The Mirror Scene and Other Stories
My thoughts on the movie Jodhaa Akbar
The movie Jodhaa Akbar had been on my watch list ever since I was 10 years old, which is when it came out. To give you context, I deeply value beauty in all its forms, and hold a treat for the eyes in especially high stead. You can imagine the effect Jodhaa Akbar had on me. What follows is a collection of my thoughts, feelings and analysis of this absolute visual delight.
The movie begins with a disclaimer about the identity of Jodhaa Bai. In short, the creators say they were not sure this person factually existed, but they liked the concept of this character, so they took the varied notions of her that they found and fleshed it out the way they wanted. This movie attracted controversy as various groups created an uproar about the historical inaccuracies depicted in it. Well, that’s precisely the reason the elaborate disclaimer was there.
Since this isn’t going to be a blow-by-blow recollection of the movie, I will start with the scene that impacted me the most.
The Mirror Scene
The mirror scene. That has to be my favourite one. Akbar drew Jodhaa into her own chambers, strategically placed her in front of the large gilded mirror and waited till the sun dipped just under the lip of the arch: the sunlight hit the mirror, and the whole room was bathed in golden light. (The exaggeration was evident, but the result was magnificent). It took my breath away.
I must quote a few lines. In that golden atmosphere, Akbar gazed at Jodhaa wonderstruck, and said, “Kya aap humse mohabbat karti hain?” Oh, I melted right there. And then she closed the distance between them and said, “Ji, haan. Aur aap?”
“Hum aapse beintehaan mohabbat karte hain.”
My heart was full to bursting.
The way their much delayed suhaagraat was depicted was supremely sensuous. Slow, gentle, dignified, balanced, and simply gorgeous. Overwhelmingly aesthetic, beautifully done. I’m very glad the entire sequence is captured in the song Inn Lamhon Ke Daaman Mein, so I can easily watch the video again and again, and sigh happily. Simple pleasures.
I loved the gentle way the love between Jodhaa and Akbar evolved, albeit through the very ill-defined time period they spent together for the duration of this film. Indeed, if the film lacks something it is this: a timeline, a more defined sense of chronology. The viewer must be taught to think in weeks and months, not minutes. Without this basic training, we are left merely guessing at the passage of time.
The viewer may not realize it, but the above-mentioned mirror scene takes place approximately 2 hours 45 minutes into the movie. But it doesn’t stop there, the movie goes on for a full 3 hours 33 minutes. One could watch two full movies in this much time. This means the viewer must dedicate a substantial portion of their day to this movie.
I think that’s a day well spent.
The Kindling of Romance
I absolutely loved how Akbar chose not to consummate the marriage until Jodhaa was fully ready (though Maham Anga used this to her advantage later on). It takes strength of character to be an Alampanah having the power to make anyone do your bidding and still hold yourself back and respect another’s wishes, especially when that other is your new wife, whom you pretty much own now. Full marks.
Akbar’s perspective of Jodhaa as an independent, thinking, feeling human being has its roots in the scene before their marriage where he meets her for the first time. Jodhaa summons the Emperor into her tent instead of the other way round, which itself is quite a big deal, and across a thin curtain lays down her two conditions to the marriage. This is the first time Akbar gets a glimpse of her and hears her voice. He turns and storms out of the tent wordlessly, and we, along with Jodhaa, are almost convinced he will flatly refuse. However, in front of the entire congregation, he repeats her demands and not only accepts them unconditionally, but also publicly praises the courage and self-confidence of the Rajput people. Our man is an instant hit.
Religion is involved in their relationship to a carefully optimal level: it features prominently but does not eclipse the entire narrative. Jodhaa upon hearing of her father’s plans to marry her off to the Mughal Emperor has the instinctive objection of “Par woh Mughal hai!” She then wonders out loud how she could be anointed with sindoor by the hand of a man who doesn’t even understand the concept. Akbar, on the other hand, looks beyond the seeming ludicrousness and religious blasphemy of Raja Bharmal’s offer of an alliance and instead sees it as an ingenious way to draw the elusive Rajput kingdoms into the folds of his empire.
Everyone apart from Raja Bharmal and Akbar is, at least initially, completely against this pairing, right from the Mullahs at Akbar’s court to his own relatives Adham Khan and Sharifuddin, to the rest of the Rajput clans, who solemnly swear that there will henceforth be no exchange of dolis between their clans and Raja Bharmal’s. Even post the marriage, there are religious issues.
