Will KamalHassan apologise for Mahanadhi ?

Background

For long, KamalHaasan’s classic Thevar Magan has been subjected to criticism that it was insufficiently aware of how the film - despite its patronising and pontifical tone - would be received with a warm glow of pride by the Thevars. Indeed, there is no contesting that ‘potri paadadi ponne’ - a Thevar paen - has come to become a peerless anthem of sorts. 

While the extent of ‘out-of-context’ celebration may have been surprising, one cannot lose sight of the fact that song itself realised a specific purpose within and for the film first: within the film’s narrative and for, one reasonably assumes, the film's commercial prospects then. To imbue the makers in the business of mainstream films with virtues of thorough naivete is unnecessary.

That said, over the years, the criticism has gradually escalated to the absurd heights of accusing him of gross social irresponsibility for not anticipating everything that the song has come to stand for. This type of reductive engagement - which is not without its performative element - has come to become typical in pop discourse. And in this age of social media, the artists have been falling over themselves to respond to such criticisms and thus emboldening even marginal readings of questionable validity. 

Apology

In a 2019 interview to Ananda Vikatan, KamalHaasan has gone on to somewhat apologise for the song. 

Kamal Haasan on Thevar Magan and the consequences it had on the society: 'Ilaiyaraaja and I, and on behalf of Vaali, who is no more, should ask forgiveness for it.' pic.twitter.com/msQPxEJQdO

— 𝙿𝚂 (@dostoyevesque) June 21, 2023

Whether it is a final annoyed response to decades of badgering or it is some kind of genuine expression of remorse for what the song has gone on to symbolise, one really cannot tell.

But, as one who views his political foray as replete with earnest naivete , this author hesitates to call his apology a political gesture. In any case, it rings hollow, given that just in 2017 KamalHaasan sang the eminently forgettable ‘thekkathi singamadA muthuramalingamada’ for the even more forgettable film: Muthuramalingam. A more direct and tasteless Thevar bravado film and song is a challenge to conceive- it taps into the caste pride of viewers who would likely adore a paean to Pasumpon Muthuramalinga Thevar. 

If there is one artist who ought to know better than to apologise for unintended readings of his works, it is KamalHaasan. It has been open season with him for decades now, with cottage industries across the political spectrum waiting to be offended by something he attempts in every new film. So if he is indeed going to apologise for consequences/readings, he is going to have time for little else.

And worse still, if the apology he is offering privileges the ‘intent’ behind his creation - that severely circumscribes the only - let me repeat in case you missed the word ONLY - writer in Tamil cinema who has anything of substance to SAY.

So, depending on how sympathetic you are to him, you may consider the ‘apology’ gracious or convenient.

But admiration for an artist does not oblige one to appreciate his grace nor care for his convenience. The admirer’s truck is with the art itself. And what follows is a grumpy protest: here is a case for why KamalHaasan should apologise for Mahanadhi.

Mahanadhi

On the surface Mahanadhi is about a genuine sincere man, Krishnaswamy, who is ruined in the big bad corrupt city. After a series of batteries and losing to lessers and briefly considering bowing out, he flares up and makes a personal sacrifice. The film raises the moral question: what sacrifices will are you ready to make in order to take a moral stand, in order to retain the right to question others? Behind the gore, the quandary is actually Gandhian!

With the memorable cinematography of debutant M.S.Prabhu, typical masterly score by Ilayaraja and deft helming by director Santhanabharathi of  KamalHassan’s screenplay - the film has rightly come to be remembered as one of the finest films of all time in Tamil Cinema. The combination of visuals and locales and characters had a fluidity that has characterised - but rarely been matched by-  KamalHaasan’s works since then. 

The Feudal Lord and Modernity

Who is Krishnaswamy though?

He is no common man. He is a feudal lord who has managed to land in jail (where we are introduced to him). 

It is seductive to look at this as a parallel to another feudal lord who is heading to prison at the end of his movie - Sakthi (Thevar Magan). 

Sakthi is from the ‘modern world’ and prefers its individualism, its uncertainty and is ostensibly comfortable being the commoner there and earning his stripes. 

