Everyone knows there is no dearth of camels in Rajasthan. While making Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne, we had to get hold of one thousand camels in just two or three days. For Sonar Kella, our need was much less. But the problem was that the place we had selected was far removed from any kind of habitation. As far as the eye could see, there was only an expanse of sand, dotted with thorny bushes and dried grass. A meter gauge line cut across the desert, seemingly without a beginning or an end. A motorway to Jaisalmer ran parallel to the railway track. Had it been further away, we could not have shot a single scene here.
We were based in Jaisalmer and our crew had to bring all our luggage to this chosen spot. The cameraman had to get into an open-topped jeep with the camera in order to catch the camels running towards the train. It was essential therefore to have a paved road nearby.
We had to travel the hundred miles from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer and search every inch of the way before we found this place which seemed most suitable. It was about seventy miles to the east of Jaisalmer, in the direction of Jodhpur. The camels had to be brought from a village called Khachi, seven miles further east. The owners of the camels were told to dress them well.
We may well laugh at the appearance of a camel, but to a Rajasthani, a camel is his best friend, sometimes the only thing that can keep him alive in the desert. So, from ancient times, they have shown this animal a lot of affection by dressing it in colourful embroidered sheets, tassels, and even jewellery. When they move in a row across the desert, in all their finery, they seem to merge beautifully with the harsh and dry landscape. No other animal would have fitted in as well into the desert landscape as these ones.
The owners said they would reach the spot by afternoon. It was agreed that some of our men would wait for them there, or they would find it impossible to locate the exact area.
We had got the camels, now we had to get a train. The one we had decided to use ran in the morning from Jodhpur to Pokhran. Pokhran was between Jodhpur and Jaisalmer. The exact spot where the shooting was to take place was twenty miles to the west of Pokhran, but we were more or less confident that the authorities would allow us to take the train where we needed it.
As we were getting ready for the big day, something happened that nearly destroyed all our plans. Suddenly, the price of coal went up, and the train we were going to use was cancelled at a day’s notice. What a disaster!
I had written this particular scene so carefully. Were we now going to have to drop the idea of showing Feluda and his team running through the desert on camels, trying to stop a train? No, we could not allow that to happen.
I met the railway authorities the same day, and explained that if this scene could not be shot, the main purpose of our visit to Rajasthan was going to be defeated. Fortunately, some of the officials I spoke to were sympathetic. They understood our problem and found a solution. They offered to give us a whole train, complete with six carriages, the guard’s cabin, a coal tender and, of course, an engine. All we had to do was pay for the coal used.
Oh, what a relief it was to see this problem so easily solved! In fact, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise for now the train was entirely at our disposal, at least for a few hours. We could make it start and stop, or run backwards and forwards, just as we liked.
It was decided that the train would wait for us at Pokhran. We would travel to Pokhran from Jaisalmer (a matter of a hundred miles) by car and board the train which would then leave for the spot in the desert where Feluda, Topshe and Jatayu would be waiting for us. On our way to this spot, we would take a few shots of Mukul (the little boy who wants to see the golden fortress) and the second villain called Barman (who has kidnapped Mukul, assisted by Mandar Bose). The scene would show the two inside the train – Barman nodding off, and Mukul staring out of the window, deeply engrossed in the scenery.
There was something else I wanted to show in my film. If I could get inside the coal tender, I could take a shot of the engine. It would be quite easy to get a close-up of the engine’s chimney, ejecting thick black smoke. Through this smoke, I could show the two railway lines running parallel to each other, stretching right up to the horizon.
The first hitch occurred at Pokhran. The train that was supposed to arrive at half past eleven, turned up at half past two. A delay of three hours meant complete chaos, especially when even a short delay of fifteen minutes could throw our carefully planned schedule out of gear. However, there was no point in wasting any more time arguing, so we picked up our luggage and got into the train.
The few shots with Mukul and Barman went off quite smoothly. Then the train was stopped so that I could get into the coal tender with two of my assistants. There was nothing here except a great mound of coal.
I stood on this mound, camera in hand, and told the driver to start the train. He had a companion, who was the stoker. His job was to pick up pieces of coal with a huge shovel, and load them into the boiler. This kept the fire going which, in turn, helped a steady column of smoke hiss out of the chimney.
I stood on the mound of coal, my elbows pressed against the roof of the engine for support. In my hand I held the camera. As I was peering through it, my feet slipped now and then and I kept losing my balance. At first, I was greatly puzzled by this; but when I had finished taking the final shot, I realized that because I had been standing right on top of the mound the poor stoker had had no choice but to dig the coal from under my feet. Now I could fully understand the true meaning of the saying “the rug was pulled from under my feet”!
We reached the site for the shooting to find the actors and the remaining crew waiting anxiously. The only thing that had failed to wait for us was the sun. It had started to set already. By the time we got the camera ready, it would undoubtedly disappear completely. There was no way we could shoot this precious scene in the fading light.
There was nothing we could do, except pack up and go back home. But it was agreed that the following day, we would all return to the same spot at half past two, including the camels. The train would also arrive here without stopping at Pokhran.
The piece, written in Bengali by Ray, documents the experience of shooting in Rajasthan. First published in Sandesh Summer Number 1975. It was translated into English by Bijaya Ray.
