Synopsis
It is 1856, a year before the Great Indian
Mutiny and Lucknow, the capital of the kingdom
of Awadh is steeped in sensual stupor. Its
ruler, Nawab Wajid Ali Shah (Amjad Khan)
is more interested in the pursuit of art
and culture than ruling his kingdom while
two of his fiefs - Mirza Sajjad Ali (Sanjeev
Kumar) and Mir Roshan Ali (Saeed Jaffrey)
are obsessed with the game of chess at the
expense of their administrative and domestic
duties. The British sets its eyes on Awadh
and wants to annex it on the pretext of
misrule, despite the fact that the kingdom
is already under a friendship treaty with
the East India Company and provides it with
soldiers and money whenever required. The
Indian Governor General of that time, Lord
Dalhousie entrusts the Resident of Lucknow
General Outram (Sir Richard Attenborough)
with the unholy job of convincing the Nawab
to hand over his kingdom by signing a new
treaty. Despite grandiose posturing not
to comply with the demands of the Company,
Wajid Ali Shah eventually acquiesces and
the British army marches into Lucknow while
the two landlords continue to play chess
at a deserted landscape, indifferent to
the historical changes that are occurring
under their nose.
The film
Satyajit
Ray encountered the short story by the
famous Hindi writer Munshi Premchand in
the early 1940s and was immediately drawn
towards it because of his interest in "chess,
the Raj period, and the city of Lucknow
itself." When he finally adapted
it in 1977 into a Hindi film which was his
first foray into that language and his most
expensive film, he re-hauled the story and
widened its scope. The original story had
only the two main characters, the jagirdars
Mirza Sajjad Ali and Mir Roshan Ali and
dealt with their obsession with chess in
the vortex of sweeping historical changes.
In the film he introduced another strand
- Nawab Wajid Ali Shah and the British’s
manoeuvres to annex his kingdom. The resultant
film is an elaborately balanced piece between
humour and pathos, between a light film
and clever allegory. The two strands never
meet in the film, but are nevertheless united
by a wider historical purpose and context.
 Painstakingly
researched and extremely well written, this
political satire has lent itself to abundant
interpretations over the decades because
of its rich subtexts and multi layers in
which it operates. To begin with, the game
of chess from which the film derives its
name operates at least at three different
levels. First there is the literal chess
game being played between the two landlords;
then there is the metaphorical chess game
which his being played between Wajid Ali
Shah and the Lucknow Resident; and thirdly
it is reflected in the manner in which the
respective wives of the two landlords engage
their husbands: Mirza’s wife Khurshid
(Shabana Azmi) engages in a variety of tactical
moves to regain her husband’s attention;
she feigns headache, tries to seduce him
and when that fails, steals his chess pieces;
while Mir’s wife Nafisa (Farida Jalal)
is more proactive; she takes on a lover
(Farooque Shaikh).
Ray takes an almost non-partisan view of
the political game to the risk of being
overly polite. He neither sides with the
Nawab nor the British, though there are
well-crafted moments when we feel sympathetic
towards both the kohl-eyed king and the
reluctant General and appreciate their respective
stands. Sometimes the director seems to
be amused, sometimes meditative. This apolitical
stance the film takes further illustrates
Ray's fundamental point: extreme ennui.
Ray himself has said that he was "portraying
two negative forces, feudalism and colonialism.
You had to condemn both Wajid and Dalhousie.
This was the challenge. I wanted to make
this condemnation interesting by bringing
in certain plus points of both the sides.
You have to read this film between the lines."
The film opens in absolute black, as the
two chess players sit and play, their vacuum
accentuated only by the hookah lying next
to them. The game is afoot, and as Amitabh
Bachchan's magnificent voice tells us,
this seems a constant state of affairs.
The mood and tone are immediately set and
we are drawn into the history of the period
and the ennui that was Lucknow. The director
resorts to some incredibly quirky and simplistic
animation to aid his narrative and for a
considerable stretch of time it looks like
a docu-drama.
The film packs in a lot of information like
this, some directly, through voice-over
and animation and at other times in an oblique
manner that throbs with subtexts. One recalls
a scene at the beginning when their game
is interrupted by the visit of a dewan (played
by David) who informs them of the new rules
that the British follow to play the game
that had originated in India. He sets about
explaining to them the nitty-gritties of
the new method which is faster and where
the queen has a bigger role to play. But
the jagirdars are not impressed; they want
to stick to the age-old rules. They also
don’t pay heed to his warning that
the British are planning to take over Awadh.
