The Kāntārā wildfire that took place this year was a curious experience.

Most people had not heard about the film, or seen much marketing on it before the release – it wasn’t hyped up so much beforehand as many Southern Indian mass films are, nowadays.

However, the word-of-mouth popularity that instantly started spreading made the film a household name within two weeks of the worldwide theater release on September 30.

By October 14, there was much ado about the film in news headlines and on social media. I don’t usually watch films in theaters, but I bought myself a ticket on October 15 and drove to the nearest theater to watch it on the big screen. I invited a friend, but he wasn’t available on such short notice; so I watched the film with only myself for company. The 3 hours that followed were completely unexpected.

Honestly, the last film that I remember feeling that way about, was The Matrix. One had to watch it multiple times to understand the layers of brilliance. However, The Matrix is not a film that has an Indic lens. Being a sci-fi film made by foreigners, it doesn’t have a semblance of scope to capture the essence of Daivam from the native sense.

That is precisely where Kāntārā has blown most others out of the water. It’s what Westerners would term an “indigenous” take on the universe, and one doesn’t need to be from coastal Karnataka either to relate to the native themes and lifestyle presented.

Bhāratīyas, anywhere and everywhere in the world, have expressed their appreciation for the film. They’ve expressed their own individual and regional ways of relating to Kāntārā, no matter the part of Bhārata that they hail from.

The fact that Rishabh Shetty was both the main batter and the captain – has recalibrated almost everyone’s evaluation of the current-day crop of directors and actors. There’s been a new standard set in the cinematic industry.

There are several scenes and script portions in the film that floored me upon the first watch. There were two scenes that stuck out the most to me. These two scenes alerted me to the fact that not only is Rishabh Shetty a talented son of the soil, but also a blessed down-to-earth man who has grown up in Tulu Nādu and toiled hard to reach where he is and make the film that he has. Shetty has deftly and subtly alluded to portions of our shāshtras and core tradition in the film.
In the two scenes I explore in this article, the scriptwriting shines in subtle ways that perhaps only scholars and pundits, who study and practice shāshtra day in and day out, might hone in on. There is an erudition that pairs with the underlying rustic feel.

Without further ado, let me bring these two scenes to light. In my mind, I call them The Veerabhadra scene, and The Ādi Parāshakti scene. We can then explore if there is an underlying theme – a parallel between the two scenes, and the socio-political commentary.

The Veerabhadra Scene

There is a portion from Shrimad Bhāgavatam to which I feel Shetty’s script alludes:

मैत्रेय उवाच
भवो भवान्या निधनं प्रजापतेरसत्कृताया अवगम्य नारदात् ।
स्वपार्षदसैन्यं च तदध्वरर्भुभिर्विद्रावितं क्रोधमपारमादधे ॥ १ ॥

क्रुद्ध: सुदष्टौष्ठपुट: स धूर्जटिर्जटां तडिद्वह्निसटोग्ररोचिषम् ।
उत्कृत्य रुद्र: सहसोत्थितो हसन् गम्भीरनादो विससर्ज तां भुवि ॥ २ ॥

ततोऽतिकायस्तनुवा स्पृशन्दिवं सहस्रबाहुर्घनरुक् त्रिसूर्यद‍ृक् ।
करालदंष्ट्रो ज्वलदग्निमूर्धज: कपालमाली विविधोद्यतायुध: ॥ ३ ॥

तं किं करोमीति गृणन्तमाह बद्धाञ्जलिं भगवान् भूतनाथ: ।
दक्षं सयज्ञं जहि मद्भटानां त्वमग्रणी रुद्र भटांशको मे ॥ ४ ॥

आज्ञप्त एवं कुपितेन मन्युना स देवदेवं परिचक्रमे विभुम् ।
मेने तदाSSत्मानमसङ्गरंहसा महीयसां तात सह: सहिष्णुम् ॥ ५ ॥

अन्वीयमान: स तु रुद्रपार्षदैर्भृशं नदद्भिर्व्यनदत्सुभैरवम् ।
उद्यम्य शूलं जगदन्तकान्तकं स प्राद्रवद् घोषणभूषणाङ्‌घ्रि: ॥ ६ ॥

(Shrimad Bhāgavatam 4.5.1 – 4.5.6)

Maitreya (Rishi) continued:

