Vaghachipani

Natesh Hegde’s  Kannada film, Vaghachipani (Tiger’s Pond, 2025),  is a fine follow-up to his debut venture, Pedro (Kannada, 2021), and effectively explores the intricacies of caste, class, and gender. Based on a short story, Dhare Urridhe by Amaresh Nugadoni, the film has just had its world premiere at the prestigious Berlin International Film Festival.

Vaghachipani looks at Prabhu (Achyut Kumar), a wealthy landlord who has his eyes set on the upcoming village elections.  He rules with an iron grip over his domain along with his younger brother, Venkati (Natesh), whom he keeps firmly under control.  He has a loyal henchman, Malbari (Dileesh Pothan), an immigrant from Kerala who serves as his muscle. Basu, a rival from the lower caste, challenges Prabhu’s political ambitions. Meanwhile, Venkati’s forbidden affair with Malbari’s sister, Devaki (Bindu Raxidi), fuels further discord – his desire to marry her clashes with Prabhu’s staunch disapproval. Tensions begin to simmer in the village when Pathi (Sumitra), a mute and mentally challenged shepherdess living under Prabhu’s roof, is found pregnant…

With a remarkable economy, Vaghachipani reveals how absolute power corrupts both its wielders and its victims, layer by layer, scene by scene. With a minimalist’s eye for construction, the film achieves sublime simplicity and elegance as Hegde crafts a stark yet deeply affecting portrait of systemic inequities. The understated visual approach imbues the film with a simmering, atmospheric resonance as the seemingly idyllic village, far from offering pastoral respite, reveals itself as a crucible of hidden power struggles and a festering moral decay.

In this slow-burning reckoning drama, there are no heroes, no clean slates, only a spectrum of compromised individuals navigating a rigged system. Prabhu is a master of manipulation, his political ambitions fuelled by a chilling pragmatism. His henchman, Malbari, a Malayali migrant, embodies the desperation of the outsider. A mechanic by trade, he’s forced to act as Prabhu’s enforcer, swallowing his pride and enduring public humiliation – notably a scene of mockery in the police station. Venkat is initially complicit with Prabhu in fabricating a suicide as an accident. However, he defies his elder brother by insisting on marrying a woman from a lower caste—a rebellion driven more by personal desire rather than moral awakening. All these individuals are caught in the suffocating grip of a system that demands compromise and a corrupt conscience. In contrast, Basu, a low-caste agitator, stands as a lone voice of resistance against both Prabhu and the complicit police. His fight for the rights of the marginalized is a beacon of light in the pervasive darkness.

Lower down the social ladder, the women, in particular, endure oppression in silence. Pathi becomes a symbol of this powerlessness, her muteness reflecting the voicelessness of the oppressed. The film opens with a ceremony in which an idol is returned to nature, drawing a stark parallel to the plight of the helpless shepherdess – discarded and forgotten, much like the ritual itself. And while Devaki, an assertive and strong-willed woman, is determined to see her relationship with Venkati materialize, she momentarily seeks solace in escapism, losing herself in a commercial film song playing on television when she is confronted with the harsh reality of her low-caste status and the impossibility of their union.

Coming to the performances, Achyut Kumar, with a sinister depth, conveys Prabhu’s controlled ruthlessness and oppressive authority as a calm and controlled manipulator perfectly. Dileesh Pothan’s imposing stature belies the turmoil within Malbari, crafting a character caught between servitude and the desperate urge to reclaim his agency. Debutant Sumitra, as Pathi, captivates us with her unspoken strength, embodying quiet suffering. Gopal Hegde infuses Basu with a steely determination, presenting him as a man of few words but unwavering convictions. Hegde, himself  as Venkati, and Bindu Raxidi as Devaki more than justify their characters.

Hegde, with his co-editor Paresh Kamdar, utilizes a deliberate and unhurried pace to methodically expose the entrenched injustices of a rigid, unchallenged social order that silently governs the seemingly calm village. Vikas Urs, the cinematographer, uses long stretches where his camera lingers over the flowing pond, drifts through the dense forest and follows the characters as they navigate their fraught journeys. Shreyank Nanjappa’s sound design reinforces the film’s contemplative tone. Natural ambiences – the rustling of leaves, the distant murmur of water, and the rhythmic clatter of human movement – merge seamlessly with the visuals. The background score by Leo Heiblum carries an ominous undercurrent, subtly weaving through the narrative without overpowering it.

With Vaghachipani, Hegde has crafted a film of quiet devastation, mirroring the inescapable cycles of power and subjugation that define its milieu. The film reaffirms his ability to distil incisive social commentary into stark, unflinching cinema and once again confirms his status as a filmmaker to watch out for.

Kannada, Drama, Color