I felt Jodhaa’s attachment to Lord Krishna was a tad overdone. She is depicted as overly pious (possibly to please the Hindu-majority Indian audience?): both her prenuptial demands have a religious basis, whereas they might have been related to protection of her dignity or the Mughal-Rajput relationship or anything else. Later, she even spends a whole night before the idol, praying for her husband’s speedy recovery from an attempted assassination.
The scene where she holds out her puja ki thali to a clueless Akbar and tells him what to do with her eyes, and when they fail, a whisper, is executed commendably. He puts sindoor on her forehead, an important symbol of marriage, and when she bends to touch his feet, he raises her back up. Akbar, as well as the viewer, only then realizes that this is the first time he has touched her. Jodhaa flits away, and Akbar then makes his way out of her chambers in a daze.
The fact that they fell in love post marriage, and not that their love resulted in a marriage, as is more often depicted, is beautifully portrayed, and is probably more common in the Indian context than we think.
Another small but highly memorable snippet is where Maham Anga advises Akbar on a threat to him . While she is speaking, Jodhaa’s appearance at a balcony behind Maham Anga catches Akbar’s eye. His momentary distraction turns into a full-fledged admiration session as he dreamily gazes at her. Maham Anga, puzzled, follows his gaze to see Jodhaa, and her tone immediately grows graver. Akbar’s gaze promptly returns to her and his brows furrow in supposedly sincere attention and concern at her words. Super cute.
After sending Jodhaa back to her father’s home on the (unsupported) ground of treason and subsequently discovering Maham Anga’s deceit, a remorseful Akbar tries to get Jodhaa back. Jodhaa’s return to the capital takes place very conveniently during the song Azeem-o-Shaan Shahenshah, which comprises the celebration the public arranges in his praise after he abolishes the pilgrimage tax levied on Hindus. Jodhaa makes a grand entrance seated atop an elephant and says she’s back because Akbar won her heart.
There are two reasons why this scene makes no sense.
Firstly, previously Jodhaa had given a nice speech about how Akbar should get to know her properly, understand her thinking, wants, likes and dislikes in order to win her heart. During the movie we are to assume that Akbar somehow did all this behind our backs, because there is not a single shot of the two bonding over any of the above, except maybe some dialogueless scenes of them walking together. I don’t understand how the abolition of a Hindu-only tax, one single impersonal administrative act, could result in the winning of Jodhaa’s heart. Maybe she felt that this proved that Akbar was as accepting of the other Hindus as he was of her, and was therefore a truly great man? Maybe she forgot everything she had said to him earlier? We shall never know.
Secondly, even if she had a sudden change of heart about Akbar upon hearing of his decision to abolish the pilgrimage tax, it would have taken her at least a few months to hear of it, make up her mind, leave and reach the capital. The movie conveniently hides behind the ambiguity of time and we are to accept that everything happened just at the right moment. Oh well, creative liberties.
Maham Anga and the Saas-Bahu Controversy
I loved how Akbar’s biological mother treated Jodhaa as her own daughter from Day 1. It is rare to find a mother-in-law, especially from a different religion and culture, who would be so accepting towards an alien female who may be a possible threat to her standing in the harem.
The tension between Maham Anga, the longstanding queen bee of the Mughal zenana, and its newest member was foreshadowed upon Jodhaa’s entry to the palace, upon which Maham Anga says almost to herself that she must watch out for Akbar’s new wife. This antagonism comes to the fore in the kitchen scene: Maham Anga berates Jodhaa in front of everyone present in the bawarchikhana for breaking khandani rules and daring to cross the threshold of the kitchen. When Jodhaa goes ahead and cooks anyway, Maham Anga humiliates Jodhaa in front of Akbar and his courtiers by asking her to taste the food she has prepared to prove it is not poisoned.
Two points in the movie counter the saas-bahu enmity though. Firstly, the Head Mullah (I shall call him that) demands that Jodhaa be kept away from all public areas, which shows that the bias against her is not restricted to the “harem wars” narrative. This is also supported by Sharifuddin, who is appalled by the anti-Islamicness of Akbar’s interreligious marriage and channels his rage into plotting an uprising against him.
