Mrityudand is a superbly crafted web of intrigue that gets darker and murkier till it reaches horrifying proportions of cruelty and ferociousness. The film begins with an almost primal scene of two women being chased out of a village. We are told that they are a pregnant widow and her mother. The two emerge from the horizon of a bleak landscape illuminated by a flaming evening sky. Behind them emerges a mob of men pursuing them relentlessly like hunted prey. It is a poignant start to a thought-provoking film, and the leitmotif of the victimisation of women recurs consistently throughout.

The story revolves around the grim and ruthless politics in a village, centering on an impoverished family of landowners. The elder of the two brothers, Abhaysingh (Mohan Agashe), is married to Chandravati (Shabana Azmi). He sets up the marriage of his younger brother, Vinaysingh (Ayub Khan) to a town girl, Ketaki (Madhuri Dixit). On the day of the wedding itself, however, it becomes clear to the young bride that things are not what they seem. The family is in financial trouble due to expenditure and intrigue by Abhaysingh, while her husband turns out to be a gentle, non-interfering man. Adding to the local intrigues of Tripathsingh (Mohan Joshi), a local contractor who works in tandem with a politician, there is a band of politicised and corrupt godmen in the village. Hungry for power, Abhaysingh has the head priest killed and replaces him, ostensibly taking to sanyas. In the process, he abruptly abandons the family and his traumatised, childless wife. In a desperate bid to make some money the gullible and young Vinaysingh is lured into doing business with the plotting Tripathsingh, and falls into bad company despite his wife's warnings. Eventually he realises his mistake and returns to his wife, who becomes pregnant. Meanwhile the abandoned Chandravati finds solace in the arms of a long time family friend, Ramdharan (Om Puri) and becomes pregnant. The squabble over Vinaysingh's family land intensifies in the village leading to Vinaysingh's murder by the contractor, Tripathsingh. Shortly after this, Chandravati's husband-turned-militant sanyasi comes to know that his wife, formerly presumed to be infertile, is pregnant. The film reaches a climax as Tripath and a furious Abhay singh march to the family house with a rabble to kill Chandravati, who has now allegedly cast a shadow over Abhaysingh's social standing. Her lover, Om Puri, is killed on the way, and the film crescendoes to a superb climax as the rabble burst into the house, only to find that the two pregnant women are being protected by every woman in the village. The rabble are hopelessly outnumbered by the enraged women, and Ketaki eventually has her revenge by shooting the vile Tripath.

Apart from the politicised relationships within the village, the plot also operates on another level, where relationships between women are explored and presented in a way that is practically alien to Hindi cinema, which most often portrays women in terms of their relationships with men or children. But Prakash Jha delves into examining the network of support and camaraderie that quickly begins to build up amongst the village women, culminating in a collective stand against the tyranny of a male-dominated society.

Mrityudand questions the limited definition of woman merely as a wife or a mother, and goes on to show strong women who define themselves as individuals. Life does not end for Madhuri when her husband is murdered, while Shabana, initially a broken woman, finds true love, and also finds within herself the courage and conviction to defy all norms and accept Om Puri's companionship. Significantly, when Madhuri asks Shabana whose baby she is carrying, the older woman smiles and replies, "Mine". It is an exquisite moment as she refuses to define herself or her motherhood in relation to her lover, and embraces herself as an independent woman who has found a new life. And when Om Puri is killed in the end, we know that though Shabana loves him, his death does not mean the end of her life.

What is equally impressive is the broad and imaginative way in which Prakash Jha has presented the victimisation of women. Staying away from the kind of victimisation usually shown in Hindi films, namely rape, he has concentrated on day-to-day images of humiliation of women, and the atmosphere of fear and insecurity they have to live with. The much ignored issue of domestic violence is addressed in both its extremes. Ayub Khan slapping Madhuri on her face is a significant moment. Whereas most films ignore such an incident as yet another moment of domestic frenzy, Madhuri is stunned and hurt for a long time after the incident. She later checks with a servant girl (Shilpa Shirodkar) whether it is the norm for husbands to hit their wives, and is disturbed at the typical response that wives are meant to suffer at the hands of their husbands. At the other end of the spectrum is Tripath's wife who has been practically terrified into insanity.

Madhuri becomes increasingly disturbed about the victimisation of women in the village, at the hands of Tripathsingh, and in her own house, at the hands of the two brothers. While Shabana is ruthlessly abandoned without a thought, Madhuri has to endure an arrogant, though well-meaning husband who blunders through his business with the contractor without heeding the warnings of his wife. She becomes a spokesperson and commentator for the ideology of the film, constantly provoking other women to actively deal with their repression.

Beginning with the brutal murder of a pregnant widow and her mother, the universe of the film comes a long way in ending with the powerful, aggressive images of the village women and the two pregnant widows, Shabana and Madhuri — the former protected by the village women, the latter taking the law into her own hands to avenge the death of her husband and the humiliation of the village women.

The performances in Mrityudand are skillful. While Madhuri is her usual fiery self, Shabana fits perfectly into the role of a woman who chooses to rejuvenate her life. It is a relief to see a gorgeous Madhuri in a role which avoids portraying her as a "sexy young thing". Mohan Joshi and Mohan Agashe are as detestable and evil as could be. But the greatest surprise of the film is Ayub Khan. He has had the rare opportunity to prove his mettle opposite veteran actresses Madhuri and Shabana, and he has held his own admirably. He is dashing and full of passion, and no way does he seem a novice when it comes to romancing the beautiful Dixit. His progression from a young bridegroom to a harried, sometimes abusive husband, is well paced and realistic. He has the advantage of having a lot more to do than Madhuri in terms of histrionics, before the interval. His portrayal of a charming, newly-wed husband is restrained and is a great deal more effective than if he had resorted to the more common conventions of romance which tend to be slicker and contrived.

Prakash Jha deserves a pat for the manner in which he treated the film. Mrityudand is passionate, highly articulate, and never confused. Here is a film which not only has something to say, but says it well. There are no hysterical histrionics. There is no hypocricy and false rhetoric which one finds so often in films which profess to be socially progressive for women. The songs are situational and elegant. One wonders how long the film will last in a market dominated by demand for light fare.