Kantara: Chapter 1 does not just open as a film; it unfolds like a sacred verse from the living scriptures of our soil. The first frame itself immerses the viewer into a world where forest, faith, and folklore are inseparably woven. What strikes the heart most is the authenticity - this is not cinema trying to imitate divinity, this is divinity expressing itself through cinema.

The story begins with an elemental force - the bond between man and deity, between land and lineage. It speaks of a kingdom where power and prosperity are safeguarded not by armies or empires but by the grace of the Daiva, the guardian spirit of the forest. In those haunting beats of the daiva kola, in the fire-lit faces of the devotees, we feel the continuity of a tradition thousands of years old, carried faithfully into the present.

Every moment in this opening chapter is soaked in shraddha (faith) and rasa (emotion). The camera lingers on the soil, the trees, the rituals reminding us that Dharma is not abstract philosophy, but lived practice. The king's surrender of his kingdom to the Daiva is a reminder that true rulers in Bharata always recognized a power higher than themselves. This humility, this offering, is what kept the land blessed.

The film also subtly awakens in us a painful reflection - what happens when this sacred bond is forgotten? The tension is already palpable, like storm clouds gathering. The Daiva is benevolent, but also fierce when Dharma is betrayed.

Visually, the first chapter is breathtaking. The forest feels alive, almost sentient, as though every rustling leaf is a witness to the pact between man and divine. The music is not background; it is prana (life force), carrying the voice of the ancestors, the echo of conches, the roar of the soil itself.

The cast of Kantara: Chapter 1 breathes life into the sacred soil of the story with rare intensity. Each performance feels less like acting and more like a surrender to the spirit of the land. The lead embodies both vulnerability and ferocity, carrying the weight of tradition in every glance and gesture. Rishab Shetty, as Berme (or the Naga-Sadhu / Kaadubettu figure), carries the burden of past and destiny with a magnetic presence, shifting from calm interiority to fierce transcendence. Rukmini Vasanth, as Kanakavathi, brings a soft strength - her emotional vulnerability grounding the cosmic drama, making her choices feel deeply human amid the divine chaotic swirl. Jayaram delivers his usual best with class. Supporting actors, whether portraying villagers, devotees, or royalty, dissolve into their roles with such authenticity that the screen feels like a living ritual space. The restrained yet powerful expressions, the raw physicality, and the deep emotional resonance of the ensemble remind us that this is not cinema crafted for spectacle alone, but a collective offering of devotion through art.

By the end of Chapter 1, the viewer is not merely watching a story. One feels initiated into a yajna of remembrance a reminder that Bharata's heritage is not dead mythology, but living, breathing Dharma.

Verdict: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Kantara: Chapter 1 is not just cinema. It is sacred storytelling, a mirror to our roots, and a call to return to the soil, the spirit, and the divine pact that sustains life. It leaves us humbled, haunted, and hungry for the chapters yet to come.

Founder of The Verandah Club and Convenor of INTACH Coimbatore. A passionate traveller and trendspotter, he lives by the philosophy Dharmo Rakshati Rakshitah.