Mughal-e-Azam (1960)

Directed by: K Asif
Music: Naushad
Starring: Prithviraj Kapoor, Durga Khote, 
Dilip Kumar, Madhubala, 
Nigar Sultana, Murad, Ajit, M Kumar

Okay. This one is a sitter. Those who know me, know I am an absolute sucker for raja-rani movies. I adore period movies. I love Muslim Socials. And I am a die-hard romantic. So when a movie seems to be a combination of *all* four (well, 'Muslim' at least, if not 'Muslim Social'), *and* stars Dilip Kumar and Madhubala, what can I do but succumb? 

I must also confess that I searched high and low for the black and white version of this film, only to be disappointed. Imagine my frustration when I saw that Shemaroo (whose coloured version I bought) has uploaded the cleaned up black and white version on their website. It looks so crisp!  Sigh. (After watching: The coloured version has three songs, and about 20 minutes cut out of it - which is a bummer, since my favourite Humein kaash tumse mohabat na hoti  is one of the songs cut.) 

Disclaimer: This is going to be a V-E-R-Y L-O-N-G post with MANY, MANY screencaps.

Jalal-u-Din Mohammed Akbar (Prithviraj Kapoor) has everything one may want in the world, but no offspring. After many years, he makes a  pilgrimage on foot to Saint Salim Chishti; it is said that it is due to the Saint's blessings that Akbar and his queen were blessed with a child. In any case, the child, a son, was named 'Salim' after the saint. 

A few years later, Emperor Akbar hardens his heart and sends his spoilt, pleasure-seeking son away to the harsh battlefields of the north. Fourteen years later, Crown Prince Salim (Dilip Kumar) has been given permission to come back to the capital, and the kingdom is celebrating. The dissolute prince comes back a battle-scarred veteran, worthy of ascending the throne of consolidated Hindustan. Yet, his heart still adores beauty and poetry.

So, a sculptor is given a task - to make the most beautiful representation of his art that the prince may be entranced. He promises a sculpture beyond compare - a statue before which a soldier will lay down his arms, an Emperor his crown, and a man, his heart. 

Salim is intrigued by the sculptor's challenge, but his friend Durjan Singh (Ajit) stops him before he unveils the statue - the court astrologer has foreseen that if he looks upon the statue before dawn, it will mean the destruction of the kingdom. The prince stays his hand, only to come back later. Bahaar, the Queen's lady-in-waiting, who has ambitions beyond her station, jealously watches as the prince leaves; and hears something that was not for her ears to hear. And meticulously, she lays her plans.  

The next day, when the statue is unveiled, the Emperor is awestruck. The statue has the face of an angel, he remarks, and the statue bows! Unable to complete his masterpiece in time, the sculptor had had Nadira, the daughter of a palace maid, stand in its stead. Impressed with her beauty and courage, the Emperor names her 'Anarkali' (the bloom of the pomegranate) and asks that she perform at the Janmashtami celebrations the next day. And dance she does, the saucy, provocative Mohe panghat pe.

Little wonder then, that Salim loses his heart to the beautiful danseuse. The feeling is mutual, though Anarkali, at least, knows that her dreams can only cause her prince dishonour. 

However, between her sister, who is a saucy minx, the prince, whose ardour will not be contained, and her own heightened emotions, Anarkali is soon as much in love with her prince as he is with her.  

And as their relationship grows in private, Bahaar seethes on the sidelines. She befriends Anarkali, and holds a qawwali competition where the prince is the judge. Even though she ostensibly wins (she is given the rose while the thorns fall to Anarkali's lot), Bahaar is no fool.  

The crown of Hindustan which she aspires to, and which seemed within her grasp is slipping away, and Bahaar has no intention of giving up without a fight.  She goes to the Emperor and offers him some pomegranate blooms. A few subtle hints and the Emperor, who is no one's fool, is striding off to see for himself.

Soon, Anarkali is in chains, the prince is angry and near rebellion, and the Emperor is baying for Anarkali's blood. 

He will be satisfied with nothing less, but a night later, he offers Anarkali a deal - she will assure the prince that her love was false, and will leave the kingdom, because Anarkali, teri zindagi Salim ki badnaseebi ka paigham banaya hai. (Anarkali, your life will ruin Salim.) And Bahaar's calumny causes the prince to wonder: Is Anarkali playing him false?  His hurt and anger cause him to raise his hand against his beloved. Anarkali's reply is delivered in open court. She is defiant and unrepentant. The prince is triumphant, Bahaar chagrined, and the Emperor incensed. Anarkali is back in chains. And there seems to be no hope.

The prince is furious.  With the emperor for being so obdurate. With himself, for watching silently as his beloved is led away. He demands that she be freed, but the Emperor stands firm. 

 

And his mother, much though she loves him, is furious.

 

To which Salim defiantly retorts, "Toh mera dil bhi aapka Hindustan nahin hai jo aap us par hukumat kare!" (And my heart is not your Hindustan that you can rule over!)

And when all else fails, the prince of the realm is forced to rebel. Akbar is not as hardhearted as he seems. On the eve of the battle, he makes his way to the rebellious prince's camp; not as an Emperor visiting a rebel, but as a father visiting his son. There, he begs his recalcitrant son to give up Anarkali; if he does, all his sins will be forgiven. 

