Death, be not proud, though some have called
thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art
not so ...
For those whom thou think'st thou
dost overthrow,
Die not...
One short sleep past, we wake
eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death,
thou shalt die.
— John Donne
Bhabendranath Saikia, a maestro of
the cinematic form and the written word, truly conquered
death. In the pages of his novels and short stories and in the
mosaic of his cinematic oeuvre, Saikia has left behind his
soul.
And his heart was definitely in
weaving tales, be they on celluloid or paper. He wove tales of
ordinary people in extraordinary manner, hopping from one
medium to another but never compromising on quality.
“I cannot make films which are
contrary to realism. I have never made such films, nor I would
make in future. My cinema depicts true aspects of human life,
with possible creative inputs from me, both as a writer and
filmmaker,” he once told an august gathering in Guwahati.
Authenticity was his signature
theme, the hallmark of a genius credited with putting Assamese
films well and truly on the national scene.
He has done this regularly since
1977. Through seven Assamese films, all of which have won the
Rajat Kamal award as the best regional film — Sandhyaraag
in 1978, Anirbaan in 1981, Agnisnan in 1985,
Kolahal in 1988, Sarothi in 1992, Abartan
in 1994 and Itihaas in 1996. Saikia also won the
national award for best screenplay for Agnisnan.
Besides, Saikia also made a film in Hindi, Kalsandhya
(1998), dwelling on the complicated issue of militancy but
where he refused to take sides.
If Saikia’s genius blossomed on
celluloid, he nurtured his creativity on paper. One can call
it coincidence — a wonderful one at that — that the first book
that I read, very early on in life, was a novel by Saikia —
Aatankar Seshot. Totally captivated, it was only after
I had read the last page that I took a look at the book’s
cover to see who was the author! Saikia’s stories became a
constant companion since.
Each of Saikia’s stories — and I
have read most — is a slice of life and profound art. It is
also a reflection of the writer’s organised thought-process, a
rare quality, which helped him create touching and sensitive
art from trivial experiences.
The man, too, was like his art —
dignified, compassionate, considerate. I can still recall the
first time I met him. I had come down from Shillong especially
to request Saikia to write a piece for a Rongali Bihu
souvenir. Saikia, then teaching at Gauhati University, was
extremely busy with examinations but he took time out to give
me a beautiful piece of prose.
Who could not have been enamoured by
the character and spirit of the man? From being one of my
favourite authors, Saikia became an inspiration, a man whose
humane qualities I have always tried to emulate.
Both the writer and filmmaker
complemented each other perfectly: for all his films were
based on his own stories. He admitted that he had little
difficulty in fitting into the two roles —”after all, both
have the same objective. Both are tales of human beings.”
I first watched Saikia’s first film
Sandhyaraag at a festival in Pune. I can still recall
my heart swelling with pride at the echoes of appreciation
that reverberated in the hall around me. An Assamese film made
under such constraints with depth and sensitivity had found
its place in the sun.
Naturally, then as one who wanted to
take up the craft, I wished to meet my role model again. My
heart’s desire was fulfilled soon; I met Saikia again, only
this time I could speak to him at length and find in his
soft-spoken words the beauty of being human.
Each of Saikia’s films is a
masterpiece, near-perfect in its cinematic qualities. Although
Saikia did not have any formal training in filmmaking, his
movies were literature on celluloid.
In fact, a few facets of his films
were far superior than a trained filmmaker’s. Like a scene in
Anirbaan where the protagonist, who, after having lost
all his children, hits and uproots a tree he had planted in
his garden in anguish. Normally not one to give in to tears, I
still cry when I watch that scene. This proves the measure of
the scene’s poignancy and the degree of the film’s
sensitivity.
It is no wonder that like the
filmmaker, Bhabendranath Saikia the litterateur was also a
master of his craft. The numerous national and state awards
speak for themselves. As the editor of the Assamese
fortnightly magazine Prantik and the children’s
magazine Sofura, Saikia was hailed by both friends and
foes as a stickler for ethics.
Recognised as one of the top-ranking
writers of Assam, many of his stories have been translated
into English, Bengali, Hindi, Telugu, Malayalam, Marathi and
Gujarati, which testify to their universality and simplicity.
Indeed, simplicity was the hallmark
of this rare breed whose life began in a nondescript locality
in Nagaon town. From studying physics in college to becoming a
reader in the subject at Gauhati University, he followed the
normal course of a commoner. But he was soon to realise that
his calling lay elsewhere.
The overriding passion for
creativity was to become the mantra of the maestro and the
dominating theme of his life's canvas. Yes, creativity was
“his” story. The poignant end was his forte, too. In the end,
reel life merged with the real.
