(tense music)
The crimson sun burns in the sky Hued by the colour of our hearts
The blessings of the impoverished Blow with the wind
May a million voices rise up, rise high
May the fiery flame burn in the hearts of young and old
May the river of life flow on and blossom every branch
May it fill it up every heart with its fragrance
We don't discriminate between people
We are all a part of the same procession, we are brothers
The king and the pauper, we walk the same path
Are you sure?
Yes, sir. They have been warned before.
(recitation continuing on radio)
Now, it’s imperative that we set an example.
-Lunch?
-After I return, brother.
-Does your brother only speak the language of violence?
-Let it be, his blood runs warm.
-You should've talked him out of it.
(ominous music building up)
Every day
a song, a poem, a play.
This is how they want to eradicate our Bangla from this nation.
(honking)
But this fight is for our language. (radio clicking off)
This is the fight for our survival.
A fight to keep our identity alive through our songs.
-Coming, sir!
-What? Let's go!
(soft, pleasant music)
(water splashing gently)
(birds chirping)
O Mother, during spring
The fragrance of your mango groves
Makes me wild with joy
Oh, so lovely!
O Mother, during spring
The fragrance of your mango groves
Makes me wild with joy
'Sakina Bibi making waves with her fresh voice on Dhaka Radio'
Oh, Mother, your golden fields during autumn
What do I see in them?
What I see is your lovely smile, Mother...
(gunshots) (screaming)
(ringing, ominous music)
(screams echoing)
Hey!
(Ominous music builds up)
(knife stabbing repeatedly)
(Sakina whimpering)
If you don't live on,
how will you keep Bangla alive, Sakina Bibi?
(hopeful, pleasant music)
(grenade pin clicking)
East Pakistan was East Bengal until 1955.
Then, the martial law slowly began trampling people's voices.
The radio was censored.
Its voice was shackled.
But these shackles became the very key to awakening.
The rulers forgot...
You can rule, but you can't overrule dreams.
You didn’t even spare that innocent girl, you devils!
For the sake of her songs... for the sake of it...
(sloganeering continuing in distance)
(tense music swelling)
You’ll never be able to hold us back!
Joy Bangla!
-Joy Bangla! -Joy Bangla!
(soft, mournful music)
-Did you know the man who died? -Sir, we don't anything at all.
We don't know what's going on here. We don't know the guy who died.
-Feeling better?
Goddammit!
Being subject to this cocktail of stale perfume and indigestion...
Making us sit through it is pointless!
What will happen to the morning edition now...
-Mr. Jimmy, how can this go on? -We're looking into it.
-You sang through it all. The girl needs a break.
Most of the “girls” my age,
or even younger…
they have nurseries.
They appear way too young to be married,
till you look into their eyes.
And that's when you see it.
They look both happy and sad at exactly the same time.
But unaffected, even by deaths like this.
I’ve seen people like you, Mr. Singh.
If I need anything...
I’ll ask.
-Jimmy?
-(humming casually)
-Mr. Mitra? -I went & thanked the Goddess.
I had prayed to Her to see this day come true!
Some offering?
No?
-Das, distribute it among everyone. -Okay.
And, note down everyone's addresses & phone numbers.
-Okay, sir.
-Mr. Mitra, I...
Mr. Jazz City, you’re so screwed!
Hey, line them all up!
-Mr. Mitra, the party was going on-- -I've come for the party.
No...
-It was all so sudden... -I like being sudden.
-What happened?
-What if they ask for our IDs & addresses?
-Pakistani? -Yes.
What were you doing here, sir?
I'm here for a press conference.
Mr. Sanyal, come here.
-Yes?
Do you know him?
Yes, I saw him.
Where?
At Shamsur’s press conference, at Bangabhaban.
Okay.
They had a spat at the refugee camp.
A showdown of sorts.
Show?
Down?
Everybody will be investigated.
Especially foreigners.
-What do you mean?
-The deceased was Pakistani too, right?
Tell Sheela madam if you need anything, okay?
Now get going.
(tense, ringing music)
Come, let's leave.
Yes, let's go.
You okay?
I'll manage.
Hello, sir, you can leave.
Shall I get you a jeep?
Das...
Come on, boys. It's very late.
My interns, Inspector... I’ve to drop them home.
Please. Go. You can leave.
-Did you eat? -Yes, sir.
-Okay.
