A still from Peter Brook's 'The Mahabharata' (1989) Every time Hollywood drops a blockbuster movie based on one of the foundational epics of the West, a collective groan seems to arise from a significant section of Indian cinephiles and the Indian audience at large: If they can do it, why can’t we? Yugo Sako’s brilliant Ramayana, the Legend of Prince Rama (1993) Be it Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy (2004), Uberto Pasolini’s The Return (2024), or Christopher Nolan’s latest Odyssey (2026), we’ve repeatedly heard echoes of this Indian grievance over recent decades as Hollywood kept producing a steady stream of epic adaptations. To make matters worse, foreign filmmakers also worked on timeless Indian epics, creating some highly memorable films and plays, whose artistic brilliance (if not so much their commercial success) far outweighs that of the Indian attempts to recreate the Ramayana and the Mahabharata for big and small screens. Yugo Sako’s animated film Ramayana: The Legend of Prince Rama (1993) and Peter Brook’s Mahabharata (1989), adapted for both stage and screen, are well-loved productions that continue to be watched and discussed with fondness and enthusiasm by many Indians. Though both these deeply moving adaptations were made with crucial technical help from renowned Indian collaborators, the major artistic vision and creative drive came primarily from non-Indians. On the Indian side, we have had several popular adaptations of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata for cinema and television, but unfortunately none of them can be said to have equalled the artistic vigour and sincerity of a Sako or a Brook. Perhaps Shyam Benegal’s Kalyug (1981), a brilliant contemporised take on the Mahabharata, could be counted as a happy exception to this scenario, but Benegal transposed the story and the characters of the great itihasa epic from the Dwapara Age of yore to the all-too-familiar humdrum setting of today’s high Kali Age. It’s interesting to note that the late Vanraj Bhatia, the celebrated composer who created the iconic music for Kalyug, also gave Ramayana: the Legend of Prince Rama its highly popular film score and music. Among Indian creators, the courage to produce adaptations of ancient Indian epics while keeping their times, space, scale and dramatis personae more or less intact has been displayed by Ramanand Sagar, B.R. Chopra and their creative successors for the small screen alone. However, even they haven’t always remained true to the older texts of Valmiki and Vyasa, often allowing themselves the freedom to borrow elements from later retellings, such as Goswami Tulsidas’s or Krittibas Ojha’s popular and revered works. In comparison, Indian cinema adaptations of the epics have been less ambitious. In fact, they’ve sometimes ended up as mere caricatures of the exalted classics. Adipurush (2023) is a particularly illustrative case in point. In recent months, a brand-new movie based on the Ramayana has been announced amid much fanfare, with its first instalment due in the latter part of 2026. Sadly, the upcoming movie’s VFX-heavy official trailer has drawn a lot of flak from the Indian audience for its artificial-looking scenes and eyebrow-raising leading cast. Many disappointed admirers took to social media to express their dismay, making the matter trend for days on platforms such as X. Epic Challenge Naturally, questions arise: Why can’t today’s Indian filmmakers and creators make a satisfying and stirring modern-media adaptation of these timeless, beloved Indian classics? Are they lagging behind their Western counterparts due to technological or creative shortcomings? Do they lack imagination, training, skills – or what is it that’s really holding them back? To my mind, the problem lies primarily with two Indian realities: a) the poor quality of general education in Indian schools, and b) the modern Indian proclivity to take offence at the drop of a hat, especially in matters of religion and culture. It must be kept in mind that, unlike the foundational epics of the Western world, both Ramayana and Mahabharata are still part of a major living tradition, namely, the Hindu tradition. The Hindu tradition has somehow managed to keep the itihasa epics alive in religion and culture alike, especially in India but also in several parts of the world where Hindu communities flourished. Therefore, unlike Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey vis-à-vis the contemporary Western culture, Ramayana and Mahabharata form a major part of India’s contemporary religious-cultural imagination. On the other hand, the Indian education system in particular, and the Indian state in general, have tried their best to keep academic and creative engagements with these epics at arm’s length from the Indian people, on the pretext of upholding the secular nature of the Republic. This has resulted in Indians, especially younger generations, harbouring a rather poor level of acquaintance with the actual contents and styles of the texts of Valmiki and Vyasa, or of their retellers, for that matter. A couple of generations ago, the work of acquainting the Indian kid with these texts was mainly carried out at home, at the knees of grandparents and parents. This is no longer the case, except in a negligible number of Indian homes. Consequently, most kids in post-independence India grew up without direct exposure to the lore of Rama, Sita and the Pandavas as Valmiki, Vyasa, Tulsidas, Krittibas Ojha or Kamban have sung them. This has naturally left Indian kids with an imagination largely uncoloured by the grand visions, hardships, character traits and awe-inspiring acts of the epic heroes and heroines. Some would call such an imagination stunted, and others who are less forthright would describe it as simply disconnected from the Indian civilisation’s grand narrative. This gets reflected, inter alia, in the Indian film industry. Stories having the scale and profundity of Ramayana and Mahabharata are rather difficult to handle for these generations of Indians. From them, one can hardly expect in-depth, sincere creative engagement with these epic narratives – let alone any originality in handling the material – due to systemic disconnect. It is really difficult to pick up the epics at a later stage in one’s life and still engage with them at a deeper level of emotional, moral, cultural or symbolic significance. For the younger generations, these epics supply no archetypes. Therefore, at such later stages, a great deal of dedication and motivation becomes necessary to unpack the multiple layers of their meaning. Few can be expected to devote such amounts of time and energy at an advanced stage in their professional career – even in the creative professions. Cultural Nuances The other factor is the rather modern Indian proclivity to take offence at contemporary adaptations and retellings of stories carrying religious, cultural or historical significance. No matter how sincerely and carefully a storyteller, writer or director may try to recreate the magic of ancient Indian epics for the screen, no matter how aware and sensitive they may be about the cultural nuances of these stories in the Indian context, they will likely end up offending the religious/cultural sensibilities of some group or the other. Even Yugo Sako’s Ramayana adaptation had to face it. This situation makes it tremendously difficult for anyone to touch these stories, and even when someone dares to, they face a lot of pressure to conform to popular expectations and/or group-specific demands in the making of the adaptation. Most succumb to these pressures, compromising their original creative visions, if ever they had one. It is mainly for these reasons, and not technological backwardness or even creative lack as such, that the making of modern-media adaptations of ancient Indian epics is an excessively difficult task in India. One still hopes, however, that someday Indian filmmakers would rise above these unfavourable background conditions and present us with a highly refined, inspiring film adaptation of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. If that does happen, it would be an artistic feat of great measure despite the present depressing and adverse conditions. Of course, a more robust solution would be to improve the prevailing background conditions themselves, resolving which would amount to a real service rendered to the world of Indian cinema and art. More than anything else, it would be a national service. (The writer is a Kolkata-based educator, writer, researcher and musician. Views personal.)
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