Chhaava

The law of averages — that a brilliant father rarely gives way to an equally illustrious son — was turned on its head as early as the 17th century when Sambhaji took over the reigns of the Maratha empire from his father, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj’s depiction in history — despite tales of his unwavering valour — are unfortunately sketchy. Even the name by which he was referred to — ‘Chhaava’ aka ’lion’s cub’ — is more of a nod to Shivaji’s larger-than-life courage and persona. To cite an almost as-good-as-it-gets allusion, it refers more to Mufasa than it does to Simba. Hence, the unsung story of Sambhaji, and his relentless fight against the Mughals, led by the tyrannical Aurangzeb, needed to be documented. Chhaava does that, with its source material being the eponymously named historical novel by Shivaji Sawant. Which brings us to the tricky question of how much of Chhaava — the book, and by logical extension, the film — is fact and how much of it is exaggerated fact? We will, perhaps, never know.

एक दृश्य देखिए-मुगल बादशाह औरंगज़ेब की कैद में अत्याचार सह रहे छत्रपति संभा जी से औरंगज़ेब कहता है-हमारी तरफ आ जाओ, आराम से ज़िंदगी जियो, अपना धर्म बदल कर इस्लाम अपना लो…! संभा जी जवाब में कहते हैं-हमारी तरफ आ जाओ, आराम से ज़िंदगी जियो और तुम्हें अपना धर्म बदलने की भी ज़रूरत नहीं है…! यह एक दृश्य और फिल्म में बार-बार आने वाले संभा जी के संवाद दरअसल छत्रपति शिवाजी और उनके उत्तराधिकारियों की उस ‘हिन्दवी स्वराज’ की अवधारणा को सामने लाते हैं जिसमें हर किसी को अपने-अपने धर्म को मानते हुए साथ-साथ जीने का अधिकार था। यह फिल्म यह भी दिखाती है कि इस देश में ऐसे कई लोग थे जिन्होंने ‘धर्म’ त्यागने की बजाय अपने प्राण त्यागना ज़्यादा सही समझा। यह फिल्म उन लोगों को भी दिखाती है जिन्होंने सत्ता की भूख के चलते अपनों के ही सिर उतरवाए और ऐसे-ऐसे षड्यंत्र रचे जिनके परिणाम आने वाली नस्लों को भुगतने पड़े।

At the end of 161 minutes of Chhaava, based on the high-points of the life of Sambhaji Maharaj, the son of Shivaji Maharaj, you are left with two chief thoughts. How do you pull off a film which talks up a historical figure not as well known as his illustrious parent, without us wondering: how much is fact, and how much fiction? And the other, which is the reason you manage to sit through this ultra-loud, ultra-violent re-creation of a slice of the 17th century Hindustan is the total commitment on display by its lead actor to the titular character: Vicky Kaushal becomes Chhaava (‘son of a lion’), whose story the film adapts from the Marathi novel of the same name by Shivaji Sawant.

Leaping from the pages of 17th century Maratha history to the fantastical realms of Bollywood mythologizing, Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj, son of the revered Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, receives no-holds-barred epic treatment in Laxman Utekar’s Chhaava. The burden that the film puts upon itself in the bargain takes a heavy toll on the eventual shape of things. Despite a pair of noteworthy performances from lead actor Vicky Kaushal and Akshaye Khanna as the antagonist, the film falls apart at the seams because it has little to hold it together apart from its unabashed obsession with excess. We accept that it is all right for the makers to take the title literally—it means lion cub. It, however, makes no sense to use that as an excuse to roll out an endless parade of growls and scowls in the service of battle scenes that go on and on.

At its worst, the Tour de France turned moral decay into a non-factor. Doping among Lance Armstrong-era cyclists was so normalised that, perversely, the sport became a level-playing field. The logic being: if everybody cheats, is it even cheating anymore? It’s simply about who cheats — or performs — the best. The Bollywood period biopic is in a similar position today. It goes without saying that history and mythology are used as pawns to checkmate old-school notions of secularism. It goes without saying that the game being played is more modern. ‘Hidden’ themes like Islamophobia, bigotry, propaganda, erasure and jingoism are so normal that we barely notice them anymore. It’s the default pitch; that’s why “keeping the politics aside” is a common phrase. The irony is that, unlike the cyclists, such movies are so fundamentally broken that nobody wins. Cultural doping makes it a level-playing field of mediocrity and delusion. It’s like watching them race not to the finish line but straight off the top of a mountain. And not just any mountain, Mount Everest itself. Why stop there?

Ajay Devgn’s voice introduces the pride of the Marathas, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and the Deccan where he held sway. Also meet Aurangzeb and the Moghuls. They are parallels in Indian history. The biggest compliment a veer can receive is when he dies and a sworn enemy asks God to keep open the doors to “jannat” for a “sher” is on his way. When Shivaji’s death is announced, amidst a chorus of sycophantic utterings by courtiers, Aurangzeb (Akshaye Khanna), with sunken cheeks and poring over crochet work, wonders aloud, “Shiva jaisa dushman ab milega kahan?” Aurang then goes on to do what he does best – celebrate the death of his enemy. Writer-director Laxman Utekar’s cinematography origins show up in the “amazeballs” visuals. The earth trembles, hooves thunder in close-ups. The Maratha chest swells with pride as Chhatrapati Shivaji’s son Shambhu Raje (Vicky Kaushal) arrives, tanned and majestic astride his horse, sword flying, his roar surround sound.