In an age when mob violence has become routine, and rage and retribution have become increasingly seductive answers to injustice, ‘Prahaar’ reaffirms its faith in democracyConsider the question at the heart of Prahaar, one that seared itself into the national conscience in the aftermath of 26/11: Why must a man who had unleashed an unprovoked attack on innocents be afforded a trial at all?4 min readOct 30, 2026 07:10 PM IST First published on: Oct 30, 2026 at 07:10 PM ISTTowards the latter half of Avinash Arun’s Prahaar: The Untold Story of Ujjwal Nikam, Abbas Kazmi (Sikandar Kher), the Muslim lawyer defending Ajmal Kasab (Lalit Prabhakar), the lone surviving gunman of the 26/11 attacks, looks Ujjwal Nikam (Rajkummar Rao) in the eye and confronts him with the Islamophobia that underpins Nikam’s worldview and finds expression in the society around him. Kazmi speaks of the humiliation and hostility he faces, both from within his own community and from the larger world, for doing nothing more than defending Kasab in court. He is branded a “terrorist lawyer”, his professional duty reduced to a moral transgression because of whom he represents. In the eyes of the world, he might be committing a grave sin; in his own eyes, and in the eyes of the law, he is simply doing his job, no more, no less.It is here that Arun’s legal drama briefly slips the leash of hagiography, allowing a perspective to emerge that complicates the moral certainties of its protagonist. To watch Prahaar is to witness these competing truths collide, even as the film refuses them the time and space to fully reckon with each other. It does not quite have the courage to follow its contradictions to their logical ends, but neither is it callous enough to look away. This is what makes Prahaar such a complicated beast. A biopic celebrating its subject in 2026, a mainstream entertainer finding yet another villain in Pakistan, is hardly novel. If anything, it is the most expedient form of storytelling. But, in flashes, Prahaar sheds its skin to reveal something more incisive. It may have little interest in pursuing the answers, but at least, for a moment, it has the spine to ask the questions.AdvertisementAlso Read | In season of protests, on the costs of speaking out, consequences of silenceConsider the question at the heart of Prahaar, one that seared itself into the national conscience in the aftermath of 26/11: Why must a man who had unleashed an unprovoked attack on innocents be afforded a trial at all? Why should the law extend its protection to a man who had so flagrantly defied it? It is in this uneasy terrain that the film moves beyond the trappings of a nationalist entertainer, placing its bets in the sanctity of due process. It makes a case for the distinction between justice and vengeance, insisting that the rule of law must hold, even when public anger demands otherwise. The moral test of a trial lies not in establishing the innocence of the accused, but in upholding the principles of justice when doing so is most difficult.In that sense, the fact that Prahaar is a biopic of a public prosecutor who has long occupied the public imagination becomes almost incidental. Its subtext (screenplay by Sumit Roy) asks questions that feel more urgent today than they did nearly two decades ago. In an age when mob violence has become routine, and rage and retribution have become increasingly seductive answers to injustice, Prahaar reaffirms its faith in democracy. After all, the true test of a democracy lies not in how it treats those it loves, but in how it protects those it despises. And perhaps the true test of cinema in such times lies in how courageously it dares to ask the questions whose answers we may no longer be willing to hear.Arif is a Mumbai-based screenwriter and researcher© The Indian Express Pvt LtdAnas Arif is a prolific Entertainment Journalist and Cinematic Analyst at The Indian Express,... Read More# Islamophobia# Rajkumar Rao ShareWhatsapptwitterFacebook