There is no shortage of films about 26/11. Some have concentrated on the attacks themselves, while others have explored the security failures and political consequences. Prahaar: The Ujjwal Nikam Story takes a different approach by focusing on what happened after the shooting stopped: the long, complicated process of securing a conviction.
The guilt of Ajmal Kasab was never really in doubt. Captured alive after the 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks, he was the only one among the 10 Pakistani terrorists who carried out the assault to face trial. The evidence against him was overwhelming, and the demand for justice was immediate.
Yet, the Indian state had to prove his guilt through a legal process that upheld the very principles the terrorists had sought to destroy. That is the paradox at the heart of the film. Directed by Avinash Arun, the courtroom drama follows the prosecution of Kasab through the eyes of Ujjwal Nikam, the public prosecutor who became one of the most recognisable faces of the trial.
With Rajkummar Rao playing Nikam, the film has a compelling real-life story, a talented cast and a subject that continues to resonate. What it lacks, however, is the courage to look beyond its central character’s carefully constructed image.
Prahaar is at its best when it focuses on the courtroom. It falters when it tries too hard to turn a painstaking legal battle into a rousing story of individual heroism.
The film begins by establishing Nikam’s frustration at his inability to bring the masterminds behind earlier terror attacks to justice. The narrative then moves to November 26, 2008, and the horrific events that unfolded across Mumbai. From there, the focus shifts to Kasab’s trial, the evidence gathered against him and the efforts to establish Pakistan’s role in the attacks.
The public may have wanted swift retribution, but the state had to build its case carefully, ensuring that the trial stood up to legal scrutiny. Even in a case as horrific as Kasab’s, the right to legal representation and the principles of a fair trial could not simply be set aside.
This is where Avinash Arun and writer Sumit Roy show good judgement. Prahaar does not entirely abandon nuance in favour of patriotic chest-thumping. Unfortunately, the film does not always trust this material to speak for itself. The background score frequently tells us how to feel, confrontations are played up for dramatic effect, and certain speeches seem designed more for audience applause than for advancing the story.
This makes Prahaar an uneven film, caught between the restraint of a courtroom procedural and the emotional demands of a mainstream biopic.
The depiction of the attack at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus is among the film’s most disturbing sequences. By showing the massacre partly through the eyes of a young girl, Komal, the narrative brings the tragedy closer to home. Dior Ranju Varghese makes a strong impression, and her character reminds us that behind the numbers were ordinary people whose lives were changed forever.
The violence is difficult to watch, as it should be. But the film sometimes pushes the horror so forcefully that the emotional impact begins to feel engineered. The tragedy itself needs little embellishment.
Lalit Prabhakar, meanwhile, delivers one of the film’s most interesting performances as Kasab. His portrayal does not excuse Kasab’s crimes; it attempts to understand the person behind them. Some of the breakdowns and hallucinations feel familiar, but the performance largely avoids the easy route of turning him into a cartoonish monster.
Sikandar Kher also deserves credit for bringing some depth to Abbas Kazmi, Kasab’s defence lawyer. At first, Kazmi comes across as an abrasive opponent, seemingly willing to challenge every witness and exploit every possible loophole. As the trial progresses, however, the film gives him more room to establish his position. His insistence on the right to defend an accused person, however unpopular that person may be, reinforces one of the film’s central arguments: the strength of the justice system lies in its ability to uphold the law even under immense public pressure.
Jaideep Ahlawat is another major asset. Playing Chaudhary Zulfiqar, a Pakistani prosecutor involved in the investigation, he brings an unexpected warmth to a story otherwise dominated by hostility between the two countries. His scenes with Rao are among the film’s most engaging. Their conversations reveal two professionals who understand the demands of their work, even as they come from countries divided by deep political mistrust.
Rao, for his part, does a competent job of portraying Nikam. He gets the prosecutor’s mannerisms, measured walk and clipped, nasal delivery largely right. There are moments when Rao allows Nikam’s confidence to give way to fatigue, and these glimpses suggest a more interesting character beneath the public image. Yet, the performance occasionally feels too calculated.
The film repeatedly promises to reveal the person behind the prosecutor. Nikam’s relationship with his son, played by Ritvik Sahore, is meant to provide that window into his private life. Sahore is convincing as a young man struggling to earn his father's attention and respect. Their arguments carry genuine frustration, and the scenes in which the son asks to work alongside his father offer a glimpse of the emotional distance created by Nikam’s professional obsession.
Wamiqa Gabbi plays Nikam's wife, who patiently manages the consequences of his demanding career. She brings warmth to the role, but the character is largely confined to the familiar position of a supportive spouse who understands that her husband’s work must come first.
The problem is not that Nikam’s professional commitments affect his family. That is entirely plausible. It is that the film treats these sacrifices almost as proof of his greatness. His personal shortcomings are introduced, but they rarely complicate the larger image of a righteous public servant. The promised untold story consequently feels rather familiar.
The same limitation affects the film’s broader portrayal of Nikam. He is presented as a prosecutor who speaks his mind, challenges authority and remains determined to deliver justice. While this makes for an accessible cinematic hero, it leaves little room to examine the complexities of his public image and legacy.
Verdict: A solid, well-acted courtroom drama that makes a strong case for due process but falls short of a truly penetrating biographical portrait. Worth watching for its performances and central premise, though its conventional storytelling prevents it from reaching its full potential.