The climax of Sankarabaranam: The frail and ailing Sankara Sastri, the doyen of Indian classic music, is back on stage, after many years of artistic isolation. Sastri’s return to the stage, unknown to him, is orchestrated by Tulasi, his disciple once upon a time and soulmate in art. Both were ostracized by a society that didn’t approve of their platonic relationship. Time has passed, and Tulasi’s son is now under the tutelage of Sastri, but Sastri doesn’t know it. The stage is set for a climax, Sankara Sastri begins the concert with a short emotional soliloquy about the importance of nurturing art that is indigenous and classical in one’s culture, and that no amount of praise and gratitude will ever equal the service of people like the benefactress whose financial munificence has helped the revival and resurrection of such traditions. And then Sastri breaks into that immortal song “Dorukuna iti vanti seva” which means “ Can one ever be a recipient of a glorious service like this?”, a beautiful composition by KV Mahadevan, written by VSR Murthy and rendered with soulful intensity by the great SPB. Mid-way through the song, as the notes reach the higher octaves, Sastri’s voice breaks down to a raking cough, he is unable to continue, and then a mellifluous voice from somewhere in the audience picks up the thread of his song; Sastri looks up and sees his protege prompted by Tulasi ( by a gentle tap on his shoulders), walking towards the stage – the time has arrived for the art to pass over from the master to the successor. It is at this time that Sastri realizes that all along he has been tutoring Tulasi’s son, and he looks at his close friend in the audience who organized the event for confirmation that it is indeed as he thinks it is – that this young boy is Tulasi’s son. A gentle nod from his friend confirms this. No words are spoken, there is no need to. A gesture, an eyeball movement is enough to say what words can never capture.
The climax of Sagara Sangamam: Balu, a great dancer who couldn’t make it big during his active years, is now on stage as a Guru, thanking his benefactress Madhavi for her kindness, and for allowing him to immortalize his art through her daughter, Shailu. It is a deeply emotional moment for all: Balu, Madhavi, and Balu’s friend who has been with him through everything in life. Balu is on the brink of death, his liver has succumbed to years of alcoholism, and now, he has one chance, a last one, to showcase his art to the world, through the performance of Shailu. Balu’s life has been like flotsam and jetsam, never been able to find his bearings as an artist, ever pushed around by circumstances and financial constraints. And now, with the realization that Shailu is Madhavi’s daughter, he brings to focus his life’s art and pours it into Shailu. The climax begins with Ilayaraja’s mesmerizingly probing notes in raaga Hansanandi, a raaga known for its intense depth and soaring heights, imitating the proverbial white swan ( Hansa) that can walk on earth and take off to the skies. SPB’s voice infuses the climax with an otherworldly quality, and then the dance kicks off. Shailu’s movements are juxtaposed with Balu’s ( played by Kamal Haasan in one of his finest roles ever). The energy and vigor of Shailu’s dance are a consummation of Balu’s art. Again, like in Sankarabaranam, Balu locks eyes with Madhavi, and through brief eye movements and with pride on his face gestures to her “ Look, how she dances, my work here is done”. With that, his head drops on his friend’s arm and Balu breathes his last. His body is carried in a wheelchair away from the stage. The art continues, but the vessel has changed.
K Vishwanath ( KV) was one the greatest filmmakers of India. In a career spanning more than four decades, he proved that cinema need not lean towards any extremes. It can strike a beautiful and satisfying balance between art and commercial success if there is enough commitment to the creative requirements of the medium. All of KV’s work is iconic and based on variations on a single theme – the excellence that is innate in Man and his relationships. There are no villains, only individuals reacting to circumstances. His movies brimmed with optimism, even though the story he told would often be laced with tragedy and misfortunes. Art was his muse, He used it as a vehicle to tell his tale. Dance and music formed the backbone of most of his narratives, and through that texture, he could weave characters and relationships that everyone could relate to. One of the greatest strengths of KV was his ability to sketch out a character in a single frame – that’s all he needed. In Sagara Sangamam, for instance, we know that the proprietor of a photoshop (who comes on screen for less than ten seconds to hand over some developed pics to Balu and Madhavi) is a henpecked husband by the simple fact that he runs back to his back office at the single call of his wife. In a single shot, we know more about the man and not just as an insignificant role in the overall film. KV imbued life into his character, which in turn imparted realism to the narrative. In another instance in the same movie, a doctor would casually turn to tell his nurse “ I am just coming over to see the other patient” while talking to Balu’s friend about the former’s critical condition – a dialogue that doesn’t add anything to the story but infuses empathy, closeness and a dash of stunning realism to what is presented on screen.