Secondly, Akbar’s mom stands up to Maham Anga in support of Jodhaa, which is partly attributed to her own forced subordination to the woman her son values above her, and partly to fondness and loyalty towards her “beti”.
A recurring theme in literature and art centered on this era is a ridiculous amount of respect given to the members of the zenana who breastfed and raised the royals. This motherly attention given at the time of infancy inexplicably translates to a position of administrative power for the caregiver once the child grows up and assumes the throne. I guess in the times where people would fight tooth and nail to lay claim to power, trust was based on temporal factors like these. In any case, Maham Anga did work against Akbar’s best interests by attempting to throw a spanner in the works between him and Jodhaa due to her own self-interest: Akbar’s biological mother had never stood up to her the way Jodhaa was, and this threat needed to be eliminated.
I loved the generous dose of idioms and adages in the dialogues. Maham Anga delivered some spectacular ones, for example in the scene where she’s trying to poison the distraught Akbar’s mind against Jodhaa: “Aaina jitna bhi chamke, peechhe se kala hi hota hai.” Waah, what a line! In general, I was very thankful for the subtitles: without them I would have understood less than half of the flowery dialogues. A special mention for the song that Jodhaa’s companions sang while bringing the Pir pakwaan into the dining chambers: “Daal baati aur churma, pyaaro laage Mughal surma.” 10/10.
The Sword was Mightier than the Pen
Over time, Jodhaa learns that her husband really does hold her in high regard, feels protective of her and her reputation, and is a most kind and good-natured man. However, she witnesses the brutal punishment Akbar metes out to Adham Khan for treason, and this reminds her that her otherwise gentle husband has been conditioned since his childhood (refer to the scene where Bairam Khan urges him to behead a defeated king to prove he is a true Ghazi) to be a warrior: tough and unhesitating when it came to justified violence.
Adham Khan being thrown down from the parapet to his death is confirmed in the Akbarnama. That squelch though, ugh. Jodhaa is perfectly disgusted. I turned off the audio the second time Adham Khan was thrown down. One sickening squelch was quite enough, thank you.
In general, the sounds of violence over the span of the movie are exaggerated and badly edited. The war scenes could have been made with a lot more poise: they exude a certain crassness that harks of too many actors to coordinate at once. This ham-handedness is at odds with the delicate manner in which the scenes centering on the Jodhaa-Akbar relationship have been shot and directed. But alright, different projects require different tools, so one may cut them some slack.
Credit must be given to the choreography of the close-up fight sequences. Watching Akbar tame an aggressive wild elephant as a “hobby”, save his friend(?) during the struggle, and coolly elephant-stroll over to the balcony to say hello greatly impressed future Sasurji Raja Bharmal as well as us. It would have been awfully embarrassing had it gone any other way though.
Another memorable scene is where Akbar is practicing his sword moves on the terrace and Jodhaa is watching him with only partially restrained lust. The sound of the sword swishing around, the sunlight glinting off his biceps, and the sight of sweat aesthetically running down his back and his sculpted shoulders made our chests heave much like Jodhaa’s. At the end, he turns to look straight at her, as if to say, “Howzat?” Ah, what a scene!
The one-on-one swordfights, such as Jodhaa practicing with Sujamal, and Akbar’s fight to the death (or thereabouts) with Sharifuddin, are also notable.
Beautifully crafted, especially, is the one between Jodhaa and Akbar. Akbar sets the condition before the fight begins: if Jodhaa wins, she can stay at her father’s place, and if he wins, she must return to the capital with him. I loved the smirk on his face the entire time — he really looked like he was enjoying the skilled swordplay very much, while delicate Jodhaa tried her best in warrior-like fury to win her freedom.
I particularly enjoyed the moment where nothing but crossed swords separated them, and Akbar gently pulled down the veil covering her face and exhaled an appreciative “Mashallah!” Another highlight was where Akbar upset a container of flowers, making them rain down over Jodhaa’s head, and a confused Jodhaa then adorably shook the flowers out of her long hair. I celebrated their dance of swords, an unconventional moment of courtship that foreshadowed their impending intimacy.
What’s in a Name?
Akbar is somewhat sorrowful that his position and circumstances stopped him from pursuing more intellectual pursuits, and this becomes evident when he sheepishly tells Jodhaa he cannot read her calligraphy, which incidentally reads his own name. Jodhaa is shocked: the Emperor of Hindustan, and more importantly, her husband, was illiterate?
