‘I hear, and I forget; I see, and I remember,” is a Chinese proverb. But this has been substantiated by a 2014 study revealing that our brain processes the things we see and touch, a lot better than what we hear.
In the study, associate professor of psychology and neuroscience, Amy Porembra and UI graduate student, James Bigelow concluded that we don’t remember things we hear nearly as well as the things we see.
Cut to a Bollywood movie – A Maratha warrior is jovially trotting on horse as a Muslim resident in the Maratha Kingdom admires him. Another Muslim is willing to die trying to protect Swaraj just like his Abbu (father). On the other hand, Udaybhan Rathore, a Rajput, is fighting for Aurangzeb and attacking Shivaji Maharaj’s Army.
These visuals from the movie Tanhaji (2020) ensure that the Shivaji vs Aurangzeb fight is correctly portrayed as non-religious.
Tanhaji was a huge box office success and the highest grossing film of 2020. Despite its shortcomings, it never evoked Hindu-Muslim sentiments, unlike the recently-released Vicky Kaushal-starrer Chhaava.
Both Tanhaji and Chhaava showed the rivalry between Marathas and Mughals and Aurangzeb as a cruel character, resulting in death of a valiant Maratha in the end fighting for Swaraj. The reason that makes Tanhaji different from Chhaava is the fact that the former had visuals that showed Hindus in Aurangzeb’s Army and Muslims in Shivaji’s Army in multiple scenes.
However, this reality is completely wiped out in Chhaava. The absence of such visuals creates a Hindu-Muslim binary and deep religious polarisation that lasts even after the audience leaves the theater.
In the first week, social media was full of viral videos of people crying in the end. In Gujarat’s Bharuch, a movie screen was ripped. We did not see such reactions after the release of Tanhaji.
Chhaava, which is based on the life of Shivaji’s son Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj, continues to be unstoppable at box office, beating many blockbusters like Bahubali, Pathan and Pushpa. As Aurangzeb and related news continues to dominate headlines, the footfall continues at the theatre.
The movie starts after Shivaji’s death – thus avoiding any reference to the relationship between the father and the son. We only see the shadow of Sambhaji’s father – one or two dialogues of Shivaji – wondering why Shivaji was not showcased by Bollywood.
This was the second instance of a protrayal of Shivaji in Hindi cinema after Ajay Devgn’s Tanhaji (where the character was played By Sharad Kelkar). Even though Tanhaji focussed on the warrior Tanhaji Malusare, Shivaji too got decent screen time.
Also Read: Aurangzeb’s Afterlife and the Chhaava-fication of Indian History
If you want to understand the Chhaava phenomenon, you must watch the Ajay Devgn-starrer Tanhaji to see what was purposely missing in Chhaava.
The answer doesn’t lie in what has been included in Chhaava, but in what the movie has excluded. Chhava uses visual exclusion of facts an figures so dexterously that it was able to create a covert religious propaganda film despite having overt dialogues like “our fight is not against any religion”.
Depiction of a clear Hindu-Muslim binary in the army of Sambhaji and Aurangzeb
Although Sambhaji emphasises in multiple scenes that his Swaraj is not against any religion, the portrayal of characters in the movie tells a different story. The Maratha kingdom under Sambhaji is depicted as consisting solely of Hindus, while the Mughal side exclusively features bearded Muslims in every scene without exception.
There is no representation of a Muslim warrior fighting alongside Sambhaji or a Hindu warrior supporting Aurangzeb’s Army. The only instances where individuals cross these lines occur in cases of betrayal – such as Akbar joining Sambhaji and Ganoji aligning with Aurangzeb.
These exclusions help the movie tell the story in a Hindu vs Muslim binary, despite the dialogues saying otherwise. Audience can relate more to what they see than what they hear.
It is well documented that Shivaji had several Muslim commanders and officials in his army and court, including Daulat Khan (artillery chief), Ibrahim Khan (head of the cavalry), Rustam-e-Jaman, Madari Mehtar, Kazi Haider (law officer), and Siddi Hilal, among others.
Many of these trusted allies played a crucial role in his fight for Swaraj in the Deccan, and some continued to serve under Sambhaji. Given this historical reality, their absence in key scenes and dialogues is striking. At the very least, a passing reference to them would have added authenticity. Yet, there is not a single bearded Muslim depicted in Sambhaji’s court, army, or inner circle, making Swaraj appear as an exclusively Hindu confederacy.
In the movie Tanhaji, Shivaji’s Maratha kingdom is portrayed as an inclusive society where people of all religions coexist. The presence of a Muslim autistic boy fighting alongside Shivaji, along with a few bearded Muslims in his court, reinforces the idea that the struggle was not about religion but about self-respect and sovereignty.
