Readers Write In #798: Love, Loss, and Terror: The Emotional Geography of Mani Ratnam’s Roja, Bombay, and Dil Se

By Pranav Jain, an incoming civil servant and also a columnist

In the lush meadows of Pahalgam, where the Lidder River flows gently against the rugged outline of the Himalayas, the recent dastardly terrorist attack has cast a sombre veil over the valley’s timeless beauty and left an entire nation in mourning.

The wounds of this tragedy stir memories of the vivid cinematic tapestry woven by Mani Ratnam decades ago. An anti-terrorism trilogy that captures the various hues of human fortitude against the spectre of terrorism. Roja (1992), Bombay (1995), and Dil Se (1998) are laments etched in light and sound, where love and loss dance under the shadow of terrorism.

Ratnam uses his trademark cocktail of realistic visuals, rain, soul-stirring music, and narratives that pulse with lived-in authenticity to expertly explore the devastating human repercussions of terrorism.

Roja – love in a fractured paradise

Roja opens like a Wordsworth poem, its frames drenched in the golden hues of a Tamil village, only to then plunge into the snow-draped turmoil of terrorism in Kashmir. Ratnam and cinematographer Santosh Sivan paint the valley as both a lover’s paradise and a battleground. The valley’s beauty serves as a critical counterpoint to the violence that has rendered it asunder.

The story follows Roja (Madhoo), a naive but spirited young village woman whose cryptologist husband, Rishi (Arvind Swamy), is kidnapped by terrorists in Kashmir.

Ratnam’s cinematic language is intimate and yet expansive. The camera lingers on Roja’s face – her eyes wide with fear, then fierce with resolve – as she navigates an unknown world. A.R. Rahman’s score, in his debut, is a character in itself. Whereas the refreshingly lilting “dil hai chota sa” is the embodiment of Roja’s innocent dreams, the haunting “roja jaaneman” mourns the fragility of love in the face of terrorism. The marquee piece, however, is “Bharat humko” when Rishi shields the Indian flag from desecration, his body aflame with both fire and conviction.

In the wake of Pahalgam’s recent tragedy, Roja’s story feels like a mirror held up to those who persist, who love, and who fight against despair.

Bombay – love amidst the sparks of division

In Bombay, Ratnam shifts his lens to the urban crucible of Mumbai, where communal riots tore through the city’s cosmopolitan fabric.

The film follows Shekhar (Arvind Swamy), a Hindu journalist, and Shaila Banu (Manisha Koirala), a Muslim woman, whose love defies societal taboos. Their union, born in the monsoon-soaked romance of a coastal village is tested by the city’s descent into religious violence.

Ratnam and cinematographer Rajiv Menon craft a veritable symphony. The lovers’ early moments are framed against the outbreak of monsoon. But as riots erupt, the palette darkens against the urban sprawl of Mumbai. Ratnam’s lens weaves through the carnage with a restless, almost documentary-like urgency.

Rahman’s music, from the redolent flute BGM to the tender “kehna hi kya” to the defiant “humma humma” weaves a thread of humanity and love through the turmoil.

The movie exists not just in the body count but in the erosion of trust between communities. But, Ratnam also gives us redemption: the film’s climax, where ordinary citizens – Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian – link hands to quell the violence, is a testament to the collective will to heal.

Dil Se – love which is self-consuming

Dil Se, the trilogy’s final chapter, is Ratnam’s most poetic and tragic offering. Set against the insurgency in Northeast India, it follows Amar (Shah Rukh Khan), an AIR journalist, whose obsessive love for Meghna (Manisha Koirala), a woman revealed to be a suicide bomber, leads them both to a devastating end.

The film plays out like a fever dream. It bases its narrative on the 7 stages of love from Arabic literature: attraction, infatuation, love, reverence, worship, obsession, and death.

Ratnam along with cinematographer Santosh Sivan transforms Ladakh’s stark cold deserts and Old Delhi’s bustling streets into a canvas of longing, separation and dread. The camera, virtually, dances across the lovers. Amar chasing Meghna across a rain-soaked station and their silhouettes merging in the golden haze of “satrangi re” are cinematic feats worth studying again and again.

Rahman’s score is a masterpiece. From the joyful “chaiyya chaiyya” atop a moving train to “ae ajnabi”, a leitmotif of unfulfilled desire. More than Roja and Bombay, Rahman’s music here is not mere accoutrement but the very pulse of the film – carrying the weight of a love doomed by ideology and violence.

Meghna is both a victim and agent of violence, her pain solidified into a mission of vengeance. Amar, too, is a casualty, his love for Meghna consuming him until he chooses death in her embrace.

The film’s dark ending, where their journey culminates in an explosion, is a stark reminder of terrorism’s capacity to annihilate not just lives but the very possibility of connection. Dil Se thrums with the unspoken grief of those who lose loved ones to the cycle of violence.

A trilogy that endures

Mani Ratnam’s trilogy is a cinematic monument to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of terrorism’s devastation. His films offer not answers but reflections. They remind us that terrorism’s shadow is long and dark.

However, Ratnam compels us to see the beauty that persists, fragile yet defiant, in the face of chaos. It exists in Roja’s courage. It exists in the message of unity in Bombay. And it exists in Amar’s fine balance between love and duty in Dil Se.

Ratnam’s trilogy, thus, stands as a testament to the enduring power of cinema to illuminate and heal. We can and should dream of a world where love outlasts fear and where terrorism is defeated comprehensively.