KV is a master at framing a sequence. Like Kurosawa, the great Japanese director, KV knew how to present a scene for maximum impact. One of my favorites ever is a sequence in Sagara Sangamam where kamal Hassan and Manju Bhargavi ( the renowned kathak dancer who played the lead role in Sankarabaranam) are seen dancing at a marriage; Kamal in the Kitchen for his mom, and Manju for the invitees on the stage. The movements and gestures mirror each other. There is perfect synchronization, not deliberate, but just a glimpse of KV’s directorial genius showing us that the essence of dance is universal, but dancers could be different and placed in different circumstances. The dancer on the stage is publicly known, but the dancer in the kitchen is unknown, and that takes nothing away from the quality and excellence of his art. This is KV’s message and his underlying theme throughout his career.
When I learned that KV had passed away the only fitting homage I could think of was to watch my favorite KV films again. I chose to re-watch Sagara Sangamam and Sankarabaranam. Between 1980 and 1992, KV directed a hexalogy of movies based on Indian art and its redemptive power, each a gem of its kind. But, for me, these two movies stand out for a variety of reasons, not the least being the cinematic perfection KV managed to achieve in both. While Sankarabaranam showcased the transcendental power of Indian classical music, Sagara Sangamam told the story of Indian classical dance through a different narrative structure. In both works, KV showcases the tension between the rigors of classicism in art and the dilution modernity brings to it, he draws the distinction between art as a means to financial success and art as a conduit to human meaning and fulfillment, and more importantly, in both movies, there is enough human drama with very real characters, who manage to bring the story to life, make it credible, emotionally appealing, and aesthetically elevating. It is quite difficult not to be moved by these movies, and like other great works of art, the images and sounds and the cinematic brilliance of KV’s movies will linger and resonate long after we have watched the films.
When Sankarabaranam was released on 2nd February 1980, no one went to the theaters to watch it. It was deemed a flop. The movie was against the grain of what was being made then. But by the end of the first week, when the news spread that there was a gem, a movie that was not merely well made but had deep roots in Indian tradition and values, people flocked to the cinema halls. For two years, the movie ran to full houses, and the songs and the characters were etched in the regional psyche. Sankara Sastri and Tulasi became household names, and the songs are popular even today. The movie won several national awards and lifted SPB to a new realm in the world of playback singing, a position from which he never looked back.
One of the striking things about KV’s movie is the absence of any vulgarity or titillation common in commercial regional films. His heroines were naturally beautiful and their beauty was further accentuated by the characters they essayed. I don’t think any heroine has looked as beautiful and intelligent as Jayaprada did as Madhavi in Sagara Sangamam. One can watch every KV film with one’s sons and daughters. It is an education in itself. In many ways, KV was also ahead of his time in portraying sensitive social issues. In Swati Muthyam, another KV gem, with Kamal in the lead role as a mentally weak person, the issue of widow remarriage was so poignantly explored. Actor Radhika played a stellar role as the widow who is thrown into an accidental relationship which then blossoms into something beautiful and fragrant.
My pen can never stop writing about KV’s work. He has shaped the way I have grown up to look at cinema, and with each passing year, as I have grown older and a little wiser, my respect for his work has only increased with each viewing. I have read Tolstoy’s War and peace four times so far, and each time, I have come out with new insights and angles of appreciation. Similarly, each time, I observe something different in KV’s movies, something that I haven’t noticed before. That is genius, according to me. To create a work of art that constantly recreates new experiences for the audience.
KV was 83 years old, and in failing health. So his death, though a loss to the world of cinema, was not unexpected. What is important is to learn from and cherish the significant body of work he has left behind for the next generation of filmmakers. If that is achieved, KV’s spirit will live on. I will for sure, revisit a KV movie whenever I need to watch something deep and satisfying. I have always found KV films a good medicine to get rid of the impressions left by the gross fare we ingest in the name of cinema these days. For those who haven’t had an opportunity to watch Kv’s work, it may be a good time to start with Sankarabaranam or Sagara Sangamam. It could be the beginning of a new cinematic experience.