B.R. Chopras interpretative rendition of Ludhianvis poem in the movie Sadhna, aims to symbolically capture this subtle irony. He uses light, mirrors, statues and choreography to capture both the essence of Ludhianvis poem and to subtly mock

        Moreover, the consequences of her objectification are juxtaposed with the situations of men in the second stanza. Ludhianvi notes that for “Men every sin condoned” (11), but for woman even crying, or shedding a tear is “forbidden” (12). While men may have “many a nuptial bed” (13), for woman each bed that she must lay upon is like a “pyre red” (14). Ludhianvi is incontestably noting that while men’s foibles are overlooked and pardoned, a woman’s utterance of discomfort or forced violation is of no consequence. He continues to describe the contrast of how for men, bedding a woman is a socially acceptable even pleasurable affair, but for a woman, any bed that she must lay upon is a pyre- a platform on which she is burned, incinerated, destroyed. Ludhianvi also notes that while men have been able to take time to justify their “lusts” (15) for a woman, just living is a plight; her existence a punishment (16). The poet, initially targeting a woman’s objectification for her misery and then the repercussions of her objectification leading to her unfair situation, now transitions to deliberate the responsibility of blame for this very dark reality. Blame, subsequently, is where Ludhianvi’s poem increases in tragic intensity.  

        Initially, blame is distinctly aimed at sons for their counter reciprocal actions for their mother’s affections. Ludhianvi notes that regardless of whether it was the “lips that gave them love” (17), “The womb that bore them” (19) or even the “body that nurtured them” (21), regardless- sons either “sacrileged” them (18), “commoditized” them (20) or “desecrated” them (22). The responsibility of blame is clearly directed at sons for their vicious, unwarranted, vile and immoral repayment to the mother that cared for them. The son is the reason for a woman’s deplorable state. Nevertheless, the poet knows placing the totality of blame upon sons, solely, for these injustices committed against women is not complete.

Ludhianvi, subsequently, implores men, not just sons, for a woman’s desperation. In his following stanza, Ludhianvi notes that these “acts” (23) of either partaking in the sex trade, prostitution, pimping, pre-marital sex, brothels or whorehouses, though frowned upon, are normal in society. Although these “acts” stain a women’s reputation, men are allowed to partake in them and function in society with an immaculate character- especially in India where these acts are not only completely legal, but considered normal. The poet notes that partaking in such lewd acts is normal because men have “decreed them as their right” (24). The word used in Urdu for “right”, however, is “haq”- which connotes natural right like Americans note ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’. A natural right is something that is uncontested- almost divinely ordained. Ludhianvi is shifting blame from sons to men for decreeing that acts of sexual exploitation are normal and for justifying those acts a rightful part of social interaction. Furthermore, Ludhianvi’s explicit description of the socially acceptable cultural ritual of Sati, an Indian custom of hurling a newly widowed woman into the flaming pyre of her husband, similarly points to patriarchal ‘male’ designed practices for contributing to a woman’s unfathomable burden. Ludhianvi is clarifying that men design these practices, not women. Men justify these practices, not women. Moreover, men enforce these practices, not women. Only a patriarchal society would exalt and praise such a horrible practice and give it the title of “noble” (26). In Urdu, though, the words that both translate into this sacrifice are “Qurbaani” and “balidaan”. Now both these particular Urdu words connote a sacrificial nature for divine purpose. The first word is associated with Islam and notes selfless willing martyristic self-sacrifices made to appease Allah, while the following word stems from Sanskrit- “bali” meaning sacrifices associated with appeasing idols and “daan” meaning a willing donation. So in essence, the poet is fixating due responsibility for injustices committed against women onto the shoulders of men and the patriarchal societal norms they create.

        The next lines in Sahir Ludhianvi’s poem, though, are the first time an active consent-based-choice made by the woman is mentioned. He writes that it is a woman “Trading her kismet” (27) for food- thus implying a direct involvement by the woman to partake in a joint agreement. However, the reader must take a step back from this statement and observe the imprecise notion hidden within the line. Firstly, kismet, here, can loosely define livelihood, existence or even fate. So, one must consider why a woman would trade her livelihood, existence or fate (i.e.) what would drive a woman to trade these away. In order to answer these objective questions, one needs to understand what she is trading her kismet for. Ludhianvi notes that, it is a “morsel of bread” that a woman trades her life for. This means that it is in the light of absolute hunger and desperation that she sells her existence. For giving up her kismet, though, she is repaid with morsels. Consequently, the audience is made to deliberate if this a just wager. Clearly- it is not.

