an apt beginning.
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