It’s almost always damp in the forests of South Malabar, where Rahul Sadasivan’s Bramayugam takes place. Set in the late 17th century, when the Portuguese have begun enslaving locals, one can see beads of sweat on Thevan’s (Arjun Ashokan) forehead and torso in nearly every scene. The air feels heavy, warm and full of dread. After escaping slavery, Thevan and his friend Koran seek refuge in the forests. The wilderness alone would be a matter of concern here, but the supernatural resides in plain sight in a Rahul Sadasivan film (he made Bhoothakalam in 2022).
On the very first night, Koram is seduced (and it’s implied, killed) by a yakshini – a female spirit. Left to fend for himself in the forest and unable to cross the strong current of a river, a famished Thevan enters a severely dilapidated palace in the middle of the forest. Weeds encroach almost all parts of the palace, making it seem like it’s abandoned. When Thevan enters it in search of some food. He’s reprimanded by a man from a distance, when he picks up a coconut. The man (Sidharth Bharathan) is the cook, and one of the two occupants in the palace.
The other person inhabiting the palace is someone who comes from a lineage of sorcerers, Koduman Potti (Mammootty). When Thevan tells Koduman that he used to sing in the court of the king, he’s asked to sing. Impressed with his abilities as a singer, Koduman invites Thevan to be his guest for the evening. Taken aback by his abrupt kindness, Thevan can’t stop singing Koduman’s praises at first. But he soon finds out that anyone who enters the palace, never really leaves.
Still from Bramayugam. Photo: Screengrab from video
Bramayugam is an expansively constructed folk-horror parable about the severely-rigged status quo in our society. Where Brahmins control resources, knowledge, wealth and access to everything while spouting things like how ‘one can only attain this privilege with their karma (deeds)’. The rich appear to play ‘fair’ with those with fewer means.
Sadasivan visualises this through a creepy game of dice between Kodumon and Thevan. “It’s a game of luck,” Thevan tells Kodumon, who is visibly offended by the statement. So Kodumon invites Thevan to a game, saying if he wins he can leave the palace. But if he loses, he will forget about his mother and spend the rest of his days here. Terrified at the thought, Thevan politely declines the offer. But Kodumon tricks him into starting a game, which he eventually wins, sealing Thevan’s fate.
The world in Sadasivan’s primarily black-and-white film is impressively atmospheric and often teases that its commentary is more profound and novel than it is. Anyone who finds themselves at the top in the social hierarchy is corrupted by the power at their disposal. It’s impossible for the oppressed to make good on their promise, given the ploys of the rich and the powerful are enough to erase any hard-earned progress by lifting a finger. The benevolence of the privileged lasts only till they can utilise those from the oppressed classes: either for their labour, consume their art for entertainment purposes, or use their body as bait to amass even more riches.
Sadasivan’s film takes the scenic route to the social justice horror it wants to be, with the pace picking up in the film’s second hour. Mammootty, whose career seems to have got an adrenaline hit in the last year, is in fine form as the devious, paan-chewing upper-caste sorcerer with stained teeth, making promises he doesn’t intend to keep. Arjun Ashokan and Siddharth Bharathan are both sincere as the prisoners of this palace, with limitless grain at their disposal, but having to put up with indignity – something that could cause anyone to lose their mind.
Sadasivan’s film even touches upon it in a later portion of the film, when Thevan tells the cook he’s been at the palace for a few days. “Are you sure?” the cook asks Thevan, and only then does the viewer begin to notice how Thevan’s body has changed since he set foot in the palace. He also can’t remember his name anymore. It’s a chilling reminder for how many people living a subjugated existence often erase their identities and preferences in their own head. The karma drilled into them is obedience, which is then passed from one generation to the next, helping maintain the social order.
Bramayugam becomes significantly more literal towards the end, when a character tells another about how the ‘power’ bestowed on the Potti family is actually a ‘curse’ and discourages them from staking claim to it. The climax is thrilling to watch, but doesn’t leave us with a particularly profound observation of its own. Except, when it mentions Bramayugam translates to the ‘age of madness’ – when there’s no such thing as God (or truth) anymore. There’s no space for decency, and only the greedy and twisted will survive this. Look around, sound familiar?