They laugh it away by saying that the kingdom
provides soldiers and taxes to the British;
so why would they bother to annex it? This
scene does not move the story forward in
any way; but what it does is provide a lot
of dope on the impending historical makeover,
the indifference of the people who should
have been privy to this fact and done something
to stop it, but who cannot read the writing
on the wall. It also serves to underline
their pathological obsession with the game,
which would prove costly. And of course,
the new method of playing chess faster is
a direct metaphor for the impatient but
crafty maneuvers by which the British are
about to take over the kingdom of Awadh
without a single shot being fired.
Nawab Wajid Ali Shah comes across as a most
colorful regent. He has a 'harem the size
of a regiment' (400 concubines and 29 muta
or pleasure wives to be precise); he composes
songs in the middle of a crowded durbar
if he ever condescends to summon one; he
ties ghoongroos around his ankles and dances
thumri and plays rasaleela with his concubines;
watches mujras and wallows in the depths
of sensual pleasure. But he also prays five
times a day and does not drink! Governance
is his last priority, but he is sure that
his subjects are happy because they sing
his compositions in the lanes and interiors
of Lucknow! He proudly proclaims that not
even the British Queen could match his skill
in poetry and popularity. But what he is
blissfully unaware of is that the British
are not impressed by his patronage of art
and culture and hold him directly responsible
for the misrule and decadence of Awadh.
His prime minister (played by Victor Banerjee)
tries to drill into his head the imminent
danger of a takeover, but he, like a stuffed
toy in regalia declares that he will not
give up without a fight. But he does, eventually,
when he realizes that he is really incompetent;
he hardly has an army who could put up a
brave fight and most of the young men have
already been enrolled by the Britishers.
Wajid Ali cuts a sorry figure in the history
of one of the most important epochs in 18th
century India; he lets himself be moved
like a chess piece on the historical board
of colonial India without any resistance.
Sir Richard Attenborough in the role of
General Outram enacts some of the most brilliantly
written scenes in English along with his
subordinate Captain Weston (Tom Alter).
Outram is troubled with the illegal means
he must follow to take over Awadh despite
a treaty of friendship with the kingdom,
but he feels bound by his duty to the British
Empire. More as an excuse for the justification
of the dirty work that he is required to
do, he engages in some of the most sparkling
and witty lines of dialogues that throw
a lot of light on the king's character and
the state of affairs. Here is a sample...
Outram: … And what kind of a king
do you think all this makes him, Weston?
All these various accomplishments?
Weston (smiling): Rather a special kind,
Sir, I should think.
(Outram stops pacing, stiffens, turns sharply
to Weston.)
Outram: Special? I would've used a much
stronger word than that Weston: I'd have
said a bad king. A frivolous, effeminate,
irresponsible, worthless king.
Weston: He's not the first eccentric in
the line...
Outram (interrupting): Oh I know he's not
the first, but he certainly deserves to
be the last. We've put up with this nonsense
long enough. Eunuchs, fiddlers, nautch-girls
and 'muta' wives and God knows what else.
He can't rule, he has no wish to rule, and
therefore he has no business to rule.
Weston: There I would agree with you, Sir.
Outram: Good. I am glad to hear that. I
have it in mind to recommend you for a higher
position when we take over...
Weston: Take over, Sir?
Outram: Take over, Weston. And any suspicion
that you hold a brief for the King would
ruin your chances. You remember that.
There are no heroes or villains in this
film. Only tragic-comic figures whose fate
is manipulated from London through their
representatives in India for the sake of
greater profits. It is futile to take potshots
at these puppets, both white skinned and
brown. One can only laugh at the immense
absurdity of the grim historical canvas
that has been meticulously built up through
minute details that is reflected in the
impressive art direction by Ray’s
old time companion Bansi
Chandragupta and his young associate
Ashoke Bose. The period setting is established
by lavish sets, elaborate costumes (Shama
Zaidi doubles up as costume designer) and
well-decorated yet smallish interiors of
the two landlords.
The film is peppered with brilliant and
witty scenes that depict the two characters
Mirza Sajjad Ali and Mir Roshan Ali in their
endeavor to play chess against all odds.
They come up with the funniest methods and
solutions to continue with their obsession.
When Mirza’s wife Khurshid (Shabana
Azmi) fails to seduce her husband, she steals
the chess pieces, assuming that this would
bring him back to her amorous arms. Not
one to be daunted, the sexually wasted Mirza
substitutes the pieces with vegetables and
fruits. A hurt and resentful Khurshid walks
through the corridor as the camera speedily
tracks along with her (reminiscent of Charu’s
walk holding the binocular through the grills
of the balcony in Charulata
(1964)); as she reaches the threshold
of the drawing room, she throws the pieces
back through the door at her husband and
the two players, like kids, bend down on
the floor and begin to pick up the pieces.