        At this particular moment, the poet has traveled from blaming sons to men. However, here, the poet steps back even further to note that blame cannot rest upon sons nor upon men. The responsibility of blame, thus, shifts to society. Ludhianvi, consequently, blames “poverty” (30) for shameful acts such as lechery. Blaming poverty, an economically mandated social device to stratify class, is what the poet identifies for breeding female misery. But, why then, when poverty is non-gender discriminatory, does it mature in “brothels” (31)? Is Ludhianvi revealing that because women do not possess the biological strength of a man to work that she must then resort to selling her body? That she is “Trapped” by her necessity to feed herself? That she has no other choice? The poet is blaming a social escape for her biological urgency for her miserable state. Ludhianvi is concluding that if society did not beget poverty, then poverty would not breed shameful acts in the world. The blame is lifted from sons, lifted from men and placed upon society.

        Disturbingly, however, Ludhianvi’s consequential lines, after shifting blame three times, terminate with a startling conclusion. The poet, initially blaming sons, then shifting to men in general, then society as a whole, knows that he, and the entire male audience fall into all those three categories. Men are sons and men make up the majority of patriarchal Indian society. The guilt of female defamation then rests solely upon man’s shoulders. If Sahir Ludhianvi had terminated his poem here, womankind would have a perfect target to point fingers towards. They would have a face to curse for their situation. They would have an outlet for their anger. If the poem had concluded here, womankind would know whom to fight. However, Ludhianvi, being a man, knows that he cannot and will not assume this responsibility, be it true or untrue. Man may know that he is the culprit, but will not be held accountable. Knowing this, Ludhianvi culminates his poem “Aurat”, with the conclusion that sons cannot be blamed, men cannot be blamed, society cannot be blamed- only woman. The poet concludes that the reason a woman is a “thing”, the reason she is “made to dance”, the reason she is “violated”, “commoditized”, “sacrileged”, “desecrated”, “burned alive” and driven to sell herself is because it is her fate. It is her “taqdeer” (Urdu for fate). It is her “badkismat” (Urdu for her bad fate). She may give birth to “Saints and prophets” (37), but regardless of her service, she remains a “fiend” (38).  Her utter damnation is irreversible, written in the stars, fated to happen regardless of her efforts and tragic till the end of time. Ludhianvi culminates with a single image- her deplorable lot, a “thing” again, a mere decoration that must serve her son.

        Sahir Ludhianvi’s poem “Aurat”, if viewed in contrast to the Hindu society at which it is aimed, remains laden with irony. Considering that in the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses, one goddess, the supreme mother goddess Durga remains above all gods and goddesses in power, knowledge, strength, wisdom and love. It is described in Hindu texts dating the prehistoric Indus Valley civilization, the story of a time when even the mighty Hindu gods in heaven were unable to defeat a demon so powerful that he had overwhelmed their powers and the gods had to leave heaven, defeated. It is written that there came a point when finally, individually defeated, the gods decided to combine all their powers to see what would happen. It is written that, “all the energies of the gods united and became a supernova, throwing out flames in all directions. Then that unique light, pervading the Three Worlds [heaven, earth and the underworld] with its luster, combined into one, and became a female form”.  The female form was given the name, Durga, which translates in Sanskrit as “the inaccessible”.   However, academics reveal that the goddess’ name does not mean “inaccessible” in the limiting sense understood by patriarchal society, but rather as "one-in-herself", or as "belonging-to-no-man". Academics similarly deliberate that her name also means “beyond reach”, an “echo of the woman warrior's fierce, virginal autonomy.” Nitin Kumar notes in his article “Durga”, that her divine power does not depend on her relation to a husband-god, and her actions are not dependent on the need to “conciliate such a one or to accord with his qualities and attitudes”. He states that she bears her identity through her own right. In the words of Professor Muller-Ortega, a Professor of Ancient Mythology at Rochester University: “Durga is the quintessential feminist and, as such, the ultimate boundary-breaker and transcender of our worldly,

unchallenged vision of reality. As the first female deity in the Universe, she is the essence of creation.  She slays demons and exists independent of male protection or guidance.  She is the vision of the feminine that challenges the stereotypical vie of women in traditional societies. This role reversal can be representative of a new version of reality (…)  She exists outside of normal structures of life, she is the ultimate non-conformist.”

