Bollywood

RAMAYANA PART ONE: EPIC RETELLING

by Arnab Banerjee November 8 2026, 12:00 am Estimated Reading Time: 12 mins, 10 secs

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An epic retelling on a canvas of unprecedented ambition by Arnab Banerjee: Nitesh Tiwari’s ambitious adaptation brings scale, spectacle and emotional complexity to one of India’s most enduring stories for contemporary audiences worldwide across generations.

Directed by: Nitesh Tiwari

Screenplay by: Shridhar Raghavan and Nitesh Tiwari

Dialogues by: Shreyas Jain and Nitesh Tiwari

Based on: The Ramayana by Valmiki

Produced by: Namit Malhotra

Starring: Ranbir Kapoor, Yash, Sai Pallavi, Ravi Dubey and Sunny Deol  

Cinematography: Pankaj Kumar and Mahesh Limaye  

Music: Hans Zimmer and A. R. Rahman

Duration: 195 minutes (India); 208 minutes (overseas)

Why should our most celebrated and enduring epic require the glitz, glamour and grand spectacle of cinema to make itself accessible to the young, as indeed to the vast multitude of Indians? There are, perhaps, no easy answers to this question, particularly in the wake of the arrival on screen of what is reportedly a ₹4,000-crore (both parts) cinematic undertaking encompassing both instalments.  

Directed by Nitesh Tiwari, who has co-written the screenplay with Shridhar Raghavan, Ramayana, the first instalment of a proposed two-part saga, aspires to be considerably more than a conventional cinematic experience. Its visual extravagance, underpinned by elaborate visual effects and an imposing production design, invites comparison with some of Hollywood's most ambitious and prohibitively expensive productions.

One may well question whether the timeless story of our civilisation needed to be retold on such an extravagant scale. After all, the Ramayana has survived centuries not because of its spectacle, but because of the extraordinary moral, philosophical and emotional truths it embodies. Yet it is precisely this universality that makes it a story of enduring relevance, one that should interest anyone and everyone, irrespective of age, geography or cultural inheritance. According to Tiwari, while children in India are broadly familiar with the outline of the Ramayana, many have not necessarily engaged with its narrative, characters and deeper philosophical underpinnings in any considerable depth. The intention, therefore, was to provide the epic with a canvas commensurate with its magnitude and to make its many layers accessible to a new generation.

Perhaps, then, such an ambitious cinematic undertaking was indeed necessary, given the profound reverence with which millions of Indians regard this epic and the place it occupies in our civilisational consciousness. Equally compelling is the imperative to take this story to audiences beyond our shores, presenting an India that cannot be adequately understood through the narrow prisms of tradition, convention and familiar cultural stereotypes. The Ramayana offers an opportunity not merely to retell an ancient tale, but to acquaint the world with the extraordinary richness of India's mythology, philosophical imagination, spiritual inheritance and cultural sensibilities. It is, in that sense, as much an exercise in cinematic storytelling as it is an assertion of cultural identity.

Bringing the Epic to a New Generation

Tiwari's Ramayana is unapologetically grandiose, aspiring to a scale that dwarfs virtually every cinematic interpretation of the epic that has preceded it. The ensemble takes a little time to find its collective rhythm, but once the narrative gathers momentum, the film develops into an absorbing spectacle. The musical collaboration between Hans Zimmer and A. R. Rahman operates at full orchestral throttle, lending the proceedings an appropriately monumental sweep. Sorcery, adventure, high-octane confrontations and visual enchantment provide ample compensation for occasional narrative flatness, ensuring that younger audiences, in particular, are unlikely to find themselves short-changed. Even less demanding adult viewers should find enough to engage their attention.

The narrative chronicles the early life and trials of Prince Rama, the righteous heir apparent to the kingdom of Ayodhya. Under the tutelage of the venerable sage Vishvamitra, Rama establishes his martial prowess and spiritual virtue by vanquishing the malevolent Rakshasi Tataka. His journey subsequently takes him to Mithila, where he succeeds in stringing Pinaka, the divine bow of Lord Shiva, during the royal swayamvara, thereby winning the hand of Princess Sita in marriage. The promise of a rightful succession, however, is disrupted by dynastic intrigue when his stepmother, Queen Kaikeyi, invokes the boons promised to her by King Dasharatha, demanding Rama's disinheritance and fourteen years of exile. Bound by an unwavering commitment to filial duty and dharma, Rama relinquishes his claim to the throne and departs for the wilderness of Dandaka, accompanied by his devoted wife, Sita, and his steadfast younger brother, Lakshmana.

