Karnan : An Assertion of Dalit Identity

Introduction

Caste has been an integral part of the Hindu socio-cultural framework. India is a caste-driven society where caste manifests itself in various forms and shapes. As rightly pointed by Bheemaiah (2011), caste in India has become a psychological obsession. Caste has conveniently taken its space not only in family and marriage arena, but also in political, administration and educational scenarios in various ways. Creative expressions, such as literature and cinema from the Indian subcontinent, have represented the crude realities of discrimination based on caste and its adverse impact on marginalized groups, especially the Dalit populace. Cinema has the potential to represent, critique and resist dominant ideologies that create subalternity. The Dalits form a major chunk of the subaltern communities who have been victims of harassment and oppression. Cinema offers a platform to represent the historically suppressed groups who are either silenced or underrepresented in the mainstream narratives. However, it can be observed that cinema in some ways also does proliferate certain dominant tendencies advocated by the upper caste. Off late, Indian cinema, especially the regional films have taken a new turn in subverting the canonical misrepresentation of Dalits on screen. In this sense, as pointed by many scholars (Chakravarty, 1993; Griswold, 2012; Lindner et al., 2015; Mulvey, 1988), cinema has an influential zeal and emancipatory effect. Being representatives of social circumstances (Gupta & Gupta, 2013), contemporary Indian cinema has shown a broader perspective and approach.

Recent films have become trendsetters in establishing a collective consciousness against various socio-political power structures that subjugate the marginalized group. Today, we can see emergence of films, taking the subaltern stance and presenting an alternative that speaks from the subaltern point of view. It explores and attempts to examine, rewrite or dismantle subaltern histories that may have been silenced or remained absent in elite histories written by hegemonic power structures. This emergence of collective consciousness and to voice for/against in order to establish one’s identity is observed in recent filmmakers especially the Dalit filmmakers. These filmmakers explore the evolving forms of hegemony, contest oppressor/oppressed binaries, stigmatization and frame subsequent resistance through cinematic lens. Mainstream Hindi films like Aarakshan (2011), Chakravyuh (2012), Masaan (2015) and Manjhi: The Mountain Man (2015) and, more recently, Article 15 (2019) have dealt with caste issues but from an upper caste gaze. Although these films made some efforts in dealing with caste issues, Bollywood is yet to provide a larger space for establishment of Dalit identity and visibility. In contrast, regional films in Marathi and Tamil are making attempts to bring an objective and refreshing representation of caste, created largely through the subaltern lens. A strong anti-caste discourse in cinematic terrain is visible in filmmakers like Nagraj Manjule, Neeraj Ghaiwan and Pa. Ranjith. Manjule’s Fandry (2013) and Sairat (2016) present horrific caste realities from a subaltern perspective. In Tamil film industry, the emergence and success of filmmakers, such as Pa. Ranjith (Attakathi [2012], Madras [2014], Kabali [2016] and Kaala [2018]), Gopi Nainar (Aramm [2017]) and Mari Selvaraj (Pariyerum Perumal [2018])—have had an unprecedented impact on the film industry. They have gone against the dominant stereotypical representation of oppressed classes on screen by raising critical questions and bringing a new alternative discourse. These films seek to distort and deconstruct received/constructed perceptions on oppression based on caste. It is significant to observe how recent regional films have resisted dominant ideologies and subverted caste supremacy thus overtaking Bollywood in its thematic rendition. This is primarily due to the vehement Dalit movements lead by activists like Phule, Ambedkar in west and Periyar in south whose revolution against caste propelled resistance towards Brahmanical hegemony. The films are anti-caste in approach and create cinematic spaces to interrogate, negate and create a dialogue to foreground the various dimensions that become a part of subalternity in contemporary discourse.

Indian film industry works with a biased approach, especially while dealing with caste. The dominance and hegemony governed by casteist film industry perpetuates a Dalit narrative which they want people to view on screen. This sets the tone for cultural prejudices and discrimination in viewing and understanding the Dalit issues. Suraj Yengde in his Dalit cinema observes that prejudice and hostility on Dalits becomes a normalized social reality and the negotiation for Dalit identity is overlooked. Bollywood in some ways catered to the desires of upper castes to maintain status quo and regulate hegemony (Yengde, 2018, p. 4). Commercial gains and success are primary motives of producers who therefore cater to the desires of upper caste viewers. They tell stories as the upper caste audience prefers to see and hear. Amid this challenging scenario, filmmakers who are Dalits themselves render on objective voice to the Dalit question and identity and thus making attempts to bring on screen an alternate reality. This is visible through Dalit characterization as bold and assertive protagonists who fight for their community.

