Honey Trehan’s Satluj, about a Sikh activist investigating extrajudicial killings in the 1990s, evokes heavy emotions despite its hagiographical undertones. Just as interesting as that provocation is the controversy surrounding the film’s unprovoked removal from the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival lineup and its subsequent release under the title “Punjab ’95.” This year, it finally bypassed Indian censorship on July 3 and was released worldwide digitally on the Indian streaming platform Zee5, but was released to Indian audiences within 48 hours and then canceled to international audiences the following week. However, this seemingly incidental drama is central to the film’s mission statement, as it exposes power and its suppression of truth.
In a sombre prologue, a casual conversation between police officers in Punjab precipitates an equally casual execution, moonlit in the name of curbing terrorism. The focus soon shifts to an ordinary bank manager, Jaswant Singh Kalra (played by pop star Diljit Dosanjh), whose kind demeanor puts him on a collision course with corrupt and dangerous forces. When her elderly aunt goes missing (after her husband is killed by the police), Carla is driven to track her whereabouts, but ends up pulling more strings than she bargained for.
The name ‘Satluj’ comes from the main river in Punjab, whose banks serve as a body disposal site and keeper of a terrifying secret. The plot is structured like a mystery, but what goes on beneath each shadowy surface is better exposed to the light. Everyone knows that local authorities are eliminating dissent, but they are too afraid to object. But the more Carla questions, the more the scale, process and harrowing paper trail of this illegal machine becomes clear, including the mass cremation of people still marked as “missing” by the police. It doesn’t take long for him to switch to full-time activism, hoping to draw national and international attention to these murders, but this paints a large target on his back.
Despite its didactic approach, Trehan’s drama takes on an intimate texture, thanks in large part to Dosanjh’s measured performance as a man deeply disturbed and shaken by what he sees. The singer, who made a guest appearance on “The Tonight Show” during his recent North American tour, disappears into the role of an egoless saint whose presence is more liturgical than biographical. ‘Satluj’ may participate in political discussions, but its main focus is on the casual brutality of the state and the bifurcated view of Sikh duty. Trehan, along with cinematographer KU Mohanan and composer Mark Marder, formalize this spiritual approach through sound and images that have a heart-wrenching emotional impact that emanates from the pit of your stomach. The film depicts spirituality as both a visceral reaction to injustice and an unquenchable desire to cure it.
‘Satluj’ is 164 minutes long and occupies a speed bump section. Vast amounts of time are spent in mere narration, some of the investigations and declarations feel repetitive, and the film’s main points are emphasized to a nauseating degree. But even as the drama approaches courtroom testimony (in some cases unfolding as actual courtroom statements, a lingua franca of mainstream Indian social drama), Trehan maintains a delicate balance between the worldly and the personal. He casts great performers to round out each scene, regardless of the size of the role or the character’s position on a rigid moral axis, thereby creating a familiar reality recognizable within the framework of his pedagogy. But even within the film’s powerful melodrama there is a secondary narrative about the process of fascism, which speaks truth to power through innuendo and whispers.
The characters frequently reference the political mood and major events of the 1980s, from assassinations to mass riots that brought the Sikh community to the national spotlight. However, the film only touches on specifics, such as the Khalistan separatist movement that is the backdrop for the story and gives local police and politicians a clean slate for its brutality (and the persecution of Halla). Nevertheless, the way bystanders are dehumanized in Satluj speaks volumes about the state’s default view of these issues without naming them. When abused, labels such as “terrorist” and “insurgent” become a virtual death sentence. As such, the film, on the one hand, ignores the political perspectives of its victims, including Halla, but its broader refutation of government overreach becomes more palatable to a mass audience in the process.
The results so far speak for themselves. The version of ‘Satluj’ released to the world after years of government censorship demands, including more than 120 cuts, has an uncompromising vision despite its bloat, and has been screened in rogue communities across India since its removal. The medium becomes the message, and the very act of being involved in film has become akin to finding a long-buried record. With Dosanjh as his muse and moral conscience, Trehan builds a sense of enormity around each discovery, imbuing this story of repressed history and stripped personality with the tremendous weight it deserves.