This weakness works to Akbar’s advantage though: he gets Jodhaa to look him in the eye and say his full name, and he responds with a simple “Jodhaa”. The single word is weighty: one can hear Akbar’s tadapta dil. This scene also brings in the contrast between Akbar’s several names, which symbolize his familial legacy and the honour bestowed on him by the people, while Jodhaa is, well, just Jodhaa.
Point to note: Jodhaa’s mother was Rani Padmavati, and Jodhaa was to marry Ratan Singh. Looks like royals did recycle names over generations. This isn’t the same Padmavati and Ratan Singh that starred in the similarly controversial, similarly aesthetic movie Padmaavat: that pair existed during the Khilji period, which predated the Mughals. Whew. The first time I heard their names together, I admittedly freaked out a bit.
On Justice, Right and Wrong
We witness a heavy dose of politics and family rivalry in this movie, each character striving to get what they think is rightfully theirs. Male heirs who have their eye on the throne and are unsuccessful in their attempts to obtain it lawfully spend their time plotting its takeover by underhand means. This is seen in the Mughal as well as the Rajput khandans, and is essentially a recurring theme throughout all monarchical regimes.
Sweet Raja Bharmal’s self-preserving and altruistic move to protect his kingdom by instituting an inter-religious marriage alliance between his daughter and the Mughal Emperor was unprecedented, bold and controversial. While the rest of the Rajput clans as well as most of the officials at the Mughal court loudly questioned the validity of this alliance in the light of their respective sanskars, the viewer at least is glad it happened.
Akbar often grapples with law and justice, and what to do and when. He asserts in frustration something along the lines of, “Saari zindagi kisi aur ne humein bataya hai ki kya karo, kaise karo. Ab hum apne faisle khud lena chahte hain.” For emphasis, he says this not just in front of Bairam Khan and a defeated Raja, but also in front of Maham Anga and his mother. This shows that the grasp of several others on his decisions is difficult to escape. Our Emperor does not have as much freedom of choice as popularly opined.
Akbar’s character is drawn to be supremely ideal. He is noble and kind, a skilled warrior who tries to be as nonviolent as possible. He is chivalrous and respectful, just and equitable, follows the path of good and right, and is a fair ruler who truly cares for his people. After putting Adham Khan to death for treason, he personally breaks the news to Maham Anga, who, muted by shock and sorrow at her biological son’s death, only says that what Akbar did was right. In the historical narrative, Maham Anga died of depression approximately a month after her son’s death, but in this story her character does not exit the stage so soon.
This makes the portrayal of Akbar’s character a little too black and white: the only grey we see is when he banishes Jodhaa without hearing her out, and later repents for his mistake (with an adorable “Ya Allah!”)
One thing I noticed was the abject absence of any sort of fair trial. All they had to do before taking any decision was find out the other side of the story. Neither Akbar nor Sujamal waited that long before declaring Jodhaa a traitor, and nor did Jodhaa explain herself properly or entertain any questions against her integrity. Perfect recipe for misunderstandings and miscommunications. Egos come in the way of relationships far more often than they should, especially in that era where one’s honour and reputation meant everything.
The Casting
Somebody commented on the YouTube video of Inn Lamhon Ke Daaman Mein that they prefer Aishwarya Rai and Hrithik Roshan over “Deepveer”. While I appreciate the highly aesthetic pairing of Deepika Padukone and Ranveer Singh too, I completely agree that Hrithik and Aishwarya are far superior. It is quite impossible to pick a more perfectly suited royal couple, each the conventional epitome of manly and womanly beauty respectively. These two would have made incredibly beautiful children. Just saying.
Ratan Singh, the man to whom Jodhaa was engaged since childhood and was to marry before the Akbar story happened, was probably the most disappointing choice of actor. I’m sorry, you have Aishwarya Rai as Jodhaa and you put Aman Dhaliwal (who, you ask? I didn’t know either, I had to look up the actor’s name) as Ratan Singh? I guess it’s just a happier version of events that Jodhaa goes from him to Hrithik Roshan, than, suppose, the other way around.
