If not love, then what?
Mughal-E-Azam, a courtesan’s rebellion.
Apart from the cinematic spectacle that Mughal-E-Azam was, it has another very popular identity of being the film that contained in it the other-worldly music video of Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya.
The song begins with Tansen delivering a Taan in Raag Darbari, a regal Raag, with Anarkali dancing in front of Emperor Akbar, Prince Salim, and a few others. The first few movements of Anarkali on this Taan invoke the sense of Shringar or romantic love. Till this, the setting seems to be quite familiar; a courtesan dancing in a Mughal court, what could be possibly notice-worthy about this?
The latter half of the Taan looks changed; the pace has increased tremendously, Anarkali captures the entire floor of the Sheesh Mahal below her feet, dancing and twirling vigorously through every inch. It is evident that surely something is building up, the fury of the notes being sung indicates a bursting pinnacle of music. Darbari is no delicate Raag, devised by the great Tansen himself, this grave Raag is traditionally sung deep in the night as if capturing all of the darkness of it into the Raag. The Shringar seems to be suppressed now, a new emotion has risen to prominence: defiance.
Anarkali starts singing now, replacing Darbari with Raag Durga; so to say unfurling the rebellion of Durga with the grave of Darbari. Anarkali’s expressions have metamorphosed and now she casts away the identity of a mere courtesan. Now she is her lover’s reciprocator, in love and more so in death. Now she is that blazing sword of the Raag’s Goddess herself, the symbol of greatest rebellion against all that is unjust. She brings on the refrain Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya, as bold as ever, dancing unarmed, in the direct view of Tamaam Hindustan’s Emperor. She goes on to declare her love for Salim using the most outrageous poetry Akbar had ever heard from a courtesan.
Anarkali first fortifies her arguments by singing “Pyar kiya koi chori nahi ki, pyar kiya”, she says she fell in love and didn’t steal. She declares she’s done pretending to be a criminal by hiding. Now that she is following her heart, she fears no one. And that’s when she sings:
“…Aaj kahenge dil ka fasana
Jaan bhi lele chahe zamana…”
She sings these lines leaning dangerously close to Akbar, close enough to get herself killed; but why on earth would she care now? As if luring death itself she says “Maut wohi joh duniya dekhe”, what death is it if not seen by the world?
And then comes a bolt from the blue; the Shringar is back again, with great tenderness:
“…Unki tamanna dil mein rahegi
Shamma issi mehfil mein rahegi…”
She announces that her heart’s desire for him isn’t going anywhere, in their unions there will never be a lack of light. In the stealth of a tiger, she steals Salim’s dagger right after she knelt in front of him. And then before anyone realizes she quickly drifts into her defiance, bursting out by singing “Ishq mein jeena, ishq mein marna, Aur humein ab karna kya”. In life and in death, she says, she’ll always be accompanied by her love for her beloved Salim. She puts down the dagger at Akbar’s feet, smiling with an eyebrow raised she returns to her steps again, now leaving everyone in the court open-mouthed.
And that’s when the miracle happens. The ground under the feet of the Akbar trembles and he is shaken to his very core. What hundreds of kings couldn’t do, a mere, weak, absolutely unarmed courtesan did: hit the Emperor with a blow he’d never recover from. In her open defiance in the court, she displayed unfathomable courage that was beyond Akbar’s senses. His expressions are evidence enough that he has been stripped of every piece of ego he had and now stood exposed. But Anarkali is no woman of mercy. It’s not where it ends albeit Akbar almost starts to break down.
Anarkali sings the last stanza of her declaration of love:
“…Chup na sakega ishq hamara
Chaaron taraf hai unka nazara…”
She says she won’t remain silent anymore now that she sees her lover in all four directions. And that’s when the audience is left with yet another gem to behold: a twirling Anarkali’s thousand reflections appear on the mirrors of the Sheesh Mahal. And that very instant is the above lines again repeated, but not by Anarkali this time. A chorus sings now and a multitude of voices rejoicing this divine melody is perhaps the personification of Anarkali’s resounding victory, as perceived by Akbar.
And as if there was anything left to destroy in Akbar, Anarkali again sings:
“…Parda nahi jab koi khuda se,
Bandon se parda karna kya…”
“If there’s nothing to hide from God, why would I hide from people either?” she asks to the court. Akbar couldn’t look in her eyes anymore and is seen to gradually look down, accepting his defeat.
The song ends with the refrain, pronouncing the sheer empowerment one receives when in love. What else could’ve empowered Anarkali to put her foot down in front of the Emperor declaring nothing less than a rebellion, if not love, the divine’s greatest creation? Anarkali is nothing other than the midday sun of the summer noons, blazing in the open not caring for what the world has to say.
“…Pyaar kiya koi chori nahin ki,
chhup chhup ahen bharana kya?…”