Many scholars have pointed how media and popular culture through films reinforce casteist mindset and have pointed the minimal presence or misrepresentation of the subaltern classes. Here, it becomes significant to point Stuart Hall’s discourses on hegemony and ideas of representation, stereotypes, power monopoly in the field of cultural which had subsequent influence on film studies as well. Hall’s concept of representation and stereotype in visual media does shape in understanding the caste politics within Indian cinematic framework. Hall (1997b) contextualizes representation to image and understanding of products, especially the how races and ethnic minorities get represented on screen. Taking forward the notions led by predecessors like Richard Dyer, Homi Bhabha and others, Stuart looks at construction of stereotypes in meaning making process and cultural production especially through the cinematic realm. Stuart Hall observes stereotyping as a ‘representational practice’. He points out that stereotyping ‘reduces, essentializes, naturalizes and fixes “differences”’; second, ‘it fixes boundaries and excludes everything which does not belong’; and thirdly, ‘stereotyping tends to occur where there are gross inequalities of power’ (Hall, 1997a, p. 258). Scholars of Indian cinema have pointed such stereotypical representation and cultural manifestation in such forms.

Wankhede (2013) points that Hindi cinema more or else worked on a superficial level to mystify the socio-political realities. He states,

It cunningly avoids itself from indulging in the hard questions of social reality and in most of the cases imposes a structured narrative meant to address the emotive and psychological concerns of the Hindu social elites. Hindi films are written, directed and produced by a dominant set of people that celebrate the tastes and values of upper class-caste sensitivities. (Wankhede, 2013, p. 3)

Although many Hindi films like Sujata (1959), Ganga Jamuna (1961), Ankur (1974), Sadgati (1981), Souten (1983), Diksha (1991) and Bandit Queen (1994) dealt with the issue of caste, it is projected through an upper caste gaze where the protagonist from the elite class becomes an empathizer and saviour of the marginalized group.

In his article titled, From Sujata to Kachra: Decoding Dalit representation in popular Hindi cinema, Vishal Chauhan points that the subaltern class have been represented stereotypically as ‘meek, docile, shabby, and under confident individuals’ (Chauhan, 2019, p. 1). He observes that even recent Bollywood blockbusters like Lagaan (2001) has represented the Dalit character Kachra as differently abled individual having dark and shabby looking features. Chauhan states that the

higher castes dominate the industry. Since higher castes hegemonise the process of filmmaking, their ‘version’ of caste question becomes the ‘preferred’ tone of the Hindi film industry. In line with this, Dalit protagonists keenly participate in the caste Hindu imagination where they gleefully accept their social positioning and rarely resist the inhuman discrimination on the screen, which is very unlike history. (Chauhan, 2019, pp. 6–7)

Suraj Yengde observes that mainstream Indian cinema as ‘notoriously escapist’ as it hid the pain of reality in the darkness of the theatre (Yengde, 2018, p. 4). Further, he argues ‘The privileged castes who continue to dominate the Indian film industry are unable and/or unwilling to use cinema as a channel to bring about change in the caste system’ (Yengde, 2018, p. 11).

