"We're so bound by customs and rituals. Somebody just has to press my button, this button marked Tradition, and I start responding like a trained monkey."

The preceding quotation could aptly apply to the numerous Hindu fundamentalists that ransacked movie theaters screening Deepa Menta's Fire when it opened in 1996. Posters were ripped to shreds, furniture and concession stands thrashed, and windows were smashed. Sadly, the Toronto-based filmmaker has required armed bodyguards whenever traveling in her native land. Gandhi must be rolling over in his grave over these violent reactions in Mother India.

The opening salvo of her trilogy about Indian society (Earth and Water are the other two), Fire contrasts duty and tradition with desire and freedom by focusing on two frustrated wives who gravitate towards each other in a lesbian relationship. For religious and political reasons, all three films have been banned from India and Pakistan. This censorship is most scandalous since Menta differs so greatly from the usual Bollywood fare and is the most promising Indian filmmaker since the legendary Satyajit Ray.

Although Hindu fundamentalists were most outraged by the depiction of lesbianism, Mehta's sensual camera remains remarkably discreet during these love scenes--only a brief glimpse of a single breast is ever shown. More shocking are a couple of scenes showing a servant (Ranjit Chowdhry as Mundu) masturbating feverishly to a video in full view of the elderly family matriarch Biji (Kushal Rekhi). The old woman can no longer speak, but she has a bell that she can ring when upset. She doesn't bother with Mundu, so she's either getting some vicarious enjoyment or realizes that it's hopeless--this is likely a scene that has been repeated countless times.

But Mehta's film isn't really obsessed with sex despite being prominently advertised as the first Indian film about lesbianism. Fire primarily deals with issues of freedom and female emancipation. Initial scenes establish protagonist Sita (Nandita Das) as a true romantic as she and her disinterested husband Jatin (Jaaved Jaaferi) honeymoon in Agra at the Taj Mahal. It's an arranged marriage. New Dehli based Ashok (Kulbushan Kharbanda) has insisted that his brother take an Indian wife because the family needs children. Ashok cannot have children; his wife Radha (Shabana Azmi) is barren, so he has taken a vow of chastity and actively practices resisting sexual desire by testing himself with his agreeable wife.

Jatin has agreed to the loveless marriage, but he continues to shamelessly visit his Chinese girlfriend Julie (Alice Poon) nightly. He doesn't even attempt to hide the affair, telling his beautiful young bride that she should meet her. Before long, Sita is encouraging her husband to stay out all night; she has found a deeper and truer love.

Mutually unhappy with their married lives, Sita and Radha have drawn closer to each other, beginning with an initial awkward kiss, to exchanging gifts, to foot massages, to full body caresses. After their first time sleeping with each other, Sita wonders if they have done something wrong; Radha replies simply, “No." They don't even have a term for "lesbian" in their native language. They just realize that their love is genuine and pure while their perfunctory marriages are empty and joyless.

In the traditional Hindu Ramayana, Sita symbolizes the ideal woman (whether daughter, wife, or mother), representing all that is noble and good in womanhood. Hindu mythology also includes a love story between Krishna and maidservant Radha, who comes to represent an ideal loving union in body and spirit. While these names certainly add symbolic meaning to Fire and parallels Mehta's bookended sequence about mystic dreams set in an ethereal field of yellow flowers, the film works primarily because the two central figures are sympathetic and believable.

Both actresses portray their frustrations realistically, subtly indicating their disillusionment primarily through their eyes and body language well before they verbalize them. The supporting characters deliver as well—the two contrasting husbands illustrating how indifference to their wives' needs remains a problem, whether caused by adultery or by religious fanaticism. The bell ringing ancient matriarch and wide-eyed servant supply a measure of comic relief in the well-scripted narrative.

Even if the feminist story doesn't grab the American viewer, Giles Nuttgens' cinematography will. Constructed with high quality production values, the richly colored Fire provides a visual feast that is rarely duplicated in most films. The Taj Mahal has never looked more beautiful from a distance, and the two women are lovingly photographed with tremendous artistry as they strive to burst through the bonds of tradition to explore their once repressed desires.

Mehta's thoughtful film should spark interest in India's modern culture even if it doesn't satisfy those who think a lesbian love affair should burn more explicitly. I eagerly anticipate the rest of her trilogy.