What Sikkim Was

by TENZIN C. TASHI
Rain has always cleansed. And hail has always peppered. And yet, a large-cross section of Sikkimese society braved the rain and the hailstorm on the 6th April evening of the world premiere of Satyajit Ray’s ‘Sikkim’. More than fog, Vajra Cinema was shrouded with a barely contained excitement that was as palpable as my own quickened breathing.
A trio of kho-clad musicians playing traditional instrumental music on stage set the tempo for the evening. There were traditional choktses on stage for the principal dignitaries, and practically everyone was in khos in honour of the occasion. It was easy to believe, if only ephemerally, that we had been transported back to the Sikkim of yore that was shortly going to unveil itself under the maestro’s baton.
After a brief and dignified function that incredibly included six addresses in about half an hour, the much-awaited moment arrived-the screening of ‘Sikkim’.
There has been so much hype and hoopla over this film. People claim that ‘Sikkim’ was ‘banned’, that the Chogyal was shown in bad light, and of course, we had the court step in to stay the proposed screening at a film festival in Kolkata recently. Also, there has been a lot of build-up around this film as the last unseen work of that brooding genius, Satyajit Ray. Reams of newsprint and megawatts of verbal horsepower have been exhausted over what ‘Sikkim’ is and what it is not.
If anyone expected fireworks, they were restricted to outside of this tiny gem of a film. The rolling of the simple title ‘Sikkim’ evoked a spontaneous roar from the lucky multitude in Vajra, there ‘By invitation only’ while others gate crashed, albeit electronically, by smsing and ‘facebooking’ those inside for real time updates.

The movie, we must remember, was shot over 40 years ago when technology was not as evolved. Factor in on-location shooting problems in remote Sikkim. Another imperative, it not only remained hidden from the world all these many years, it also deteriorated and necessitated restoration. Most restoration work is about salvaging what one can, and trashing what cannot be salvaged. Yet, in spite of all these drawbacks, technical and otherwise, the film has managed to retain the most essential element- it is as relevant for today’s audience as the audience it was originally intended for. I would go so far as to say it has become even more relevant after all the water that has flown under Bayul Demajong’s bridge since the time it was commissioned and the time it was finally aired.
Here, I must make a small aside to thank Ugyen Chopel and the Art and Culture Trust of Sikkim for making it possible for us to watch this historic film, Sumendu Roy and Tinnu Anand for taking the trouble of joining us in Sikkim and the Governor of Sikkim for making an impeccable Chief Guest- His Excellency arrived right on time and gave a crisp but apt address.
The movie is a virtual walk through history, a visual re-introduction to our past. It is one thing to hear our gyenbos or elders reminisce about what Sikkim was, read about what it was like and quite another to see for ourselves what they were talking about. Add to that Ray’s cultured voice that made for a compelling narrative that augmented the visuals unspooling  onscreen.
The film opens with visuals of what we still have in Sikkim- waterfalls, rivers, mountains, tharchoks and people. There is no voiceover in the initial frames. Yet the caress of the camera, for all its abrupt movement, gives it an almost lyrical quality... one can hear the waterfall roar, the rivers gurgle, the mountains reverberate with the honour of being the abode of the gods and the tharchoks flutter. It helped that the hall was full of strangely mute people, just feeling, not talking, mobiles mercifully ignored.
The colour of the film reflected Sikkim herself, it was not really black and white, not really sepia and not really colour as we have come to demand it... it is all of these, and none of it. Sikkim’s history has, to quote my father-in-law, always been a victim of its geography. So while we ostensibly enjoy the fruits of democracy, which enshrines parity for one and all, we simultaneously clamour for old laws that recognise our unique history and jostle to be included as Sikkim Subjects of a king who is no longer there.
‘Sikkim’ captures the fundamental simplicity and relative innocence of the times, a simplicity that pervades every visual, be it the clothes the people wear, the hard manual labour they cheerfully undertake, the school kids skipping along merrily, the Pemayangtse monks leading prayers in Tsuklakhang, the Chogyal himself, the simple, wooden Gangtok bazaar, the Nepalese lady imperturbably puffing a beedi while hawking her wares in the bazaar. Life was probably hard, but there is a obvious dignity in the way people carried themselves.