In this sense, Cinema becomes a site of dissemination of stereotypes. Stereotypes bring in fixity of meanings to sustain power which fixes the ‘preferred meaning’. Stereotypes create fixities in representation, thus bringing social inequalities and biases. This fixation of meaning in representation is what Stuart Hall distorts by contesting that there cannot be a ‘true’ meaning but multiple meanings in representation, such as what is present, absent and different. Hall holds that those linked with power have subtle influence on what should be represented through media. He argues that construction and dissemination of stereotypes reinforce the desire to maintain power and sustain its hegemony (Hall, 1997a, pp. 248–249). Hall’s understanding of stereotypes and representation brings obvious implication for marginalized groups and Dalit representations in cinematic realm. Such stereotyping and labelling coupled with negative characterization and othering is what recent filmmakers like Pa. Ranjith in Tamil film industry are trying to deconstruct. Films written and directed by Dalit filmmakers offer a new discourse to the Dalit sentiment and cause. As, Cliff Cobb rightly mentions in his editorial introduction, What movies teach about Race, Class and Caste that ‘The only true remedy for the situation has been the gradual increase in the number of directors and producers who are in the targeted groups’ (Cobb, 2021 p. 850). Emergence of filmmakers like Nagraj Manjule and Pa. Ranjith reveals resistant historiography working against the grain through innovative techniques in sound, visuals, images and cinematography. They have no doubt pioneered an anti-caste discourse beyond the usual progressive narratives of Gandhian socialism in Indian cinema (Margaret, 2013). Recent Indian films are thus breaking away from mainstream cinematography hegemony in its representation of caste by lending voice to the otherwise silenced/muted oppressed groups (Rajapandian et al., 2021). This current change in media and popular culture is a significant milestone in Indian caste politics. Films like Karnan stand testimony for this. Karnan not only distorts stereotypical representations but shows resistance towards such representations by way of subversion, deconstruction and recreation. This lends a new form of representation when we talk about how Dalit cinema works in contrast from earlier depiction of caste politics.

Caste has been one of the predominant topics in Tamil cinema. Theodore Baskaran (1996) observes that ‘Tamil cinema has grown to become the most dominant influence in Tamil Nadu’s cultural and political life’. Off late, Tamil film industry has seen an emergence of Dalit filmmakers who chose to rewrite Dalit history and bring in a fresh perspective to the oppressed class. These ‘new norm’ films deliver alternative narratives around caste while transgressing from ‘normality’ in the representation of caste politics. The eminent film historian, K. Hariharan called these new Tamil films the ‘cinema of disgust’ for its exploration of the grotesque and human, which is shockingly different from the great action packed entertainment films established by the mainstream. Talking about recent films, Sreeram Gopalkrishnan too rightly points that the new age film-makers are interested with the subaltern masses and make them rise ‘above his dirty clothes, sweaty visage, dark skin and revels in the individuality of his violence and rustic language contrasted to the “make-up” enhanced establishment “mass” hero’ (Gopalkrishnan, 2019, p. 2). Recent Tamil films like Kabaali and Kaala stand testimony for this. Within this framework, the article will explore the current dynamics in recent Tamil cinema and further will examine the recent film Karnan (2021) against this grain.

Caste in Recent Tamil Cinema

The most common motif that runs around all Tamil films is the emphasis and glorification of Tamil culture and its identity through dialogues, songs and images. Within this dimension, social issues like caste–class conflicts became the theme since 1980s. However, only a handful of films dealt with subaltern reality; the rest succumbing to the needs of the commercial market and audience. This limited representation was also done in a negative light; as pitiable figures against the ‘dominant male gaze’. Antony Susairaj notes

Though many humanist narratives of cinema were made in the history of Tamil cinema, yet they have not helped to eradicate the forms of untouchability and discrimination against the people of lower castes. Rather, Tamil cinema has reflected the popular mind showing the dominance of the castes on the screen. (Susairaj, 2020, p. 125)

Basically, the Tamil society is caste-minded society where caste plays a significant role. Rajan and Venkatraman (2017) too observes that Tamil films have produced stereotyped Dalit characters usually portrayed as ugly, dirty and dark skinned. In 1980, films like Muthal Mariyathai (Honor of the First Order, 1985) and Vedham Pudhithu (A New Veda, 1987) explicitly dealt caste issues while earlier films only touched upon the issues without specific reference to caste. Many films, such as Pudhupettai (2006), Kaadhal (2004), Chennai 600028, Polladhavan (A Vile Man, 2007), Visaranai (Investigation, 2016) and Kaakaa Muttai (A Crow’s Egg, 2014) are based on inter-caste conflicts, honour killings, caste discrimination and so on (Gopalkrishnan, 2019). In recent times, with the advent of Dalit filmmakers, the representation of the subaltern masses took a new turn in the Tamil cinema.

