Much before the Tsunami became a household name all over the world, the coastal belts of Orissa were hit by what has come to be known as the Super Cyclone that killed more than 10,000 people and rendered still more homeless. But public memory is short lived and it is a commendable effort on the part of the director Himansu S Khatua to rake up the issue in his second feature film, perhaps the only Indian film that recalls those fateful days that changed the lives of so many people within a span of just a few days and its aftermath.

When the film starts, almost a year hasgone by since the calamity and we are introduced to the journalist Dipankar from Dhaka who moves around the village with his cameraman covering the anniversary, interviewing its denizens. Through his video camera we get to know the issues involved: the sad stories of the victims who have lost their near and dear ones and everything else they possessed; the hard work of the local NGO who seem to be doing a commendable job in rehabilitating the affected people and their efforts to reach the compensation money to them. But slowly and subtly, through these interviews, the director introduces a lot of other issues that have since crept up: the wrath of the locals as most of the compensation money is reaching only the Bangladeshi settlers (who were the most affected in that particular area actually); the invasion of privacy because of media attention which the locals think that the affected people, mostly young widows are taking advantage of to rake in money; the jealousy of the menfolk who hate their women being interviewed because they think the journalists have dishonorable intentions; the destruction of the mangrove forests by Bangladeshi settlers which is a major cause of the cyclone and hence, cause of resentment amongst the villagers against the Bengalis etc.

An environmental issue gradually assumes a deeply political colour and finds its personification in Kalpana, the heroine of the film who is the daughter of Bangladeshi settlers. But for all practical and cultural reasons, she is an Indian now, an Oriya to the boot who cannot speak a single line of her mother tongue because she was born and raised on the soil and waters of Orissa. Through a very evocative non-lip-synch song, set in the pre-cyclone period in the beginning of the film and wonderfully picturised, she is shown rowing a boat and plunging into the river to take a bath. It sets the tone of the character, her orientation, her bonding with nature and her sexuality. But the cyclone takes away all the colour from her life and she is miraculously rescued by a young man called Akshaya from the waters who develops a soft corner for her, which she never quite reciprocates despite being indebted to him. Akshaya is her silent lover as opposed to Dipankar who is smart and savvy. And then there are village loafers who lust her and are jealous of the fact that despite being a settler she is eligible for government money while they are deprived of any compensation.

The personality of Kalpana gradually begins to epitomize a complexity in terms of environmental, political and gender issues. Her character and the way people around her react to her, raise pertinent questions like who is an Oriya? Who is a Bengali? What defines an Indian? What are the political and social implications of being an immigrant? What and how long does it take for an immigrant to be a part of the mainstream? What is mainstream? What role does language play in this state of affairs? What is the role of a single woman in a conservative society where unemployed lumpens treat her like a sex object and harass her, but do not have the courage to enter into a legitimate relationship with her? How long can she suppress her sexuality?

Kalpana is contrasted with another female character in the film, Rupa, which forms a major and effective sub-plot in the film. They have been sisters-in-law before the cyclone till it rendered both of them widows and they accidentally meet at the rehabilitation center. But Rupa has remarried. Rupa suggests to Kalpana that she marry somebody, preferably the Bangladeshi journalist because a woman needs a man in her life. But she herself is not happy in her marriage because her husband is a good for nothing scoundrel who is only interested in her compensation money so that he can drink and listen to Hindi film songs on the transistor radio. The bonding between Rupa and Kalpana serves as a poignant pointer to the fact that despite the difference in their marital status, they are basically in the same boat and marriage is no security for a destitute woman.

The relationship of the Bangladeshi journalist Dipankar and Kalpana forms the spine of the film, which is episodic in its structure. Kalpana refuses to come in front of the camera because she does not like the media prying into her private life; she finds it distasteful. Dipankar goes back to Dhaka without being able to do a story on her. But he has fallen for her. So he writes a letter in Bengali to her from Calcutta where he has come with his mother to look for a bride. The letter is read out by Rupa to Kalpana on a vast barren landscape and they wonder what is the meaning of it all? Very soon, Dipankar comes back to the village with the sole intention of meeting Kalpana. He courts Kalpana despite her halfhearted resistance but she ultimately relents. They elope to Calcutta and put up at an executive hotel from where they intend to leave for Dhaka and marry. But her mind is set in Orissa. She finds the city suffocating; she longs for nature.

This is where the film falters. The graph of Dipankar and Kalpana moves in fits and starts and we are left wondering at the gaping holes. What is the inciting incident that makes up Kalpana’s mind to elope with the journalist? We never get to know. In fact, we come to know about it through a gossip session of the village loafers and it comes as a complete surprise to us. At the city hotel, she refuses the sexual overtures of Dipankar despite sleeping on the same bed with him; that is strange. If she were so moralistic, she should have refused to stay inside the same room with a stranger on the first hand. But surely she must be having her moments of sexual urges? Surely she would be tempted to give into unguarded and seemingly inexplicable moments like so many great heroines in international cinema and world literature have done before her? We have seen her making love in a long shot on a boat at night with her husband at the beginning of the film. Surely she is not frigid. So what stops her from making love to Dipankar especially since she has willingly eloped with him? Or is it the moralistic stand of the director that he tries to impose upon his heroine?

