Hari Mondal is a poor farmer living in the remote Bengal village of Giripur in Birbhum district, sharing his modest life with his wife, two sons, his brother, and their old widowed aunt Kalidashi and her daughter Panchi. Set in the mid‑sixties, the story unfolds as the Naxalbari uprising sparks a wave of change across Bengal, uniting oppressed farmers with a new generation of youths who dream of a socialist republic and a fairer voice for the landless.
In this tense landscape, Hari and his brother Bolai till land that belongs to the Jotdars, a powerful landlord class led by Jotdar Bibhutibhushan Ganguly. The young landowner has just lost his father and proposes new rules designed to maximize profit, while his estate agent, Karmakar, keeps the villagers intimidated and compliant. When Hari asks for a loan to support his sister’s marriage, he is pressured to avoid formal Registering Bargadari rights in government offices—a bureaucratic snare that strips farmers of legal protections. Hari remains naïve and swept up in generations of subservience, even as Bolai grows restless at a system that benefits the few at the expense of the many. Bolai and Panchi fall in love, complicating family loyalties amid mounting political tension.
As the communist movement strengthens, Hari finds himself increasingly crushed by the Jotdar’s whims: he becomes a paid laborer on his own land, and Bolai is pushed out of the field altogether. Bolai leaves for Calcutta in search of better work, only to drift into a rough urban life where he becomes entangled with wagon breakers and, eventually, a local political muscle. Panchi and her mother also move to the city with help from strangers who promise opportunities, while Kalidashi takes a low-paying job as a cook in a middle‑class home. Panchi is lured by luxury—cosmetics, silk sarees, and a big bed—an alluring but dangerous escape from rural poverty. A stark moment arrives when the middle‑aged businessman who brought her into this life asks whether she has ever slept on a bed before, underscoring the commodification and precariousness of her new world.
Driven by a sense of justice, Hari persists in his fight. He obtains a court case with help from a sympathetic village master Village Master and a free‑lance lawyer who volunteers his time. The district district magistrate approaches Hari’s case with humanity, but the Jotdar retaliates with force—burning Hari’s house, beating him, and taking the bullocks that sustain his livelihood, leaving the family cornered and vulnerable.
The dispute climbs to the High Court, where the balance of power remains elusive. While the political winds shift with the advent of a leftist government in Bengal, Hari’s case is ultimately decided in favor of the Jotdar. Undeterred, Hari channels his energy into Panchayat politics and defeats Karmakar in the local election, earning the Bargadari certificate that would affirm his rights—but at a heartbreaking price: a broken leg, a shattered home, and the disappearance of his brother Bolai.
Hari’s search for Bolai in Calcutta yields no clear answers about his fate. Bolai has received a life sentence for a political murder, while Panchi’s life in the city spirals into hardship: she is expelled from her flat, discovers she is pregnant, is forced to terminate the pregnancy, and slides into a fragile mental state. Kalidashi dies, likely from heartbreak after seeing her daughter’s downfall and her own sacrifices go unrewarded. Hari himself dies a few months later in 1980, leaving behind a village that has changed through land reform and political transformation but at a heavy personal and familial cost.
The film paints a patient, nuanced portrait of rural life under pressure, where centuries of tenancy and social hierarchy collide with political awakening and reform. It traces a family’s steadfast endurance against oppression, the costs of seeking justice, and the quiet, lasting impact of a struggle for dignity and land—an intimate saga that asks what people sacrifice in the name of rights, and what remains when the dust settles.
