An engaging, intelligent fare

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Antardwand is the story of a misogynistic world where untold tragedies unfold the moment an alpha male so much as perceives that one hair of his moonch has been plucked or even upset. In that, it is essentially Indian, quintessentially Bihari.

Raghu Veer (Raj Singh Chaudhary) is studying in Delhi for Civil Services. He has a girlfriend, Sia (Himansi), who is pregnant. The two want to get married, but for this Raghu must seek his father Madhukar Shahi’s (Vinay Pathak) permission. So Raghu takes the train to Kanti, Bihar. When he arrives home, his father is sitting in the veranda, brushing off Mahendra Babu (Akhilendra Mishra) who has come with his daughter’s picture and the offer of a hefty dowry amount.

Raghu tells his mother about Sia, father overhears and tells Raghu that his marriage is already fixed with one Jagdish Babu’s susheel daughter. He tells Raghu to forget about his Delhi girlfriend. Mother intervenes, but is ignored.

Next morning, Raghu packs his bag and is on his way to catch a train to Delhi when some men whisk him away in a Maruti van. He is locked up in a room full of cattle feed as lovely scenes of life in dehaat unfold outside. Raghu is kept for days and tortured every time he tries to escape or shout. Only when Mahendra Babu arrives and hands him his wedding card does Raghu realise what this is all about. He shouts, screams, is tortured and not allowed to sleep.

Meanwhile, in Mahendra Babu’s house we meet his wife, his bahu and daughter Janaki (Swati Sen) who is to marry Raghu. Janaki, who is still in college, is dead against jabran viwah. But her father and brother have decided, so mother and bhabhi comply and try to cajole Janaki.

Cards and mithai are distributed, mandap is decorated and a tailor is sent to take Raghu’s measurements. Mahendra Babu’s men pour several glasses of daru down Raghu’s throat and when unconscious, carry him to the mandap. In a fabulous scene, where all guests and family members get all awkward and scared staring at the groom propped up by two men, the marriage ceremony is conducted.

Raghu’s father, meanwhile, has figured that his son is missing and lodges a complaint with the police. Back to Mahendra Babu’s house where the newly-weds are kept locked in an outhouse, while his men stand guard outside. Janaki brings tea and food and though unsure and petrified, she allows herself a smile at the thought of being touched by her husband. But Raghu is uncompromising. He tells her about Sia and says that he will never accept her.

As pressure from the police builds up, Mahendra Babu tells his wife to coax Janaki to consummate her marriage. But Raghu won’t even touch her. So a nautch girl is summoned, booze is forced down Raghu’s throat again, jokes about his mardangi are cracked and he returns to his bedroom to...

Antardwand (inner conflict), which won last year’s National Award for best film on social issues, is a brutal, stark comment on the plight of women in a phallic world. The film’s screenplay, based on a true story, very effectively captures the horror of how in the badlands of Bihar simple lives are turned into a public parody on one man’s whim.

But the film is more than its social message. Sushil Rajpal’s Antardwand is an engaging and intelligent film which brilliantly captures every twitch and thud of its world — a world where men shoot in the air when excited and have a thing for white Ambassador cars and women. Antardwand’s sympathies and concerns lie entirely with its women. The betis of Bihar. The women of this world, in bright and starched saris, with red sindoor and clinking bangles, are all sensuous and strong. But, all surrender to the will of the man. The film often visits them in bedrooms and kitchens and listens to them as they talk to each other. They all have opinions, but only when around other women.

Antardwand has been shot on-location and this gives it a real-life feel — the heat is stifling, the buzzing flies annoying and the dry dust almost gets in between your teeth. The credit for the film’s real-life pace, and ominous play of light and shadow, goes to Malay Ray’s brilliant cinematography. The film’s colloquial dialogues, full of rustic idioms, are fabulous.

All characters, even the insignificant servants, are nicely fleshed out and entrusted to extremely able actors. All characters live and breathe and leave a lasting impression. The film’s music is lovely, too.