A POIGNANT SCENE in Sagara Sangamam comes to mind.
A drunk and hungry Kamal Haasan, defeated by life's circumstances, refuses to enter the home of his close friend played by Sarath Babu, because he is drunk and it is the occasion of Sri Krishna Janmashtami. He says, "Sister-in-law has decorated the house with the footsteps of Bala (Baby) Krishna with great devotion. How can I enter this home in this state?"
The background music is set to a flute rendition of the Kannada devotional lyric composed by the 15th Century Haridasa, Vyasatirtha, Krishna nee begane baaro (Krishna my child, come soon). Kamal Haasan's character is named Balakrishna. The use of the flute, whose most revered and celebrated practitioner, Bhagavan Sri Krishna, completes the artistic unity of this magnificent scene.
This one scene is a good study in auchitya (aptness), rasa (aesthetic experience), and dhwani (suggestion). It also showcases Viswanath’s sincerity of art and the emotional wealth he’s capable of delivering through his conception of scenes and characterization.
Indeed, one of the highlights of Viswanath’s characterization is the fact that the intrinsic temperament of his characters are never lost. That said, while his films indulge in a fair bit of idealization and typefication, they are simply a means to an end, which is conveyed subtly. We do not observe the kind of loud proclamations of characterisation so typical in say, Puttanna Kanagal’s movies or in the “social” movies that N T Rama Rao acted in the second innings of his career.
We can now recall the earlier point about Viswanath taking a slice of society and narrating his story. Thus, we have the characters of say, a Guru, a Purohita, a singer, dancer, etc., through whose lives and values Viswanath delivers valuable lessons about ideals. With the same subtlety, he delineates the prerequisites of nobility, magnanimity and profound conduct required for people working in these fields. He also shows the downside of those who don’t possess these noble character traits.
Viswanath’s cinematic artistry lies in how he steps out of the main character and reveals them through a third person. This is a very good example of how art and art criticism go hand in hand within the framework of the film itself.
The most prominent example of this method is the character of Sankara Sastry in Sankarabharanam whose devotion to Indian classical music is a lifelong penance. From leading a Zamindar-like lifestyle to being reduced to penury, this penance makes him sever his own daughter’s matrimonial alliance. His close friend played by Allu Ramalingaiah, reveals Sastry’s character brilliantly, “…in an era when music has become shrieks, howls, moans, and sighs, because of which Sankara lost the earlier reverence his music commanded, this man has regarded the four walls of his home as the stage, the insects as his audience, and pursued his music Sadhana…”
What is even more extraordinary is the manner in which the character of the prostitute Tulasi’s unstinted devotion to his music acts as a subtext throughout the movie, revealing Sankara Sastry’s character and conduct.
The same applies to a lesser extent to the character of Seshendra Sharma, the Kuchipudi Guru in Swarna Kamalam. His daughter played by Bhanupriya who hates being a danseuse, realizes the eminence of her father revealed through the legions of his devoted students who offer an annual tribute to him on Guru Purnima.
On the other side, Viswanath shows what happens when an artist loses focus on his/her art. The opening song sequence in Sagara Sangamam shows how the danseuse played by S. P. Shailaja pauses mid-performance, on stage, to savour audience applause. The director shows the same hunger for audience-applause in Swarnakamalam where Bhanupriya poses for photographs. In both cases, Viswanath conveys the consequence of the phenomenon where the persona becomes more important than the person; where the artist thinks that she is above her art.
There is a more dangerous side to this loss of focus, to this misplaced priority vis a vis the art and the artist. This is the slide of an artist into moral and spiritual decay, showcased very effectively in Shruti Layalu and obliquely, in Sagara Sangamam.
In Shruti Layalu, the three, naïve but accomplished musical brothers who land in a big city are quickly seduced by every vice listed on its menu. In Sagara Sangamam, this takes the form of the protagonist abandoning his art and seeking refuge in alcohol. This owes to his character flaw of being unable to overcome extreme emotional swings.
But K.Viswanath also shows the other dimensions of the aforementioned idealization. Pragmatism is one such dimension. In Sutradharulu, this takes the form of adhering to one’s ideals in adverse circumstances by following strategy and not blind adherence. One can cite the scene in which the protagonist played by Akkineni Nageswara Rao throws the evil Zamindar’s charity money in the Godavari.
The deeper aspect to this, occurring at the individual level, is an incurable disability that occurs at birth — being born dumb, blind, deaf, etc; or disability through the vagaries of circumstances — disease, accident, etc. The psychological, emotional, and social turmoil that such an individual undergoes can only be experienced.
K.Viswanath treats this delicate subject with compassion, spirituality and splendid artistry. He takes the exact opposite approach of the “rights” discourse by placing his premise on an honest acceptance of disability. An attitude of acceptance is perfectly consonant with the ideals of Sanatana Dharma where the greatest Rishis accepted the world with all its flaws and evils and contemplated on a deeper plane — at the level of the spirit — towards finding a solution.
His Sirivennela is the best artistic showcase of these spiritual ideals of Sanatana Dharma. The protagonists include Hari Prasad, a blind flutist and Suhasini, a mute painter. In a particularly evocative scene, she paints his nose as a flute implying that music is his very breath.
In the same movie, the superb lyric embodied in Adi Bhikshuvu, catapulted Sitarama Sastry to permanent lyrical stardom. It is a Nindastuti on Bhagavan Shiva (praising Shiva by scolding him). The song picturises the blind flutist telling us that it’s futile to ask anything of Shiva who is himself a beggar and ash is the only thing he can give us. It’s an exceptional rendering of an individual’s attitude towards accepting handicaps instead of trying to change it or getting unduly agitated. It is this precise attitude of mental and emotional disquiet that eventually fuels and leads to violence in society in the name of revolutions, etc.
This song sequence and its picturisation introduces the character of Hari Prasad and in its emotional quotient and artistry, it is almost on par with the Krishna nee begane baaro scene in Sagara Sangamam. It is also one of the most honest expressions of the approach of Indian art which upholds the suzerainty of Rasa.
To be continued
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