Gunga Din (1939)
Director: George Steven
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It is a light comedy detailing three disciplinarily-challenged army sergeants sent off to the late 19th century Northwest Frontier of Northern Punjab to check out some disturbances. They find a band of Kaali-worshipping ruthless 'terrorists' @ thugees taking over their post. The story is about how they defeat the thugs with the help of a naive local man named Gunga Din.
Before jumping onto the bandwagon of the woke to blame all our current pathetic state of affairs on the colonial masters, we should remember that Kipling and this movie were off at a time when only the victors could dictate how history should be written. The colonists, because of their native languages, are considered irrelevant, persona-non-grata.
We see the British slave-drilling their subjects on their high horses and looking down on Indians. The Indian collies seem to be bending behind backwards to kill their fellow Indians to earn extra brownie points. Their life ambition was to serve as a soldier to the Queen and the Empire.
The story is based on Kipling's poem about a 'useful' idiot named Gunga Din, a run-around water boy at the beck and call to squeeze some water from his goatskin bag. Despite all the heckling and shoving, Gunga Din's life ambition is to serve his Master and earn his validation. He hopes to be, one day, to be drafted into the British Army. Din does that in style by gunning down his own people and even taking a bullet for his Boss. He is enlisted posthumously and is conferred the rank of corporal. At the film's end, his bosses reminisce about the character running around with a water bag. They look into the horizon calling Din 'a better man' than anyone in the British Army can be.
At the outset, from the time of opening credit, the filmmakers made a declaration. They specified that their depiction of Kali worship was based on historical facts. Their idea of facts is what eventually turned out as an 'eyeball delicacy' scene that was seen in 1984's 'Indiana Jones'. They took mugshots at Kali and her worshippers, making them look like buffoons. In actuality, they were merely defending their land. Gunga Din was no 'better man' but a traitor to his own people. It was the people like him who facilitated the 250,000-strong British East India Company soldiers to have control domination over 170 million Indians in 1857."... though I've belted you and flayed you,by the livin' Gawd that made you,you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"
Much like the Spanish conquistadors swept the Aztec and Mayan temples clean of gold, the British in India also thought it was the birthright to usurp all the gold displayed in the Hindu temples without respect to local ownership. This was daylight robbery. I reckon this must have been no different from what the Muslim invaders did to India before them.
Gunga Din
You may talk o’ gin and beerWhen you’re quartered safe out ’ere,An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;But when it comes to slaughterYou will do your work on water,An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.Now in Injia’s sunny clime,Where I used to spend my timeA-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,Of all them blackfaced crewThe finest man I knewWas our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,He was ‘Din! Din! Din!‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!‘Hi! Slippy hitherao‘Water, get it! Panee lao,‘You squidgy-nosed old idols, Gunga Din.’The uniform ’e woreWas nothin’ much before,An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,For a piece o’ twisty ragAn’ a goatskin water-bagWas all the field-equipment ’e could find.When the sweatin’ troop-train layIn a sidin’ through the day,Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,We shouted ‘Harry By!’Till our throats were bricky-dry,Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.It was ‘Din! Din! Din!‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?‘You put some juldee in it‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’’E would dot an’ carry oneTill the longest day was done;An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.If we charged or broke or cut,You could bet your bloomin’ nut,’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.With ’is mussick on ’is back,’E would skip with our attack,An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide’E was white, clear white, insideWhen ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.When the cartridges ran out,You could hear the front-ranks shout,‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’I shan’t forgit the nightWhen I dropped be’ind the fightWith a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.I was chokin’ mad with thirst,An’ the man that spied me firstWas our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.’E lifted up my ’ead,An’ he plugged me where I bled,An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.It was crawlin’ and it stunk,But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.It was 'Din! Din! Din!‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’’E carried me awayTo where a dooli lay,An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.’E put me safe inside,An’ just before ’e died,'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.So I’ll meet ’im later onAt the place where ’e is gone—Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.’E’ll be squattin’ on the coalsGivin’ drink to poor damned souls,An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!Yes, Din! Din! Din!You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,By the livin’ Gawd that made you,You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
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