Mythology distinctly paints her with holding “God Vishnu's discus, God Shiva's trident, God Varuna's conch shell, God Agni's flaming dart, God Vayu's bow, God Surya's arrows, God Yama's iron rod, God Kubera's club, God Sesha's snakes, and God Indra's thunderbolt.  Most of the iconography around Durga describes her as a combination of all of the gods' powers”.   She is also pictured riding astride a lion or tiger. Muller-Ortega notes that Durga both controls and usurps its symbolic masculine power as the ultimate warrior”.

Mythology notes that Durga manifests not only the power to maintain good, but also the power to destroy. Her image thus takes two different personifications. As the protector, she is Maa Durga, but as the destroyer of sin, she is Maa Kali. As the Goddess Kali, she is feared for her fearsome qualities. She sticks her tongue out to mock the weak gods in heaven, she wears a necklace of human skulls, her belt is made from heads and arms and she is portrayed as defiantly stepping upon the castrated body of the head god, Lord Shiva. Her skin is blue with poison and her rage is incontrollable. She is dually revered for her ability to kill demons and gods alike and also feared for her wrath and ability to wipe out humanity if angered.

If the ultimate form of power, in Hindu mythology, assumes a female form, then Ludhianvi’s poem, “Aurat” seems like it should not speak to the same society that hails the Goddess Durga and her manifestation as the omnipotent Kali as the epitome of astronomical power. If all the gods in the Hindu pantheon and all men in Hindu society seek to appease the Goddess Durga, respect, revere and fear her, then how can they treat women as Sahir Ludhianvi states? If invoking the anger of Kali Maa means the end of humanity, why does Hindu society treat her form with such disgust? If, in fact, the accumulated powers of all-cosmological power in Hindu mythology manifests into the form of a woman, then how can she be fated for damnation?

It is through B.R. Chopra’s rendition of Sahir Ludhianvi’s poem “Aurat” in the movie “Sadhna” (1958) that this irony takes center stage. Although the song is in black and white, B.R. Chopra still uses the intensities of light and darkness to illuminate the moments of  drastic and stark reality in order to catch the audience’s eye. The first time intense light is taken away to reveal darkness is when the lyrics of the poem mention a woman’s objectification as a “thing” without honor. The darkness is symbolic of how ‘dark’ this concept is and similarly, how shameful on the part of the audience at whom this is aimed at. The actress, Vayjantimala, begins by directly looking at the camera and the audience with full intense light upon her face but then turns away from the camera looking away from the audience to reveal utter darkness except for the light in the background.  Light is used again by the director, but this time in a more subtle manner. During the particular lyrics that aim blame at sons for sacrilege, commoditizing and desecrating the lips, womb and body that bore, loved and nurtured them, the director uses light to call attention to the actress’s bindi, or ceremonial Hindu wedding mark. Hindu culture does not establish rings as signs of marital status, but instead establishes for a woman, and solely a woman, to wear a ritual red dot upon her forehead. Thus, if a woman is seen with such, she is visibly married. However, there are no markers to identify a married man- married or single, Hindu men roam about free of constraints. In the particular scene, Vayjantimala turns her head towards the light to initially illuminate her bindi and then, she subsequently turns it so much that her marital marker seems to disappear.  The reason for illuminating the bindi during this stanza is to illuminate a woman’s status as a wife. Since premarital pregnancies rarely occurred, the same sign that indicated marital status also indicated potential motherhood. In this scene, the director is calling attention to the status of a wife and mother. However, it is interesting to note that when a woman is widowed, she no longer wears the ceremonial dot. By illuminating her bindi to the point where it disappears is very poignant. Because the lyrics focus upon the betrayal of sons, it is as if Vayjantimala is erasing the social constraint upon her as a wife and mother. The scene is powerful because of the visual defiance to erase her socially defining status. Finally, Chopra uses a complete black and white scene, completely enveloping the actress in black and washing out the background in white, distinctly to hint at the universality of a woman’s plight. When Ludhianvi focuses upon blaming society (i.e.) poverty for a woman’s misery, Chopra choreographs a scene in which the actress, arms out with wind blowing through her hair and sari, stands arched within a scene with two instruments common in Indian brothels: a veena (somewhat like a violin) and tabla (hand-played drums). Because the stark black and white solely leave the actress’s profile and apparent womanly form visible, the actress looses her defining features and becomes any, and every earthly woman. Her plight, thus, spans across caste, religion and culture- her plight is universal. The play upon light and darkness, illumination and drastic black and white are the director’s ways in which the audience’s attentions are called upon. B.R. Chopra’s purpose is to call society’s attention to Ludhianvi’s lyrics- to point to the audience that it is you that this poem is aimed at.

