India: Matri Bhumi (1959)

[bunniefuu]

THE ROSSELLINI PROJECT

The digital restoration

of the Italian version

was carried out utilising

the best available elements

preserved by Cinecittà Studios and CSC -

Cineteca Nazionale.

An in-depth analysis of the materials,

along with the valuable contribution

of film historian Adriano Aprà,

allowed for the identification

of the most useful restoration elements:

The internegative for the picture,

an interpositive for the opening titles,

a positive copy struck from the

aforementioned internegative for sound,

and a positive copy from that era

to obtain the correct synchronisation.

The image was scanned

at a resolution of 2K.

After being scanned, the image

was digitally stabilised and cleaned,

to eliminate the signs of age: Spotting,

lines, scratches and visible splices.

The colour correction process turned out

to be an extremely complex operation

because the colour

had faded considerably.

A copy from the time, preserved

at the CSC - Cineteca Nazionale,

and a copy printed by Cinecittà in the '90s

were valuable references

during this phase of the restoration,

allowing us to recover details of the work

of the cinematographer Aldo Tonti,

and to determine

the different types of film used:

Gevaert, Ferrania, Kodak,

16 and 35 mm.

With regard to the sound,

a digital cleaning was performed

in order to reduce background noises

created by the passage of time

and to restore the dynamics and the details

of the original soundtrack.

Throughout the length of the film,

all of the components used

exhibited small gaps of a few frames each

that were impossible to fill.

Restoration was carried out

by the Cineteca of Bologna

at the Immagine Ritrovata

laboratories in 2011.

The actors, all non-professional,

were cast from the locations

where the action takes place.

For anyone coming from the West,

Bombay has long been considered

the gateway to India.

On arrival,

one feels instantly euphoric.

The first thing that strikes us

are the crowds.

Tens, hundreds, thousands,

tens of thousands,

hundreds of thousands,

maybe millions of people

form an endless river

that, however,

has not destroyed the remains

of what the Muslims, Parsis,

English colonisers and others

have built here.

Sun, shade, wind,

drought and monsoons

have given these men and women

an unmistakable patina,

with their different religions and races,

as they swarm around in masses.

Farmers and city dwellers,

as well as the old castes:

The Brahmins, guardians of the faith,

the Kshatriya, warriors,

the Vaishyas, merchants,

the Sudra, workers.

The castes were formed according

to various ethnic groups:

The indigenous, Dravidian

and Aryan peoples,

Persians, Muslims,

and all the other groups

resulting from this mixing of peoples.

The hum of hundreds of languages

resounds in these teeming streets.

Hindustani, Bengali,

Assamese, Oriya, Gujarati, Marathi,

Kannada, Telugu, Malayalam,

Tamil, Sindhi, Punjabi,

Rajasthani, Pali, Bhili.

A confluence of peaceful peoples

and of warriors become peaceful.

These men wearing gilded

turbans are Ismailis,

ancient Muslim as*ault troops

once known as Hashishins,

from which the word "assassin" comes.

The Ismailis are now a peaceful

and hard-working people.

This mixture of people and diverse elements

makes up the Indian people,

the most tolerant in all the world.

They even tolerate this architecture.

But they do try to improve it.

This spirit of tolerance prepares them

for any kind of transformation

and evolution

without racial prejudice or sacrificing

their various ethnic characteristics.

This crowd enjoys itself

like any other crowd in the world.

Merry-go-rounds.

Pinwheels.

Street musicians.

Balloons.

Windmills.

And they stretch out, content.

They are skilled craftsmen.

And these people carry...

bring...

bring back...

lift...

load...

support...

shift...

transport...

transfer...

and move.

They walk...

ruminate...

sleep...

dream...

build...

work...

using modern methods...

or traditional ones.

The Indian people thrive

on thousand-year-old traditions,

preferring peace to w*r,

tolerance to intolerance.

They don't wish to convert anyone.

But the more authentic India

is found in its 580,000 villages.

In just one-twentieth

of the world's surface,

lives one-sixth

of the world's population.

This harsh reality

is the motor of modern India.

Indians have a great

knowledge of nature.

They know they belong to it

and know its secrets, its laws,

and the fruits it produces.

In the temples, the images of life

appear like a grand celebration.

It's the delirious expression

of this people's love for life.

Madurai is a holy city

which boasts majestic

architecture in its temples.

This elephant was brought to the city

for a religious ceremony.

