Page 46 - The Apu Trilogy_ Satyajit Ray and the Making of an Epic
P. 46

Apu in Fiction and Film              33

                student in the early 1940s. He had to invent ways to convey on
                screen the all-important atmosphere of Pather Panchali, which is
                full of descriptions such as this:


                   Durga was a big girl now, and her mother would no longer
                   let her go to parties far from home. She had almost  forgotten
                   what luchis [thin fried bread] tasted like. Until a little while
                   ago, when the nights were bright with the full moon of
                   September and the path through the bamboo grove was like a
                   thread woven of light and shade, she used to wander all round
                   the village and come back with her sari full of sweets and
                   dried, pressed and toasted rice for the Lakshmi festival. At
                   this time of the year conches were being blown in every house,
                   and all along the path floated the smell of frying luchis. She

                   always hoped that somebody in the village would send some
                   as part of the festival offering. Whatever sweets she brought

                   back were made to last for two days and her mother had some

                   too. This year however Sejbou [their shrewish neighbour] had
                   said to her mother, ‘It isn’t right for a girl of a good family to
                   wander round from house to house collecting sweets as if she
                   were a peasant girl. It doesn’t look nice.’ So from then on she
                   was not allowed to go.

                   As Ray beautifully depicted the problem in his 1982 Calcutta
                lecture,


                   You had to find out for yourself how to catch the hushed still-
                   ness of dusk in a Bengali village, when the wind drops and
                   turns the ponds into sheets of glass, dappled by the leaves of
                   saluk and sapla, and the smoke from ovens settles in wispy
                   trails over the landscape, and the plaintive blows on conch-
                   shells from homes far and near are joined by the chorus of
                   crickets, which rises as the light falls, until all one sees are
                   the stars in the sky, and the stars that blink and swirl in the
                   thickets.








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