Recent filmmakers belonging to Dalit community, such as Pa. Ranjith, Mariselvaraj and P. Jananathan challenged and subverted the stereotypical representations of lower castes on screen. From raising critical questions on Dalit subjectivities to portraying strong bold characters who spoke for their community; these filmmakers have created an unprecedented impact on the visual platform in their representation of subaltern caste politics. These theatrical narratives not just tell the saga of Dalit life, but also raise critical questions about caste politics, their representation/misrepresentation and stereotypical othering of minorities. The characters on screen are no longer passive and subservient, but are seen as assertive characters having pleasant appearance and wearing good clothes. Clothing becomes an important signifier of class/caste. Dressing well and having good looks is stereotypically associated with dominant class and are portrayed on screen adorned in white clothes representing dignity, status and prestige, whereas the lower castes are subject to mockery and comical/pitiable figures. To subvert this ideology, Pa. Ranjith in Kaala (2018) which translates to Black, shows his main characters in black representing the class yet subverting the same by making the central character wear Ambedkarian dress code.

Recent Tamil films have seen a considerable shift and paradigm change in the way Dalits appeared on screen. For example, in Kabaali (2016) directed by Pa. Ranjith, the central Dalit character is seen wearing three piece suit having resemblance to the Dalit leader B. R. Ambedkar. The protagonist assertively utters that ‘he is not the same subservient Kabali figured in earlier films’ but ‘The Kabaali now’ which directly hints the emerging assertive nature of the Dalits and the changing scenario of the Tamil cinema in depicting the marginalized class. The Ambedkarite revolutionary zeal and mission is dominant on screen. Blue colour symbolizing this spirit is visible. Antony Susairaj further points that the new wave films like Attakathi, Madras and Kabaali, have shown the blue colour in its background at least once in the film to represent the Dalit consciousness. Benson Rajan states that blue colour is seen as a symbol of Dalit expression and empowerment. The new wave Tamil films have created an alternative image of Dalits as assertive heroes determined to change the oppressive situation of Dalit community. Films, such as Kabaali and Kaala, are engaged in bringing a certain kind of narrative that is immediately captivating, arresting the attention of the audience to re-evaluate our thoughts and deconstruct the old ideologies that generates various forms of oppression. In order to bring an alternative image, filmmakers experiment with language, history, metaphors and visual signifiers, such as images, colours, sounds, dress codes, body language and other signifiers. According to Margaret (2013), these emerging filmmakers have gone beyond the usual Gandhian narratives consisting sympathy for the downtrodden and generated an anti-caste revolutionary zeal. Anti-casteism thus dictates a certain shift in perspective and re-orientation; skilfully tackled by these emerging filmmakers.

The Ambedkarian ideology and the zest for emancipation are clearly imprinted in Pa. Ranjith’s and Mari Selvaraj’s films. For example, the punch dialogue in the film Kabaali uttered by the protagonist, ‘Kaal mela kaal pottu ukkaruven da’ meaning ‘I will sit one leg over the other henceforth’ translates the assertive body language exercised by Dalits. Mari Selvaraj too exposes the brutal caste reality in his Pariyerum Perumal and, more recently, Karnan, sharply enunciating the sentiments of Dalit identity and politics. Vetrimaran’s Asuran too depicts the caste conflict. Nevertheless, the trend initiated by Pa. Ranjith in Madras (2014), Kaabali (2016), Kaala (2018) and Pariyerum Perumal (2018) produced by him becomes a remarkable episode in the representation of Dalits in Tamil cinema. These films have become a trendsetter in bringing an anti-caste Dalit consciousness and identity on the visual platform. The entry of these directors heralded a new cultural revolution within Tamil cinema, which consciously addressed this cultural invisibility and depreciation of the Dalit populace (Susairaj, 2020). These directors use plenty of metaphors, images, semiotics and assertive language along with background colours and music to represent a strong voice against all discrimination against the oppressed class. These developments reflect the representation of caste consciousness and its identity well captured on screen.

With these discussions on mainstream cinema and regional films, particularly Tamil films, this article now takes its turn towards the recent film, Karnan (April 2021), a film based on Kodiyankulam historical attack on Dalits in 1995. Karnan offers interesting insights into the Dalit question with its layered meanings. Within its narrative, it weaves together history, myth, caste politics, resistance and freedom from bondage.

