Kantara – A Storyteller’s review

Shikhar Sumeru
Nov 7, 2022
14 min read

Updated: Nov 8, 2022

Fiery opening overs, slugging middle, but shining climax – Kantara: an experience definitely worth… well… experiencing

This may contain some spoilers.

Why the argument of ‘rationality’ against ‘Kantara’ is invalid

First things first. Since some rationalists (not necessarily on the left; but even a few uniformity-seeking dharmiks on the right) accuse Kantara of being superstitious, let me clarify some points for all of us.

1. It’s a film, a work of art. The writer has carte blanche to depict whatever s/he wishes to (as long as it’s not blatantly offensive); however s/he deems it fit. The writer is ‘srishta’ as well as ‘drishta’, to rephrase Tagore.

2. That the film is rooted in cultural ethos of rural India gives it more legitimacy. In the sense that the events of the film weave around a real phenomenon – Indian rural life. So, the story may be imaginative, but it's deeply enshrined in the rustic ethos. If you are a through-and-through metropolitan bred Indian, you may not relate with the film, but watch it still to get a realistic feel of the village life.

3. If James Wan can get praise for ‘conjuring’ up on the screen known friends of the church (who invariably call anything pagan demonic, and worth ‘exorcising’); if Jennifer Kent can break the thriller mold by showing a supernatural element that eventually becomes the pet of a lonely housewife; if Stephen King can create a “Pet Cemetery”, then we must and should shower encomiums on Mr. Rishab Shetty, for presenting something countless Indian filmmakers have ignored for decades: tales of local deities.

4. Even if discarding artistic freedom, if some folks are hell-bent on bringing in rationality, then let me quote a most rational mind for them. Colonel Edward James Corbett (fondly called Jim Corbett) – Kumaon’s favorite Brit – recounts the following in his magnum opus ‘Man-eaters of Kumaon’: I have another tale to tell of that Dak Bungalow, but I shall not tell it here. For, tales of supernatural do not mix well with tales of the jungle.”

This quote establishes two things: first, sometimes rationality becomes mostly an academic exercise when reality (as it appears to you) is far more potent. And, secondly, Corbett, despite his contributions, appears mistaken on one count: that tales of the Jungle and the supernatural don’t mix (Shetty’s work is a bearing testimony that they may mix well after all).

5. In another example, when famous geologist, Dr. K S Valdiya (Padma Bhushan) wanted to get his village deity’s temple renovated in the Himalayan hills, he faced a lot of resistance from the local villagers, who were of the view that no matter how dilapidated the deva-sthanam is, it must not be disturbed. In his autobiography “Pathrili Pagdandiyon Par”, Dr. Valdiya -- who was an atheist for a large part of his life -- describes that just when he had lost hope of getting the renovations done, suddenly something unusual happened: something his scientific side would find difficult to reconcile. During the religious function, wherein the deities are invoked through human invokers (Shetty’s film calls it “Kola” – the dance festival), a senior invoker – while assuming the deity – blessed Dr. Valdiya for taking up rebuilding of the rather ignored temple. It’s only after this inexplicable intervention that the villagers became amenable and the renovations could start. (Pictures from the book attached in the end)

Why did the invoker – who was till a few hours ago apprehensive of the renovations – change his mind? As mentioned in the Corbett episode, sometimes rationality is an academic exercise in real life.

6. Neglecting all these five arguments, even if one wishes to stick to rationality, then let me clarify for such rationalists or sophisticated spiritualists: (referencing Dr. Koenraad Elst here) from a very strict standpoint, all beliefs would be liable to be marked superstitions. It is not true that mankind fell from the sky as a result of the ‘original sin’; it is not true that the ‘son of God’ was born through a virgin birth; just as it is not true that the final prophet heard the voice of Allah. So, you see, all beliefs, when judged from a strictly rational (NOT selectively so) standpoint are superstitious. At least, pagan beliefs are not harmful to humanity, as they don’t designate as marked enemy someone who doesn’t believe in their local gods. And therefore, they don’t call for the skeptic ones’ beheading.

Based on the above analysis, one conclusion is clear: that the argument w.r.t ‘superstition’ is not valid. (feel free to repost these points to establish “Why the argument of superstition against Kantara is invalid”)

Why this review comes from a place of authenticity

Now, let us deal with another bias before we begin: one which works against review-writers. Fans and critiques, both, of “Kantara” may question the credibility of this reviewer. Therefore, for their benefit, let us clarify that this writer has lived and breathed a large part of his life in an environment that, at one point, had more regional deities than regions around him. So, the paganistic approach to religiosity, the local customs, the equivalence between the nature-native-deity trio, the whole nine yards… all have been observed first-hand by this writer.

