Antarmahal: Rituparno Ghosh’s scathing commentary on British Bengal’s pedantic aristocracy

A meticulous screenwriter-director, Rituparno Ghosh, was one of the most provocative voices of contemporary Indian cinema. His films seamlessly blended the classical traditions of native Bengal with a nuanced sensitivity. In his impressive list of notable films, Antarmahal (2005) stands out purely for the questions it sparks. The film’s script audaciously addresses superstitions, abuse of power, fanaticism, sexual oppression, and feminine sexual liberation and is held together by a stellar cast and a keen eye for direction.

Set in 19th century Bengal, Antarmahal is loosely based on the short story Pratima penned by Tarasankar Bandyopadhyay. Zamindar Bhubaneswar Chowdhury (played by Jackie Shroff) has only two obsessions in life — reproducing a male heir and competing against his regional rivals for the honour of “Raibahadur”. This title was bestowed as a form of special recognition during the British rule to specific (aristocratic) individuals whose service was deemed exemplary by the ‘Empire’.

The only problem is that the incompetent tyrant is unable to do both. He has given up on his first wife, Mahamaya (played by Roopa Ganguly), and dismissed her as barren for not being able to give birth to an heir. Instead, he takes pleasure in ruthlessly terrorising and raping his new, petite wife, Jashomati (played by Soha Ali Khan). Every night he laboriously mounts Jashomati in loveless but insistent attempts to get her pregnant. Behind the door, Mahamaya fumes and takes opium to appease her frustration and jealousy. The film showcases the disgusting disrespect and continual rape of innocent women who were treated as mere possessions. 

Sex scenes were added to the film, almost exclusively to show the torture and distress faced by women of that era. ‘Antarmahal’ perse, alluded to the inner sanctum of Bengali aristocratic households of the time, exclusively meant for the women to live in. This portion of the house was cordoned off from the ‘Baahirmahal’ or outer sanctum, considered the workspace for the men, who would often use it for casual socialising as well. Any woman, when crossing over to the outer chambers, would have to be under ‘purdah’ or veil (done with the help of long ‘ghongta’s with the help of the sari they wore). This concept was delved into in detail by Satyajit Ray in his retelling of Rabindranath’s famed novel Ghare Baire.

To finally win the coveted Raibahadur title, Bhubaneswar and his estate manager concoct a master plan. They decide to change the face of goddess Durga’s idol for a face that resembles Queen Victoria. Brijbhushan (played by Abhishek Bacchan) is the young sculptor who is assigned to complete this task. But the comely youth attracts the attention of the ladies, especially Jashomati, who is dangerously drawn towards him. She, along with Mahamaya, lust after him, and the reality of their forcefully inhibited sexual tensions is on full display. Ghosh was peerlessly gutsy in the manner in which he addressed the emotions that the women experienced. Antarmahal, as evinced by the title, was a narrative on isolation, ostracisation and the systemic oppression that went behind thousands of such upper-middle-class households of Bengal at the time. Though the state was stirring with liberal notions of freedom, the microcosm depicted a completely different story.

Although the social etiquettes are preserved throughout the film barring the surprise climax, the film carries a strong undertone of risk and sensuality. Some sequences raise quite a few prudish eyebrows and could even be considered too explicit by Indian standards.

The film reaches an almost shocking crescendo when Mahamaya performs a striptease in front of a priest mumbling holy verses next to the copulating Zamindar, as part of a bizarre fertility rite to enable the birth of a male heir. In his drugged state, Bhubaneshwar even orders Mahamaya to sleep with five sexually deprived priests and fulfil their carnal desires. The production design and camerawork enhance the musty, scented, sensuous atmosphere and lavish attention to every minor detail. This particular scene, though one of the defining moments in the film, was later dissed by the filmmaker himself. Ghosh had joked about the scene, which highlighted Bhubaneshwar’s aggressive lovemaking through the constant creaking noise of the bed. Ghosh had unabashedly confessed in an interview that many had commented on how historically inaccurate that fact was, considering that aristocratic households would never have creaky bedposts.

The film explores the customs and social structures within a traditional Indian household while grappling with obsolete traditions and taboo subjects that are never spoken about openly.

The acting throughout the film was top drawer, but in terms of performances, Roopa Ganguly (as the first wife) stole the show. Her facial expressions, mischievous pranks, and wisdom exuded a mature understanding of the agency she held within her spheres as the elder wife. Yet, there were moments when Bhubaneshwar’s abject rejection of her femininity was also portrayed by the veteran actress through subtle stifles of angry sobs. Soha also looked refreshing and expertly portrayed the naivety and innocence of the ‘new’ wife. Shroff was adequately frightening as the despotic zamindar and played his part convincingly well. 

Though Bachchan’s role was mostly laconic, the actor’s fiery eyes and body language were enough to express his reticent nature and helpless infatuation towards Jashomati.

Ghosh took enough liberties with the plot, but the story ran smoothly. Always exceptionally gifted when it came to women’s narratives, Ghosh proved his mettle yet again with Antarmahal and left a deep imprint on the viewers’ minds. Sixteen years later, in the era of dull, vacuous films, Ghosh’s refreshing perspective on filmmaking is sorely missed. Antarmahal might be overshadowed by his other acclaimed works like Raincoat (2004) and Chokher Bali (2003), but it is a must-watch nonetheless.