He wants out of the near-deification he is certain to inherit. He resents everything the village is, much to the dismay of his father. The appeal that this theme has for anyone negotiating (and often exaggerating) the quandary of one’s personal move towards individualism forsaking all manners of heritage and tradition (often due to limited literacy of the same), cannot be overstated. 

A side-note here: 

Like most Kamal films, Mahanadhi too is quite decidedly 'male' in its engagement with the dilemma of individual identity. 

For instance, the modern equal woman versus the traditional rooted woman, who is in no way less strong but is conveniently unaware of modern notions of hyper-equality - is a theme that Kamal keeps revisiting.

The portrayal of how the man gets to know himself better as he gets to know the latter woman better - beyond his initial superficial impression, merits a separate essay.

End of side-note.

Unlike Thevar Magan’s Sakthi, Mahanadhi’s Krishnaswamy’s journey to the city is motivated not so much by a negative emotion of disgust for his village, but a positive seeking of prospects for his children. The film attempts to provide a simplistic moral first: that joy lies in the eye of the beholder (நம் இன்பம் என்பது கண்ணில் உள்ளது கனவில் இல்லையடி) - as if to fault legitimate yearning and earnestness itself. 

But it is instructive to look at it from the words of the lawyer who says காவேரிக்கரைல, ராஜா மாதிரி, கையை சொடக்கினா நாங்க ஆயிரம் பேர் உங்க காரியங்களை பாத்துக்கறதுக்கு..... நீங்க எப்படி சார் இந்த மாதிரி ஆள் கிட்ட மாட்டினீங்க? 

What he is pointing out here is not just that that particular individual he trusted was a fraud. But that, the move to the city ‘as an individual/equal citizen’, forsaking his prime position, was a trade-off, which was naive and unwarranted. It is quite instructive to see the story of Krishnaswamy’s ruin as a feudal lord overestimating his capacity for modernity and struggling irrevocably.

Respect

When Krishnaswamy causes an accident and attempts to placate a justifiably angry Dhanush, the villagers bristle in anger on their overlord’s behalf. 

He reprimands the 'serfs' to defend their village reputation (நம்ம ஊரைப் பத்தி என்ன நினைப்பாரு) The city man is taken aback and asks if Krishnaswamy is a legislator - modernity’s marker of power. To which Saraswathi Ammal (S.N.Lakshmi) replies: மரியாதை அவங்க அப்பா சம்பாதிச்சது, இவர் காப்பாத்துட்டு வர்றார்.

It is easy to behave as if such a surfeit of respect rests uneasily on one’s shoulders, but it is not until it is lacking that one realises how much one was used to such respect in the first place.

After the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune have cast him into prison and there too he faces unspeakable ignominies and insolence of office, he tells Saraswathi Ammal: இந்த ஊர்ல யாருக்கும் மரியாதையே கிடையாதும்மா. 

Quite a curious thing to say at that juncture. Only a feudal lord could feel prickly about the impingement of his dignity, when he is in a prison.

Most notable is the scene when the chit-fund goes broke, the moment that violence escalates is when the watchman addresses him in the familiar singular, instead of the respectful plural. Krishnaswamy seethes: வேலைக்கார நாயே, அவன் இவன்னு பேசற நீ!

Hit pause now.

Has there ever been such a dialogue spoken by a Tamil film hero? 

Or rather, has a person who speaks such a dialogue, ever  been portrayed as a hero? And make no mistake, Krishnaswamy is a hero - much as the film would have you almost believe he is a mere ‘protagonist’ suffering in the hands of fate. Not at all.

He is exceptional. He cannot bend. He bristles and gets his remission cut. Perhaps he may have been able to get out early and save his family if only he had swallowed his pride and wrestled down the indignant landlord in him. 

So What?

It is that moment that fleshes out Krishnaswamy’s quandary best. But the film itself does not examine the nature of the problematic line. It encourages one to sympathise with him as a fallen man. 

But it is essential to recognise that it is the  fall of the elite, getting a taste of equality.

It is misleading to suggest the village as a bucolic ideal to return to (as the family does in the end) is universal, if at all available. In the confrontational conversation with Dhanush, Krishnaswamy says he intends to return. One cannot help but feel that that escape is not going to be in any way better given how he is out of step everywhere.