It comes from this immense

jungle in Karrapur,

where it worked,

where it lived in the wild,

where it was captured and tamed.

Elephants are the bulldozers of India.

Indians are so at one with nature,

that by using kindness

instead of strength,

they have made elephants

their working allies.

Elephants only work three hours a day,

from 7:00 to 10:00.

Then it becomes too hot for them.

Whereas we mahouts,

the elephant drivers,

get no rest at all during the day.

After work, it's bath time.

And believe me, it's quite a job.

For two or three hours,

they must be refreshed,

splashed with water,

then washed,

rinsed down,

pampered,

stroked,

and finally defleaed.

After the bath,

it's time for breakfast.

Elephants eat between 600

and 800 kilos of food a day.

Of course, it depends

on the animal's height and size.

Once we've served them, it's

finally time for us have a bite to eat.

During breakfast one day,

we were joined

by a company of puppeteers.

I remember it very well.

That was an important day

in my life.

Sir, is there a guest house around?

We are from Mysore.

We are here to put on a puppet show.

We are looking for a guest house.

The guesthouse is on the other side.

- Where?

- Over there.

Thank you. Let's go.

We don't even have time

for a little amusement.

Even at night, we need to be feed them 100

to 150 bales of straw with rice or grain,

and give them more caresses

and cuddles, too.

What a life!

The next day, I saw her again.

For those of us

who know elephants well,

these bellows signify

that they're falling in love.

I'd be so happy.

It's the only way I'm able

to have some time off.

Let's hope it's a serious love affair.

I always worry at the start.

The female elephants have

less of a sense of modesty,

while the males are rather reserved.

They have, I'm sorry to say,

more dignity.

In the early afternoon,

after their bath and breakfast,

they need to be left alone

in the jungle.

They're shy, very shy...

and modest, very modest.

I saw her again.

The next day, I took my the elephant

back to the same tree for breakfast.

And again the following day.

I made an appointment

with the schoolteacher

and asked him to write a letter,

a nice letter to my father

so that he'd come and ask for her hand.

- What do you want?

- I'd like some help.

What for?

- To write a letter.

- To whom?

- To my father.

- What do you want to say?

Something nobody must know...

...regarding the puppeteers.

- The girl, isn't it?

- Yes, it's a serious matter.

If you write it for me,

it'll bring me luck.

Let's begin with...

"Dearest Father,

I send you my fondest greetings.

"I'd be very happy if you'd come here.

"I must speak with you

about my wedding."

Yes, that's fine.

The letter must have been

well written,

as a few days later, I found my father

waiting for me when I came home from work.

I was worried about my hat.

It's a Muslim hat,

the kind usually worn by mahouts.

But since I'm Hindu not Muslim,

I thought to myself,

"My father won't tolerate it."

He's a man of principles

and he always criticises me.

It's important to start a family,

but one must reflect well first.

Come, be seated.

He met with the girl's father,

and, following local etiquette,

they each criticised their own children.

This is the boy's father.

- Tell me.

- I want to talk about our children.

My son has seen your daughter

and wants to marry her.

Both my son and I have jobs.

We have some land...

and do well for ourselves.

This is sufficient

for our children's tranquillity.

Let God's will be done.

We'll tell the priest

about the ceremony.

The marriage was arranged

in accordance with the rules.

That night, my father and I

went to the temple

to wait for the wedding ceremony.

Until that moment, as is our custom,

I wasn't permitted

near my bride-to-be.

She came to the temple

on the morning bus.

Ten months have passed.

The female elephant has started

to become irritated by the male's presence.

This always happens when an elephant

is ten months pregnant.

As you know,

their gestation lasts twenty months.

Another female, wise and patient,

comes to protect and assist her.

As for me, my freedom

has come to an end once again.

I had to ask a neighbour to accompany

my wife to her mother's house.

I won't have time to look after her.

She too is expecting a child.

India's great rivers are born

at the foot of the Himalayas.

All the snow that melts

on the roof of the world represents,

for 400 million human beings,

life.

From the water blooms

the calm beauty of lotus flowers.

Everything that is

extremely beautiful or useful

is extremely sacred.

When faced with death,

the general belief is that when a man dies,

his life doesn't end

because he's reincarnated in another.

But no one knows in whom.

Therefore, all men are brothers.