This depiction highlights the diverse fabric of the Maratha army and their broader vision of swaraj, which went beyond religious boundaries.
Chhaava’s dialogue, “I am not against any religion,” loses its impact when both sides are portrayed as being exclusively of one religion. While Shivaji had prominent Muslim military commanders willing to sacrifice their lives for the Maratha kingdom, Aurangzeb also had numerous Hindus in his army and court – arguably more than his Mughal predecessors.
However, the film completely overlooks this fact. The absence of figures like Mirza Raja Jai Singh and Jaswant Singh, two of Aurangzeb’s high-ranking generals, as well as Raja Raghunath Rai, who managed the empire’s finances, is a glaring omission. Their exclusion skews and manipulates the historical narrative, failing to reflect the complex, multi-religious reality of that era.
In fact, it was Mirza Raja Jai Singh who played a crucial role in negotiating the Treaty of Purandar in 1665, which led to Shivaji signing the agreement with Aurangzeb and a young Sambhaji being appointed as a mansabdar in the Mughal army.
In Chhava, while we see a fearless young Sambhaji confidently facing Aurangzeb, there is no mention of Jai Singh, who was a key figure fighting on Aurangzeb’s behalf. His Visual absence is yet another omission that diminishes the complex equation at that time.
Prolonged screen time given to showcase torture of Sambhaji
The filmmakers appear to have prioritised depicting the savage torture of Sambhaji in the final 30 minutes, rather than highlighting his remarkable brilliance and enduring legacy. Why else would they allocate nearly a quarter of the film to Aurangzeb’s cruelty, sidelining the rich, multifaceted character of Sambhaji?
While Aurangzeb’s ruthless torture of Sambhaji is an indisputable historical fact, a film centered on such a monumental figure should spotlight his accomplishments, leadership, and sharp intellect over his anguish. Those 30 minutes of emotionally striking visuals, overshadow his true essence, reducing his memory to the brutality he suffered.
Part of that screen time could have been devoted to illuminating Sambhaji’s extraordinary intellect and scholarly achievements. Sadly, theatergoers leave without knowing that he was a profoundly learned ruler, fluent in languages such as Sanskrit, Hindi, Persian, Portuguese, Arabic, and Kannada.
Beyond his prowess as a formidable warrior, Sambhaji was a talented scholar who wrote books in Sanskrit and crafted poetry. At the young age of 14, he authored Budhbhushan, a Sanskrit political treatise that explores principles of governance and the responsibilities of ministers. By overlooking this dimension of his character, the film squanders the chance to deliver a comprehensive depiction of a leader who was not only a valiant fighter but also a profound thinker and strategist.
In one scene, Sambhaji is shown playfully challenging his court poet, Kavi Kalash, by saying that one day he will compose a poem in response to Kalash’s witty two-liner. However, this dialogue unintentionally downplays Sambhaji’s literary brilliance. How could someone who authored books and was a master of Sanskrit struggle to compose just two lines of poetry?
As a scholar well-versed in multiple languages, Sambhaji deserved a scene that highlighted his literary prowess. Instead, the film could have included a moment where he recites a Sanskrit verse or where Kavi Kalash acknowledges his vast knowledge, saying something like, “Maharaj, aap to gyani hai, aapne itne sare granth likhe hai” (Maharaj, your wisdom is unparalleled; my poems cannot compare to your vast literary experience and mastery of Sanskrit). Such a portrayal would have done justice to his intellect rather than reducing it to a mere jest.
However, the film prioritises showcasing the brutality inflicted upon him, dedicating significant time to his suffering rather than his intellectual and administrative brilliance.
While the torture he endured is a historical fact, limiting his portrayal to just sacrifice for Swaraj does not do justice to his multifaceted character. The film seems to focus primarily on his valour and martyrdom, perhaps to evoke strong emotions, rather than presenting a well-rounded depiction of a ruler who was not only a fearless warrior but also a poet, a strategist, and a statesman.
Provocative dialogues
In the final scene of Chhaava, just before killing Sambhaji, Aurangzeb offers him the chance to join his army and promises to pardon his life – on the condition that Sambhaji converts to Islam. This dialogue reinforces the theme of Mughal Muslims versus Hindu Marathas.
Contrary to this, in Tanhaji, we see Aurangzeb’s Rajput commander Udhaybhan Rathore engaging with Tanhaji Malusare, indicating a more nuanced portrayal of diverse figures within the Mughal empire.
