In their constant search for engaging stories, films have often travelled back to the remote past for inspiration. It is no surprise then that the origin story of Indian cinema should lie in Dadasaheb Phalke’s 1913 silent film, Raja Harishchandra, based on the myth about the honesty, integrity and uprightness of the Hindu king who gave away himself, his family and kingdom for the sake of a promise made to saint Vishwamitra, that too in a dream.
Many mythologicals followed in its wake—R Nataraja Mudaliar’s Keechaka Vadham (1917) took off from the episode in the Mahabharat describing Bheem’s slaying of Keechaka for having misbehaved with Draupadi, Franz Osten’s The Throw of Dice (1929) was inspired from the gambling episode in the Mahabharat in which Yudhishthir faces an enormous loss, V Shantaram’s Ayodhyache Raja (1932) was yet another iteration of the legend of Harishchandra.
Homi Wadia’s Wadia Movietone and Basant Pictures were at the forefront of making mythologicals in the North. Meanwhile, in the South, N T Rama Rao acquired divine status by playing Krishna in several films in the 1950s and Venkateswara in Sri Venkateswara Mahatyam (1960). Yet he was radical enough to take the risk of becoming Ravana in Bhookailas (1958), a role he reprised in his directorial debut, Seeta Rama Kalyanam (1961). The versatile Sivaji Ganesan worked in several genres, including the mythological, his most popular outing being Shiva in Thiruvilayadal (1965).
Early movies took to Hindu mythology because these stories, passed on down generations, quite often orally, were easy fodder in the experiments with the new medium before filmmakers started embracing other original ideas—drawn from the real or imagined, socially and politically conscious or geared towards pure entertainment.
They were familiar fables that ensured mass patronage, dealt with universal human emotions, were replete in the navarasa and could also be lessons in morality, virtues and ideals. They were comforting assertions of the eventual victory of good over evil despite any trying interregnum. They also came with the wow factor—the grand scale, costumes, production design and special effects. They were perfect, colourful getaways from mundane reality than just celebrations of religiosity.
Since then, with technology getting more sophisticated and accessible, the grandeur has only increased manifold. But there is much more that has changed, grown and evolved over time when it comes to the line of thought and arguments that the mythologicals are engaging with now. Like popular culture at large, mythologicals have also come to reflect the spirit of the times and the mood of the nation.
The most recent mythological memories go back to Ramanand Sagar’s Hindi TV series Ramayan (1987-88). Watching it was a mandatory Sunday morning ritual across the country. B R Chopra and Ravi Chopra’s Mahabharat (1988-1990) followed in its successful footsteps. As did Devon Ke Dev… Mahadev (2011-2014) later.
But a significant landmark in channeling of devotional powers goes back to Vijay Sharma’s low-budget Jai Santoshi Maa (1975), despite being released alongside the mammoth Sholay, didn’t just become a money-churner but also started a new cult of the goddess who had been little known till then. Fasting on Fridays for Santoshi Mata became the practice in many Indian homes. But it was a faith that was quietly content, rather than engaging with or asserting itself over others.
Another interesting film from the time was Bajrangbali (1976), in which Dara Singh played a funny, Punjabi-accented, gluttonous Hanuman. While retelling the epic, it went inventive with the hasya rasa. It also paved the way for several animation films for children pivoted on the figures of Hanuman, Ganesh and Bheem.
An animation film for adults that should have been celebrated more is the late Arnab Chaudhuri’s reinterpretation of the legend of Arjuna, focusing on his journey from the efficient marksman to a formidable warrior in Arjun: The Warrior Prince (2012).
The new aggressive turn in the march of the mythologicals came in 2015, with S S Rajamouli’s larger than life spectacle Baahubali: The Beginning and its 2017 sequel Baahubali 2: The Conclusion. Inspired by the Mahabharat, Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama, it didn’t just scale up Eastern mythology to Hollywood levels but also successfully packaged and marketed it like a franchisee from the West. About a commoner with royal roots in the kingdom of Mahishmati, it promised to be our own answer to The Lord of the Rings. It created a new box office success called the pan-Indian film and the iconic image of Prabhas as Shivudu lifting a giant Shivling underscored the strength of the Hindu hero.
Along similar lines, the first of Ayan Mukerji’s Astraverse trilogy, Brahmastra Part I: Shiva (2022), about an orphan’s realisation of his power to control fire, played on Hindu iconography.
Chandoo Mondeti’s Telugu film Karthikeya 2 (2022), a follow-up to 2014’s Karthikeya, focused on a doctor discovering the power of Krishna and the ancient belief system.
In a similar mode, Akshay Kumar in Abhishek Sharma’s Ram Setu (2022) as the atheist archaeologist Aryan Kulshreshtha, the Indian Indiana Jones, moves away from logic, science and recorded history to embrace faith and celebrate Hindu mythology, culture and heritage. The prodigal returned. So, from being a chain of natural limestone shoals under the sea between Rameswaram island in India and Mannar island in Sri Lanka, by the end of the film Ram Setu becomes the bridge mentioned in Valmiki’s epic, which was built by Ram’s army to cross over and rescue Sita from Ravana.
Coming up next: a Ramayan trilogy by Nitesh Tiwari, Vicky Kaushal as Ashwatthama, Kangana Ranaut reinterpreting Sita and Nag Ashwin’s “epic-mythological-science fiction” Kalki 2898 AD.
Forget veracity and history, the fact is that the pronouncements of Hindu supremacy in contemporary mythologicals appear to have acquired a life of their own. The myths about how individuals, society and community came about and the legends about the perceived glory of the Hindu civilisation are like validations and endorsements of who we are in the present and the future Hindu Rashtra that we are marching towards. They have become facts in the post-truth world, flag bearers of a majoritarian religion, identity, customs, culture and pride. These are largely masculine, testosterone-driven narratives, led by men who are battle-ready, reflective of the combination of a hawkish patriotism and blatant religious fervour evident on the streets these days.
Ironically, some of these mythologicals have also managed to hurt majoritarian sentiments despite being tailored for them, as was evident in the case of Om Raut’s Adipurush (2022). Though based on the Ramayan, it found itself at the receiving end of fury for its alleged inaccurate portrayal of Hindu gods. Actor Saif Ali Khan was particularly targeted for his “Mughal era-inspired” getup of “the staunch Hindu Brahmin” Ravana.
In this kerfuffle, will a feminist interpretation of the Ramayan, like Nina Paley’s animation film Sita Sings the Blues (2008), find any backers, takers or platforms? It’s a rhetorical question given that it too invited wrath back in 2009. What we’re losing out on then is a distinct genre of cinema that has been about layered contemporary interpretations of mythology. Like Prakash Jha’s Mahabharat-inspired Rajneeti (2010), Yash Chopra’s Trishul (1978) and Shyam Benegal’s Kalyug (2005) that pivoted on a Karna-like hero, or Mani Ratnam’s Raavan (2010) about a bandit, a cop and his kidnapped wife.
Namrata Joshi
Consulting Editor
Follow her on X @Namrata_Joshi