(dramatic music building)
Thank you.
Please don't remain quiet, madam.
The kitchen is under your supervision.
But, whatever I cooked,
everyone has eaten that.
Nothing happened to anyone else. You can look into it.
We ate the same food too.
You can leave.
(exhaling nervously)
I am okay…
You hear me?
Hmm, yes.
I am completely alright…
(weeping)
No one has seen you talk to him.
-It's like the light inside the fridge...
My mind just won’t shut down!
Even if I shut down, it keeps flickering.
They’ve got wind of us.
They are coming to catch us, we need to flee!
Gouri, we must run!
We need to flee!
-Calm down... shh!
(phone ringing)
Hello?
Please hold.
Mr. Mitra.
Hello?
What?
Okay, fine.
Das, wrap up.
Heart attack.
Oh!
Well...
Phew!
I'll take the rest of the day off!
I haven't slept.
See you.
(humming devotional song)
(car ignition turned on, car driving off)
-I've always been against a painless death for traitors.
But your guy really put a nice conclusion to this, General.
What do the Indians say about treating guests?
Uh, guest is...
-Guest is god, sir.
Yes, right.
Guest is god!
(tense, dramatic music surging)
Send a passionate apology letter to Mujib.
Tell him that we will not tolerate the murder of our Bengali brother.
General, it wouldn’t be proper to deem him a martyr either.
How do we find those boys now, sir?
-India’s defeat lies in Her embarrassment, Farid.
Instilling fear among the enemies would be advantageous for us.
But for now, enjoy your victory.
Thank you, sir.
Plan B. I had not told anyone about it.
Not even Janaab-e-Sadr.
An army man should be led by strategy, Hanif.
You are letting revenge lead you.
Revenge? No, General.
It’s justice!
(intense music)
-It's been three years, Hanif.
Three years!
We are looking at an election now.
You should keep your personal feelings aside.
Only fleeting memories can fade in three years, General.
When a memory scars you, it grows its own edges; knife-sharp.
(ominous music rising)
(slow, reflective jazz music playing)
-You didn’t even need to use it; the way you...
-I didn’t do anything.
-As in?
The Indian police will be equally inquisitive about it.
For now, go underground.
So, now?
If it's urgent,
call this number.
I’ll tell you when and where to meet.
Okay.
Bye.
Sir, come.
I have a little shadow
Going in and out of me
Or maybe it's a halo
It's so bright, I cannot see
A slice of heaven
A glimpse of life
The lonesome cuts
Of the metaphorical knife
-Dull day, Jimmy?
-Not on the other side. -It's just a blip.
-I hope so too!
-Such great service even on a weekend!
Great, Jimmy, great!
-At your service, sir.
The place looks spacious, rather empty.
Like the day after a funeral.
Happens when you break rules.
Bigger restaurants are supposed to be spacious, Mr. Sinha.
Like there are no middle seats when you fly first class.
The most expensive thing you can buy in the busiest of cities is space.
And that’s why first-class service till stocks last.
-As you say.
-Excuse me, gentlemen?
We are running a happy hour discount.
One plus one, would you like to place an order?
I have a little shadow
Come in.
-Been to that side?
-Someone seems jealous! -(Jimmy scoffing)
-Because they’re house-full? -Hmm.
It’s temporary. This place will overflow with champagne again.
-Nice to see that the guest's untimely death hasn’t perturbed you.
Just a Bangladeshi Muslim after all. So what if he died? Big deal!
Are you an astrologer too?
Trying to read my mind?
I can't let Jazz City drown in mourning because of him.
You like it or not, the show must go on!
Yeah, the show must go on!
But how relieving, isn't it?
Someone called the police to say Shamsur’s death wasn’t a murder.
Was that... you?
The post mortem report can be changed, Mr. Roy.
-Oh!
Thank God, I have some old friends like you. Hmm?
Having old friends is the politics of last resort.
Making new ones is the first step towards change.
Yes...
But I'm sure, saving me wasn't your only objective behind it.
You're equally useful to the world beyond Park Street too.
Oh!
The club takes up all my time.
Hectic!
The refugee camp you recruited your manager from;
you know they are suffering from cholera there?
The situation is very bad.
So?
Will you help?
I mean, sure.
I can talk to some friends.
The moneyed clients of Rotary Club or Calcutta Club...
Money can’t buy everything, Mr. Roy.
