Padmaavat returns

Supreme Court upholds the law of the land, protesters are free not to see the film

The Supreme Court’s decision to lift the ban on the release of Padmaavat  in four States, thereby upholding the right to freedom of expression in the creative space, is surely commendable and restores an artiste’s faith. There is some unease among the film fraternity still, however, and many would have liked an explicit linking of the release with ensuring administrative compliance of the Court order by, say, making it mandatory for the chief secretaries and police chiefs of the states which had banned the film to ensure peaceful screenings in the wake of the continuing threats by a destructive fringe. Of course, the executive should be proactive of its own volition needing explicit directions from the judiciary and certainly that is the expectation implicit in the order of the apex court; that is also the expectation of all law-abiding Indian citizens. The Court did make it a point to say it is the state’s obligation to protect law and order. But when the executive abdicates its responsibility in maintaining law and order, what happens? It is to be noted that though fatwa-like threats have been issued against the filmmaker and actors, the law and order machinery is yet to make any arrests or headway in the cases filed.

That the order had little effect on the fringe was evidenced by sporadic incidents of violence across the country. Pro-ban activists damaged a cinema hall in Bihar, some have called a ‘janata bandh’ on  the release date in Rajasthan, state governments are still cagey and the scarcely heard of women’s wing of the Karni Sena has even threatened jauhar or self-immolation to restore community pride. Cinema hall owners are worried about damage to their assets. With Assembly elections due in two of the states that had banned the film, the effect of Rajput community polarisation and cohesion is a numerical dividend that all political parties want to benefit from. And despite repeated assertions from faith leaders such as Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and others that the film upholds Rajput pride more than anything else, or the CBFC chief’s intelligent and careful tweaks including of the title to quell inflamed tempers, this neo-coalition around Rajput identity of which the film has become a victim, is too potent to ignore politically. However, the Supreme Court has creditably and unitedly restored literature in its rightful place. By emphasising that “artistic freedom has to be protected” and observing that banning Padmaavat also means that 60 per cent of classical literature could not be read by that logic, CJI Deepak Misra ensured that literature — good bad or ugly, is a subjective call — cannot be contextualised within the norms of political convenience. The fact that Kalidasa’s Meghadootam  and DH Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover were part of the arguments demonstrates the seriousness of the Court’s purpose in dispensing any restrictive counter-argument that may emerge in future against a cinematic resurrection of literary, fictional works.

The most worrisome part about the whole controversy has been the weak premise of the ban supporters who had not even see the film. Padmaavat as conceived by poet Malik Mohammad Jayasi, actually portrays the protagonist as an embodiment of Indic culture under threat from a foreign, medieval despot and there is no evidence of an interlude, romantic or otherwise, between the her and Allauddin Khilji. But presumptions and assumptions about the film, which does not claim to be a historical document, continue to rule. It would be much better if those against the film, for whatever reason, just skip it or give it bad reviews.