A new batch of female inmates is ushered into the zanaanah ward of a pre-independence prison. Among them is Kalyani (Nutan), our protagonist, serving time for poisoning a woman to death. One night, an old inmate is struck by tuberculosis, and Kalyani is the only one who volunteers to nurse her-and how!-she insists that the jailor sign her papers right now, in the middle of the night, lest he should forget the next day. That's Kalyani-an unshakable confidence under a demure exterior. Is it any wonder then, that the good prison doctor Devendra (Dharmendra) is smitten by her?
The genius of Jarasandha's script surfaces in the scene where Deven first touches Kalyani: soon as the good doctor places a loving hand on the convicted woman's shoulder, the prison warning bell sounds. A freedom-fighter-inmate, we are told, has just struck a blow to a cop. And we're immediately brought home to the reality of moral authority, which will sound warning bells whenever Kalyani is touched by love.
The juxtaposition of personal and political freedom struggles is a recurring motif in Bimal Roy's Bandini. Throughout the film, authorities continue to silence the voices of freedom, just as the warden whacks an inmate for singing. Beauty has no room in a world governed by strictures, a fact the Superintendent of police makes explicit by voicing his dislike for flowers in prison. Even the slightly self-indulgent night sequence of a freedom-fighter's hanging ends with a pithy, ironical scene - the prison guard crowing at dawn break, "sab theeeek haiii!" This is scriptwriting at its finest.
The genius of Jarasandha's script surfaces in the scene where Deven first touches Kalyani: soon as the good doctor places a loving hand on the convicted woman's shoulder, the prison warning bell sounds. A freedom-fighter-inmate, we are told, has just struck a blow to a cop. And we're immediately brought home to the reality of moral authority, which will sound warning bells whenever Kalyani is touched by love.
The juxtaposition of personal and political freedom struggles is a recurring motif in Bimal Roy's Bandini. Throughout the film, authorities continue to silence the voices of freedom, just as the warden whacks an inmate for singing. Beauty has no room in a world governed by strictures, a fact the Superintendent of police makes explicit by voicing his dislike for flowers in prison. Even the slightly self-indulgent night sequence of a freedom-fighter's hanging ends with a pithy, ironical scene - the prison guard crowing at dawn break, "sab theeeek haiii!" This is scriptwriting at its finest.
In the flashback that leads up to Kalyani's imprisonment, Nabendu Ghosh's screenplay cleverly reverses the customary male gaze upon the village girl; here, it is Kalyani whose eyes twinkle when she first sees rebel freedom-fighter Vikas (Ashok Kumar), even before she meets him ("He laughs funny", she says. It's doubly effective because it's Ashok Kumar she's talking about!) It is through her perspective that we see Vikas. In the only romantic scene the duo gets, Vikas praises Kalyani, and the way Nutan stays true to character, shying coquettishly without losing that spark of defiance, speaks volumes about her acting finesse.
In the end, once she is free, Kalyani must choose between Deven and Vikas (Mark how, in all the important scenes between Kalyani and her suitors, there's a barrier between her and them). The characterization of the men is deceptively clever; it plays upon all our preconceived notions. Deven is young, handsome, clean-shaven and a doctor; while Vikas is older, gaunt, unshaven and sickly (he always has a fever). The casting seduces us: surely, on the face of it, Ashok Kumar would attract fewer women than Dharmendra, so that the viewer ends up rooting for Devendra (admittedly, I did). Even their names-Deven(king of gods) and Vikas(progress)-heighten their contrasts.
But a closer look reveals why Kalyani chooses Vikas. The good doctor is conventional; were Kalyani to go with him, she'd be walking back into society-a place scarier than prison (remember her pleas to the jailor not to be released). Vikas, on the other hand, is a rebel. He comes with no baggage; he'd long declared Kalyani to be his wife without officially marrying her, convention be damned.
Freedom isn't always neat, easy and clean shaven; it is often unattractive and full of hardships. Deven would've meant a comfortable life, Vikas means a free life. This, then, is Bandini's sophisticated take on the nature of freedom: it may run against all conventional wisdom, but being free means being able to choose.
