In the column Let's Talk About Women, Sneha Bengani looks at films, the world of entertainment, and popular media through the feminist lens. Because it's important. Because it's needed. And because we're not doing it enough.
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There is a scene right before the final battle in Baahubali 2: The Conclusion, in which Anushka Shetty’s Devsena is walking toward the Mahishmati Palace holding in one hand the severed head of Bhallaladeva’s son Bhadra. There is a slight smirk on her bruised face. Her loosely tied matted hair is flying. Her eyes are alight with revenge, a fire that she had been stoking painstakingly for 25 years.
Sure, the Baahubali films tell the story of a son avenging his father’s wrongful death and restoring his kingdom’s lost glory. It is a celebration of hypermasculinity, a magnificent ode to larger-than-life men with superhuman strength — both of mind and muscle. However, even if the Baahubali saga cannot stop obsessing over its men, it is its women that shape and take forward its narrative. The films sure are mounted on and named after their protagonists — the father-son duo — but I cannot recall any other movie in recent times that has female characters as strong, gritty, valiant, and memorable.
Five years on, the saga has become a cult classic, hailed for its powerful, evocative visuals as much as all else. Other than the fight sequences, if you remember any image vividly from the saga at all, it will invariably have either Devsena or Sivagami in it. Two hands holding a newborn right above the surface of a raging river? A king-to-be and a warrior princess fighting off enemies, shooting three arrows at a time from their bows in a gorgeously choreographed sequence — a spectacular display of two people becoming one without a word exchanged? Or when Devsena uses Baahubali’s rippling arms and shoulders as a bridge, leaving her home in the Kuntal Kingdom to embark on the ship bound for Mahishmati? Or Sivagami completing the trial by fire uninterrupted at the beginning of the sequel?
SS Rajamouli did not give the two women just stunning visuals. He also empowered them with pride as towering as the statue of the Mahishmati goddess, brains that nourished and destroyed empires, and enough enterprise to hold onto their own in the direst of adversities. Remember the scene when Ramya Krishna’s Sivagami kills a rebel leader, her face smeared with blood, and begins to breastfeed the two newborn princes the next moment as if nothing happened? Or when Devsena chops off the fingers of the army’s commander-in-chief when he tries to misbehave with her? It is these moments that elevate the Baahubali films from good to great. But my favourite are the ones that have the two women together. It is like fire meeting fire — illuminating and burning everything in its wake.
Therefore, my expectations were high from Alia Bhatt’s Sita and other female characters in Rajamouli’s latest RRR. To say that I felt let down after watching the movie would be a gross understatement.
I knew that Sita could not be as fleshed out as Sivagami or Devsena since the runtime of RRR is about half of the two Baahubali films. However, nothing can justify the uncooked, ill-written, and absolutely unnecessary character created and given to Bhatt just to attract Hindi filmgoers.
Forget Bhatt’s Sita, even Jennifer, Bheem’s British love interest, played by Olivia Morris, is so hackneyed that it is difficult to believe it is conceived by the same man who created Sivagami and Devsena. Or take Shriya Saran’s character, the mother to Ram Charan’s Rama Raju. She is so dispensable and forgettable that I cannot even recall her name.
You could argue that since RRR already features two superstars — Ram Charan and Jr NTR — it leaves little screen time to develop anyone else. But take Ajay Devgn’s Venkata Rama Raju, the father of Charan’s character. He features in a cameo. The role is small but effective. It has a purpose, a story. Or take the tribal headwoman Sanga from Baahubali, Mahendra’s foster mother. Her scenes are so few in the two films combined, that you can count them. But even then, she does not fail to leave her mark. Clearly then, it is not like Rajamouli is bound by screen time and space to create impact.
Therefore, it only makes me question why he did not bother at all with women in RRR. If he did, the film would have been richer for it. As the Baahubali saga is. Because like it, RRR is a celebration — of strength, honour, and good triumphing over evil. But what is a celebration without women? A skeleton without a soul. However much you mount it with flesh, it will still be dead.
I could not forget Sivagami’s eyes for days after I watched Baahubali 2: The Conclusion. The hurt in them for having wronged the righteous haunted me endlessly. I could not unsee Devsena’s eyes either. How the light in them extinguished into opaque darkness after her husband is killed. The endless wait in them for her son’s return made my stomach churn. The eyes of these women pierced through me in a way no Baahubali’s sword or Rama Raju’s arrow ever could have. If only Rajamouli appreciated it enough to allow the tribe of such women grow, inspire, and make magic.
When not reading books or watching films, Sneha Bengani writes about them. She tweets at @benganiwrites.
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