Karnan: Tale of Defiance against Oppression

Karnan, released in April 2021, directed by Mari Selvaraj (2021) delves into caste discrimination and exploitation. The film has resemblance to Kodiyankulam violence that broke out in 1995 in Tamil Nadu. This historical event of Kodiyankulam becomes the plot for Karnan but the film shows the happening stating ‘Before 1997’ avoiding specific reference to any past incident. However, the film revolves around the conflict between two villages, Podiyankulam inhabited by subaltern caste and the adjacent village Melur with a dominant class. The film opens with the image of a headless bust of a human figure almost resembling Buddha. At the very outset, a girl having a seizure lying on the highway but none of the passing vehicles stop to rescue her, eventually leading to her death. Podiyankulam is 1.5 km away from the main road and does not have a bus stop. The inhabitants need to use either Melur’s bus stop or use trucks or vans to commute to other places. Further, men from Melur do not allow a father who wants to take his daughter to the nearest college. This incident raises conflict between the two villages. The occupants of Podiyankulam have been giving petitions to authorities for providing a bus stop but their voices are never heard. Situation escalates when buses that ply did not stop even after noticing a pregnant lady. Karnan, the central character and all the members of the small hamlet are often subjects of abuse, humiliation and taunt. The elders of the village accept and suffer the subjugation in silence but not the youth. Karnan applies for a government post in CRPF service. Tensions arising in the village make him to fight for his community. For the bus driver, Podiyankulam is just a ‘wasteland’ and a ‘forest’ and would not stop even if 11 members of the village were supposed to get down. This irks Karnan who vandalizes the bus with other youths. The village chief Duryodhanan, the grandfather Yaema Raja and other members are afraid of the consequences as police would come for an inquiry and may sweep aside the whole village. The village elders are taken to the police station with a promise that it is only to write a statement with a signature. Instead, the elderly men are subject to prolonged waiting, followed by severe torture and beatings in the lockup. Torture on the Dalit body is a mechanism to control and subjugate. In Foucault (1995) contests that torture, punishment, imprisonment and execution are mechanisms of control, inflicted on the body of an individual in order to suppress and sustain one’s power and domination over the other. The body becomes a public realm where violence upon it defines society’s control over it. Disciplining enters ‘abstract consciousness’, thereby generating a sensational spectacle of the inter-relationship between power and the body. Foucault discussion on control, power and body allows us to think of the vulnerable Dalit bodies which are subject to torture and beatings in order to silence them. In the film, Power speaks through the IPS officer, S. P. Kannibaram who insists the village elders to come to the station to sign a statement, but only to make them wait for hours and get them beated mercilessly. This event in the film clearly narrates how power is inflicted on the oppressed classes to silence and subdue them.

To counter this event, Karnan and his friends arrive the next day and vandalize the police station. When the matter reaches the officer Kannibaram, he retaliates the entire village with his police force. Karnan gets the job offer (CRPF) but as he prepares to leave at the insistence of the community half-heartedly, violence breaks in the village when police enters. To save his community, Yaema Raja sets himself ablaze and becomes a symbol of sacrifice. Karnan, returns seated in a horse with the village sword to fight back and in the process liberates the village by murdering Kannibaram. Karnan gets arrested for his crime; the headless painting on the wall gets the face of Yaema Raja. The village gets a bus stop, roads, schools and other facilities. Karnan returns after 10 years of punishment and the community dances with joy.

Karnan as a site of Dalit assertion and Identity

The film is not the heroic demonstration of Karnan but the raise of the entire community against oppressive structures. Unlike earlier films where a non-Dalit caste Hindu comes as a saviour, this film in its entirety is a community’s fight against bondage and humiliation. Comolli and Narboni (1971) state that every film is rooted with some ideology: it may define an ideology, it may brazenly attack ideology, it may go against accepted ideology or the film would be overtly ideological or claim to be so. Selvaraj’s film Karnan chooses to go against the grain; the accepted ideology that Dalits are subservient and should remain subservient. They are not expected to ask for anything. Karnan deconstructs this. The silence of the older generation transits to speech and action. The film examines the various ways the minorities get ‘constructed’ in the mainstream narrative and seeks to deconstruct the old ideologies that discriminate people based on caste. Karnan acts as an alternate reading of Dalit subjectivities and offers a counter narrative to oppressive power structures that marginalizes people based on caste and limits their freedom. Selvaraj’s Karnan not only critiques the existing reality but also transcends into a counter discourse that seeks to make the invisible visible on the cinematic graph emerging from the Southern India.

