Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Heeramandi brought the ‘courtesan’ back on the screen with a bang. The Netflix series reminded audiences about the archetype that has shaped Bollywood—from Mughal-E-Azam (1960) and Mujhe Jeene Do (1963) to Pakeezah (1972) and Umrao Jaan (1981). Most of these movies limited themselves to the ‘dancer with a golden heart’ trope and demanded that the courtesan choose between her lover and her profession.
But Lekh Tandon’s 1966 magnum opus Amrapali, with the titular character played by Vyjayanthimala, went against the grain. Here, Amrapali is the central figure in a larger canvas where democracy clashes with monarchy. She is given both dignity and choice in Tandon’s iteration of her life.
As the ‘nagarvadhu’ or the royal courtesan of the proto-democratic Vaishali (in ancient Bihar), Amrapali cannot fall in love. She is supposed to be married to the state—an emblem of patriotism. Her dance, however, must evoke desire and passion.
When the war-mongering, power-hungry king of Magadha, Ajatashatru (Sunil Dutt), is defeated by Vaishali’s army, he flees the battlefield injured. Amrapali mistakes him for a soldier of Vaishali, nurses him back to health, and the two fall in love.
The consummation of this relationship occurs with a Gandharva marriage, in a stunning boat sequence. But deception and political rivalry soon disrupt the lovers’ idyllic recourse, culminating in an unconventional resolution.
When Ajatashatru’s identity is revealed, Amrapali chooses Vaishali. All the same, she is branded a traitor by her compatriots, disgraced, and thrown into the dungeons. A devoted lover, Ajatashatru ransacks Vaishali to free her, expecting her to be delighted at the prospect of becoming Magadha’s queen.
Amrapali, a true patriot, is horrified by the state of her city and the violence that caused it. She walks away from both her loves, choosing to follow the path of Buddha instead.
Amrapali was one of the first movies to have dialogue in classical Hindi instead of the prevailing Urdu, and to feature Buddhism. Both of these probably contributed to its lukewarm reception at the time.
Vyjayanthimala shines
The opulence of Amrapali comes across in every frame, from the dance sequences to the battlefield. A trained Indian classical dancer, Vyjayanthimala is a study in grace. From Shankar Jaikishan’s classical-inspired music and MR Achrekar’s opulent sets to Bhanu Athaiya’s timeless Amrapali saree—the movie packs several distinguishing features in 115 minutes.
Bhansali had once said in an interview that Amrapali inspired two of his films, Padmaavat (2018) and Bajirao Mastani (2015).
“The way he recreated the war scenes, and especially the way he presented the amazing Vyjanthimala ji in those incredible songs like Tumhe Yaad Karte Karte, Jao Re Jogi Tum Jao Re, Tadap Yeh Din Raat Ki and Neel Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein, were definitely my reference points for Deepika Padukone in Bajirao Mastani and Padmavati,” said Bhansali.
Sunil Dutt is on point with his display of Ajatashatru’s ego, guile, and passion for Amrapali. But it is Vyjayanthimala’s luminous beauty, sensuality, dance, and acting that dominates the movie.
If social media existed back then, the dance sequences would probably have set it alight—much like Aditi Rao Hydari’s walk as Bibbojan in Heeramandi.
Songs like Neel Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein and Tadap Yeh Din Raat Ki also offered her the opportunity to display her acting prowess as she pines for her lover, and her joy when he returns.
The film featured dances inspired by Bharatanatyam—the dance form Vyajayanthimala was trained in—instead of Kathak, which eventually became associated with movies centred around courtesans.
Decades later, Madhuri Dixit and Karishma Kapoor’s dance-off in Dil Toh Pagal Hai (1997) may have set the screen on fire, but the dance sequence of Amrapali’s challenge to the existing nagarvadhu remains unmatched.
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Without shame or guilt
The story of Amrapali is well-known. She was an accomplished dancer in the city-state of Vaishali around 500 BC. It is widely believed that the legend of Amrapali has its origins in the Buddhist Jataka Tales dated nearly 1,500 years ago.
“Perhaps due to director Lekh Tandon’s commitment to historical accuracy, this is one of very few films that does not associate shame or guilt with being a courtesan,” Ruth Vanita wrote in Dancing with the Nation: Courtesans in Bombay Cinema.
Tandon’s film takes a unique approach to portraying courtesans, unlike most popular cinema with such characters as leads. The movie does not attempt to ‘virginise’ or victimise its protagonist, Amrapali. Instead, it follows the ancient texts, showing Amrapali becoming an ascetic due to her horror of war and destruction. The central conflict focuses not on her profession, but on how power-drunk kings brought devastation to the lives of common people.
Amrapali rejects her lover once she realises he is an enemy of her motherland. Earlier in the film, when asked about her parents, she claims that the republic of Vaishali is her parent. Her love for her country and her people is so deep that she chooses to be a Bhikkhuni (Buddhist nun) instead of ‘betraying’ them, despite being exiled.
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Serving high fashion
Lekh Tandon’s movie made waves long before tabloids and reels could ‘recreate’ looks. Costume designer Bhanu Athaiya wove her magic around Amrapali and Vyjayanthimala.
Amrapali’s outfits in the films consisted of a bustier with a tightly draped dupatta. It became an iconic moment in fashion history. But in the period the movie was made—and the time it depicts—it was also a way of expressing the character’s sensuality.
Athaiya, who would eventually win an Oscar for her costumes for Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi (1982), travelled to the Ajanta caves to research how women from the period dressed. Her interpretation soon became the template.
We can see traces of the Amrapali outfit in most mythological TV serials and movies like Asoka (2001) and Bahubali (2017). Sridevi also wore something similar for Naino Mein Sapna in Himmatwala (1983).
Despite not being a commercial success, Amrapali created an aesthetic blueprint while giving Indian viewers a proud, passionate, and powerful heroine. The world goes gaga over Bhansali’s empty grandeur, but Tandon epitomised the courtesan without sacrificing plot at the altar of glamour.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)