Lord Shiva’s fury knew no bounds when He learnt from Nārada that Sati had immolated herself on being slighted by Daksha and that the host of His own attendants had been driven away by Rbhus, who had appeared from Daksha’s sacrifice. (1)

Sharply biting his lips in rage, Lord Shiva pulled up on of his clotted, matted locks, which shone brightly like a flash of lightning or as a flame of fire and, springing on His feet all at once, laughed with a deep roar and dashed the lock against the ground. (2)

From that lock sprang a colossal being (Veerabhadra by name) whose figure touched the skies, who was possessed of a thousand arms and, dark like a cloud, had three eyes bright as the sun, fierce teeth and matted hair shining like flaming fire, wore a garland of skulls and was armed with various uplifted weapons. (3)

When he prayed with joined palms, “(Command me) what to do!” Lord Shiva said, “You being My part manifestations, O valiant Rudra, lead My warriors and dispose of Daksha and his yagna.” (4)

Enjoined thus by the wrathful Rudra, he went round the all-pervading Lord, the adored of the gods. At that time he thought himself, by virtue of his irresistible force, as capable of braving the might of the most powerful, O dear Vidura. (5)

He thundered most terribly and, lifting his trident, which was capable of destroying even Death, ran (towards Daksha’s abode), followed by the attendants of Sri Rudra – who were all roaring violently – the anklets about his ankles making a jingling sounds (even as he trod on the Earth). (6)

(Translation taken from Shrimad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāna – Gita Press, Gorakhpur)

This episode has also been narrated in Shiva Purāna; but for the purpose of this piece, I’m limiting the conversation to the above.

There is a scene towards the climax of Kāntārā when Shiva is reclining in a heightened mental state, mindfully aware, in Mahādev Āchāri anna’s workshop. Shiva doesn’t realize that the men he sees approaching from the road intend to finish him off. It is only after a few strands of his hair are sliced off by his attackers, that Shiva snaps into action.

The camera shot, by the way, captures this happening in slow-motion: several strands fall from Shiva’s head into Mahādev anna’s furnace and burn to ashes. Once that lock of hair is severed, we see Shiva spring into action, in a completely different rupam, wreaking havoc on the henchmen of his cousin Guruva’s murderer  – like Veerabhadra, the raudra amsha of Lord Shiva Himself.

The scripting is subtle and brilliant with this scriptural reference; however, I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all.

Moreover, after this point in the film, Shiva knows that the language of force, the language of power, is the only one that his aggressors understand. He doesn’t hide behind the silly pretense of non-violence here.

• Shiva recognizes that the aggressors are no longer part of “us” for him and his people – the aggressors have clearly become “them”. They are no longer positively associated with his land, his family, or himself. Shiva has clarity of what constitutes self, svayam-bodha, and what constitutes enemy, shatru-bodha.
• The landlord and his henchmen are outsiders who threaten his very existence; thus they must be dealt with appropriately, with the right type of Shakti. Words or legal petitions at this juncture are useless.

The Kshetrapāla Guliga begins to awaken in Shiva here. Guliga later expresses completely in the climax, using Shiva’s body as a medium. The Kshetrapāla Daivam is not a coincidence either. That Kshetrapāla, in its various Grāma Daiva forms across Bhārata, is the one who protects the boundaries of each land/people/existence.

Civil wars happen between different groups belonging to one land. Civilizational battles are a different matter altogether: they happen between outsiders of a land, and those native to the land. All wars and battles must be fought by harnessing the right type of Shakti. A community under siege, which refuses to fight back on the grounds of fearing loss of life, is a doomed community.
Loss of life is already the ground reality, as in the narration of Sati dahanam too.

Soft power only comes from hard power.

The Ādi Parāshakti Scene

At the outset of the final fight, one of the villain’s henchmen throws a flaming torch on the thatched roof of a cowshed in Shiva’s village, setting the entire structure ablaze. In a raging response, Leela, played by Sapthami Gowda, hurls a spear at the villain.

The spear landing here was similar to Neeraj Chopra’s javelin just reaching its mark – the villain landlord had to jump back a few feet to ensure he didn’t kick the bucket right there. The raw anger pulsing through Leela’s face is reminiscent of the pure, unbridled, and seething anger of that Mother whose children are being attacked.
I’ve only seen such picturizations in old black-and-white, regional language films, depicting bhakti themes and paurānic stories. To see this remade in Kāntārā with a modern lens was a punch in the gut. It stayed on my mind long after I left the theater.