There are so many little vignettes that pepper the film and make for light interludes. The camera pans in on scenes that evoked spontaneous laughter from the audience- a young boy pulling two recalcitrant goats that are about as big as him, if not bigger; two ladies fighting conflicting emotions of politeness and bashfulness as the lens trains on them; a chubby child caught happily gorging; a gauche youth gawking as a glib-tongued orator holds sway in town; a row of smiling children and suddenly, a petulant child in focus... that is where the real magic of ‘Sikkim’ lies, in its ability to capture the quintessence of Sikkim in an uncontrived way. The film succeeds largely because it does not try too hard.
Also on record is the hard work put in by Maharani Kunzang Dechhen, the Gyalyum of Sikkim, in creating the chamgoe or costumes used during religious dances at Tsuklakhang. As the Shanag and Pangtoed warriors swirl in the courtyard of Tsuklakhang, the film captures the extraordinary detail and finesse of their resplendent costumes.
Personally, the footage of the band marching up the Palace gates and the Chogyal walking up towards Tsuklakhang to take the salute from the Sikkim Guards forms the most compelling segment, as poignant as it is powerful. Probably ineffective, both in terms of numbers as well as the kilt-like uniform, the Sikkim Guards may have been largely ceremonial but they remain an undeniable part of the Sikkim saga as the king’s own men, answerable only to him.
In another segment, some of the villagers of Sikkim are depicted making offerings – jheshu - of the first bounty of their harvest to the late Chogyal in front of the Palace and prostrating the Buddhist way before him. The jheshu was offered to the gods in Tsuklakhang by the Chogyal on behalf of the people. If this is one of the ‘controversial’ portions, the adjective is misplaced. The Chogyal is the king who rules with righteousness; Chogyal Phuntsog Namgyal, the first Chogyal was anointed with two-fold powers, spiritual and temporal.
The audience was transported back in time in the little under an hour running time of the film. In that brief interval, we literally re-lived the times with increasingly vicarious awe. All thought of the usual tea/ coffee, popcorn, chips etc were dispelled with as we soaked in what Sikkim was. There was an almost voyeuristic thrill in this flashback to the past. This is about as close to our past we will ever get. Today, the ladies are too busy haggling over escalating vegetable prices to smoke beedis, we wear branded clothes, tippers unload stones once passed on hand to hand, the historic Gangtok town is coming apart, wooden row by wooden row, school children do not scamper anymore, grimly escorted as they are by over-ambitious parents straight from school to tuition. We are sadly not only losing our simplicity as a people, we are actually losing that human connect so visible in the film.
‘Sikkim’ also revealed the real intermingling of the many cultures that weave the tapestry called Sikkim. Nowhere in the film do we feel, this is a Rong, this is a Lhopo, this is a Tsong, this is a Nepalese... everybody is Sikkimese. There are no inter-groups, no intra-groups... there is only our Sikkim.
When ‘The End’ rolled, the general consensus was that it was a sweet, simple movie, utterly non-controversial. It probably did not live up to the hype but to be fair, it probably transcended it.
Reactions outside the hall where we waited for our vehicles to arrive in the downpour were mixed. While the old-timers greeted each other with great alacrity and were generally nostalgic, some of the younger people were saying that the movie was different; it had such fleeting footage of the royal family. But that is again people’s own assumptions at play. The film is about Sikkim, not the royal family. Were it to focus on the royal family alone, it would be called ‘The Namgyal Dynasty’, not ‘Sikkim’. Most importantly, it is a still-surviving graphic archive of what Sikkim was. I think that is what we should all celebrate, that it was made, that it survived, that it saw the light of day.
“I was very moved to see my beloved father, the Chogyal, once again,” shared Princess Hope Leezumla, “I am so grateful to the Art and Culture Trust for having been given an opportunity to glimpse back to ‘the old days’ with the premiere of Sikkim. I am so honoured we, as a family, were able to contribute so much to our homeland and look forward to Sikkim’s bright future. Both the movie and the land.”
In the front row of the box was an earnest 20-something young man. At the end of the film, he was glad to have seen a moving image of his grandfather, in more ways than one. Tenzing had just had a vivid connect with the Sikkimese part of his ancestry.
Rain has always cleansed. And sometimes, it sanitises. Hopefully, ‘Sikkim’ has sanitised several misconceptions especially amongst the youth of today about what Sikkim was.