"Where do you live? I mean I’m not asking where you live, but asking if you are lost. Then I could take you to where you live.” When I first viewed this film this quote resonated and stayed with me to the end. Yes, I’m a hopeless romantic, but more importantly I’m a woman who has strived to achieve a sense of home and comfort wherever I am. Home is where the soul finds its truth and a place of rest. Years ago I was in the midst of painful marital decisions when I lacerated my palm while moving my husband’s desk out of his office. At the hospital the doctor, who stitched my hand, asked me how it happened. I was a woman who had lost her home, and sense of direction, having defined my life by a soon to be ex - husband. The doctor advised me to reread Siddharta, especially the chapter where Siddharta asks the river for guidance. “Your life with this man was just a learning experience. Listen to the river. It will tell you what to do.”
Chuyia, an eight year old girl, voices fearless, shameless innocent truth. She is hopeful to soon return home to her mother and father. She knows she does not belong in this ashram with old, angry women. She views widows as half-alive, not half-dead. She is admonished for wondering if this is the house for women widows, then where is the house for men widows. This is a house, not a home, but she can still dance in the rain and bring color to this life of darkness.
One of Chuyia’s most poignant scenes is with Shakuntala who poses with a smile to brighten the little girl slumped in despair. When she asks Chuyia what she looks like, the little girl’s response is far from what she hoped to hear… “Old.” Shakuntala experiences a painful self realization. The anguish of dutifully living what her conscience questions has aged her. Shortly after the stitches were removed from my palm and I was contemplating the next steps in life, my eight year-old niece asked me why I didn’t play piano anymore. In that moment I sharply realized the simple joys had left my life; simple joys that keep us young in heart. I laud the purity of my niece’s observation. That’s why we cheer for the feisty, bald Chuyia, undaunted by prejudice or fear, as she tramples vendors’ wares chasing her dog Kaalu through the streets of a Holy City. It’s only poetic justice that in this free-spirited chase Chuyia finds Naryan.
This was India in 1938. Thankfully, I live in a time and place where woman have the opportunity to redefine themselves in many ways. No, I did not go to the banks of a Holy Water to listen to the river, but I did reread Siddharta. I discovered the river had a sense of humor and laughed at Siddharta when he took himself too seriously. There’s a tiny scar on my left palm where the stitches were removed. A palm reader would find it just below my “marriage line” and launch into a diatribe of negative severed relationship. I find it to be hopeful as it reminds me of a doctor’s helpful advice several years ago.
Who are you in this metaphor? Where is your home? Is it in a place of comfort and truth? “Listen to the river. It will tell you what to do.” Remember Shakuntala’s departing words, already familiar to us, “Do not be afraid.”
Cynthia Chambers is a graduate of UCLA’s Professional Screenwriting Program, has written several scripts. She currently serves on the Executive Board of Catholics in Media Associates and most recently as a SIGNIS Juror at the Venice International Film Festival 2007. Panelists: Sr. Rose Pacatte, Jeanette Reedy Solano
|
WATER: A METAPHOR FOR TRUTH
That’s exactly what Deepa Mehta’s characters do. They find solace on the banks of the Holy Water, where they ask and receive answers to the truth. They must marry by the water, cleanse in the water, and ultimately die by the water. The water reflects their soul, their essence of truth. By the banks of the Holy Water Deepa Mehta paints poetry in cinematic motion for Chuyia (Sarala), Shakuntala (Seema Biswas), Narayan (John Abraham), and Kalyani (Lisa Ray).
Shakuntala, a middle-aged widow, voices deep-rooted faith, but her conscience questions why a widow must be long suffering until death, self-restricted, and chaste. To Shakuntala knowledge reveals itself. The rape of Chuyia is the rape of her reason and she is open to the truth. Naryan reveals that widows are sentenced to live in an ashram as money-saving measures to their families. Now she is enlightened, but it is too late for her. She has lost Kalyani, but she will not lose Chuyia. She rights a great wrong and saves Chuyia. 
Naryan is not just the token leading male, but the voice of hope and justice. He knows change is on the horizon. He believes in the ideals Gandhi preaches. He is the future of this new law, a law that will release all people held in bondage by the old. He knows that widow-colony life is not religion. It’s a family’s means to survive and feed one less mouth legitimized by culture. Naryan is the tragic hero, not afraid to take the leap of faith and fall in love with an outcast. He is Romeo from a respectable family but his love is not Juliet. Much to the heartbreak of his mother she is Kalyani, a widow, who lives on the other side of the Holy Water.
I commend Deepa Mehta who made this film in spite of a major up rise within the Hindi community. Deepa Mehta’s sensitivities achieve a quiet justice not only for herself, but for her characters. Kalyani surrendered her life ultimately to save Chuyia. Shakuntala, having saved Chuyia, can return to dutifully live out her days in a widow colony. Naryan, the idealist, will carry Chuyia to the future, a world governed by Gandhi’s truth.