The highest-grossing Hindi film in India’s history is an eye-popping, three-and-a-half-hour adrenaline fest that holds its own against any American action film of the past decade. Written and directed by Aditya Dhar, Dhurandhar—the first installment of a two-part epic—also captures the essence of the Hindutva spirit now driving Indian politics. As the world fragments into civilizational blocs, that spirit deserves a closer look.
As cinema, Dhurandhar is impossible not to watch. With its all-star cast, thumping soundtrack, and lurid visuals, the film simply overwhelms the senses. But it is the plot—a gripping tale of gangsters, spies, politicians, and terrorists, loosely based on real events—that makes the 214-minute runtime seem brief. Think The Bourne Identity, Extraction, and Fauda filtered through contemporary Bollywood. Car chases, gunfights, and bone-crunching slugfests unfold against pulsing Indian house music—Dhurandhar has it all.
Yet it is the film’s muscular Hindu political vision and its negative portrayal of Pakistan that has generated international controversy. Critics have labeled it a piece of Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) propaganda, designed to glorify Prime Minister Narendra Modi while demonizing his enemies. Others have denounced its graphic violence and alleged anti-Muslim content. Pakistan and several Arab countries refused to release the film, though citizens in those countries have been downloading it illegally by the millions.
There is no denying that Dhurandhar endorses an aggressive Hindutva worldview and treats Pakistan as a long-festering problem that must be confronted—violently, if necessary. But its feelings towards Indian leaders prior to Modi—depicted here as timid and over-civilized, constantly humiliating themselves before Muslim powers and Western patrons alike—are even harsher. For decades, these leaders opted for diplomacy, whined to Washington, and mistook restraint for virtue—all while betraying the India people. Early in the film, a Pakistani terrorist mocks India as a nation of cowards, quick to accede to its enemies’ demands. An Indian intelligence officer can only grit his teeth. The terrorist is right.
Pakistan itself, where much of the story unfolds, is portrayed as a crowded, corrupt, and barbaric land. Its politicians, gangs, ethnic separatists, and mujahideen despise one another, but, as Muslims, they agree on one thing: the infidels must die. In one pivotal scene, a group of Pakistanis gather around a television to watch the Mumbai terrorist attacks—a 60-hour bloodbath that killed 166 civilians in 2008—unfold in real time. To the shock of an undercover Indian spy among them, the Pakistanis suddenly put aside their differences and congratulate each other amid tears of joy.
The message is unmistakable: Pakistan is a terrorist state—and not merely at the level of leadership. Despite their many divisions, Pakistanis themselves welcome the murder of Hindus, Jews, and anyone else who refuses submission.
At its heart, Dhurandhar is a revenge film—less Extraction than Kill Bill. Here, the “Bride” and main character is Hamza Ali Mazari, an Indian inmate-turned-spy infiltrating the Pakistani underworld; “Bill” is Major Iqbal, chief of Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), or maybe Pakistan itself. The Mumbai attacks, the film insists, were not the work of rogue terrorists but an ISI operation backed by the Pakistani people—and justice demands retribution.
This is not subtle filmmaking, nor is it meant to be. Dhar, a known BJP supporter, makes no effort to hide the ball. The world respects strength, yet “old” India refused to wield it. Now the age of restraint has ended; the age of retaliation has begun. As a teaser for the sequel rolls at the closing credits, Dhar’s protagonist looks into the camera and delivers a line made popular by Modi himself: “This is the New India. We barge into your house and we kill you.”
Careful observers of international politics will draw at least three lessons from Dhurandhar.
First, Modi’s India sees itself as an independent world power—indeed, a great power with a world-historical destiny. It rejects global elites who pursue agendas at India’s expense. It demands respect. And it regards internal dissent—from Muslims and liberals alike—as a threat to national security. When one character discovers a corruption ring within the Indian government, he sighs. After a dramatic pause, he says, “Indians are India’s biggest enemies. Pakistan comes second.”
Second is Pakistan itself, which looms onscreen like a mindless beast hungry for blood. The film advances a stark logic developed over centuries of Hindu-Muslim tension and decades of Pakistan-backed terrorism: Muslims seek to rule non-Muslims by force and will keep killing them until met with overwhelming violence. Recent attacks, such as last year’s Pahalgam massacre in Kashmir, only prove this logic as perennial. For Aditya and a growing segment of Hindu society, failing to humiliate and destroy such enemies is no longer prudence—it is treason.
Third, India will work with the United States only when it serves India’s interests. Breezy talk of “balancing India against China” ignores India’s self-conception as a great power and its deep resentment of US behavior. The recent chill between Modi and President Trump—driven by tariff drama, visa disputes, and Kashmir-related fallout—underscores how fragile the partnership can be. Indians have not forgotten that it was Washington that armed the mujahideen, propped up Pakistan, and sidelined Indian security concerns for decades—and if they have forgotten, Dhurandhar makes sure to remind them.
A resentful India chafing against the rules-based international order is ultimately one case study in a broader pattern. Across the world, states are straining under the weight of a Pax Americana which seems to be crumbling around their ears—pulled down, ironically, by the United States itself—and preparing to face the jungle on their own.
But in India, the resentment is more focused. A growing segment of the population believe deterrence is no longer enough. The fight must be taken to the enemy. Pakistan must be broken. The runaway success of Dhurandhar suggests that audiences agree, and that the full emergence of Hindu geopolitics may still be ahead.
So, too, is the rest of Dhurandhar. The sequel drops on March 19—and if this installment is any indication, it will be even louder, angrier, and more revealing than the first.