So, how is the film?

Now coming to the film. Kantara is an experience that sucks you right in, in the first twenty minutes. It’s like Sachin opening the innings and the first five overs being “don’t even blink” kind of experience. But, then the middle is sluggish, sort of like seeing Nayan Mongia after the master-blaster. The slog overs, i.e. the last twenty minutes of the film, are a delight again, sort of like fireworks from a power hitter like Dhoni.

What the film does remarkably well

Full marks to Shetty for picking up a theme that is fresh and giving it a treatment that’s fresher. Village gods, village forests, and everything in between are a largely unexplored territory. This writer also experiments with these themes in his next book “A Kill at Kilbury”, set around a village in Nainital. In all fairness, no relation to Shetty’s work. For, “A Kill at Kilbury”’s first draft was written much before Kantara hit the headlines. Moreover, “A Kill At Kilbury” throws in another force of nature in the equation besides villages, village forests, and village gods: a silent predator of nature, but also a protector of the Indian jungles: the leopard.

Indian villages -- particularly those in the Himalayas, in the coastal regions, and around jungles -- have one phenomenon in common: a village deity (sometimes there can be multiple). These village deities are treated as living beings. They are fed, bathed, clothed, worshippedand even invoked through local customs (Agam Shastra intervention is not necessary there). Often, the invoker assumes the deity (or vice versa rather?). In the mountains, these invokers (mediums) are called “Daangar” or डाँगर (or a variant of the word thereof). In the film, the invoker can be identified as the “Daiva-nartak”.

Kantara’s start and end are rivetingly engrossing because the deity-invoker assuming the deity looks very credible. It has been shot aesthetically, with remarkable makeup, and has a totally harmonious background score. In fact, personally speaking, the first twenty minutes are more impressive than the climax.

Over the three timeframes (1847, 1970, 1990), the degeneration in villagers’ outlook to local life -- their increasingly callous attitude toward nature and the nearby jungles -- is a reflection of the changing times. The villagers of 1847 appear totally in sync with nature. Those in 1970 are somewhat in harmony. Those in 1990 are shown carelessly felling trees (even if it is just to get a forest officer transferred), indiscriminately hunting wildlife, and throwing garbage just about anywhere (where, do you think, the hero’s country liquor bottles are going?). Even the Daiva-nartak appears less and less daivik over time. So, this degeneration in human nature has been captured well and reflects the reality.

Different characters you find in Indian villages are portrayed well. There is the boaster (who is actually a coward), the lovable player (who gets action or seems to), the trustworthy sidekick, and our protagonist – the careless braveheart who is outwardly disagreeable, but has a heart of gold.

Acting-wise, this writer liked the understated Kishore (playing the jaded forest officer) slightly more convincing than the colourfully vivid, but a bit in-your-face Rishab Shetty (who plays Shiva, the protagonist). Kishore gets less screentime than Rishab, but leaves you more perplexed, like his famous frown from the film.

Achyuth Kumar as the initially dubious, but eventually evil villain is noteworthy. However, his revelation looks a tad sudden in the end, and less believable. Mansi Sudhir, who plays Kamla (Shiva’s mother), looks rather unconvincing. For, she looks visibly younger to Shiva (Rishab). Though the narrative tries to explain it away by mentioning that she married young. But, no matter how young she married, she can’t be younger to her son, can she?

Overall, in the active department per se, things are tight and in sync with the story.

Occasional comic elements provide relief. In fact, at times, Shetty treats even death with dark humor, giving a surreally Tarantino-esque feel. For instance, in the gun-and-sword fight scene in the climax, the villain’s sidekick shooting one of his own men, and the villain shooting the sidekick quite casually after that. This scene has a major technical flaw, by the way. No gun, least of all a country-made muzzle loading gun, can be fired without recoil, whereas we see the evil landlord fire it with one hand with zero recoil! But then, even greats like Satyajit Ray have left us a bit frustrated in gunfire scenes (remember Felu babu in climax of “Joi Baba Felunath”! Who fires a revolver without straightening the firing arm, and with no recoil! Scandalous!)

Background score and cinematography are brilliant. For instance, the fight scene towards the end, set in the blacksmith (lohar) workshop, is quite a treat to watch (remember the hero’s pupils dilating because of the weed), the buffalo-race scene is good too. The daiva-nartak dancing scenes take the cake though, especially at the end, wherein the nartak invites the forest officer to join in, symbolizing the truth that more than the belief (faith), it’s the virtuosity (dharma) that counts. For, why else an unbelieving forest officer is respected by the daiva-nartak.