In the Shanti Parva a Brahmin tells

a man mourning for his dead son,

"You are despair itself,

"for you don't despair for yourself,

but for someone else."

The poem also says,

"I believe that my own soul

does not belong to me,

"but all creation belongs to me,

"and by virtue of this certainty

I am never too happy nor too sad."

The Ganges is the river

that purifies everything,

and dissolves the ashes of the dead

into nature.

Benares, the holy city,

descends steeply

to the sacred banks of the river.

Inside, the city is swarming with life.

The water flows placidly by,

indifferent to the architecture

that it slowly swallows up.

This is the Mahanadi River.

It runs almost parallel to the Ganges.

It's an example of the force of nature.

No bridge withstands

the fury of its waters

when they swell after the monsoons.

Attempts have been made

to dominate this fury.

In the Mahabharata,

the great Indian epic poem,

and in the Bhagavadgita,

the philosophical book of life,

it says that every word uttered

and every action taken

remain with us like an image

reflected in a mirror.

And judgement will only be

pronounced later on.

It's also says, "Both wise

and ignorant people are equally happy.

"Only the mediocre are unhappy.

"The truth is in everything,

even partially in what is untrue."

Karma, meaning actions,

represents man's duty.

In Hirakud, a dam was constructed

stretching 43 kilometres long.

They are constructing the access roads.

A huge artificial lake was created,

and its level rises daily.

The tree tops remind us that, once,

the jungle stretched to this point.

There were about 35,000 of us

working on site.

It was tough, yes.

But we did it.

Seven years of work.

The time flew by for me,

One strike of the pickaxe

after another.

One basketful of earth

after another.

Rock after rock.

We dug, drilled, levelled,

and built so much.

And today,

I, Devi Chakravarty, am here,

waiting to see the site foreman.

My wife's pouting

because we have to leave.

Our son was born here, so...

The work is finished here.

I've been assigned

to another site.

People like me are always in demand.

Stop, please!

Take this and go home.

Let's go.

It's amazing

how much material was used...

and how many tools,

trucks and devices there were.

An enormous quantity.

Yes, I'd say I'm very proud

to have built this dam.

Now it seems like nothing.

People just say,

"A dam's been built."

But no one imagines

what it was like.

I know how my wife feels.

It's sad to leave all this behind.

But she doesn't think

about what we can do now.

After all, more than one dam

needs to be built in this life.

175 dead.

But before, with all the floods,

if we'd had to build a monument

for the victims,

we'd have needed one

as long as this dam

to inscribe all the names.

Electricity, electricity.

Magic, magic.

Everything can be explained.

Everything.

You have to think.

Magic no longer exists.

Miracles no longer exist.

Knowledge.

More magic. More mystery.

Knowledge. Knowledge.

The Hirakud Dam.

We have the right to feel proud.

It's built from nothing.

One basketful of earth after another.

Rock after rock.

And heart.

Yes, we put our hearts into it.

Poor brother.

Death is sad for those who remain.

But perhaps it's beautiful

to dissolve into nature.

I, Devi Chakravaty,

and my wife...

found refuge here

when we were sent

away from East Bengal

due to the separation of Pakistan.

Our son was born here.

And here we set out

to build this immense work.

This little temple will also

be swallowed up by the water.

With all due respect,

what, after all, is this little building

compared to our dam?

Our sacred lake will now

be lost in the big lake.

Who'd have thought then,

when I took my ritual bath here,

that my destiny

would hold this surprise?

Who could have thought

that men like us

would be able to create a lake

where there was a little pond?

Here she comes.

Where are you?

What are you doing?

Leave me alone!

What do you want?

What are you doing here?

I looked for you everywhere.

Your head is always in the clouds.

You come down here

when we're about to leave?

I don't understand you.

Why not eat some more?

We're full!

We'll explode!

We're not the only ones...

No, thank you,

we must get up early tomorrow.

Goodbye! We'll meet again.

Look after them.

Can't you see they're standing?

Please, have a seat.

How's your family?

Very well, thank you.

Write to us.

Don't forget us.

Stay a little longer.

- You're going?

- I must go home.

Write to us as well.

Remember us.

Why are you just standing there?

Let's tidy up a bit.

Careful not to trip!

Our farewell party was pretty good.

But now I must endure her whining.

Another town,

who knows how it will be?

I'm fond of this house

and the nice people here.

Suddenly I have to leave everything.

This is my destiny,

never to have peace.

