One of Javed Akhtar’s favourite stories to tell is about fishing. Regardless of the venue — it could be an international seminar or one of those ‘naastik parishad’ meetings that he enjoys attending — he regales the audience with a carefully constructed bit about why fishing is considered a relaxing recreational activity while hunting is mostly outlawed across the world. The only reason for this, he declares in his punchline, is because fish don’t have vocal chords. They can’t shriek in agony when they’re pierced by a hook, scaled alive, and left to suffocate. Fishing has great PR, as do the folks behind the blockbuster film Chhaava, even though it incited a riot.
It is ironic, you’d agree, that at a time when the Central Board of Film Certification is taking active measures to prevent films from causing religious or political disharmony, a movie that actually encourages the right-wing is being celebrated as the industry’s saviour. It’s doubly ironic that former adversaries Kangana Ranaut and Diljit Dosanjh find themselves on the same side, having had their latest films be mauled by the CBFC under the pretence of protecting society from, I don’t know, bad vibes. You’ll get plenty of those in Chhaava, which isn’t so much a movie as it is a rallying cry for the wrong sort.
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Directed by Laxman Utekar and starring Vicky Kaushal, Chhaava has all the storytelling skill of a college theatre production, and the attitude of a Thar-driving goon for whom rules don’t apply. For a movie that uses its characters as mouthpieces to explain what’s going on — they’re prone to narrating each other’s backstories, providing historical context, and making grand pronouncements — it isn’t very easy to follow. In a nutshell, it traces the nearly decade-long conflict between the Maratha king Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj and the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb, played by Akshaye Khanna in a performance so muted that Ranveer Singh might spontaneously combust in disbelief.
Javed Akhtar’s fishing story also serves as a metaphor for perspective. “If you look at it from the fish’s point of view, it can’t be all that relaxing,” he says sarcastically. The definition of cruelty changes with context. Both Sambhaji and Aurangzeb deploy similar tactics in the film. But because one is viewed as a valorous hero and the other a tyrant, their actions register differently in the minds of the viewer. Aurangzeb is a villain for torturing Sambhaji in the film’s extended final act. He gouges his eyes out, pulls his nails, and literally rubs salt on his wounds. Sambhaji doesn’t wince; the scene continues for over half an hour. But when Sambhaji has his own adversaries trampled to death by elephants in the first half, Utekar averts his eyes.
Chhaava presents Aurangzeb as a mass-murdering maniac with a singular, almost unmotivated drive to defeat the Marathas — this may well be true, but it’s a one-dimensional depiction that robs the movie of any nuance. Similarly, Sambhaji is given an equally uncomplicated portrayal. He’s a noble soul, a warrior who protects an enemy’s baby during a bloody battle, and plunders a Mughal outpost only to send a message. But by having the men who betrayed him trampled to death, he’s choosing torture as well. We must remember that these were violent times; nobody was spared, especially on the battlefield. By presenting Sambhaji’s torture as something irregular even by medieval standards, however, the movie is manipulating the audience.
You’ve no doubt seen videos of audience members’ extreme reactions after watching Chhaava. Kaushal even amplified a few of them. Others influenced by Chhaava’s irresponsible messaging decided to express their frustration by peeing on street signs. Schools are taking busloads of kids to watch the movie; forget exposing them to problematic ideas, are parents not even concerned about the level of violence on display? It’s also a bit rich of self-proclaimed sufi AR Rahman to author a song about “bhagwe ki shaan” over visuals of mass murder. The lyrics, co-written by Irshaad Kamil, are replete with Hindu nationalist imagery; its purpose is to honour the protectors of Hindu pride, presumably from ‘invaders’ like Aurangzeb.
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These are carefully considered creative choices; these guys knew exactly what they’re doing. They’re stoking the flames of communal disharmony at a time when the country is already witnessing fissures in society. And as much as we admire his performances in Masaan and Sardar Udham and Raman Raghav 2.0, Kaushal has now been part of two films that have a clear agenda. We’re not even counting his uniformly terrible post-pandemic run, which warrants a cancellation on artistic grounds alone. For him to stay silent in the aftermath of Chhaava’s box office run is unacceptable. But more than that, it’s disappointing.
Earmarked as Bollywood’s next big thing — the rare star who could actually act — Kaushal is now doing movies like Govinda Naam Mera and Bad Newz; he’s doing Zara Hatke Zara Bachke and The Great Indian Family. But everyone does bad movies; not everyone, however, does Chhaava. It exists not only to make money, but to pander and propagate. The movie certainly sold a lot of tickets, but it has the intent of somebody that wants one.
Post Credits Scene is a column in which we dissect new releases every week, with particular focus on context, craft, and characters. Because there’s always something to fixate about once the dust has settled.