In order to subvert the hegemonic narration on screen, the director adopts various techniques to bring in an alternative discourse on the visual screen. Selvaraj weaves together history (1995 Kodiyankulam riots) and the myth of Mahabharata together. The characters in the film name themselves with the prominent names in the Mahabharata although it irritates the oppressors. In Mahabharata, Draupadi defies to marry a charioteer’s son, Karna who is stopped from shooting the eye of the revolving fish in a contest. In the film, we see Karnan chopping the flying fish into two in the local contest and Draupadi is already in love even before this event. The director uses the mythic character of Karna to defy the norms, to go against the accepted norms and create a new perspective. In Mahabharata, Karna is rejected by Draupadi because of his low caste. He endures taunts, insults and humiliation all throughout. But Selvaraj subverts his Karnan making him bold and assertive. By naming his characters from epic Mahabharata, Selvaraj deconstructs the very myth of being a Dalit. Unlike the upper caste Hindu writers/directors, he does not seek to evoke sympathy, pity or humanitarian approach to the plight of the subalterns. With his assertive characters, the director challenges accepted ideas and stereotypical constructs. In the process of deconstruction, Selvaraj questions and subverts dominant structures. He uses the name Karnan for his central character who fights for his rights unlike the mythic character Karna who suffers silent subjugation. In the film, the characters are rebuked for having such majestic heroic names. The police officer gets irked at their assertive body language, their names and the way of projection. Karnan points that when all human can name themselves whatever they want, why cannot they be called Duryodhanan, Arjunan or Karnan. He questions, ‘What is wrong in having such names’. Towards the end, before killing the officer with the sword, the question of naming again creeps in. He asks the officer his name and his father’s name and questions why the subalterns cannot have the names of their choice. In Karnan, the naming of the characters from the epic Mahabharata is a strategy to defy the caste hegemony, a trend followed among the marginalized class. The protagonist is named Karnan along with various other characters named after Hindu mythological figures, such as Duryodhanan, Yaeman, Vadamalaiyan, Abhimanyu, Subhadra and Draupadi. This reminds us of the Dalit character named as Kachara (meaning garbage) in the blockbuster Hindi film Lagaan. In most regions, the upper castes would assign names that were demeaning, representing impure and menial things which were a mechanism to control the Dalit psyche; making them feel inferior and low. As a form of resistance against caste hegemony and to gain visibility, renaming comes as significant step, well captured in Karnan. Using epic character names, Selvaraj gives them a specific identity.

Many critics point that progressive and revolutionary writers like Premchand or Mulk Raj Anand have failed to represent the Dalit cause in the true sense. For that matter, Dalit writers and directors have gone far beyond in (re)representing the Dalit consciousness and identity. In the context of what makes a Dalit text, Marathi Dalit Writer, Sharankumar Limbale in his seminal book, Towards an Aesthetic of Dalit Literature: History, Controversies and Considerations, explains:

The standard of a work of literature depends on how much and in what way an artist’s ideas—embedded in the work— affect the reader. Dalit writers will have to decide how best to express Ambedkarite thought in their literature. That work of Dalit literature will be recognized as beautiful, and, therefore ‘good’, which causes the greatest awakening of Dalit consciousness in the reader. (Limbale, 2016, p.117)

By adopting suitable techniques fused with Ambedkarite ideals of activism, Karnan showcases caste politics and emerges out as a saga of resistance, protest, assertion and victory over oppression. In this sense, Karnan with its true spirit becomes a Dalit visual text.

Another interesting feature adopted is use of birds and animals as metaphors. The film opens with the cry of an old woman whose chicks have been carried away by the predatory bird Kite. The disgusted woman pleads to release her chicks but when her persuasion does not bear fruit, she curses the kite saying someone will break its wings soon. This is paralleled by Karnan who becomes victorious in the village contest and lifts up the village sword. Karnan is seated on an elephant and with his team marches towards the village. The victory in a local contest is celebrated and Karnan, riding an elephant is symbolic of victory, prosperity and strength. A donkey too becomes almost like a character in the entire film. The image of the donkey with its front legs tied with a rope shows labour and bondage in a rigid system. Karnan is disturbed with the site of the donkey which he wants to free it from being tied. The recurrent donkey image metaphorically suggests the caste bondage to social structures that limit their freedom and mobility. Parallel to this, human legs are frequently shown by the director. This deliberate gesture of turning the camera towards the human legs suggests the way minorities are under the heavy clutches of rigid caste bound society. The opening scene which shows the death of a young girl in the middle of an epileptic fit is Karnan’s sister who frequently appears with a mask representing the local deity, Kaatu Peichi, a guiding force for the local population. The shift in cinematic lens towards human legs and the body is suggestive of the pain the Dalit body suffers at various hands. When Karnan releases the legs of the donkey, things turn different.