With respect to the overall choice of actors: all the Mughal characters are made to look fierce and ruthless, such as Bairam Khan, Chughtai Khan, Adham Khan and Sharifuddin. I love Akbar’s rage face: Hrithik Roshan literally shakes with anger, and his eyes go wide and red. He displays reasonably good acting prowess throughout, with much being said with his eyes and expressions. And ah, that regal nose, that kingly jaw. Laajawab.
And then on the Hindu side, there’s Raja Bharmal, who looks like a teddy bear. Sonu Sood as Sujamal looks like a sasta version of young Amitabh Bachchan. He loafs around the movie largely unsuccessfully but dies a hero’s death.
Ila Arun as Maham Anga seems to have been made for this role. She fulfilled it to the T, with the expressions and voice modulation to suit the combination of authority, wit, jealousy, cunning and overprotective motherliness. Akbar’s biological mother, in contrast, seemed less convincing, which is not really the actress’s fault because it is quite a colourless character.
I found it an interesting choice to cast a Northeast Indian as the assassin sent by Sharifuddin to kill Akbar during his birthday rounds of the city. Why, though? Wouldn’t a more locally sourced man for the job be more logically suited to those times? Would this casting not have had some socio-political implications? I don’t know.
Nimat! What a presence. A much-welcome burst of comedy, albeit sporadic. Personally, I haven’t yet understood the necessity nor ubiquity of eunuchs in harems, but this Nimat did the job well.
Last because he is present only in the form of aakashvani, Amitabh Bachchan, whose baritone guides the way.
And of Course, the Songs
This movie received acclaim especially for its musical contributions. A.R. Rehman did a splendid job, combining subtle lyrics with lilting music in five memorable songs and two instrumental versions.
I’ve been watching the music videos of these songs for years now, and watching the movie made them make a lot more sense. For example, I understood why during the song Khwaja Mere Khwaja, Jodhaa is sobbing with her handmaidens in her tent while everyone else is swaying to the music. This song is one of my favourites and was probably my introduction to Sufi music. I don’t understand why they had to awkwardly distribute one voice among three performers though. Quite unnecessary. I love the part at the end where Akbar gets up and starts whirling with the other Sufis under that starry desert sky. I want to do that myself someday.
Jashn-e-Bahara became another of my most beloved songs for its calming, soothing vibe that speaks of a spring afternoon spent in the shade, with handheld punkahs and iced Rooh Afza. “Saare sehme nazare hain, soye soye waqt ke dhaare hain, aur dil mein koi khoyi si baatein hain…” Beautiful.
The picturization of Azeem-o-Shah Shahenshah is so extra. Very typically Bollywood. It reminded me of the characteristic Republic Day tableaux and dances that portray different cultures from across the land. I didn’t understand how or why the tribal folk were included though. Pretty sure no tribal chief would care to pay homage to a random foreigner who just so happened to be ruling most of the North Indian subcontinent.
The songs Inn Lamhon Ke Daaman Mein and Manmohana did not receive as much of the spotlight in mainstream media as the above three. I don’t remember them playing on the radio even half as much. These two were major revelations to me during the course of the movie. My favourite scene of the whole movie, which I have appropriately fangirled over already, takes place to the tune of Inn Lamhon Ke Daaman Mein, which consequently boosts the value of this song 100x. I love the lyrics too: “Nagme hi nagme hain jaagti soti fizaon mein, husn hai saari adaon mein, ishq hai jaise hawaon mein.”
Come to think of it, there was barely any representation of Kathak in the whole movie, which was a prominent and popular art form in the region and era. I would have liked to see it incorporated into the picturization of the song sequences.
Conclusion
Jodhaa Akbar was an absolute visual delight, and the growth of their love was one long happy sigh. The sheer opulence of the sets and costumes is breathtaking, and one can easily believe that this how Mughal life would have looked at one of the highest points in the dynasty. While the storyline is not the selling point of this movie, it is compensated for by all the other factors that make it a must-watch.
Crackling dialogues, lofty language, wordless communication, befitting background score, and of course the beautiful songs, made this movie as pleasing to the ears as to the eyes. I would say it was completely worth the wait and did not disappoint me.
I would like to conclude with the one line that succinctly sums up the confluence of Rajput and Mughal cultures in this movie: “daal baati aur churma, pyaaro laage Mughal surma.” Raat dhali on this movie review as well. Thank you for being a patient audience.