B.R. Chopra further accomplishes this by making the actress, or Ludhianvi’s “Woman”, look directly into the camera when the audience’s attention is mandated by the lyrics. When blame is directed towards a group-, the woman looks directly at that group in the audience. The effect of such is immense guilt on the part of the audience. For example, the song begins with the stanza that it is “Woman” who gives “life to men” and that “Men trade her to whoredom” (1-2). At this particular point, the woman actress is looking directly at the camera. The lyrics call upon men to remember that it is due to a woman that they are alive. However, it is interesting to note that translation does not state that a woman gives birth to men, although the Urdu word “janam” translates directly as birth. The reason, instead, that the Urdu word translates into “life” is that birth connotes a beginning and end- a single event. The tie between mother and child after birth is independent. But, to remind man that it is a woman that gave them “life”, something they consistently are aware of, something that makes up the totality of their existence, reminding men of this has a greater effect then having them recall that it was a woman that gave them birth. Furthermore, after making them realize that it is “life” that a woman gave them, stating that she is then “Trampled crushed” and “Scorned” at his whim or when it pleased him, this statement would not nail guilt as deep had the woman not been looking directly at the audience. It is because her pathetic glare is stone-focused upon the audience that her piercing stare causes extreme guilt. Similarly, when the lyrics note the unfair nature of men’s sins being justified and pardoned, while a woman is “forbidden” to utter discomfort, the actress looks at what can be a higher level- symbolically looking at people in high positions who pardon men for their crimes against women. When she notes how unfair this is, though, she looks down at the ground. Not only does the actress convey the shame of such pardon, but the audience notes is as well since it is only her face that makes up the frame and nothing else. More drastically, though, B.R. Chopra conveys Ludhianvi’s main transitional point from casting blame upon men and then shifting it to society by having the actress walk directly into the camera. This scene is powerful because her pathetic, deplorable expression consumes the entire frame. The impact of such remains disturbing.

‘You’ in the audience are that son that has betrayed her, ‘you’ are that man that forced misery upon her, and ‘you’ are a part of that society that forces her to sell herself for food. The subsequent scene is morbidly black, for, at this moment that she is in you, ‘you’ experience the utter darkness that ‘you’ have caused her. ‘You’ experience, momentarily, the dark reality of her situation and feel the emptiness within her. Furthermore, as she emerges from ‘you’, her head is no longer covered- dependant upon interpretation- a sign of shame, vulnerability and even defiance. B.R. Chopra characterizes the first half of the song with her covered but after the stanzas following the betrayal of her sons and the betrayal of men, he removes the mark of respectability from her (i.e.), her white, virginal sari covering her head and shoulders. However, removing her head covering herself would also be a sign of defiance to social constraints and limitations. She is slowly freeing herself from coverings and shackles; socially mandated codes of conduct to restrain and subdue.

