Dear Deceiver: Agni Pariksha versus Chhoti si Mulaqat

In 1952, Bengali writer Ashapurna Debi published her novel Agni Pariksha (‘Trial by Fire’). The story of a woman who finds herself caught between tradition and ‘modernity’—between the teenager she was married off to, and the man she now loves—was a success. Within two years, it had been made into a film: Agni Pariksha was produced by MP Productions and directed by the group that called itself Agradoot. For the lead pair, they chose Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen, who had first made an impact as a romantic couple in Nirmal Dey’s comedy Saare Chuattar (1953).

Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen in Agni Pariksha

Agni Pariksha cemented the Uttam Kumar-Suchitra Sen pairing and was a hit, both at the box office and with critics. The success of the film was such that in 1959, Tamil (Manjal Mahimai) and Telugu (Mangalya Balam) versions, both made by the same producer, the same director and mostly the same cast, had been released, with equal success.

One wonders, therefore, why it was thirteen years before a Hindi version, Chhoti si Mulaqat, was made. After all, through the 50s and 60s, umpteen Hindi films had been remakes of Tamil, Telugu, and even Bengali films. Uttam Kumar’s first hit film, Basu Paribar (1952) was a case in point: it was remade in Hindi as Hum Hindustani (1960).

There had, too, been previous attempts to get Uttam Kumar to work in Hindi films. Raj Kapoor had offered him the lead role in Jaagte Raho and the role of Gopal in Sangam; Hemant had wanted him to star in Bees Saal Baad—but Uttam Kumar, for various reasons, had turned down all these roles. Some of his co-stars, notably Sharmila Tagore and Suchitra Sen, had had considerable success in Hindi films, and one might have expected that Uttam Kumar, with his looks, his charisma and his undoubted acting ability, might have done well in Hindi cinema.

As it was, it was 1967 by the time Uttam Kumar first appeared on the Hindi silver screen. He was the producer of Chhoti si Mulaqat, which was directed by his friend Alo Sarcar, with a screenplay by veteran scriptwriter-director Sachin Bhowmick. Starring opposite Uttam Kumar was one of Hindi cinema’s most popular leading ladies, Vyjayanthimala. The music was by Shankar-Jaikishan, with lyrics by Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri.

Uttam Kumar and Vyjyanthimala in Chhoti si Mulaqat

It sounded like it had all the ingredients for success, the perfect vehicle to add a Hindi-speaking audience to Uttam Kumar’s fan following.

Or was it? Because Chhoti si Mulaqat flopped, and so resoundingly that it ruined Uttam Kumar and left him pretty much bankrupt, leading him to sign films indiscriminately in an attempt to make up his losses. The failure of Chhoti si Mulaqat might also have been a contributing factor in the star’s deteriorating health: in 1967 itself, while shooting Satyajit Ray’s Chiriakhana, he had a heart attack, the first of three which eventually led to his death.

Why did Chhoti si Mulaqat bomb the way it did? To understand this, a closer look at the story is essential.

Both Agni Pariksha as well as Chhoti si Mulaqat begin over a decade in the past, with a teenager (Tapasi—’she who does penance’—in the Bengali film, Rupa in the Hindi) accompanying her grandmother on a trip to their ancestral village. This journey causes friction in the family; Tapasi’s/Rupa’s mother’s modern views are the antithesis of her conservative mother-in-law’s, and she dislikes the idea of her daughter going to the village, even if only briefly. Up against the pleas of her husband and mother-in-law, however, she gives in.

In the village, the grandmother takes Tapasi/Rupa to call on an elderly acquaintance, her late husband’s best friend. This old gentleman has a grandson (Bulu in Agni Pariksha, Rajju in Chhoti si Mulaqat) a few years older than Tapasi/Rupa. The old gentleman and Tapasi’s/Rupa’s grandfather had long ago decided that their grandchildren would be married to each other.