His village does not exist anymore. He will return with his tail tucked between his legs as a வாழ்ந்துகெட்ட பண்ணையார். The village is going to snigger behind his back - as he has lost the respect his father earned. And it is going to be certain hell for his children.

What seems to have gotten a pass in this melee, is some broad political brushstrokes, which are hardly innocuous:

Two Brahmins

The aspiration to migrate from his village is sowed by Krishna’s Brahmin friend Sundar, who has emigrated to London. 

He makes a reference to how he was forced into tarring Hindi signposts by Krishna in their youth. 'His own meekness was justified and Krishna - son of a landlord  (காலேஜ்ல இவன் வஸ்தாது, இவங்கப்பா பெரிய ஆள்) - could dare to take a stance', is what he says. 

Referring to a seminal point in the history of the Tamil politics, Sundar casually reduces the fervour as the preserve of those who could afford to. 

While Sundar being an NRI does service the film’s need of pointing Krishnaswamy to
what his children lack, even in this idyllic contended world, Sundar being a Brahmin attracts a further reading.The minimality of his political fervour and the ability to tap out of his roots is in sharp contrast with the feudal lord's.

Is he not pretty much the physical embodiment of the typical Brahmin whine that, ‘merit’ has been chased abroad? 

The other Brahmin on display is Panchapakesa Iyer (Poornam Viswanathan). He is a walking caricature of the subservient spineless brahmin, willing to suffer every ignominy as his fate: being obsequious to the warden who harasses him, falling at the feet of a brothel madam, addressing her as பரதேவதே (which she indeed turns out to be).

Iyer’s helplessness is strongly contrasted against the honest mute witness - constable Muthusamy (Rajesh). The latter attempts to rationalise his position, directing some blame for societal corruption to all citizenry in a let-he-who-hath-not-sinned-cast-the-first-stone speech (which is the central import of the film). Panchapakesan is not given to such analyses. He takes his undeserved misfortune hard. Here too, a character who haplessly suffers ill-luck and the ignominies of the system  - serves the story well. But the choice to make the character a Brahmin invites curious reading.

Two ‘Dalits’ 

The caste coordinates of the inmate-warden ThulukkāNam aren’t located precisely. However, for the purposes of this essay it would not be out of place to assume he is functions as the ‘Dalit’ Other to be contrasted against the triad of

• the toothless rule-bound honest Muthusamy (அவன் கிட்ட ரொம்ப வச்சிக்காத, புரியுதா?)
• the non-confrontational Brahmin Panchapakesan, who goes so far as to half-mockingly praise the cruelty of  his oppressor: துலுக்காணமா கொக்கா? வதைக்கணும்னு தீர்மானிச்சுட்டன், விடுவனா?
• the landlord who cannot brook injustice - Krishnaswamy     
• பேர் என்ன மகாத்மா காந்தியா? 
• இல்லை, கிருஷ்ணசாமி

TulukkāNam seems to stand for the venality of a world where all norms of propriety are off. The suggestion that the smidgen of power that goes to the underclass will express itself in violent corruption, is not entirely unproblematic.

The other ‘Dalit’, is the street-performer Mannangatti who plays the classic trope of the loyal servant who raises the master’s scion in absentia. He does not at all disturb the feudal order and the master can once again be generous in his gesture of breaking bread with him.

When Panchapakesa Iyer, offers to compensate him in the token of modernity (i.e. money), it comes from a very genuine place of concern (இவ்வளவு கஷ்டத்துக்கு நடுவுல எங்க குழந்தையை வளர்த்திருக்கேளே) not only is MannāNkatti outraged but Krishnaswamy also knew, right when the offer was made, that it was highly inappropriate.

Krishnaswamy and Mannānkatti share the value system of a bygone world which seems utterly alien to Panchapakesa Iyer.

Well, even his own nephew was ungrateful and broke the engagement with his daughter, refusing to believe his innocence. So his alienation from whatever little remained of the old manners in the modern environs, is also understandable.

Roots

In the opening frame we see the clear flowing waters (of Kaveri), fading to the stagnant grand-sewer that is Cooum.

Cooum is emblematic of the city and is a metaphor for modern society itself, insofar as it characterises the criminal callousness of its inhabitants.

