Looking back at history is never easy. It involves substantiating major events that took place decades ago and placing them in a larger context. History is also a collection of facts and not a repository of emotions. It answers the ‘what’, ‘how’, ‘why’ and ‘where’ but isn’t concerned much about personal stories of individuals left cornered by a mammoth event. That’s where cinema comes in handy; that’s where Ram Madhvani places his camera too.
The Waking of a Nation examines the Jallianwala Bagh massacre with an elaborate, microscopic lens. It gives an expansive account of what transpired days before the incident and what followed right after through a range of fictional characters. At the centre of the story is Kantilal Sahni (Taaruk Raina), a London-return lawyer with a soft corner for colonial rule. He returns to an India facing the unruly wrath of Britishers, who have legitimised arrest without trial under the Rowlatt Act. The story moves timelines when Sahni is part of the enquiry commission to investigate events of the massacre. Through him, the entire ‘truth’ of the incident is brought about.
Madhvani wants to make a case that the massacre was not just a one-off incident but a carefully planned conspiracy. He makes his points with the sharpness of a historian, considering all the facets and accounts. The filmmaking style reflects his conviction too, where there’s no reliance on recreating the past using rampant special effects. Rather, Madhvani keeps it simple and shoots mostly in real locations. He treats the past like the present, as a story unfolding for us. Stock footage from black-and-white film reels is juxtaposed with a similar recreated tone that gives a sense of the time in which the story is set.
Created and directed by: Ram Madhvani
Starring: Taaruk Raina, Nikita Dutta, Sahil Mehta, and Bhawsheel Singh Sahni
Streamer: Sony LIV
It is a clever device which also begins to feel exhausting for how it is overused on many occasions. A disjoint is felt right in the first episode when these multiple timelines don’t infuse smoothly with each other. There's an overdependence on showing flashbacks at every point Sahni talks about his investigation in the courtroom. Even the dialogues become repetitive with the multiple usage of the words like ‘ringmaster’ and ‘pawn’ to metaphorise the actions of Michael O’Dwyer, the then Punjab governor, and General Reginald Dyer, the officer who ordered the merciless killings of hundreds at the park.
The constant cutting away to the courtroom, where Sahni explains the details of the case, also begins to feel simplistic. It takes away the potency of moments which otherwise come alive seamlessly. For instance, through the aesthetics, Madhvani makes a strong point about the futility of riots and how colonialism makes monsters out of men, both in the oppressor and the oppressed. The second episode features visuals from the riots where friends turn enemies, betraying each other in the face of a larger conflict, holding British civilians responsible for the crimes of the crown. It is an audacious decision to humanise the British people in a show that talks about the perils of colonialism. Even the action of General Dyer is contextualised to help us understand what led to him finally doing the dastardly act.
Madhvani is also conscious not to depict the massacre in a manner that merely evokes shock. The act has earlier been portrayed in films like Rang De Basanti (2006) and, more recently, in Sardar Udham (2021) with a visceral, traumatic core. The camera points to bodies being shot, kids jumping into wells, women thrown to walls with approaching bullets. Madhvani avoids that and puts his gaze rather on Dyer and his soldiers as they round up and start to shoot. It brings a sense of dignity into the scene, making it still seem horrendous without being obviously gruesome to watch.
Yet, the stirring quality of these moments is pulled short with a stretched narrative. Spaced over six episodes, the show loses out on its richness with an unfocused screenplay that wants to make it more about Sahni’s internal struggles. Taaruk is earnest in his performance but at times is overstuffed with far too many lines. Nikita Dutta shines as the wife of Sahni’s childhood friend who manages accounts of a newspaper. Her scene in the courtroom, where she recounts the loss of a loved one during the massacre, brings out the collective heaviness of the survivors.
These are scenes which capture the soul of the show; moments where there’s sharp control over the craft. The problem, however, lies in not knowing when to stop, what to cut, how much to erase—sometimes, less is more. Factual accuracy here doesn’t combine with narrative urgency. So, while the series informs you and makes you ponder and question, it does all at the cost of virtual exhaustion. Not a good way to end a history lesson.