(L) Tapasi’s mother reluctantly allows Tapasi to go to the village (R) Tapasi is married to Bulu

One thing leads to another. The old man, already ailing, has a heart attack and, on his deathbed, uses emotional blackmail to get Tapasi’s/Rupa’s grandmother to allow the two to be married. Right then, right there.

The wedding takes place, and the old man dies right after. Tapasi’s/Rupa’s father, summoned by his mother, comes to find his teenage daughter still in her bridal finery. He is shaken; his wife is livid when she discovers what has happened. She vows she will erase every sign of this farcical ‘marriage’, that she will not let her child’s life be wrecked.

The story now moves forward to the present, i.e., 1954/1967, when Tapasi//Rupa, now grown up, has no memory of that ceremony that turned her life topsy-turvy for a while. On a visit to their relatives in the hills, she meets a stranger, a man called Kiriti Mukherjee (in Agni Pariksha)/Ashok (in Chhoti si Mulaqat). Kiriti/Ashok is well-educated, handsome, urbane, and Tapasi’s/Rupa’s mother (now widowed) approves. He is exactly the sort of man she wants her daughter to marry.

Rupa’s mother meets Ashok—and approves of him

All might have been well for the lovers, but there is Tapasi’s/Rupa’s long-ago wedding, which now comes back to haunt her. Suddenly—as a result of a jolt to her memory—she remembers it, and from then on, she finds herself on the horns of a dilemma. As Rupa (in the voice of Lata Mangeshkar, expressing Shailendra’s words) sings in Jeevan ke doraahe pe khade sochte hain hum: Taane hai dil idhar ko toh kheenche udhar kadam (My heart pulls me this way, my steps take me that way). Should she follow her heart and take Kiriti’s/Ashok’s hand? Or should she follow her conscience, conditioned by her grandmother’s conservative views, and go to the man she was married to as a teenager, though he is an utter stranger to her?

Rupa finds herself in a dilemma

One of the reasons for the failure of Chhoti si Mulaqat is immediately obvious: it is regressive, in a way that might have been uncomfortably familiar (if not necessarily acceptable) in the 1950s, but certainly not so a decade later. In the late 60s, a well-educated, urban woman was no longer acceptable as also a woman who regarded a child marriage as sacrosanct, or who thought of her unseen, unknown ‘husband’ as her swami, the be-all and end-all of her existence.

There were other problems, too. In an attempt to make the film more in keeping with general trends in mid-60s Hindi cinema, Sachin Bhowmick introduced several elements that might have seemed de rigueur, but which dilute the love story and make the film a loud, melodramatic one.

For one, there is the romance itself. In Agni Pariksha, the Kiriti-Tapasi love story plays out through conversations, even though Tapasi (singing in Sandhya Mukherjee’s voice, to the music of Anupam Ghatak) does sing some beautiful solos, especially the stunning Gaane mor kon indradhanu. In Chhoti si Mulaqat, the romance proceeds pretty much exclusively through rather standard duets, and lacks the depth or believability that conversation can convey.

Then, there are the secondary characters. While Agni Pariksha gives Tapasi two younger brothers, of whom one, Amit, provides some comic relief, Chhoti si Mulaqat has Rupa as an only child—and introduces, instead, an annoying admirer named Sam Cooper aka Shyam Kapoor in a (misguided and lacklustre) attempt to lighten the mood. There is, too, the character of Lily (in Agni Pariksha) and Sonia (in Chhoti si Mulaqat), a relative of Tapasi’s/Rupa’s own age, who has a crush on Kiriti/Ashok. When she realizes that Kiriti prefers Tapasi, Lily confines herself to some snide but subtle remarks; Sonia, on the other hand, spews venom and is revealed as a gold-digger, pursuing Ashok only for his wealth. There is little that is subtle here.