Their austere existence in the forest is eventually shattered when Ravana, the formidable Rakshasa sovereign of Lanka, orchestrates Sita's abduction through the deceptive stratagem of the golden deer, Maricha. The first instalment culminates in this devastating separation, setting Rama and Lakshmana upon an arduous quest to locate the abducted princess and preparing the ground for the epic confrontation between the forces of dharma and adharma.

A More Complex Ravana

Interestingly, the narrative does not begin with Rama, but with Ravana. Marginalised within Lanka's established hierarchy, he rebels against the prevailing order, undertakes an arduous penance to secure divine boons from Brahma and ultimately wrests control of the kingdom for himself. This narrative choice is significant, for it allows the film to establish its antagonist as something considerably more complex than an embodiment of unmitigated evil.

Ravana, portrayed by Yash, emerges as a formidable amalgam of contradictions: a ferocious warrior, a man of considerable aesthetic sensibility and, rather unexpectedly, an advocate of a peculiar brand of egalitarianism. He insists that his subjects be adorned in the same gold that embellishes his own person. A kinsman who dares to transgress against a woman is summarily put to death. This formidable practitioner of the dark arts, it would appear, subscribes to a moral code of his own, however deeply flawed its foundations may be. His sense of justice, personal honour and authority lends him an unsettling complexity. Little wonder, then, that Rama, notwithstanding his divine incarnation as Vishnu, is confronted with an adversary of considerable consequence. It is a confrontation that promises to acquire even greater dramatic resonance in the second instalment.

To distil an epic of such immeasurable proportions, one whose civilisational, cultural and religious resonances have informed and shaped Indian society, its collective consciousness and even its political imagination across millennia, was never going to be a straightforward undertaking. The filmmakers, however, deserve credit for negotiating this formidable challenge without allowing the sheer magnitude of their source material to overwhelm the storytelling. There is, certainly, considerable spectacle on a scale hitherto largely unseen in Indian cinema; but there is also an unmistakably indigenous sensibility at work, an old-fashioned admixture of melodrama, sentiment, emotional fervour and moral conviction. Far from being an impediment, this distinctly desi idiom lends the film much of its character and, indeed, its appeal.

For all its technological wizardry and global cinematic aspirations, Ramayana ultimately recognises that an epic of this provenance must speak not merely through spectacle, but through emotion, memory and faith. The challenge of bringing divine and mythological figures to life is, in itself, an intriguing one. Nobody can claim with absolute certainty to know what these gods and legendary figures actually looked like. Their cinematic representation must therefore emerge from an imaginative understanding of their inner lives, their moral stature, their defining virtues and the strength of character attributed to them through centuries of storytelling. If one accepts the enduring spiritual and cultural truth of the mythology, then the actors must, at the very least, evoke the qualities that have made these figures so deeply revered.

In that respect, the casting choices are central to the film's overall conception. Ranbir Kapoor, with his composed bearing and restrained physicality, fits the popular imagination of Maryada Purushottam Rama, the embodiment of righteousness, restraint and moral rectitude. Yet there are occasions when his performance appears a little too self-conscious, as though he is acutely aware of the immense responsibility attached to portraying a figure of such unparalleled stature.

Kapoor’s delivery is measured, his expressions carefully calibrated and his restraint almost deliberate. Perhaps in an effort to avoid making the character excessively theatrical, Kapoor holds back considerably. There are moments when one wishes he would allow a little more of Rama's innate authority and unshakeable conviction to surface, particularly in his interactions with his family and those closest to him. A crisper, more assertive delivery, occasionally unencumbered by the fear of appearing too filmi, might have lent the character an even greater sense of command. Nevertheless, his subdued approach has its own logic, given the dignity and self-restraint that define Rama's persona.

Sai Pallavi, as Sita, is a particularly interesting choice. Her gentle, almost ethereal appearance lends itself naturally to the familiar image of the princess, but there is considerably more to her portrayal than docility or conventional feminine grace. She brings to the character an admirable combination of resilience, determination and physical strength. Her agility in combat, her swordsmanship and her ability to confront danger without sacrificing her essential composure lend Sita an unexpectedly dynamic dimension. She is neither merely a figure to be protected nor a passive participant in the unfolding drama. Instead, she negotiates the many vicissitudes of her life with considerable elan, inner fortitude and an impressive capacity for endurance. Pallavi's performance is a reminder that gentleness and strength need not be mutually exclusive.

Ravi Dubey, as Lakshmana, brings a welcome human warmth to the proceedings. His portrayal has an immediacy that makes the character particularly accessible, and his occasional one-liners introduce a touch of humour into what is otherwise an emotionally charged narrative. He provides an effective counterpoint to Rama's measured solemnity, bringing a more spontaneous and relatable quality to their relationship.