Throughout the film, the local deity, Kaatu Peichi becomes a source of inspiration to fight the battle. After the night of custodial torture at the police station, the village head Duryodhana informs that they were beaten neither for damaging the bus nor asking for a bus stop but for being assertive and bold. The oppressor wanted the same old submissive nature and wanted the headgear to be removed. The police officer who represents the dominant class rebukes at them saying changing names will not change one’s destiny. Karnan addresses the village folk thus: ‘How many generations must suffer to hold our head high? Will you live your entire lives crounched? We have looked up now and held our heads high. We can never go back to crouching. We shall fight’. This is scene is followed by a song ‘Uttradinga’ meaning ‘Don’t give up’ addressing all mothers, fathers, grandfathers, brothers, sisters and the entire community. The song is a call for the community to rise against all atrocities and fight for the rights. The pain of the torture meted to the villagers towards the end is paralleled with the delivery pain of the pregnant mother. Amid the violence, torture and pain, Yaeman immolates for the cause of his community. He sets himself on fire to pause the relentless police brutality. The baby is born; Kannabiran is beheaded and the headless portrait on the village wall gets Yaeman’s face as a tribute. A new life is born suggesting the defeat of old ways of life. Towards the end, Karnan rides a horse which is again suggestive of majesty, strength and freedom. The images of donkey, elephant and horse are used to symbolically suggest transition from bondage to liberty and victory. Amid all violence, torture and death, the village gets a bus stop and other facilities representing growth. The village celebrates at its victory over its fight against basic rights. Although Karnan takes a major role in unifying the village, the tale is that of a community’s fight for justice. Unlike other films, it does not glorify the role of the hero nor he comes as a saviour but is a narrative of/for the community. The birth of a baby at the end suggests a new awakening, a new upcoming generation whose voices will be visible and heard. Birds and animal images are used to signify human emotions and needs. Ambedkar’s continued plea for activism for emancipation is well articulated through figurative expressions.

The director Selvaraj has established a strong voice of the Dalits through recreation of Mahabharata on the visual platform. His Karnan is not submissive but would choose to fight for his basic rights. Karnan thus represents the voice of the entire community; a rise against all oppressive structures. When Karnan returns from prison after 10 years and joins the crowd in celebration, he is shown wearing white clothes; the clothes that speak of the upper caste ethos. Karnan brings in a collective consciousness to fight for dignity and identity. This search for identity and to gain basic human rights makes them to fight against all discrimination and deprivation in order to gain equal rights and position in the society. Social oppression and consistent humiliation makes them revolt and gain visibility. The narrative is a saga of the entire community’s struggle against exploitation. It is not a tale of one person, the hero but the voice of the community at large. Similar to the autobiographies written by Dalit writers which speak for their community at large, the same consciousness is evoked in this cinematic narration. Karnan along with the other new age films signal the dawn of a new era of cinematic resistance and is a battle against hegemonic caste supremacy. Karnan confirms Radha Rajapandian et al.’s concluding remarks: ‘Indian films about marginalized groups are breaking away from the mainstream cinematographic hegemony so as to provide a voice to the voiceless sections of the society’ (Rajapandian et al., 2021, p. 927).

Indian films are major means of communication against human atrocities to the general public in order to bring a change in the thought process. Although the Indian government has been doing its best to eradicate discrimination based on caste, yet we find atrocities on Dalits every now and then. The present day type of caste discrimination may not be directly visible as it occurs in various colours and forms. Discrimination continues in various domains today; in education sector, organizations and government agencies (Babar, 2016, p. 116). These are well captured through the cinematic lens for a social cause.

Conclusion

Karnan is a bold visual narrative that raises critical questions on caste-based oppression. Subverting myths and using visual symbols deeply layered with meanings, Karnan challenges caste hegemony and negative representation of Dalits on the visual platform. Karnan has showcased the potential to ‘break away from the mainstream cinematographic hegemony’ (Yengde, 2018, p. 15). The film has allowed the subalterns to voice against victimhood, to speak, to be heard, perform resistance, challenge power structures and gain social mobility (Spivak, 2010). Amid all suffering and humiliation, the characters have emerged successful in establishing their basic rights, visibility and in particular their identity; a Dalit identity that resists to win its battle against oppression.