Chhaava overlooks the reality that many prominent figures in Mughal court and army, such as Birbal who served for 30 years, Raja Man Singh, Raja Todarmal, and others, did not have to change their religion to serve the Mughal empire. According to author Ram Puniyani, about 30% of Aurangzeb’s military and administration were Hindus, the highest proportion among all Mughal rulers. By emphasising religious conversion as a condition for pardon, the film risks stirring religious sentiments.
In another instance in Chhaava, Aurangzeb commands his military, “Bhagva dikhe to laalkar do” (take down all the saffron you see). Such provocative audio-visual dialogues have a strong emotional impact and can remain in the audience’s memory, reinforcing a religious divide that is not necessarily reflective of historical realities.
Shivaji was anything but a ruler of a Hindu-only kingdom. He referred to his realm as Swaraj or Hindavi Swaraj, where people of all faiths coexisted peacefully and harmoniously. In fact, Jyotirao Phule, who later found Shivaji’s memorial in a dilapidated state, honoured him with the title “Kulwadi Bhushan” (King of Peasants and Farmers), celebrating Shivaji’s inclusive rule.
Sambhaji, following in his father’s footsteps, upheld these principles of unity and diversity, striving to create a society that respected all faiths, rather than limiting his legacy to one religious narrative.
Missed opportunity to remember the Dalit man who conducted Sambhaji’s last rights
It seems the filmmakers chose not to give Sambhaji the dignified last rites he deserved, leaving him hanging by his arms after his death in last scene. Historically, it was Govind Mahar, an untouchable from Maharashtra, who defied Aurangzeb’s orders and performed the final rites for Sambhaji, ensuring that he received the respect due to a king, in accordance with Hindu rituals.
However, this significant act is neither mentioned nor depicted in the film, either in the audio or the visuals.
Given that Ajay Devgn was the narrator of the film, he could have included a line like, “It was Govind Mahar, a Dalit, who performed the last rites for Sambhaji in an untouchable locality, as per Hindu rituals. Such was the love and respect the people had for their king”.
This addition would have not only honoured the historical truth but also highlighted the deep affection and reverence that transcended caste and religion, demonstrating the unifying power of Sambhaji’s leadership.
Political establishments have time and again created rift between Dalit and Maratha communities in Maharashtra. The film, by neglecting to highlight this powerful moment – where Govind Mahar, a Dalit, performs the last rites of Sambhaji – missed a golden opportunity to bridge this divide and promote unity by showing it even in a passing reference.
Sambhaji was indeed a great warrior who went undefeated in battle for nine years, giving Aurangzeb a tough time and securing the Maratha kingdom’s sovereignty. However, dedicating 30-40 minutes to the depiction of his brutal torture and death, without showcasing his military brilliance and leadership, seems to serve a particular purpose.
The extended focus on his death, without acknowledging his enduring legacy, risks reducing his complex character to that of a martyr, overshadowing the multifaceted contributions he made to his kingdom and his people
Redeeming Sambhaji Maharaj
The above shortcomings overshadow the good work the makers have done. They have redeemed Sambhaji’s image clearing all misconceptions and denigration of Sambhaji seen mostly through the eyes of Hindutva ideologues such as V.D Savarakar and M.S. Golwalkar. Savarkar in his book, “Six Glorious Epochs” writes, “After demise of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, Maratha king Sambhaji Maharaj was unfit to rule the mammoth Maratha empire because of his short temper nature, alcoholism & womanizer nature.”
Marathi movies like Mohityanchi Manjula and Thoratanchi Kamala, among others, carried forward the narrative of Sambhaji as a reckless and flawed leader. In 2017, maratha activists of Sambhaji Brigade vandalised the bust of Marathi litterateur Ram Ganesh Gadkari for his negative portrayal of King Sambhaji, in his early 20th century play Raj-Sanyas .
Laxman Utekar’s Chhava makes Sambhaji a loving husband to his wife, a humane fighter who doesn’t harm children and women in the battle, a capable leader with commitment to Swaraj. You also see emotional human side of Sambhaji who often seem like an orphan due to death of her mother Saibai at early age.
The movie also makes a significant departure from the “Dharmaveer” title often used by Hindutva votaries, instead opting for Swarajrakshak (Protector of Independence), a title that resonates more with progressive perspectives. Furthermore, the film doesn’t shy away from showing the difficult decisions Sambhaji made, such as executing Brahmin traitors within his own kingdom,
Despite some good points in Chhava, the movie ultimately comes across as highly propagandist, relying on certain emotional and ideological narratives to stir sentiments aided by exclusion or inclusion of visuals, since the audience complies to ‘I hear, and I forget; I see, and I remember
While its box office success might set a trend for future films following this recipe, this approach could be detrimental to the true legacies of great figures like Shivaji Maharaj and Sambhaji Maharaj.
