Like a tortoise, writer-director Shishir Jha’s award-winning feature debut Dharti Latar Re Horo moves at an unhurried pace. But the underlying meaning of the narrative summons your urgent attention. The recent US strike on Iran’s nuclear sites may be seen as an attempt to thwart the country’s nuclear arsenal, but it has once again drummed up concerns over uranium mining around the world and the irreversible damage it causes to health and environment. In India, Jharkhand has long been considered a hotbed for uranium ore extraction, threatening the survival of tribal communities in the region. Death, diseases and deformity are the rampant outcome of soil and groundwater contamination, while village after village are also subjected to forced displacement. The story of Tortoise Under The Earth is centred on a grief-stricken Santhal couple, living on the edges of the Uranium Corporation of India Limited (UCIL’s) Jaduguda Mine, who resist being uprooted from their disappearing homeland.
A Humara Movie and Folk House Cinema production, the documentary-fiction opens on a meditative note. The misty panorama of a ‘haunted’ banyan tree clears as women dot the mud walls of their homes in red and white amid echoes of Santhal lyrics. The villagers are preparing for the auspicious Baha Parab that signifies gratitude to the planet for renewal and abundance. Jagarnath and Mugli Baskey, however, are mourning the death of their young daughter. While the husband has somehow made peace with their loss, accepting it as the will of god, the wife is still struggling to cope with the girl’s absence. She’s aloof, broody and often vents her pensive thoughts like a hymn.
In the vicinity, a lethal project is defacing large swathes of greenery. As loud blasts tear through the jungle’s quiet, sights of the uranium mine trucking ore through the terrain become more and more frequent. Authorities see it as a huge step toward self-sufficiency in producing the nuclear raw material. However, exposure to radiation is wiping out adivasis at an alarming rate. The onset of the much-awaited rainy season now risks breaching uranium tailings ponds, poisoning the nearby farmlands and drinking water sources. Human rights petitions are filed by local activists and political groups, who scramble to protect the indigenous communities from being exploited and ill-treated. However, this barely deters the government drive to acquire tribal land by force, making way for big factories in the name of development. Public announcements continue to echo through villages asking people to vacate their homes and migrate to a ‘safer’ place.
There’s tension, anxiety and fear in every household. “They can’t do this to us every time,” says Jagarnath. To which, Mugli responds, “I have an uneasy feeling about it. How can I be at peace amid such turmoil.” Forced displacement is their new reality. In a heartbreaking scene, the tribals are seen leaving their village, with handi and topla mounted on their heads and little children clasping their arms. But even in the face of uncertainty, they show fortitude and integrity through their songs. Whistling to birds and engaging in a conversation with trees and flowers is not just a spiritual sojourn or a leisurely activity for them to reconnect with nature. They believe that “god dwells in every leaf that covers the forest and mountains”, and are eternally thankful to the planet for showing them light and hope in times of distress.
Silences and symbolism are major plot devices in Dharti Latar Re Horo. There’s an overpowering sense of emptiness and desolation in the narrative. The colour palette is desaturated, much like the muted memories of a lost daughter and homeland. On the brink of the village, a toxic dust bowl rises to consume what the Adivasis and their forefathers built earnestly throughout their lives. Rain clouds, cattle, an old photo album and a transistor make frequent appearances in the film. They are used as metaphors for a simpler life that we all crave, but are also quick to give away in exchange for innovation.
Shishir Jha’s screenplay is just as fierce and impactful as his cinematography and editing. The nuanced sound design by Dhiman Karmakar also complements the overall mood of the film. By turns dreamy and sombre, the director relies on the themes of rhythms and rituals to depict communal trauma and intimate agony. It’s endearing to see Jagarnath tucking flowers in Mugli’s hair or joshing her to wear a bindi, as the couple try to find comfort in each other’s company amid the crisis. The beats of madol and Jhumur naach resonate their resilience and unwavering love for Mother Earth. The lead characters’ dialogue delivery may seem a bit contrived at times, but they are quite compelling in delineating their emotions. A timely and relevant film, Tortoise Under The Earth is a lot more than just an investigation into uranium contamination in Jharkhand. It’s a human story about the state’s hapless Santhals. Don’t miss the fable of the tortoise and earthworm woven into the narrative.
