Symbolic Deification: The paradox of a woman being worshipped.

A conversational essay that attempts to explain Satyajit Ray’s DEVI through a gendered cinematic lens.

Written by: Makkanthra Aditi 

Edited by: Iniya J 

Graphic Design By: Makkanthra Aditi 

An idol made of clay opens her eyes and stares at us. Her face merges with that of the human Doyamoyee, a seventeen-year-old girl. This is the beginning of the end of the life of the seventeen-year-old girl, not by being abused or having insults hurled at her, but by taking the form of a supreme being.

Satyajit Ray’s Devi is not so much a movie about faith as it is about how patriarchy utilizes a variety of tools, some of which seem progressive at first glance, but default to its function of oppressing women.

The movie does not ask its audience to go against a particular religion or be atheist. In fact, it does the opposite. It asks its audience to be active in their practices, to know what to follow and what to question. It also asks whether a simple institution of religion is enough to warrant the autonomy of a young girl. Does faith, when practiced in a household of patriarchy, become a claim of ownership?

The Layout of the Breakout

The film starts with the husband (Umaprasad) and Doyamoyee lying on the bed and lamenting his farewell. Umaprasad asks her unprecedentedly whether she would move out with him if he were to get a job. She agrees and tells him that wherever he is, is where she should be. Her response cements the film’s irony before the dream that spurs the film into action even starts. Instinctively, she believes that she is already not her own, that her existence is made to belong. Doyamoyee remains throughout the film what the male figures sculpt her up to be. She doesn't choose to be with her husband; she is already his because there is no other option for her.

This scene sets the tone for the rest of the film.

Ray deliberately shows us what she is capable of before her derailment; she teases her husband and nephew, and is even mildly defiant towards Umaprasad. He shows a glimpse of what could have remained had she not been stripped of her humanity.

That also brings us to the not-so coincidental timing of Kalikinkar’s (literally, a devotee of Kali) 

dream. He has the dream of Doyamoyee as a Devi, right when Umaprasad, the only person who could have prevented this, is in Calcutta.

Because of the patriarchal structure of the family, it is not necessary for Umaprasad to be gone for the household is subservient to the Father’s whims, but his absence removes the only counter against the symbolification of his wife.

Worship as a way for Rectification 

That night, Kalikinkar doesn't just ask Doyamoyee to verify his dream. He instantly falls at her feet and proclaims her a Devi; the unquestioned authority he holds is further shown by how his elder son follows without any doubt when asked to do the same. This same authority takes the major stage throughout the film. One can positively assume that the same authority must have come into play when Doyamoyee was to be married, and he reassigned his dead wife’s duties to him.

But the most devastating part is when she just turns her head and weeps. She doesn't resist, but neither does she consent; she has no space to do either. She can only look around, weeping and confused, looking around for anyone who would oppose the proclamation and bring a sense of rationality to the situation. There is none who opposes, because there is nothing to oppose; the verdict has been passed, and Kalikinkar is its judge. Because worship does not take consent; the worshipped can resist or accept, but the outcome remains the same.

The Western and the Traditional: Two sides of the Same Coin

The movie not only deliberate on a woman's role, but also the two ways of control. While the film, on the surface, portrays the Western husband Umaprasad as the saviour, the underlying nuances show that he is as much a part of the oppressive structure as his father.

Umaprasad's secularism is selective and comes to play a tad bit too late. His understanding of Doyamoyee’s autonomy lies in relation to him. “Cogito, ergo sum” works only when the thinker knows they are allowed to. He thinks of her as a dutiful wife who is seventeen, not old enough to think for herself, but old enough to be his wife.

He is secular in the way a standard white man is secular. He supports widow remarriage and is modern in every aspect except back home.

This can also be seen in the level the camera pans to him in relation to his wife and his contemporaries. In Calcutta, particularly, the perspective is level-headed, where in the camera the eye meets the eye. But back home is where you can see the levels change. Umaprasad’s head lowers in front of his father, but is higher when facing the villagers and his wife. Whenever Doyamoyee faces him, her eyes are downcast.

In Kalikinkar’s view, she is isolated, and there are close-ups just of her face, closely resembling the Devi. In the beginning, she is lowered, and her face shies away, but right after her dream, every frame follows her tear-stricken eyes.

Both men never view her at eye level, and that is the whole point of it.

Self Doubt and Derailment 

Am I the Goddess? 

This is not a question rooted in superstition. It is one that rises after the repeated collapse of her perception of self. When every surrounding authority answers before the person in question has the space to think, it is not merely an existential crisis, but a revision of the self.

Her initial life, although spent in service of the family, at least held the illusion of true happiness. 

She cannot arrive at a conclusion, because she has only ever been an object of other people’s conclusions. Some conclude she is a Devi; others conclude otherwise, and she as an individual is always decided upon.

This is where, personally, Umaprasad fails her. He asks, “If you were, wouldn't you know it?” He assumes that she is intrinsically aware, and that her self is biologically ascribed. But her identity is not biological; the film spends the two hours proving that it's constructed and restricted.

Restricted by the window that separates the rational from the worshippers, acting as a cage.

Restricted by the new room assigned that maintains a gothic darkness that swallows her as a whole.

Restrictions take new forms, shapes, and individuals, but she is indeed the parrot that chirps “Ma”, finally flying in despair at the end.

The “Merciful” Ending

The last scene is a disheveled Doyamoyee, finally no longer a goddess, running in fear of herself and the people around. The very same witch she read as a bedtime story to her nephew now assumes her form upon his death.

The imagery that made her a goddess now turns to label her a witch. Finally, it's revealed that it was the ‘Devi’ who had the power to heal and inspire; she remains just Doya. Doya, who is constantly pushed to different forms when finally Ray shows some mercy and pushes her completely out of the film.

 The paradox of the worship is that the worshipped, after fulfilling the role, is discarded.