 

Salim is determined, and contemptuous of what he sees as an Emperor's deviousness cloaked in a father's affection. And when Durjan Singh frees Anarkali and brings her to his prince, Akbar knows that he can do no more. It is war. 

The prince is captured, and tried for treason. At his trial, he is asked if he will give up Anarkali, to which the unrepentant prince answers in the negative.

 

And the Emperor orders his execution, much to the shock and sorrow of the court and the people. 

Anarkali, hearing of her prince's fate, comes to plead for his life in exchange for hers. The Emperor offers her a final wish. 

   

Akbar feels vindicated - she has not loved the prince; it has always been the crown. Anarkali refutes the charge. Her prince had promised her that she would one day be the Empress of Hindustan; she does not wish him to be guilty of breaking his promises. It would bring dishonour to him. The prince is freed; and Anarkali is to spend one last glorious night with him. Akbar warns her; if she does not die on the morrow, to phir Salim tujhe marne nahin denge, aur hum, Anarkali, tumhe jeene nahin denge. (Salim will never let you die, and I, Anarkali, will never let you live). 

As Akbar crowns her, Anarkali pardons him for the crime of murder. Hers. Shehenshah ke in behisaab baksheeshon ke badle mein yeh kaneez Jalal-u-Din Mohammed Akbar ko apna khoon maaf karti hai.

 

And so the night begins on one song (Jab raat hi aisi matwaali) and another song (Khuda nigah-e-baan ho tumhaara) sorrowfully beckons in the morning. Salim is bereft, helpless, unconscious as Anarkali is led away.

Is this to be Anarkali's fate? 

  

This was Madhubala's film through and through. She had never looked so tragically beautiful before. Her very real illness drew lines of pain on her face that complemented the trauma she was going through on screen. And perhaps the emotional trauma took its toll as well. This was the last film that she would do with Dilip Kumar. Her father had vociferously refused to let her go on location with Dilip Kumar for BR Chopra's Naya Daur. And their relationship was strained because Dilip felt that she would never be wholly his. It was a tragedy that was being played out on-screen and off. 

Dilip Kumar was Prince Salim, regal, capricious, steadfast, rebellious, while Prithviraj Kapoor was larger than life as The Great Mughal. It is interesting that he was chosen to play Akbar - physically, there was no comparison between the real man and the actor. Akbar was a short, stocky man, though immensely powerful. But then, we are not the only people to miscast people according to physical type. When Lawrence of Arabia came out, some wag remarked (I'm not sure whether it was a reviewer) "It's typical of Hollywood that they would choose the tallest star (Peter O'Toole) in Hollywood to play the shortest man in history." 

Durga Khote was brilliant as the wife and mother caught between husband and son, duty and maternal love. So was Nigar, as the minor royal who not only dreams of ascending the throne, but is ready to cold-bloodedly manipulate everybody including the Emperor in order to do so. I do not recall seeing the actress who played Suraiyya before, though I must have. But she is absolutely wonderful as the younger sister who, regardless of consequences, is ready to further her sister's romance with the prince. And last, but not the least, is Ajit, as the faithful Durjan Singh, who is ready to give his life to keep his word to his Prince. 

Mughal-e-Azam was K Asif's magnum opus; a movie that was both his dream and his ambition; to be made on a scale never attempted before. But it would take him 10 years and many millions of rupees before he would realise this dream. The film had an ultra-heavy starcast. Prithviraj Kapoor as Baadshah-e-Hind Jalal-ud-din Mohammed Akbar. Durga Khote as Jodha Bai, his Rajput wife, and the Empress of Hindustan. Dilip Kumar as Shehzaada Noor-ud-din Mohammed Salim, and Madhubala as Anarkali, the courtesan whose indescribable beauty incited a prince of the realm to rebellion.  

Originally intended to star Nargis as Anarkali, Sapru as Akbar and Chandramohan as Salim, one can only be thankful that by the time the movie was made, the casting had changed. It is difficult to envisage anyone else in these roles. (And Nargis in the role of a dancer? Heaven help us!) 

K Asif assembled a supporting cast of thousands; and even got Lachchu Maharaj to choreograph the dances. There is an interesting story about how Ustad Ghulam Ali Khan Saheb came on board. K Asif went to meet the legendary singer along with his music director, Naushad. The maestro, not wanting to accept, quoted an unheard of amount of money (Rs 1 lakh) as his remuneration, hoping that Asif would be so shocked that he would go away. Instead, it was Khan Saheb who was shocked, when Asif agreed to his fee without blinking an eye.

Apocryphal stories also abound - that composer Naushad made Lata Mangeshkar sing the song in the recording studio's bathroom, so he could get the correct echoing effect; that Mohammed Rafi recorded 'Zindabad, Ae Mohabbat Zindabad' on one floor, while the chorus (all hundred of them) were stationed on the ground floor... Lata Mangeshkar has already quashed the first story as absolute rubbish (Lata Mangeshkar... in her own voice; Conversations with Nasreen Munni Kabir). The other is also an urban legend. However, it is true that Naushad slaved over the music score. And that Shakeel Badayuni had to write and rewrite the verses of Pyar kiya to darna kya multiple times before Naushad was satisfied.