Naaraaz

NAARAAZ

Ladies and gentlemen,may I have your attention please?

On behalf of you all,

I present this checkof 10,000 pounds

to Mr. Ajay Pandit

for his superb novel, Deva.

Deva is just not a book,

it is a biography.

It's an aspect of life

which we often choose to ignore.

We try to run away from the truth,

which is a fact of life.

Deva...

Deva, Deva...

Haria, look what he has done.

What will I tell my master?

How long will I keep protecting him?

Son, let me tell you

that your getting angry on thingswill lead you to trouble some day.

Come on, play soon!

I'm confused with these cards, sir.

You are back. Come here.

This is my deceased brother's son. Child,

why didn't you also die?

If he died,I would inherit the entire property.

Why are you staring at me?Go away!

Take him upstairs.

Okay.-And don't let him come here.

Okay.-You know what goes on here.

Naked dance.

Hey! Come on, sweetie, dance properly.

Move those hips.

Come on, throw the card.

Throw it.-Here it is.

Catch him! Catch him!

Where are they?

Check once more!

I have checked, they're not there!

Hey, come here!

Did you see any poor, starved water thief?

No. He has his eyes closed all the while.

Let's go.

Stealing water?

Let's go,-Sister.

No!

Leave me.

No, no, leave me.

No!

Leave me.-Leave me.

Priest, etch out on her chestthat she is a water thief.

So that nobody from her clan

will ever dare to touch our pure water.

Leave my sister!

Leave me, sir.

Leave me! Leave me!

No! No!

No!

Leave my sister!

Stealing water?

No.-No.

Get up, priest! Catch them.

They should not get away!

Sister!

Sister! Sister!

There they are!

No, sister, no.

Wake up!

No.

No!

No, no.

Hey, you rascal!

Run away!

Hit him, he is a killer!

He is stealing our lands, beat him.

Throw away the stones!He is the master's son.

Control yourselves!

We will not spare him!We will not spare him!

Hey, Bhiku, have you gone crazy?

My daughter was killedin your mansion yesterday

and you have come herewith this innocent boy?

Please get out of here!

Look, I cannot controltheir anger for long,

please go!

How can I go, brother?

He has been crying all night.

He says that till he gives waterto Deva with his own hands,

he will not eat or sleep.

No, child, forget water,

we cannot take anything from you.

That thread around you means

that you are different from us.

Son, have mercy on us

and leave us alone. Go away.

Bhiku uncle, if this thread

makes me different from them,

then I don't want this thread.

I don't need this.

You, son of a dog!

How dare you eat with those dirty people?

You broke the sacred thread!-Spare him, sir.

You broke the sacred thread!Get off.

He is a kid sir, he will die...

Send him abroad to his uncle.

I don't want to see this rogue again!

He is a kid, sir. He is a kid, sir.Spare him, sir.

Go away, rascal!-Let's go, my son.

He threw away his sacred thread!

Deva! Deva!

Ajay?-Deva, I am going.

But I will surely come back to meet you.

Ajay, where are you going?

Don't leave me, Ajay.

Deva, I will come back. Bye, Deva.I will be back for sure. Bye!

Ajay, don't leave me!

Deva...

Ajay, listen to me!

Deva, I will be back!Deva, I will be back! Bye!

Ajay...

Mr. Ajay Pandit?

Mr. Ajay, they are calling you. Go there.

Mr. Ajay Pandit, please!

Mr. Ajay Pandit!

Friends,

I have no rightover this check and this honor.

If someone has a right, it is Deva.

This novel is a valuable partof my memories.

Memories give birth to a writer.

The memories of Deva arethe most valuable part of my life.

Whatever I have written,I got it from Deva.

I got it from a villagethousands of miles away, in India.

A village which is still suffering.

As writers we use the pain

of the masses as our stepping stone.

By accepting this honor,

I feel likeI am committing a huge sin.

I have decided to go back to India.

But it is my pain and helplessnesswhich made me make this decision.

A writer's duty is not only to writestories about people who are oppressed.

It is his duty to be a partof their struggle against oppression.

Thank you very much. Thank you.

Thank you very much, sir.

Thank you!

Thank you!

Congratulations!-Thank you!

Congratulations.

Excuse me, can I have a minute with you?

Yes.

My name is Sonali.

I may have been born in London,

but I am an Indian.

What can I do for you?

I am a journalist.

I work for the India Abroad magazinein London.

So?

We would like to show the worldthe problems faced in India.

I would like to interview youif you don't mind.

You want to write aboutthe problems India is facing.

Yes.

You want to publisha picture of its poverty and misery,

so that your magazine can sell, huh?-Excuse me?

Madam, India's sorrow isn't somethingfor sale in London's markets.

But...

Please don't waste my time.

Your worries are untrueand your tears are fake.

Don't waste my time, madam. Thank you.

Excuse me, ma'am. 19 D.-This way, please.

Thank you.

Hello.

You?-Yes, me.

I am going to India with you.

I have permission from my publication.

Now are you convinced

that our concern for Indians is not fake,

that our tears are not fake?

I didn't know that you wouldconvince me so soon.

But, madam,you are taking a huge risk.

Risk? What risk?

You're not aware, writers and artists

are unpredictablewhen it comes to beautiful girls.

I mean, they can be dangerous.

If it is a risk traveling with you,

then I accept this risk.

Deva...

why don't you ever understand what I say?

Master has sold this land.

A foreign company is goingto start a chocolate factory here.

And you have dug a well here.

Hey, priest, has God writtenyour master's name on this land?

This land belongs to us

and nobody can snatch it away.

You go and lick your master's feet.

I'm here to do my work.

Water will not come out of this well,and neither will you.

Bury him alive!

Dig a well and get the water!

Put more sand on him.-He wanted to dig a well.

Put some more sand.