Amal Chowdhury: The Forgotten Mahishasur
Explore the emotional journey of Amal Chowdhury, the iconic actor who once ruled Bengali television as Mahishasur in Doordarshan’s Mahalaya. Once feared and revered as Amal Asur, he now faces a life of obscurity and financial hardship, a poignant reminder of how fleeting fame can be.
I woke up to the strains of Mahishasur Mardini as the train rattled along, bringing me back from my trip. Just as I was trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep, my friend Siddharth sent me a link on Instagram. It was from Better India, featuring Amal Chowdhury—the first-ever live Mahishasur on Doordarshan. Talk about a blast from the past!
There was a time when Amal Chowdhury could make even the bravest of souls tremble with fear. His fierce, unblinking eyes, his trademark twisted moustache—he brought Mahishasur to life in such a way that both children and adults alike were left shaken. Every year, as the first-ever Mahishasur of Doordarshan’s Mahalaya, his presence loomed large on screen. But today, those who once feared and admired him have all but forgotten the man behind the demon. And that, perhaps, is the cruelest fate of all.
Amal Chowdhury, now known simply as Amal Asur, lives in Ashoknagar in obscurity, with his fame and fortune long behind him. The towering figure who once embodied the demon king is now reduced to giving art lessons to make ends meet. His financial struggles came to light recently, painting a heartbreaking picture of a man once revered, now abandoned by both his industry and, it seems, the world.
It wasn’t always this way. Amal was discovered by sheer luck—a few technicians spotted him, and before he knew it, he was transformed into Mahishasur, striking fear into the hearts of millions. His performances were unforgettable, not just as the demon king, but also as Yama, the god of death. His talent brought him roles in films with some of the most respected directors and actors of his time. Yet, as with so many before him, the industry moved on, leaving Amal Chowdhury behind like a discarded relic of a bygone era.
The bitterness of his fall from grace is keenly felt. Despite his formidable talent, Amal finds himself alone, with only his younger sister for company. The calls from producers have long stopped coming, and even his extended family seems to have distanced themselves. Gone are the days when he was the pride of Ashoknagar, hailed for his contributions to theatre and cinema. Now, all that remains is a man fighting to stay afloat, with art lessons barely enough to put food on the table.
How cruel it is, that a man who once commanded such fear and respect now faces this kind of oblivion. His body may have aged, but his piercing eyes and twisted moustache—the very trademarks of his Mahishasur—remain unchanged. Yet these features, once so powerful, no longer strike fear or awe. Instead, they seem a haunting reminder of what once was, and what has been lost.
It’s not that people don’t remember him at all. Saayoni Ghosh sent him a gift in a well-meaning gesture of charity, but such offerings are hollow in the face of a life that has been so thoroughly overlooked. The question lingers: will the industry that once celebrated him ever open its doors to him again? Or will Amal Asur be relegated to the past, a ghost of the man he once was?
Amal’s story is not just one of a fallen star; it’s a reminder of how quickly fame fades, and how easily we forget those who once moved us. The man who embodied terror on our screens now faces a far more terrifying reality—being forgotten. And in the silence that surrounds him now, that is perhaps the most heart-wrenching tragedy of all.
Cover Picture Sources : banglahunt.com
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