We left our village,

our field,

and it's not over yet.

I told you many times

to try to stay here.

But this man never listens to me!

He's cold as a rock!

He has no pity.

Where will I go to live now?

To Hell?

I came here.

I had a child.

I raised him.

To leave this house,

this marvellous dam...

To end up where?

Oh, it's awful!

My heart is breaking!

Instead, this man

has a heart of stone!

I told you to prepare our things!

Go! Move it!

And so, we're leaving.

Following the Indian coast to the West,

one crosses vast plains,

rich with water,

which are perfect for growing rice.

There isn't a square metre

of land left unfarmed.

India once had her fortresses.

This is an ancient double-walled

Muslim citadel with four gates.

All that remains

is a tiny village in the centre.

The ancient mosque

has been abandoned.

Strange geological architecture.

I am 80 years old.

I've lived here all my life,

yet I still find this forest

fascinating and mysterious.

Especially at night,

when the tigers' love songs

echo fantastically in the air.

The jungle is the temple in which

they celebrate their rites of love.

When I awake

with the first sliver of light,

I'm surrounded by an expl*si*n of joy.

My wife and I don't need

to exchange many words.

Our gestures are enough,

and the unchangeable solidarity

expressed in our eyes.

Besides, it's been a long time

that our daily duties have been shared.

What more is there to say?

My two sons are married.

Every morning,

one of my daughters-in-law brings flowers

for the customary divine tribute.

My wife, like all of us,

is very devout,

and every morning, she thanks God,

according to tradition.

Hey, Rama! What are you doing?

Come here.

Go to that cowshed, milk the buffalo

and then clear the cowshed.

I'm too old to work now.

My children have taken over.

All I can do now is advise them.

The only thing I need now

is a contemplative life.

Only one place in the world

can satisfy my needs -

the jungle.

I love my cows.

They're beautiful, strong beasts,

and I take them everywhere with me.

The women always have

the same tasks to perform.

When I'm alone in the jungle,

I'm very aware

of the presence of nature,

and I feel I become one with it,

little by little.

There's a fair in the village of Sume.

Can I go with Rakhma?

I've often met

this tiger that lives here.

See how foolish men are,

myself first of all!

I can't help feeling scared.

Yet I know it won't harm me.

It walks away indifferently.

One day, I was in the jungle

with my cows.

I remember I wanted

to light a cigarette.

Smoking is the last vice I have left.

Suddenly,

I heard a strange noise.

It was three trucks.

Out of curiosity

I went towards the village.

- What's going on?

- They're getting iron.

There's lots of iron.

We'll get some work.

They were prospectors

searching for iron deposits.

I'd often heard people talk of iron,

but I thought it was just a legend.

The next day, the men with the trucks

started up a motor,

and it was a complete disaster.

That din chased all the animals

out of the forest.

Only the porcupines,

stupid and selfish animals, remained.

But the jungle was transformed.

I realised that the natural equilibrium

had been disturbed.

I soon found evidence of how dramatic

that change was.

I found the remains of a porcupine

and the bloodied tracks of the tiger.

Unable to find other prey,

it had pounced on the porcupine

and been wounded by those terrible spines.

That discovery frightened me.

I know how dangerous

an injured tiger can be.

That's the moment

when they become man-eaters.

That roar and those human screams

in the night were terrible signs.

What I'd feared had happened.

The tiger had attacked a man.

The next day, my sons told me

the iron prospectors had decided

to organise a tiger hunt.

Why k*ll?

Isn't the world big enough

for us all?

The next morning, I thought

I'd get into the forest before the hunters.

I tried to convince

the tiger to go elsewhere.

Yes truly, the world is big.

There's room for everyone.

At times, heatwaves break out.

The temperature rises dizzyingly.

Water offers

the only available respite.

The roads are abandoned.

The rivers are used instead.

Village life almost grinds to a halt.

A sky like steel.

It was surely one of these heatwaves

that took Dulip by surprise

as he travelled with his monkey Ramu,

to the festival of Baghdedi.

Ramu the monkey

has arrived alone in Baghdedi.

She entertains the crowds

as she's used to doing.

She collects money

she doesn't know the use of.

The wild monkeys threaten her

because she smells of man.

The next day the pilgrims

leave for their villages.

Ramu is left alone.

On her last legs,

she gets adopted by a new master.

And Ramu begins a new life.

And again, the crowds...

the enormous crowds.

THE END