Mirza realizes the gravity of the situation
and decides to shift venue to Mir’s
house. Mir’s wife Nafisa is almost
caught with her lover Akhil when Mir accidentally
enters the bedroom and Akhil tries to hide
below the bed. In this brilliantly directed
humorous scene, Mir is taken in by his wife’s
explanations that Akhhil is trying to hide
to evade the forced conscription by the
Nawab’s forces to fight the British
army. A zapped Mir tells his nephew not
to worry and orders his wife to give him
hot milk and then walks away to rejoin his
friend who is waiting to resume the game
while the lovers laugh away to glory.
In another outstanding scene before this,
the two friends go to a lawyer’s house
because they recall that he has a chessboard
at his drawing room. They begin to play
surreptitiously as the old lawyer lies on
his deathbed inside. Out of politeness,
they interrupt their game and go to the
interior to have a look at the lawyer who
immediately has an attack on seeing them
and dies. Their game is thwarted, wails
fill up the house and the two friends steal
out of the house like thieves to look for
alternative locations. This is amongst the
most comic treatments of a death scene in
Indian cinema.
In an earlier scene where Mir is left on
his own at the chessboard while Mirza goes
off to 'see what the trouble is' with his
wife, the camera follows Mir as he gets
up and goes out into the hallway to see
where his friend has got to. The camera
then stays still as he retraces his steps,
tracks back along with him and in the vertical
slice of light caused by a gap between two
curtains that separate the hallway and the
chess room, we see framed the precise point
on the chessboard where Mir's hand slowly
and surreptitiously comes into view as he
sneakily moves one of the pieces. A virtuoso
piece of camerawork and compositional framing
that, like the film as a whole, never fails
to enchant.
The show must go on, seems to be their
motto, come what may: The game must continue,
damn the British army who have already started
marching in. Mirza and Mir have taken shelter
in a deserted spot to escape recruitment
by the Nawab’s army and play their
favourite game in peace. Mirza gets irritated
by the mosquitoes and his impending defeat
at the hands of Mir. To take out his frustrations
he casts aspersions on Mir’s wife.
Mir takes offence and an argument ensues.
Mir draws his gun and accidentally shoots
Mirza. Mirza is not hurt but is zapped out
of his wits; so is Mir. Thankfully, the
two of them realize the gravity of the situation
and futility of their argument and Mir comes
to terms with his wife’s infidelity.
Mir famously admits that how can they defend
their kingdom when they cannot take care
of their wives? Under the given circumstances,
there is nothing more important than another
game of chess and the two friends sink their
differences and engage in yet another round,
but this time following the British method,
maybe as a token of the takeover signaled
by the marching British army in the long
shot.
In the original story by Premchand the
two fiefs kill each other. But in the film
they are kept alive by the director, perhaps
to justify that the two generals were already
emasculated even before the British takeover;
so it is futile to kill them, though opinions
are still divided as to which one was the
better ending.
Shatranj Ke Khiladi is a sumptuous
audio-visual feast that is still delightful
to watch. The songs and the dances (Birju
Maharaj as the choreographer) successfully
evoke the sights and sounds of a bygone
era and we are offered a rare glimpse of
nawabi Lucknow that we have heard so much
about. All the main actors give remarkable
performances. Yesteryear Hindi film actress
Veena who appears in just one single scene
as the Nawab’s mother maintains her
dignity in the face of General Outram and
delivers a striking performance. (Ray had
wanted Nargis
for the role but she refused.) The casting
of Amjad Khan as Nawab Wajid Ali Shah was
a masterly stroke because the late actor
bore a striking resemblance to the original
king of Awadh, almost to the point of being
uncanny if one looked up representations
of Wajid Ali in oil paintings from that
period. And one can't help but smile at
the irony that Sanjeev
Kumar's character spends most of his
screen time with his arms cloaked into invisibility.
The film went on to win the National Awards
for the Best Hindi Feature Film and the
Best Colour Photography.
Ranjan Das is an alumnus of the
Film and Television Institute of India (FTII),
Pune with specialization in Film Editing
1992. Having edited various documentaries
and directed different programmes for Bengali
Television, he has also written for the
popular TV serials Sidhhant, Crime
Patrol and Rihayee.
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