Even B.R. Chopra’s set and backdrop function to call upon the audience’s attention by incorporating mirrors and statues of various women and men. Mirrors constantly function to reflect, not just the woman actress and her actions back to the audience, but also the words of the poem. The lyrics also psychologically reflect back onto the audience through the modem of mirrors. The first time mirrors are used are while the actress walks from one corner of the room to the next describing how woman’s utterance of discomfort or pain is frowned upon. The fact that she is walking while saying this is symbolic of how this concept is inconsequential of time. The sinning and pardoning has been conducted since time immemorial. Walking through the scene with mirrors behind, Chopra aims to illuminate that it is ‘you’, audience, that has partaken in them and allowed them to continue today.  Similarly, the director positions the actress directly in front of a mirror, staring back at the audience when the lyrics call upon men’s creation and justification of acts that exploit women, decreeing that exploiting women is some kind of natural right. Staring back at the audience calls for direct reflection on ‘your’ part for partaking in, normalizing, justifying or naturalizing any exploitative acts. Consequently, B.R. Chopra also uses mirrors to corner and cage his

actress. The mirror can symbolize society, or the audience watching, the wall on the other side, age worn customs and rituals that have not changed and in front ‘you’ also, who are watching and coming closer further trapping her.  The next time a mirror is seen, a similar cage like shadow is cast upon a statue of a woman. The lyrics in the background focus on Ludhianvi’s notion that, it is “poverty” that breeds shameful acts, not sons and not men. The shadowed entrapment in the background symbolizes the inability of any party (sons, men, or even society) to establish responsibility. A woman is simply trapped with everyone and no one to blame for her situation.   Her entrapment is and will always be.

Although rooted in interpretation, the evidence suggests that B.R. Chopra, however bound by the words of Ludhianvi’s lyrics and the connotation of the poet’s language, subtly mocks the poet’s final stanza that conclusively discards blame onto a woman’s fate. Chopra follows Ludhianvi’s mode of blame transmission from sons to men to society and finally fate, but in the background one notices that the director has placed three distinct Hindu idols, two of men and one of a woman, on distinct sides of the bed. Upon closer analysis, the two Hindu gods on the actress’s left are God Rama, identified as the larger statue with the bow, and the smaller statue as Lord Krishna, playing his flute. These two particular gods were used for a very distinct reason. Regardless of the multitudes of gods within the Hindu pantheon, the interactions between God Rama and women and Lord Krishna and women are arenas of great debate. For example, Rama, in the famous epic Ramayana, is a prince cast into exile along with his wife, Sita and brother Lakhshmana by their evil step-mother. As the three live in exile in the forest, Sita gets kidnapped by an evil demon king. The problematic nature of the epic myth results in the question of why the evil king kidnaps Rama’s wife. One interpretation notes that both Rama and his brother Lakshmana came upon a girl in the forest:

“Lord…” she stuttered, “…Lord… Forgive me for intruding so shamelessly, but I saw you wandering alone, and thought you might have lost your way.” Ram and Lakshman looked at each other; their faces were grave, but a smile glinted in their eyes. They’d noticed she’d ignored Lakshman altogether. It amused and flattered Ram to be on the receiving end of this attention, even if it came from a rakshasi [demon woman] who’d changed shape; and it also repelled him vaguely. He experienced, for the first time, the dubious and uncomfortable pleasure of being the object of pursuit. This didn’t bother him unduly, though; he was, like all members of the male sex, slightly vain. Lakshman cleared his throat and said: “Who are you, maiden? Do you come from these parts?”“Not far from here,” said the beautiful woman, while the covering on her bosom slipped a little without her noticing it. “Lord,” she said, going up to Ram and touching his arm, “let’s go a little way from here. There’s a place not far away where you can get some rest.” Within the beautiful body, the rakshasi’s heart beat fiercely, but with trepidation.“I don’t mind,” said the godly one slowly. “But what’s a woman like you doing here alone? Aren’t you afraid of thieves?” “I know no fear, Lord,” she said. “Besides, seeing you, whatever fear I might have had melts away.”“Before I go with you,” conceded Ram, “I must consult my brother — and tell him what to do when I’ve gone.” [The girl] said: “Whatever pleases you, Lord,” but thought: ‘I’ve won him over; I can’t believe it. My prayers are answered.’ Ram went to Lakshman and said: “This creature’s beginning to tire me. Do something.” “Like what?” said Lakshman. He was sharpening the blade of his knife. Ram admired the back of his hand and said moodily: “I don’t know. Something she’ll remember for days. Teach her a lesson for being so forward.” Lakshman got up wearily with the knife still in one hand, and Ram said under his breath: “Don’t kill her, though.” A little later, a howl was heard. Lakshman came back; there was some blood on the blade. “I cut her nose off,” he said. “It,” he gestured toward the knife, “went through her nostril as if it were silk. She immediately changed back from being a paradigm of beauty into the horrible creature she really is. She’s not worth describing,” he said as he wiped his blade, and Ram chuckled without smiling. “She was in some pain. She flapped her arms and screamed in pain and ran off into the forest like an agitated beast.”