In fact, the entire hotel segment looks confused. What exactly is Dipankar’s intention of bringing her here and staying put? What is the role of his journalist friend who comes to visit him at the hotel and who takes their photograph? What is the hush-hush alliance between Dipakar and his journalist friend? Is he using her to score some brownie points to further his career? Why can’t Dipankar take her to Dhaka immediately and marry her? Why does he instead hang around at the hotel endlessly? Is it really the problem of getting her a passport as he mentions to her? Why does he talk about the dangers of crossing the border illegally? Is there any ulterior motive on his part? Is he not the good man that we presumed him to be? All these questions are never answered clearly and the audience is left perplexed. This is the weakest link in the film which otherwise manages to be coherent despite its loaded and verbose sections in many parts.

Dipankar discovers through a tape recording of her voice that she has left him for Orissa, the land she pined for; she asks for his forgiveness. The taped voice is a wonderful device that substitutes the ubiquitous letter of old time films that delivered unsavory messages. Dipankar is sad but nevertheless is felicitated by fellow journalists in Calcutta for having garnered the noble courage to marry a cyclone widow even if it ultimately did not happen. This strange event is reported in a newspaper, which is read out aloud by a passenger in the train who happens to be sitting just beside Kalpana who is on her way back to her village. There was no need for this episode because it serves no function apart from the purpose of showing Dipankar in a selfish light who wanted to put up an act of marrying a destitute woman to further his ambition. If that is the intention then it comes across as forced and trite because we were never equipped for this trait in the journalist’s character at all.

When she comes back to the village Kalpana realizes, quite conveniently, that Akshaya, the simple village guy who had saved her is the actual love of her life and implores him to ‘save’ her by marrying her. This is a major letdown in her characterization and is quite a regressive moment; as a result it fails to alleviate her in the eyes of the viewers at the end. The scene could have been handled in a different manner and the deletion of the word ‘save’ could have camouflaged her inner compulsions and saved the situation. But the director conforms to the belief that a woman’s ultimate salvation lies only in the sanctity of marriage. Meanwhile, while she was in Calcutta, the Bengali settlers had been served notice by the government to quit India within 30 days. Kalpana’s ultimate irony is that, when she returns to her village, she is forced to sign on a piece of paper that declares her as an illegal immigrant too, to be deported just at the point when she had made up her mind to continue living in the land of her birth after giving up a golden opportunity to go to Bangladesh with a supposedly better marriage proposition.

The film ends on the threshold of this uncertainty as the agitated Bengali settlers carry out processions claiming their right to be Indians. Kalpana and her would be husband look at the procession as they wonder about their uncertain future. One is suddenly reminded of a similar procession in the beginning of the film when the villagers advocated planting of trees to avoid eco-disasters. The story completes a full circle and throws up issues that transcend the immediate and wait to be addressed, which of course falls outside the scope of the film. It is sufficient that it had raised those issues.

Kathantara seemingly looks like a very simple film but it does pack in a lot of issues and is multi-layered and rich in subtexts. One just wished that its treatment also reflected the same richness, but unfortunately it does not. The camera work of Sameer Mahajan does manage to capture the landscape of Orissa in all its expansive beauty. One is particularly impressed by a sequence where in one long take the character of Rupa enters her house from outside at dusk; the camera which is placed at the door, pans left along with her as she enters her room, interacts with her husband who is lying on a bed in long shot, and he gets up and walks out of the house while the camera holds on to her in the foreground. The outdoor and indoor matching of lights in the sequence is quite an impressive stroke and the mise-en-scene is quite noteworthy. But otherwise, overall, the mise-en-scenes are too simplistic and the scenes too informative. Specially the scenes inside the Kolkata hotel room; they are too rudimentary and bland, shot mostly in top angle mid-long shots. In fact the entire film has a propensity for long takes and long and mid-long shots and is peculiarly averse to close-ups. The ride from Howrah station to the hotel in a taxi (which does not have a meter!) fails to capture the essence of the big city; it is left to the lead characters to speak about its enormity and monotony instead. At places the film is too loaded with dialogues, which are solely meant to convey information, quite often superfluous; and what makes matters worse is that they are stilted, specially the Bengali lines spoken by Dipankar. Also, the actor playing Dipankar tries hard to deliver but falls far short of expectation. With his full-sleeved dull coloured shirts tucked inside dark pleated pants, he looks like a stuffed bureaucrat and lacks the flamboyance or mannerisms of a television journalist. In fact, he affects the entire look of the film. The only saving grace are the two actresses even if Anu Choudhury in the role of Kalpana looks too urbane and her starched cotton printed sarees do not help matters in lending her character the required rural look that was so necessary for the film. But her face has an elegance and sublime quality and her fine performance compensates for these shortcomings and one wishes there were at least some close-ups of her beautiful face.

All in all, for all its drawbacks the film has enough moments of merits as well. Kathantara has gone on to win 8 state awards in Orissa for Best Film, Best Director, Best Story, Best Supporting Actress, Best Supporting Actor in a Comic Role, Best Cinematography, Best Sound and Best Music besides the National Award for Best Feature Film in Oriya.