The brotherly equation between the two is an important emotional anchor, and Dubey contributes considerably to its appeal.

Yash, meanwhile, makes an imposing Ravana. His presence is commanding, his demeanour sufficiently menacing, and his performance possesses the sort of magnetic intensity that audiences have every reason to expect from him. What is particularly commendable is that he does not resort to excessive theatricality or allow the character to descend into caricature. There is an unmistakable sense of danger about him, but also an intriguing awareness of his own power and stature. He appears to understand that Ravana's menace lies as much in his intelligence, conviction and authority as in his physical might.

Yash ensures that his presence is felt not merely by those sharing the screen with him, but also by audiences waiting for the fireworks that his character inevitably promises.

The supporting cast, too, deserves considerable acknowledgement. Lara Dutta as Kaikeyi, Rakul Preet Singh as Suparnakha, Vivek Oberoi as Vidyutjihva, Kunal Kapoor as Indra, Suhail Nayyar as Sugriva and Sheeba Chaddha as Manthara, along with Shishir Sharma as Vasishtha, Ajinkya Deo as Vishvamitra and Mukesh Tiwari as Agastya, are all eminently competent. What distinguishes these performances, beyond the obvious contribution of the principal actors, is the ability of each artiste to bring a certain individuality and conviction to characters who, despite their varying degrees of narrative importance, are integral to the epic's larger tapestry. None appears content merely to occupy screen space or serve as a convenient narrative prop. None is ever over the top, as one is so used to seeing, but each brings a distinct temperament, bearing and emotional register to the role, thereby enriching the film's ensemble dynamics. It is this collective attention to characterisation, rather than an exclusive dependence on its leading stars, that lends the narrative much of its texture and credibility. In a production of such formidable scale, where the temptation to allow spectacle to overwhelm character must be considerable, this is no small achievement.

We shall, of course, have to wait for the second instalment to discover whether the principal actors further deepen and evolve their respective interpretations as the narrative moves towards its climactic confrontation. The foundations have been laid, and there is considerable scope for the characters to acquire even greater emotional and dramatic complexity.

Performances That Give the Epic Life

The musical collaboration between A. R. Rahman and Hans Zimmer is another major asset. Their combined sensibilities bring together two distinct musical traditions, promising a soundscape that is at once rooted in Indian melodic imagination and expansive in its orchestral ambitions. The score lends the narrative considerable scale, accentuating its moments of grandeur, conflict and emotional intensity. It would not be surprising if this collaboration were to influence the musical vocabulary of large-scale Indian productions in the years ahead, particularly if the film achieves the commercial success its makers clearly envisage.

Indian Cinema on a Global Canvas

And that brings us to the larger question of whether Indian cinema can now confidently occupy the same cinematic space as the international blockbusters that have long commanded global attention. For audiences accustomed to Hollywood productions celebrated for their technical finesse, production values, visual effects, elaborate action sequences and sheer razzmatazz, Ramayana should indeed come as a rather pleasant surprise. It demonstrates that Indian cinema is capable of mounting an enterprise of comparable ambition, without necessarily surrendering the cultural idiom and emotional vocabulary that distinguish it from its international counterparts.

Its strength lies in its many-splendoured dimensions: the scale of its visual imagination, the ambition of its storytelling, the musical sweep, the elaborate action and, perhaps most importantly, its willingness to embrace certain unconventional interpretations of familiar mythological figures. Not every creative decision will find universal approval, nor should one expect an undertaking of this magnitude to be beyond criticism. The occasional narrative slackness and the unevenness in certain performances notwithstanding, the film makes a persuasive case for the possibilities of Indian epic cinema.

The Enduring Power of the Ramayana

Ultimately, the real achievement of Ramayana will not be measured merely by the enormity of its budget, the sophistication of its visual effects or the international attention it attracts. It will depend on whether it succeeds in rekindling an engagement with a story that has always belonged to the people, transcending generations, languages and geographical boundaries. An epic does not endure simply because it is repeatedly retold; it endures because each generation discovers something of itself in its characters, conflicts and moral dilemmas.

Tiwari's ambitious undertaking seeks to accomplish precisely that. Whether it will emerge as the defining cinematic interpretation of the Ramayana remains to be seen. For now, it has certainly established the scale of its ambition and set the stage for a sequel that carries the burden of considerable expectation. One hopes the film finds the audience it deserves, not merely because it represents an extraordinary investment in Indian cinema, but because a story of such profound cultural and universal resonance deserves to be told, experienced and debated by audiences across the world.