Before the story continues, it is of great debate what, exactly, the myth notes that Lakshmana does to the ‘demon’ woman. In Indian colloquialism, cutting off one’s nose, connotes shaming oneself but in particular references towards women, it means being raped or losing ones virginity. So, when Lakshmana “cut her nose”, cultural interpretation holds that he raped her. In the myth, it turns out that the ‘demon’ woman was actually an ‘evil’ king’s sister. When she complained to her brother of what Rama and Lakshmana had done, the king kidnapped Rama’s wife to teach the brothers a lesson. When the two brothers came back victorious after defeating the evil king and rescuing Sita, Rama requested for his wife to prove her chastity since she had been in the evil king’s castle for many days. He ordered her to walk through fire and if she was pure and clean, the fire would not touch her, but had she been raped, the fire would consume her. Sita, embarrassed and pained by her husband’s unwillingness to believe that she was as pure as he had left her, walked shamefully through the fire unscathed, but requested mother earth to consume her for she had been disrespected by her husband. Placing the statue of a God who’s infamy in initially toying and then raping the sister of a king and then distrusting and shaming his own wife, is B.R. Chopra’s attempt to mock Ludhianvi’s culminating stanza. A woman is not damned- she is taken advantage of by her sons, by men, by society and even by gods. The story of Krishna, the other godly statue near Rama is also a story laden with womanizing gods, married to another, but consummating love with many others.

“Radha,[a cow herding maid] is married or involved with someone else, and still cannot resist Krishna's musical call. In being with Him she risks social censure, alienation and humiliation. Riddled with shame and inappropriateness, this is hardly a relationship that purportedly embodies the highest union of pure love. Music becomes the voice of their illicit love which is too passionate, and secretive. Krishna [who is already married to Rukmani] is the cosmic musician who woos the gopi's (cowherd girls) with his tunes. Krishna's flute sounds so powerful that they embodied the energy of the cosmos. His beauty, charm and musical skill impassion women everywhere; at the sound of his flute playing, the gopis "jump up in the middle of putting on her makeup, abandon her family while eating a meal, leave food to burn on the stove, and run out of her home to be with Krishna". In the embrace of Krishna, the gopis, maddened with desire, found refuge; in their love dalliance with him who was the master in all the sixty-four arts of love, the gopis felt a thrill indescribable; and in making love with him in that climatic moment of release, in that one binding moment, they felt that joy and fulfillment which could not but be an aspect of the divine.”

These are the Hindu gods that hold and influence the fate of mankind. If, in so, Ludhianvi maintains that it is due to a woman’s fate that she is damned, then B.R. Chopra gives a glimpse of why her fate leads to damnation- because even the gods exploit her. The director ends his interpretative analysis of Ludhianvi’s poem with the actress laying upon a bed, looking away from the male Hindu gods and instead, painfully towards the statue of a goddess. The message is that it is only another woman, goddess or mortal, who must understand her plight and help her. It is only another woman who has the power to stop the cycle of exploitation. And, it is only a woman who can teach her children- the next generation how to regard, revere and respect woman.  

        B.R. Chopra boldly mocks Sahir Ludhianvi’s poem “Aurat” or “Woman” for its transmittance of blame from sons, to men, to society and to fate. Chopra, in his movie “Sadhna” (1958), uses multiple techniques to call upon the audience’s attention for partaking in and instigating the exploitation of women. The director takes Ludhianvi’s poem a step further, knocking its culminating epiphany that a woman’s damnation is rooted in her fate and that society is innocent. The conclusive evidence is not so much that irony sits at the root of tragedy, nor that tragedy is cultural or gender biased. The evidence, instead, reveals that tragedy is inherent in the world. Whether the case pertains particularly to Indian women or women of any racial ethnography, one simple notion remains, that tragedy most intensely breeds in social apathy and humankind’s selfish disregard for the plight of their fellow man.