Haider: Jhelum River and the Plight of Kashmir

            In Haider, I am captivated by Vishal Bhardwaj's portrayal and use of the stunning scenery of Kashmir in nearly every other scene of the film. Apart from the notable climactic scenes that portray blood in the icy, snow-capped mountains of Kashmir, there are several shots that showcase the vast meadows, rocky crevices, breathtaking autumn countryside, and rivers of the valley. As one of the few films shot entirely in Kashmir, Haider demonstrates the importance of setting in film and shows that drawing upon the natural landmarks of a particular location can beautifully complement the emotional undertone of a dramatic story. However, the setting is not just significant to the storyline; one focus of the film, especially in the first half, as Bharadwaj Rangan points out, is on creating a sociopolitical understanding of Kashmir. In particular, the song "Jhelum" stands out as an extremely moving and effective portrayal of the plight of Kashimiri citizens, trapped forever in a state of uncertainty and fear. Bhardwaj's use of very carefully angled shots, as well as the overall metaphor between the Jhelum River and the state of the hapless victims of the Kashmir Valley makes Haider more than a political reenactment of Hamlet; it adds humanity to the film and brings about awareness to a relevant social situation, which is both characteristic of Bhardwaj's style and gratifying to see in a major Bollywood movie.

            The song opens with a shot of Haider and Arshia being rowed across the Jhelum River. What catches our eye in this scene as we glance over Shahid and Shraddha Kapoor's grim, unchanging, expressionless faces is the repeated motion of the oarsman – a perpetual, sweeping action with a tiny oar which evokes the never-ending monotony of hopelessness in the lives of those caught in a war-torn no-man's land as well as the helplessness that an individual oar has in battling the waters of the massive Jhelum. We then transition to several scenes showing Arshia and Haider visiting prison camp after prison camp, desperate for news of Haider's father but to no avail. These scenes reveal Bhardwaj's chilling strategy of framing the shot through barbed wire, prison bars, or a tiny window, which gives viewers the feeling of being closed in and subdued, thus letting us directly experience the crushing effect that living in a military-ruled region has. This is also strengthened by the film's repeated reference to the constant curfew in place, which shows the direct influence of co-writer Basharat Peer, considering that his memoir is titled Curfewed Night. At two distinct points in the song, we start with the focus on Haider and Arshia's faces, but then shift the focus, by the end of the shot, to the spiky barbed wire in the forefront of the scene, which evokes the desire for freedom (reminiscent of the crowd's shouts of "azadi" during Haider's monologue) and shows how each attempt at escaping the Kashmiri cycle of misery leads to disappointment after disappointment for the people and battle after battle for the region. In a subsequent scene of the song, Arshia holds up a photo of Haider's father to show a police officer, and we see the scene from his point of view, with shots quickly alternating between Arshia's face behind bars and the Salman Khan movie playing in the back room. I am interested by Bhardwaj's fascination with Salman Khan in the film. In recent Bollywood news, Khan also shot a film in Kashmir and is generally for the idea of removing the stereotype of a terror-struck region from Kashmir. Salman Khan himself even recently said that he wants cinema theaters to open in the Kashmir Valley, that his grandfather was from Kashmir, and that he even adopted a Kashmiri family. Perhaps this points to Bhardwaj and Peer's desire in the film to humanize the inhabitants of Kashmir, even while creating a contrast between the typical, romanticized "Bollywood" depictions of Kashmir in films songs similar to those in Salman Khan movies.

 Another shot in the song shows Haider's printed out photos being tossed away by a soldier, where they fall like bits of snow against the mountainous backdrop of the scene. This ties together, in one brilliant, slow-motion, time-stopping scene, the setting and the emotion of things flying apart and falling helplessly to the earth. In the next shot, we finally see sunlight after a series of various shades of gray, but the coming of day does not bring hope but rather a truck of corpses, which instantly reminds me of Deepa Mehta's train full of victims of violence from the Partition in Earth, 1947. Bhardwaj unflinchingly depicts a live body springing out from among the corpses and the giddy joy and confusion that comes with being alive in a region that seems to be in a constant state of death. By juxtaposing the living and dead bodies, he shows how life is nearly equivalent to death here, and that even while being alive, it is easy to mistake oneself as dead.  Perhaps the most powerful shot from "Jhelum" is the panning shot that mirrors the sliding movement of our eyes as we read the heartbreaking signs that family members hold up, waiting for closure about their loved ones. The text on the signs is concise but powerful: "half widow," "what am I, posthumous or orphan," "my father, where is he," and "where are our loved ones?" These loaded words written in all capital letters juxtaposed with the blank, shadowed faces of the people holding them up shows us the tangible emotional tension and tiredness in the lives of victims of collateral war damage. The song illustrates Arshia's earlier words "tumhare ghar mein ghar jaisa kuch bacha nahin hai," which apply both directly to Haider and to Kashmir as a whole.

One brief shot in the film also shows a newspaper headline that reads "Bodies found in Jhelum River," which is a historically accurate fact considering that, by some counts, over 800 bodies have been found in the river over the past three decades. Later, the river is alluded to again, during the song "Bismil," which represents the play within the play of Hamlet. The background dancers "leap about in an apparent imitation of the roiling Jhelum," and firmly establish the river as a symbol of hidden sin and guilt. This is interesting considering that the Jhelum River is traditionally considered a manifestation of the Goddess Parvati for the purpose of "purifying the land from evil." The choice of the Jhelum River in particular as a vehicle for Kashmiri sorrow is apt because the river crosses the border and flows in both India and Pakistan, which helps universalize the message by emphasizing the mixed identity of Kashmiris and the overall, human cry for help and understanding.

The song itself is fittingly slow and melancholy, and elicits a feeling of unease with the musical score and lyrics. Far from being a stereotypical, commercial Bollywood song, it seems to be based on classical music, which brings with it a heavier and more serious tone. Right from the opening lines, the clear male voice of Vishal Bhardwaj drips with sorrow, and seems to lag behind the rhythm as if overwhelmed with pain – an auditory component that matches the heaviness on the characters' faces and the hard-hitting images we see on the screen. The lyrics, too, create images of helplessness and gloom with "andhi raat" and "dooba sooraj" "waqt ka khoon hua," and the repeated idea of the river turning red with blood.

The "Jhelum" song captures the tired spirit of the people. As Basharat Peer, the author of "Curfewed Night" puts it, "the heady, rebellious Kashmir I left as a teenager was now a land of brutalized, exhausted and uncertain people...The conflict might leave the streets, but it might not leave the soul.” Bhardwaj shows that a director's involvement and investment in a heart-touching soundtrack can lead to a very powerful result, and through songs like "Jhelum," he redefines the limits on the role of Bollywood music in a movie. Anyone who watches Haider will leave with a part of the Kashimiri conflict in their hearts. In the end, I am very glad that we were exposed to the powers of Bollywood in creating an emotional connection that transcends fiction and has serious, relevant social implications.