It is strongly contrasted against the rootedness espoused in the song that runs through the film (தை பொங்கலும் வந்தது). Who is actually singing this song? 

The last two instances are by Krishnaswamy himself 

- as he resolves to deal with challenges (தன்மானம் உள்ள நெஞ்சம்)

- as he realises the pollution is all too human (அட இங்கே குளிக்கும் மனிதன் அழுக்கில் கங்கை கலங்குது)

But who exactly is ‘singing’ the prior instances of the song, are hard to place.

செவ்வாழை செங்கரும்பு சாதிமல்லி தோட்டம் தான்
எல்லாமே இங்கிருக்க ஏதுமில்லை வாட்டம் தான்

In the first instance it seems deceptively to be the expression of a happy farm hand.


But the second instance (அன்பான தாயை விட்டு) seems to express the authorial  voice of the film.

ஒரு பந்தம் என்பதும் பாசம் என்பதும்

வேரு விட்ட இடம்

இதை விட்டால் உன்னை வாழ வைப்பது

வேறு எந்த இடம்

The song anticipates dread.

This version was did not make it to the final cut. It seems to have been left out in favour

of editing cut that fast forwards the narration.

The film is all praise of the ‘old way of things’ where all is well for the landlord. This is contrasted against the city and rootlessness is characterised as a space populated by swindlers,  women of easy virtue, disrespectful servants, violently venal underclass and powered by immorality. A place where even the ‘good’ men have to either duck from evil or perform intellectual acrobatics to justify their impotence in the face of malevolance .

It does not take much to see that this duality is rather along the fault-lines of the Gandhi vs. Ambedkar views on the village vs modernity.

It can be reasonably asserted that the modicum of liberation and that the underclass has achieved in the modern republic have been through riding the steeds of industrialization, urbanisation and transcending their roots. 

It would not be unreasonable to view this film while being a high watermark in Tamil cinema - as regressive in its reductive representation of the feudal-modern duality.

 

பஞ்சாயத்து தீர்ப்பு

So, if Kamal Hassan were to apologise for all potential readings of all his films, Mahanadhi would be a fine place to start, would it not?

After all, there have indeed been attempts to lionise the line from the film that emphasise Krishnaswamy’s pre-eminence:

Yes such a caste-flex is thoroughly excised from the context of the film. This is not at all the thrust of Mahanadhi. 

But hey, that is the case with the anthemization of potri padadi too:

1. The first instance is a paen
2. the second instance (வானம் தொட்டு) is a pathos-instant when Periya thévar passes away 
3. and the final rendering (வீச்சறுவா தாங்கி) is when the film ends.

Yes this reading is - horror of horrors - sympathetic to  the film’s vantage. 

It is insensitive to demand such sympathies from those who have had to live through the violent consequences of the anthemization. 

And insofar as the text that enabled such a reading, Kamal is apparently culpable. His apology is submitted not as proof of his grace but as a vindication of his detractors (Ref. twitter)

If so, then Mahanadhi's aesthetic that  valorises the village hierarchy and 'savarna' mores (காந்தியையும், இராமனையும் காட்டி இவங்களை மாதிரி இரு, இவங்களை மாதிரி இருன்னு என்னை எதுக்கு இப்படி வளர்த்தாங்க?) and viciously inveigles a vilification of the city/modernity,  which - with all its warts - holds a promise of emancipation - is even more venomous.

Just because it did not translate to physical violence on the ground as Thevar Magan did, does not mean Mahanadhi did not commit horrific ideological violence.

To ask ideological violence to be excused is the classic mode just because it could not be tied overt physical violence is the classical deceptive Gandhian evil and Brahmanical hegemony at play, is it not?  

One hopes KamalHassan will not make us wait too long for this apology too.

***

Now, my dear reader, do you ask me if I am being ridiculous or being serious?

The point is, it does not matter, does it?

****

P.S: Much as I am bashful about exuding an academic தோரணை in all this, I have one acknowledgement to make: the importance to the film’s narrative, of  Krishnaswamy being a fallen feudal lord (and NOT a commoner) and film ending with his 'fantastic' return to his fief - owes a lot to conversations over the years with the ever perspicacious @equanimus 

Without grasping that, the film would be received (as it tragically widely is) as merely the tragic fall of a good man.