Gandhi Page #34

THE ENTRANCE OF THE JALLIANWALLAH BAGH - EXTERIOR - DAY

General Dyer, his armored car, his sepoys, moving toward the

gate. Dyer looks ahead calmly.

His point of view. The Gate of the Bagh. A rickety double

gate in the high crumbling wall. On each pillar, poster

notices for the meeting: "For Congress -- For Gandhi." In

the distance the speaker and the assembled crowd. Nearer, a

few vendors, loiterers and children. At the sound of the

armored car and marching feet, a few turn in curiosity.

Another angle. The armored car grinds forward. It won't go

through the gates, one fender scraping against the gate post.

Dyer gives a quiet order, the car backs away. Dyer jumps

down lightly -- a man in splendid condition. He walks through

the gate and stands quietly in the at-ease position, hands

clasping his swagger stick behind his back. looking off at

The speaker -- medium shot.

SPEAKER:

...If we riot, if we fight back, we

become the vandals and they become

the law! If we bear their blows,

they are the vandals -- God and His

law are on our...

(He glances up.)

side.

Long shot -- his point of view. The two platoons of sepoys,

rifles at the port, trot smartly through the gate and fan

out on either side of the motionless and dominant figure of

Dyer.

Resume the speaker.

SPEAKER:

(soldiering on)

...We must have the courage to take

their anger...

Medium close -- the sepoys and Dyer. He issues his commands

in a quiet and unemotional voice, as though they were on

maneuvers.

DYER:

Port arms, Sergeant Major.

The sergeant major issues the command. The troops port arms.

DYER:

Load.

Again, the sergeant major barks the command, the bolts slam

back and forth, the magazines clatter.

Featuring the platform and the front of the crowd. They have

all turned now to watch, frozen in incredulity and

fascination. The sound of the sergeant major's orders and

the sinister rattle of breeches and bolts drifting to them.

SPEAKER:

(almost to himself as

he too is riveted)

...Our pain will be our victory.

Their point of view. The distant figures facing them.

Resume the crowd. Numbly they begin to back away, pressing

against the speaker's stand, themselves. A man picks up a

child.

Their point of view. The small, distant figures of the sepoys

again. A word of command. One platoon kneels and takes aim.

Another command. The second platoon, standing behind the

first, takes aim.

Featuring Dyer. His ADC approaches. The British police officer

stands off to one side.

ADC:

Do we issue a warning, sir?

DYER:

(stiffly)

They've had their warning -- no

meetings.

It is final.

Resume the crowd. A ripple of panic now, everyone pressing

back, but still they cannot credit what they see. Only one

or two have the presence of mind to push clear and seek

shelter. It is too late.

Close shot Dyer, still calm.

DYER:

Sergeant Major --

SERGEANT MAJOR:

Take aim!

Long shot over the sepoys and their sights, the wavering

crowd distant.

DYER:

Fire!

Flash shot along the line of sepoys; the rifles jerk and

bang. The crowd, running, screaming.

SERGEANT MAJOR:

Reload!

A dreadful press of panic-stricken people flying toward the

walls. And again the crash of rifles. Some fall. Others run

off-screen in an aimless, irresistible wave.

Dyer is walking behind his men, telling them, with a view to

maximum accuracy, what he has told them on the firing range

(it makes him a little irritable to have to repeat it).

DYER:

Take your time. Take your time.

He looks off at the crowd. His eyes narrow.

A group of men are hurling themselves at a breach in the top

of the wall, hanging there, scrabbling for a purchase, some

disappearing, a few heroic individuals astride the wall

reaching down to assist their women and children in the

swirling crowd below.

DYER:

Corporal!

CORPORAL:

Sir!

DYER:

Over there.

He nods. The corporal looks.

CORPORAL:

Sir.

He directs the attention of his neighbors in the firing line

toward the new target; they shift their aim.

A man reaching for a child -- who is also propelled upward

by its mother from below -- is hit, falls, so that he and

the child crash into the crowd below.

Sepoys firing ad lib. Dyer watching the effect, careful and

conscientious.

Swift tracking a man running through the staggering crowd,

over the litter of bodies, his mouth open, his eyes wild. He

arrives at a well, throws down the rope and slides down it.

Others seize the idea and in panic throw themselves into the

well, dropping out of sight.

Rate this script:5.0 / 3 votes