What I wished the film had done well

The middle part of the film is rather a drag. The film takes just way too many frames to establish Shiva (Shetty) as the flawed and carefree village alpha with a kind heart. A bit of ruthless editing and easily the film would have been at least 15-20 minutes shorter and more importantly, far tighter.

The love story appears forcefully inserted. Though the heroine’s part does provide some justification, as a newly joined forest guard, and her dharma-sankat of digging her own village for government survey. Notwithstanding this attempt at redemption, the love scenes just get in the way of a good story.

For the above two points though, one can’t be too harsh on Mr. Shetty, for while making the film, he must have his primary audience in mind. He did not make it for pan India at the time. And, hence, the slugging middle part (that mostly does typical over-the-top, larger-than-life hero stuff) and the love story are understandable from financial aspects.

What is less understandable is why Shetty doesn’t try to capitalize the daiva part that gives him such a magical start. You never quite get back the ‘high’ you initially got when you were on the edge of your seat in the first twenty minutes. Throughout the middle part, the director mostly ignores exploring the ‘daiva’ aspect. So, the audience is kept waiting while the frames are filled by Shiva’s daily exploits or his love affair. On this aspect, while Shetty does deserve credit for picking up the fresh topic, he also needs to be reminded of what he didn’t do with the said topic, especially after such a magnificent start. Wrath of the regional deities is far more story-worthy than their benevolence. Any villager worth their salt will tell you that. So, why don’t we see Panjurli (the benevolent side of the village deity) and Guliga (the stricter, warrior-like fierce side) wreak havoc on the villain on some form or the other. Alternatively, why aren’t we told in more details as to how the punishment was meted out to the zamindar of the 1970s (the father of the 1990s’ villain). There were just way too many opportunities here that Shetty doesn’t explore.

Forest (including flora and fauna), villages, and village deities have a symbiotic relationship. Nature-native-deities – these three are like three legs of a parkbench. Even one leg goes out of shape, and the one sitting atop the bench (call it ecological balance) will fall down. Village deities exist because there is a village, which exists because there is a forest (flora and fauna), which, in turn are protected by the village deities, and so on the cycle runs…

This balance is shown going out the window as time passes by. In 1847 timeframe, the balance is very much there. In 1970, it has declined somewhat. In 1990, it has totally declined. Villagers themselves are disrespecting nature in the 1990 timeframe. And the forest officials (who also have their flaws) are resisted when they try to establish this balance. In one scene, the villagers behave like borderline Naxalites (The leftist reviewers should have rated the film high, just for this scene!).

One would have liked to see Shetty throw in a message for the villagers in the end, so that they can remember the perfect balance between native-nature-deity which their ancestors maintained. Unless you count forest officials joining in for the invocation event of the deity in the end, and stretch it to mean that the villagers will now work for restoration of this balance, this message is hard to find.

The leftists should be pleased by another thing. All characters of the film are flawed in some way. Flawed characters, grey areas, conflicts… all favorites with the left, aren’t they? Or, perhaps they are praiseworthy when the filmmaker is a known posterboy of the left.

Coming to the flawed characters, the protagonist, Shiva, is happy hunting indiscriminately in the jungle and felling trees (sometimes, just to get the forest officer out of the way). The forest officer is schooling the village folks, but his motive is to get even with Shiva. The villain has his sights on the villagers’ land, but is outwardly nice to the villagers, even to the point of righting minor wrongs (declaring Shiva as the winner of the buffalo race, after he is unfairly cheated out). The heroine has her heart with her village, but her head is with her duty; while this confuses the audience, some would say, this works well to provide the film layers and subtext. So, the internal struggle of the characters provide itba kind of realist outlook. In real life too, people are hardly out-and-out evil or rishi-like.

The inclusion of a Muslim character (the sole Muslim of the village) in uncannily commemorative of Sholay’s A K Hangal. However, the film checks secularism checkbox with it; something which should also have pleased the leftists.

Overall

If you have ever lived in an Indian village (that has a village deity and a forest), you should watch Kantara without delay for nostalgia. If you haven’t, then you must watch it, to get a feel of what the atmosphere is like. Despite minor areas of improvement, what Mr. Shetty has brought out on screen is a wonderful experience that is hard to describe in words. Especially the first twenty minutes of the film. For the middle overs, well, I will just say, good things come to those who wait. And wait you must… for the brilliant climax, which is only topped by the even more brilliant beginning.

A solid 7.5/10 to Kantara: an experience definitely worth… well… experiencing.

Exhibit I: On paganistic religiosity and regional deities

The review part is done. But, this writer has observed firsthand the paganistic religiosity and its perfect marriage to Sanskrit-based agamas (लोकाचार weds धर्माचार, if you will). And to quote Dr. Elst again, Hindu society is sensible enough to sync the two perfectly, letting the लोकाचार supersede wherever there is a conflict. Therefore, it is incumbent that a few points be made in this regard.

