'We like fighting'
Mukul Anand and A K Hangal recall their association with the late
Najibullah
Suparn Verma and Syed Firdaus Ashraf in Bombay
It
was in the middle of a civil war that film-maker Mukul Anand took his unit
and his cast including Amitabh Bachchan and Danny Denzongpa to Afghanistan
to shoot for Khuda Gawah.
And it was the promise of total safety, personally tended by President
Najibullah, that persuaded Anand to make the risky trip to the strife-torn
country.
Four years later, Anand sits in his office, staring at newspaper
photographs depicting the death by hanging of Najibullah. And muses:
"This is uncanny - for on that precise spot, we had shot a hanging
scene for our film."
Khuda Gawah was conceived at a time when the Russians were
pulling out of Afghanistan, Anand recalls. And Amitabh being close to then
prime minister Rajiv Gandhi was the factor that persuaded the latter to personally
intercede with Najibullah and get permission to shoot in that country.
"Najibullah gave his word to Rajiv that if Amitabh comes personally
to shoot, then his government would ensure maximum security," Anand
says, recalling how, when he made the initial trip to the country to scout
for locales, he was reminded of images from World War II, so visible and
all-pervasive was the devastation. "Normally, I would have dropped the
entire idea right there, but the warmth of the people there changed my
mind," he says.
"Amitabh and Danny were the only actors who went to
Afghanistan," the film-maker recalls. "I didn’t take Sridevi, for
obvious reasons. And when we reached that country, the reception given to
Amitabh was akin to the reception given to that the Pope would receive in a
Catholic country - it was like the locals were welcoming god himself.
"We were pleasantly surprised," Anand recalls, "when
after an official lunch Najibullah began singing Hindi film songs. We
learnt later that he was also a very good poet - in fact, it is as poet
that I remember today, not as president of Afghanistan.
"In the course of our conversation, Najibullah predicted that the
war in his country would never end. He was a very good-looking man, as were
his brothers - as good looking as movie stars… And his English and Urdu
were both impeccable."
Anand recalls
how Najibullah awarded him a medal of honour(right), and how he, on
returning to Bombay after the ceremony, showed the medal to Shiv Sena boss
Bal Thackeray. "Thackeray told me then that it was a great
achievement, for a Hindu to be decorated in a Muslim nation.
"For the seven days we were in Afghanistan, the war came to a
standstill. Najibullah told us that the mujahideen knew we were there, and
had given their word that none of us would be harmed. On the day we were
leaving, Najibullah told us,'Thank god it’s over, now I can sleep in
peace’. And I was touched that in the midst of the crisis surrounding him,
he could still spend so much energy worrying about the safety of a film
unit.
"I think it was after the Afghanistan shoot," muses Anand,
"that Amitabh decided to take a break from acting. One morning, I
remember, Amitabh was still sleeping and had not reported for shooting. I
went to wake him up and he said, 'let me sleep, I plan to give up acting
after achieving so much, I have met the president, everyone here has given
me this fantastic reception, what more can I get out of life?' "
Anand remembers the awe with which Najibullah treated Bachchan.
"The president told Amitabh once that he wished these were normal
times and he, not a president but a normal guy who could just go up to him
and say, I am your fan. He also told us, one day, ‘I am a prisoner in my
own palace, I could die any minute!’"
Though politics was not discussed, Anand recalls once asking him why the
fighting was raging in his land. "Najibullah told us, with a wry
smile, 'We like fighting!'"
"I remember when we were leaving, they wanted to give us gifts to
take with us, but Najibullah remarked that he had nothing to give us but
guns and grenades. But nothing impressed me more than a painting by a
five-year-old girl - a painting of a corpse being eaten by two dogs, one
with the American flag etched on its back, the other with the Russian flag.
That painting, by a child that young, showed me as nothing else could the
futility of what was going on in Afghanistan," says the director.
Anand’s eyes return - as they have several times in course of our talk -
to the picture of Najibullah meeting his death, dressed by the Taliban in
Western clothes with a jacket and boots, and a cigarette in his hands.
"America armed these men," Anand says, bitterness evident in his
tone. "And America better watch out - because the huge amounts of
weapons they have put into the young hands of those Taliban militants will
one day be turned against them.
"Today, Afghanistan is peopled by a race of youths reared on
war," Anand sighs. "The death of Najibullah is the tragedy of the
world."
"His death saddens me," says actor A K Hangal in another
quarter of Bombay. "He was a good friend of mine, and of
India's."
Hangal met Najibullah when he went to Afghanistan with a team of film
actors and journalists. "I remember him as a progressive Muslim, and a
very hospitable, warm person. He invited us to dinner," the actor
recalls, "and during the meal, a lady with a lovely voice sang for us.
At the end of the meal, Najibullah asked us if the singer's voice didn't
resemble Lata Mangeshkar's, and told us he was a fan of Lataji's."
Hangal's next contact with Najibullah was following the withdrawal of
the Soviet troops from Afghanistan in 1988. "At that time, I wrote
asking him to be careful, telling him that his life was in danger. And he
promptly replied, saying that he would stand on his own two feet, that he
was sure no one would harm him..."
Hangal, today, recalls that letter, and the response, with a sense of
loss. "I cannot help but feel that ISI-backed terrorism, and the wrong
policies adopted by the Americans, led to his death."
"I am ashamed to see that the Indian government is keeping quiet
over this incident, it has not even come up with an official statement
condemning the act. I don't understand," adds Hangal, "how the
Taleban could act in this inhuman manner. They must have surely known that
a person who seeks refuge is inviolate, safe from harm under Islamic
tenets. And Najibullah was at the time sheltering under the umbrella of the
United Nations."
Today, for Hangal, all that remains of Najibullah are a handful of
memories - a couple of meetings, the odd letter passing two and fro. And,
of course, a typical Afghan carpet, an outstanding example of that art.
"That was during what turned out to be our last meeting," he
remembers, "He gifted us with a carpet each, and zarda (a type
of sweet). I told him I can expect this carpet, but what I will do with the
zarda. And he said, 'If you don't want to eat it, fine, give it to
someone who will appreciate good zarda from Afghanistan'. "
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