There is no escaping this pandemic.
Unless...
Unless, sir?
The cure is on the other side of the border.
Someone has to go & bring it.
Unbelievable!
I am no Pavanputra, Mr. Sinha.
Send your delegates.
What are the diplomatic departments for?
I can put up posters if you want.
Stay healthy, eat right, pull up the blanket, sleep tight.
-Let me give you one too then? -Sure.
Sleep well. Think fast.
All friends don’t last.
Yeah...
Hey, at last night's party, did anyone notice anything strange?
I mean, any suspicious guests… lurking around the kitchen?
-Not a new guest, but I’ve been noticing someone lately.
He brought women along. Tipped well too.
-So? -Women. Not exactly his girlfriends.
He left abruptly yesterday.
-Hmm. -And he didn't even order anything.
-Before the Professor’s incident or after that?
-Don't know, sir.
Why do you ask?
No… nothing, carry on.
(curious murmuring)
Move aside. Move...
(ominous music)
-No relatives, no friends, no neighbours… nobody.
Doesn’t look Bengali for sure.
-Hmm...
You're saying
he’s the one who poisoned Shamsur’s food?
Why?
No one knows, sir.
He has no criminal record.
Who knows where he came from... No one came to claim his dead body.
Possibly it's the work of the ISI.
But whoever killed him
is no ordinary killer.
Extremely well-trained & someone with almost superhuman strength.
A killer like no other.
-I am sorry, Father...
I am sorry.
-All animals kill to survive,
and we are animals.
The lion kills the gazelle,
gazelle chews residing plants,
dragging their roots from the dirt they love.
And we,
we had no meat or maybe grass to chew,
boil our water to kill the invisible creatures
that would love to feed off us.
The loss of something living is the price we pay of our own survival,
and we pay it again and again.
There is no choice.
-The paperwork for your promotion has been started.
Now, tell me if you…
The wires from Headquarters, General.
Keep it there.
I've had to pay the price with my own blood, Markhor...
(words echoing) So, for me, every kill is a counterstrike.
And I'm not gonna stop until I get to them!
But for now, just relieve me a bit by telling me
how you managed to kill Shamsur in the middle of that party.
-An old technique, sir.
Apply poison on one side of the knife.
Slice the cake with the tip until there's only a piece left.
(ominous, ringing music)
And then, you lower the blade.
The final piece you eat...
to get the taste of poison.
-I've always been fond of your intelligence.
From tomorrow, our team there will report to you.
Thank you, sir.
It’s your responsibility to bring those boys to Janaab-e-Sadr.
And after that...
find the Laila & Majnu.
Memorize their painful screams so you can recount to me later.
How they pleaded,
who was more desperate,
who begged to die first…
I want to hear everything in detail.
And over, and over.
Inshallah.
(knocking)
Come in.
Good morning.
-Thank you. -You're welcome.
-Hmm!
Sugary...
It's nice.
-Thanks.
-This...
Jimmy sir, a call for you.
-Excuse me, I'll be back.
Hello.
-Good morning. -Morning.
Uncle is here, at the camp.
What! How?
The relief truck was passing through your neighbourhood.
He followed the song & came down.
-Oh... -Don't worry. He's alright.
Okay, I’ll fetch him.
Thank you.
-Hmm.
Enough supplies for now? Tell me if you need anything.
-Yes?
-Well...
Please have a look at him properly again.
Did he come here alone?
Our source says, he was a regular in this area.
-Is it possible to remember a face among so many?
Besides, are you interrogating me?
I'm helping you with all kinds of information.
No, sir. The entire department is all praises about your cooperation.
Hell, with your praises.
Is it good for my business if my guests see the police here everyday?
Anything else?
No...
Please finish your food.
-Hey...
Why are the police here?
Nothing much, darling! Okay, listen, I'm taking your car.
But why?
-Shut up. -Hey! But how will I go home?
Collection for the refugee camp…
Collection for the refugee camp, sir?
Collection for the refugee camp.
-Good morning, sir. -Hmm.
-I work with Sheela di. -I see.
We met on Language Day.
Collection for the refugee camp, ma'am?
Collection for the refugee camp.
Sir, we met on Language Day.
-Oh, yes! -I'm Mrinal, sir, Mrinal Saha.
-Thank you, ma'am. -All okay?
Not really, sir… The way cholera is spreading…
Collection for the refugee camp.
