Gandhi Page #56

Bourke-White accepts it at face value. She opens another

line of inquiry.

BOURKE-WHITE

Does it rankle, being separated from

him this way?

Ba pauses.

BA:

Yes... but we see each other in the

day.

BOURKE-WHITE

(delicately)

But not at night...

She's terribly curious, but she doesn't want to offend. Ba

sees both the curiosity and the hesitancy. She smiles across

at Mirabehn, then

BA:

In Hindu philosophy the way to God

is to free yourself of possessions --

and the passions that inflame to

anger and jealousy.

(A smile.)

Bapu has always struggled to find

the way to God.

BOURKE-WHITE

You mean he -- he gave up --

(how to phrase it,

finally)

married life.

Again Ba smiles.

BA:

Four times he tried -- and failed.

(Mirabehn and Bourke-

White grin. The older

woman gives a wistful

smile.)

But then he took a solemn vow...

She shrugs... the implication is it was a long time ago.

BOURKE-WHITE

And he has never broken it?

BA:

(a beat)

Not yet.

She looks at them soberly and then they all burst into

laughter like girls.

AGA KHAN'S PALACE - EXTERIOR - TWILIGHT

Military move quietly but urgently in and out around the

main entrance. Two military ambulances are drawn up nearby.

A British major comes down the steps quickly. He is almost

at the bottom when a British army doctor starts to go up

them. The major signals him to one side. They talk quietly

and confidentially.

MAJOR:

I've got permission to move her --

he can go too.

The doctor shakes his head.

DOCTOR:

She's had a coronary throm -- a

serious heart failure. She wouldn't

survive a trip. It's best to leave

her -- and hope.

The major looks defeated and depressed by the news.

BA'S ROOM - INTERIOR - TWILIGHT

Ba lies on a mat, a pillow beneath her head, her eyes closed,

her breathing short. Mirabehn sits next to her, rubbing a

hand up and down her arm.

Gandhi sits a little distance away, staring at the floor and

into nothingness. Pyarelal sits inconspicuously behind him.

Azad and Patel come to the doorway, Patel makes the pranam

toward Ba and holds it as he obviously prays. Azad has bowed

his head and he too is clearly making some prayer for her.

Finally Azad takes just a step forward.

Gandhi looks up at him. For a moment he folds his hands

absently, then he stands. He moves to Ba's side and kneels.

She does not open her eyes.

GANDHI:

It is time for my walk -- I won't be

long.

Ba's eyes flutter open. She holds her hand out to him and he

takes it. When he goes to release it, she clutches it. Gandhi

hesitates, and then he sits, holding Ba's hand in his lap.

He looks across at Mirabehn and nods for her to go.

Mirabehn smiles weakly, gives Ba a last little rub of farewell

and stands.

The doorway. Patel stands, letting Mirabehn pass before him

and do down the corridor with Azad. He looks back.

His point of view. Gandhi sitting, holding Ba's hand, his

eyes once more on the floor in their empty stare.

Another angle -- later. The light has changed. A fly moves

along a small section of the floor that still contains a

ribbon of the dying sunlight.

Gandhi still sits, holding Ba's hand, staring into

nothingness.

The doctor appears in the doorway. He pauses, nods amiably

to Gandhi, though Gandhi does not react to his presence at

all. Moving quietly, the doctor goes to the other side of Ba

and crouches, and lifts her wrist to feel her pulse. He holds

it for a moment, then lifts his eyes in doubt and sudden

fateful apprehension. He glances at her, then slowly lowers

her arm and puts the branches of his stethoscope in his ears.

He puts the acoustic bell over her heart... a moment, and he

lifts it slowly, his face confirming for us what he and we

already know:
there is no heartbeat. He glances at Pyarelal,

who only lowers his eyes. The doctor turns his head slowly

to Gandhi.

Gandhi. His point of view. His posture is utterly unchanged,

Ba's hand still in his lap, his eyes still staring emptily

at the floor in front of him, but suddenly tears begin to

run down his cheeks. He does not move, there is no change in

his empty stare, but the tears continue to flow.

SMALL COURTYARD OF THE PALACE - EXTERIOR - DAY

The funeral pyre burns, its work almost done.

Mirabehn, Patel, Azad, Pyarelal, stand with other prisoners

and the military wardens in solemn obeisance to the dead --

and the living, for Gandhi sits a little distance from the

pyre, wrapped in his shawl, staring at the dying embers in

tragic and impenetrable isolation as though he may never

move again.

Close shot -- Mirabehn watching him her face wet with tears.

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