It also reminded me of the Sanskrit words, mentioned in  Devī Māhātmyam, for spear-like weapons:

• तोमर (tomara)
• शूल (śūla)
• कुन्त (kunta)
• पट्टिश (paṭṭiśa)

Even त्रिशूल (triśūla) and शक्ति (śakti – a specific astra / missile / projectile) could be considered. The Devī Māhātmyam has mentions of a wider variety of weapons:

• भुशुण्डी (bhuśuṇḍī), a chemical explosive or “firearm”
• चर्म (carma) and खेटक (kheṭaka), both words for a shield
• कुलिश (kuliśa) and वज्र (vajra), types of thunderbolts

वज्र-दन्त-धर, रक्षा कवचम्  – familiar lyrics?

• खड्ग (khaḍga) andअसि (asi), both meaning sword
• गदा (gadā), a mace
• परिघ (parigha), a cudgel or bludgeon with iron, an iron club
• चक्र (cakra)
• चाप (cāpa), कार्मुक (kārmuka) – a bow. धनुष (dhanuṣa), पिनाक (pināka), and शार्ङ्ग (śārṅga) are names of specific celestial bows.
• बाण (bāṇa) and इषु (iṣu) – arrow

The list goes on: पाश (pāśa), अङ्कुश (aṅkuśa), हल (hala), लाङ्गल (lāṅgala), परशु (paraśu), मुसल (musala), दण्ड (daṇḍa), भिन्दिपाल (bhindipāla) …

Why are there so many weapons specifically and particularly articulated in Devī Māhātmyam?

Soft power only comes from hard power.

Shakti.

The Takeaway

Rishabh Shetty has artfully embedded these aspects too, into Kāntārā.

It’s not another tasteless village drama. It brilliantly captures how our native, ancestral, and regional practices and traditions are all enlivened expressions of the core essence that is elucidated in our shāshtras.

Kāntārā as a film infuses:

(1) Bhakti from microscopic hamlets/regional lifestyles of Bhārata, expressed through art/performing art/martial art forms of Daiva Aradhana,

(2) with the dharma of the macroscopic tradition, that which is expounded in our shāshtra too.

Kāntārā captures the rustic, natural harmony as well as shāstrik precision of our lands – and the fact that these two are not opposed. They are in fact complementary and go hand in hand.

Each of us sees and reveres this at the level of our Grāma and Kula Daivam, no matter where we’re from in Bhārata.

Moreover, at the end of the day: whether one registers these specific allusions to shāshtra or not while viewing the film, the theme conveyed is the same – Shakti is the ultimate language of force and power. Shakti is capability, a specific art to be utilized when the situation calls for it. Shakti is beyond male and female, it is primeval yet sophisticated at the same time.

It is integral to our very existence, and it must be revered and embraced if we are to survive and continue as a civilization grounded in dharma.

Looking Ahead

November 2022 saw some interesting turbulence for the Kāntārā team, and therefore the fan base as well. An established entity with supposed communist ties took the Kāntārā team to court over the title track, Varāha Roopam. Though initially, the court dealing led to the suspension of the song from the film, the final judgment restored the song to the film by ruling against the allegations of plagiarism on team Kāntārā.

In a sense, to me, it also re-established the success of both the individual (Rishabh Shetty) and his entire team – a group with a strong Hindu, native Indic identity. It was difficult to find such avenues of success for either the individual or the group, with such an identity earlier. This, therefore, became a defining moment indicating the changing times.

At a much broader level, I feel that Bhārata as a civilization state is just now awakening to its own identity issues. A film like Kāntārā, or even The Kashmir Files for that matter, would not have had the success, nor impact which they did; ten to twenty years ago.
2022 has shown us some defining moments in this sense. More and more Indic minds are understanding that the present is a continuation of the past and the future, a continuation of the present.

If we Bharatiyas want a future that is more open to our cultural heritage and traditions we need to understand the past, have a clear diagnosis for the present, and have a realistic yet positive prognosis for the future tied to both.

I look forward to more from the likes of Rishabh Shetty and his team: Kāntārā 2 and similar works, across various platforms, not just commercial film media. Such artistic endeavours are manifestations of the shakti that’s been realized within our collective consciousness, and a call for even more to be harnessed and utilized.