A. What is paganistic religiosity: Much before codified ways of worship were born, humans had this urge to celebrate the world around them. This religiosity was universal. That’s why all pagan cultures have the following in common (Referencing Ram Swarup from “Hindu View of Christiuanity and Islam”)

A.1 All pagan cultures revere nature. Hence, trees, mountains, rivers, birds, animals – all of them take form of a supernatural being, worth worshipping. Indeed, even the Vedas (which tilt toward codified religiosity) have suktas dedicated to many of these natural elements. Greeks, Mayans, Native Americans, African tribes, all cultures had deities rooted in nature.

A.2 All pagan cultures are perfectly fine with observing multiple worshipable beings or many gods. Abrahmic religions change this by imposing the concept of one true God.

A.3 All pagan cultures have some deities that take the female form. This is slaos a key difference between pagan cultures (worldwide) and Abrahmic religions.

B. लोकाचार weds धर्माचार

Based on these pointers, a key aspect of paganistic religiosity is uncodified, organically developed, natural ways of worshipping. Pagan approach may have codified rituals too, mind you. But you may or may not find them in Sanskrit based Agama shastras. They are more a part of local oral customs, the lived experiences of several generations. However, pagan approach is very welcoming in nature. So, today, when there is a local ritual in a regional deity’s temple, you may also find that it begins with a mangala-charan written in a Sanskrit text that was composed hundreds of miles away in the Sanskrit heartland.

This is what we mean when we say लोकाचार weds धर्माचार. And, it’s not that the wedding is one way. For, धर्माचार has inculcated pointers from लोकाचार as well. Shrikant Talageri in his talk “Are Tribals Hindus” opines that Hinduism, as we know it today, takes customs and rituals from every corner of the country. He ascribes the phenomenon of treating the murtis as living beings to various tribal cultures of India (practices such as ‘offering food to murtis’, ‘bathing and dressing the murtis’; dancing to them, offering prasadam, and then distribution of the prasadam by devotees)

Several regional deities won’t be found in Agama Shastras. But, these deities are not at all averse to Sanskrit based rituals making inroads into the local customs. For, that is how local practices meet codified structure. It’s a perfectly symbiotic relationship. And, this is what Talageri calls the bedrock of Hinduism. It does not convert others, rather, it assimilates the assimilable from others (since Islam and Christianity are inherently predatory, Hinduism suffered majorly because of them. Kind of like how a human body suffers when it assimilates a virus which has its own genetic code detrimental to the host.)

C. Regional Deities as patron gods: One of the most decorated regiments of the Indian army, the Kumaon regiment, has its patron goddess in the Mahakali of Gangolihaat (a small town in Kumaon). The regiment offers regular poojas to the goddess. Legend has it that one time the invocation of the goddess helped the regiment through a rainy day during turbulent times.

For the curious minds, they must google the war-cry of the Kumaon regiment.

D. Life of invokers (known as देव-डाँगरs in Uttarakhand): As shown in Kantara, the invokers (in the film, the daiva-nartaks) often have to live a life of purity. Paganistic religiosity had do’s and don’ts for the invokers. What they can eat (or not eat) during the invocation period. How they should sleep, bathe, conduct themselves, is all part of local customs. So, despite not necessarily being codified in agamas, there are rules. It’s just that the said rules vary from place to place, and are enshrined not in a book, but in the life and minds of the local population.

One cannot deny that degeneration has crept in, in the way as to how closely the invokers observe the purity parameters. In fact, this writer also has heard stories as to how one type of such invocation exercises (called जागर in the mountain) were used to settle personal scores. However, largely, people still treat this whole paraphernalia as sacred. Therefore, they protect the ecosystem around which these regional deities and customs exist. Often times, this ecosystem means local jungles, natural resources and wildlife.

So, the pagan practices literally help maintain the ecosystem, well… as long as the three cornerstones (nature-native-deity) are in sync. And, paganistic religiosity sort of ensures this synchronicity! Just like in the beginning and ending of the film.

Exhibit II: Images from geologist Dr. K S Valdiya's autobiography

The cover page of the book.

Dr. Valdiya narrates about the resistance to renovation of the village temple. (1/2)

When Dr. Valdiya was blessed by the invokers and the renovation went underway (2/2)

The regional deity blessed a non-ritualistic Hindu (loosely translated as nastik) for renovation of a temple. An example of 'bhava' superseding 'paddhati'?

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Shikhar Sumeru

Writer | Photo-artist | Unwittingly witty