'Maharaj': When A Rich Historical Case Meets A Mediocre Film

Around the halfway mark, drenched in a downpour, Karsan reaches JJ’s temple to rain on his parade. A wide staircase separates the two, making JJ tower over him. It’s a rare nice scene, where delicious dialogues drive the war of words. “Ishwar paap dhota hai, bota nahin hai, JJ [God cleanses, not creates, sins],” thunders Karsan. This confrontation doubles up as a metaphorical tussle—between power and powerless, divinity and rationality, prayer and protest—which is still relevant in Indian democracy. Because just like a politician betrays a voter, here, a priest has betrayed a follower.

Karsan looks like many young voters itching to rail their grievances, and he does so through a method alien to the dictatorial leader: dissent. “Whether someone says anything or not, I will,” he adds. “I’ll both raise questions and publish articles on you.” The ice-cold JJ opens his eyes—almost about to smile—and says, “Aj ka lekh kal ka raddi hota hai, Karsan Das. Sanatan sirf dharma hota hai [today’s papers are tomorrow’s scrap. Only religion is eternal].” Karsan retorts, hammering a crucial difference: “Now I’ll fight—not against dharma but against its gatekeepers.” Many people in Ayodhya had told me something similar last month when, after the BJP’s electoral defeat in their constituency, they had to ‘prove’ their Hinduism: “It’s believed that if we vote for the BJP only then we’re considered Hindus. So the people of Ayodhya want to say something to the BJP: we don’t want your certificate.”

If the Ayodhya story can be interpreted as how Hindutva consumes itself, then Maharaj’s censorship controversy echoed the same theme. A few weeks before its release, the Bajrang Dal accused the movie’s producer, Yash Raj Films, of “vilifying Hinduism”, “disrespecting Lord Krishna”, and “offending the feelings of Hindus”. But, quite ironically, the film’s literary source material, the Gujarati novel Maharaj, was written by a Hindutva ideologue, Saurabh Shah.

When JJ finds out that Karsan has published the article, he closes the temple’s gates, forcing him to apologise. Since many devotees break their fast only after their morning prayers, JJ’s power move fulfils two distinct ends: instigating his followers to attack JJ and telling them, indirectly, who the real God is. Karsan, however, brings the idol’s photo outside the temple and urges them to pray to it. “He himself has taught us, right?” Karsan asks. “That God is everywhere. Then isn’t this also Shri-ji? Why can’t we just pray to Him and break our fast?” This reduction of God to a person or a party also finds resonance in today’s times. Consider the recent Parliamentary session, where Rahul Gandhi, pointing towards the treasury bench, said, “Those who call themselves Hindus [indulge in three main things] 24 hours: hinsa, hinsa, hinsa. Nafrat, nafrat, nafrat. Asatya, asatya, asatya [violence, hatred, and falsehood].” Prime Minister Narendra Modi said, “Calling the entire Hindu society ‘violent’ is a serious issue.” To which Gandhi replied, “Narendra Modi is not the whole Hindu society. The BJP is not the whole Hindu society. The RSS is not the whole Hindu society.”

In Maharaj’s climax, when JJ’s attorney accuses Karsan of exacting revenge through the lawsuit, he contextualises his motive through an argument that, just like the above two scenes, says as much about the past as the present. “My respect towards my religion is more than ever. But I’m angry at those who use its ideals and purity for their own benefit.” A case as old as 1862 speaks to us, in 2024, not like a muffled long-distance call but a piercing scream. To paraphrase JJ, then, the only sanatani thing in this world is not faith but its disturbing distortion.