Sonia, nasty and scheming, is also a gold-digger

Agni Pariksha has Tapasi torn two ways mostly because of her own inner turmoil: her dilemma stems from within. Chhoti si Mulaqat does have some of that, but there is also external censure. At Rupa’s and Ashok’s engagement, for example, Rajju’s gumashta arrives with the news of Rupa and Rajju’s long-ago wedding, and announces that Rajju will sue. The resultant sensation among the assembled guests is the start of a scandal for Rupa, which sees her being humiliated by all and sundry. In the Hindi film, society forces Rupa to reconsider her commitment to Ashok. In Agni Pariksha, Tapasi is in torment more because of her own conscience than anything else.

Tapasi finds herself in torment because she is pulled two ways

Tapasi comes across as a more mature character than Rupa, but it is in the character of the leading man that Chhoti si Mulaqat really falls flat when compared to Agni Pariksha. Kiriti is a sensitive, gentle man, his love for Tapasi believable; Ashok, on the other hand, is very much the quintessential ‘hero’ of 60s Hindi cinema: brash, swaggering, demanding love. The first time we see him, on the ski slopes, he is watching Rupa through a pair of binoculars. Later, when she visits his home and finds a photo of herself there, he candidly admits that he has been watching her from afar in Bombay.

This is stalking, not love.

There are other examples of how Ashok is a far less likeable character than Kiriti. Kiriti, for example, harbours a secret, which he tries several times to tell Tapasi, only to have her brush his words aside. Ashok, on the other hand, doesn’t merely hide a secret, he nurtures it and concocts a drama to keep it going, to pressurize Rupa.

Ashok admits he’s been spying on Rupa for a while now

One of the most insightful glimpses into Kiriti’s/Ashok’s personality comes through in incidents involving men ill-treating women. In Kiriti’s case, the episode revolves around a bunch of men who notice some of Kiriti’s women friends dancing at an outdoor party he’s hosting. They start passing lewd remarks, but Kiriti stands up to them, and makes it clear he won’t tolerate this disrespect shown to the women (note: Tapasi here has not been at the receiving end of any unwelcome attention, which makes Kiriti’s stance that much more laudable).

Kiriti comes to the rescue of some women friends being harassed

In Ashok’s case, the situation is different. He and Rupa, walking along a beach, see a screaming fisherwoman being dragged along the sand by her husband. When Ashok turns away, Rupa asks him why he didn’t stop the fisherman ill-treating his wife, and Ashok replies that they are man and wife. When you’re married, nothing and no one can come between you. Ashok is undeniably regressive, no matter how urbane and well-educated he may appear to be.

While both uphold worn-out traditions, while both make a point about a child marriage being binding, while both underline a woman’s ‘duty’ to her husband, irrespective of anything else—Agni Pariksha, perhaps paradoxically (given that it’s the earlier film), is slightly more progressive. It is quieter, more believable, and generally better acted.

Ashok refuses to help a woman in distress, because it would be ‘interference’

And Uttam Kumar as Kiriti is far more likeable than Uttam Kumar as Ashok. There is a wisdom and a quiet maturity about him that is just as forceful as his steadfastness when he stands up to the lechers at the garden party. Even when he is angry at these men, he does not rave and rant and throw a fit; he is dignified, controlled. While Agni Pariksha has been called a Bollywood-ized Bengali film, it is still rooted very much in Bengal, and Uttam Kumar’s portrayal of Kiriti is that of the quintessential bhadralok: this is a gentleman through and through.

(L) Uttam Kumar as Kiriti Mukherjee (R) Uttam Kumar as Ashok, distressed by Rupa’s anguish

Contrast this with Uttam Kumar’s portrayal of Ashok. Those twinkling, teasing eyes and that rakish grin when he’s flirting with a huffy Rupa. The way he matches steps with Vyjayanthimala in the title song. And, when Rupa finds herself tugged every which way, his anguish—the helplessness that comes to his face, as he stands in the rain and watches her crumble before his eyes…

Ashok is by no means as likeable a character as Kiriti; but Uttam Kumar managed to make both men fit their respective films to a T. He was soulful, kind, gentle Kiriti; he was flirtatious, brash, but eventually loving Ashok. Two characters, two films, one actor who aced them both.

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