But you have funds from all the donations.
Thank you... Is that enough, sir? Tell me?
Not just the refugees, the volunteers are falling ill too.
They can't even boil water for drinking.
Even we don't get enough coal, how can they...
Collection for the refugee camp, sir?
(coin clinking)
A child died of dysentery yesterday.
An eight-year-old kid...
Collection for the refugee camp.
Collection-- Ma'am, collection for the refugee camp.
(coin clinking) Thank you...
Here.
Take this.
Do one thing...
-Wait here. -Okay, sir.
Collection for the refugee camp.
(rapid whisking)
Rice, dal, eggs, what else do we have in our stock?
-Sit, I'll be right back. -Sure.
(folk instruments playing)
Come join my revelry
As the new sun rises
Here comes the revolution Dawned with our blood
Let's champion truth
God watches over us
(song continuing in distance)
-Babu da, send some men here.
Lend a ear, the time has come
The victory song awakens
The call of God comes, piercing the gloom
Wash it twice, properly. Okay?
Okay.
Dad... Dad!
What are you doing here?
As if I come here for a stroll everyday.
You took off without telling anyone again?
Haven you eaten? How did the party go yesterday?
Let’s go, the party was day before.
Uncle, you better go home.
There is a lot of infection here. You shouldn’t be here.
-Well... okay. -Come...
-Okay. -Brother?
Grandpa said you haven’t eaten. He sent this, please eat.
Doctor!
-Who was that?
(woman wailing)
Doctor...
(excited murmuring)
(pensive music)
(woman wailing loudly)
Saved the hero?
Saved myself too.
Saved the nation's dignity too, right?
I hope you’ve placed your bet on the right horse?
(grand music)
I hear murmurs higher up.
Anyway...
Here are some other unicorns and stallions.
If you ever reconsider.
Let me give it one last try, sir.
Otherwise...
Thank you.
Come.
Greetings.
I’ve heard about Dr. Palin from Hopkins University.
He's possibly working on a new cure for cholera.
-Correct. He seems to have found a cure.
He's probably at Dhaka or Chittagong right now.
But how will you reach him there amidst the political turmoil?
I can't do it...
You could cross the border though.
-Illegally? -Yes, is there any other way?
What exactly are you implying?
Sir, please. I'm ready to risk it all. But... I mean, who am I?
I understand music,
I understand whisky…
But let's say we meet, how am I to understand what he's saying, sir?
Well...
I can write you a letter
but I am not going.
Definitely not alone.
(pen scribbling on paper)
What if someone comes with you?
(inspiring music)
Mr. Singh.
Yes?
I'll be gone for a few days.
A family emergency.
Look after this place.
-Sure, sir.
-Mr. Rahman.
We had to spread a falsehood about the late Professor Shamsur’s death
and we do feel regretful. But...
it was important to keep moving.
Everyone in a battle, lies,
because they know, correct information is ammunition
that you don’t hand over to your enemies.
There is a long & bloody road ahead.
We will have to bear some losses quietly.
But there will be larger battles, where we must rise and fight.
Our wisdom lies in deciding which is which.
We are our tragedies,
as much as we are our successes.
Grief is natural.
Overcoming it is a matter of choice.
If none of us is prepared to die for freedom,
then all will die under tyranny.
-Thank you for understanding, sir.
The Prime Minister joins me in condoling his death and
reassuring you of our continued support.
Joy Bangla.
Yes.
Thank you.
Mr. Sinha?
I won’t lecture you on what to do in the field, and how.
But there is no margin
-for mistakes anymore. -Sir.
Mujib is Bangladesh’s Northern Star, with his
unerring gift of helping a nation find its bearings in life,
even in the most turbulent of circumstances.
But what I have learnt...
implies the need for a broader call to action.
Stay prepared for the unexpected.
Stay...
organized for the unthinkable.
Eternal vigilance...
is the price of liberty.
(soft, hopeful music)
(water splashing gently)
I set sail alone with my boat of songs
On the river of my tears
Who are you
That suddenly rows my little boat?
On the river of my tears
I set sail alone with my boat of songs
Ma?
Ma... Ma?
Oh, Ma...
All that was mere imagination
Does it all come true finally now?
All that was mere imagination
Does it all come true finally now?
This garland made from vain sighs
Who put it around your neck?
I set sail on the river of my tears
I set sail alone with my boat of songs...