Opinion In a time of conflict, the message of love in a ‘Meiyazhagan’ rings loud and true

The other, unnamed, hero — “the relative” (Karthi, eventually revealed as the titular character) was apparently participating in a black flag protest before coming to the wedding. He is shown removing the black ribbon before greeting the bride and groom. This teasing of character traits is a prelude to the film’s discussion of human empathy, from the individual to universal. The protagonists, whether initially willing or unwilling, open their hearts — and tear glands — whenever required, with a dedicated patience.

This sensitivity, however, is differently directed by each of the characters. Arul — until he encounters “the relative” — seems reluctant to feel too deeply about anyone beyond his immediate family and animals. When his wife Hema (Devadarshini) argues that their daughter would not have any connections with her aunts, uncles, and cousins, because Arul has distanced himself from them all, his response is to mention the dogs, cats, and parakeets in their house. Perhaps Arul, emotionally wounded as a teenager by his larger family’s property feud, preferred thereafter to show kindness solely to the non-human species sharing his world.

Unsurprisingly, it is the elephant Kutti that Arul goes to see first — a reconnection that seems to warm Arul up. Arul’s patience with humans is selective, marked by a sense of injustice he carries for most of the film. His conversation with the bus conductor Jaggu (Karunakaran), in which he learns that the latter is his father’s former student and knows about the family’s travails, exemplifies how he reacts to his past being brought up unexpectedly.

In today’s trigger-happy times, patience typically runs thin; few people keep their ears and minds open to even their kinfolk, let alone remote connections. Arul is mentally prepared to deal with the people he expects to run into at the wedding. And then he meets the unknown relative. Arul’s energy is as much spent in trying to decipher his identity as in getting away – from him, the wedding, the reflux of long-buried emotions. Only when leaving immediately is not possible does Arul settle in for a night of trying to understand this man, and, hopefully, eventually remember who he is. Like one of the Jataka tales spun around the loss of faith and memory, Arul must surrender himself completely to the kindness of this man of true beauty — even after he has supposedly escaped the latter — to merit recognition. And as with the Jataka, the recognition is equally a form of self-acknowledgement.

Here, then, is the film’s big question: When you listen to someone you think is a stranger talk about how, without your knowledge, you impacted their life and made it better, would you come away humbled and ashamed of not recognising the person? Or would you give in to a little vanity and pat yourself on the back? Arul is quick to dismiss his agency when he hears about the consequences of a simple act of kindness, when, as a teenager, he chose to leave behind his cycle for someone to use, as his family was forced to leave town.

It is a tragedy that the one scene that truly emphasises the film’s core message of kindness is not part of the Netflix version (this, as well as other scenes that were cut, can be watched separately on YouTube). In it, we see the relative compare the courage in battle of mediaeval warrior kings with that of ordinary modern-day individuals who dedicate their lives to struggles for existence and defence of human rights – whether violently or non-violently. Such struggles are playing out in front of our eyes every single day, but for most of us, they are a news item at best, happening in a distanced reality.

Arul does find closure in the film, which ends in a joyful reunion (and, for the audience, revelation). It is tempting to ask whether the circle that began with the younger Arul inspiring the relative he couldn’t later recognise — Meiyazhagan — ends with the latter restoring his faith in humanity. And what of us in the audience, those who were moved to tears by the film? The film begins with a “frontispiece” which reads “Love is Divine; Love is Fulfilling; Love is Scripture; Love is the Sublime Truth”. Does this exhortation from the writer-director, that love – in the form of compassion and humanity — is indeed the sublime truth, make any sense to us, especially in a time of conflict?

Godavarthi is a poet-playwright turned content strategist. The writer would like to thank Raghuram SK (Research Associate, INTACH New Delhi) for help with translating the frontispiece.

Note: This writer was lucky enough to catch the uncut version of the film in a theatre in New Delhi. This uncut version is not available on Netflix or elsewhere. Some deleted scenes have now been shared on the internet.