Director Laxman Utekar seems fixated on Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj’s chhava (Lion’s Cub) persona but barely offers a glimpse into the man behind it. Akshaye Khanna delivers a distinct portrayal of the cruel Mughal emperor Aurangzeb.
Rating: ⭐️⭐️ (2 / 5)
By Mayur Lookhar
Mention the word Chhaava on Valentine’s Day, and many non-Maharashtrians raised in Mumbai are likely to perceive it as a term describing a stud or handsome hunk. Little did we know that in Marathi, this word stands for a lion’s cub. Such is the legacy of Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj (1657–1689), the son of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and the second Maratha king. History books do mention Sambhaji Maharaj, but perhaps not extensively.
Cinematic representations of Sambhaji Maharaj have largely remained confined to Marathi, with the first film, Chhatrapati Sambhaji, a silent film helmed by N. D. Sarpotdar in 1925, featuring Parshwanath Yeshwant Altekar in the titular role. Nine years later, Altekar turned director with the first talkie film on the Maratha king. In 2024 alone, two films on Chhatrapati Sambhaji were released – Shivrayancha Chhava, directed by Digpal Lanjekar, and Dharmarakshak Mahaveer Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj: Chapter 1, directed by Tushar Shelar. Swarajyarakshak Sambhaji (2017–2020) was an acclaimed TV series that aired on Zee Marathi. Laxman Utekar’s Chhaava (2025) is the first Hindi film on the Maratha king.
Phew, Sambhaji’s Wikipedia page is anything but flattering, perhaps written by Mughal apologists. Utekar’s film is based on revered novelist Shivaji Sawant’s book Chhava (1980) and largely covers Sambhaji’s reign as the Maratha king. Dig into history books or watch this film to learn more about the man.
How does Utekar choose to tell Sambhaji’s story? The director seems fixated on Sambhaji’s chhava persona, and what better way to establish it early than by showing him tearing a lion’s jaw apart? However, the film struggles with its narrative, reducing Sambhaji’s journey to an endless cycle of battles. In a nutshell, this film is all about Sambhaji’s yudh (wars) and yatana (torture).
The trouble is, Utekar’s film fails to go beyond Sambhaji’s chhava persona. All we see is Vicky Kaushal roar, roar, and just roar. This is rather surprising, considering the trailer featured a line where Sambhaji says, “We don’t make noise, but simply hunt.” The screenplay is so shoddy that if Shivaji Sawant were alive, he wouldn’t have been impressed. Utekar has thus far built a career on silly rom-coms, making it surprising that Maddock Films chose him to helm Chhaava. While one immensely respects Sambhaji’s valour, especially his fighting spirit, Utekar barely explores the man behind it, leaving discerning viewers disappointed.
The signs were evident in the trailer, which then led to furore among some in Maratha community. Central Board of Film Certification swung its scissors hands to delete objectionable words, but Maddock and Utekar wisely chopped off Sambhaji and Yesubai lezhim dance, and more important Hindavi was restored in the inspiring Sambhaji quote “Hindavi Swarajyachya rakshanasaathi maran ale tari chalel, pan dharm shrinicha hou denar nahi!” (I am ready to die for the protection of Hindavi Swarajya, but I will not let my faith be dishonoured!).
Vicky Kaushal has proven himself in biopics before, particularly garnering acclaim for his portrayal of the unsung hero Sardar Udham (2021). He seemed like a fine choice to play Sambhaji. However, for the first time, he has left us terribly disappointed. He delivers the roars and action well, but the actor in him is missing. Sambhaji is said to have fought over 100 battles, winning all but one. Honestly, it took treachery to bring him down. Yes, the writing and direction are appalling, but Kaushal’s below-par performance makes it feel like this casting was done purely on a look test.
The same can be said of Rashmika Mandanna, who comes across as far worse. Make no mistake, Mandanna was brilliant in Animal (2023) and Pushpa 2: The Rule (2024), but she is a total misfit for the role of Yesubai. She fails to curb her natural South Indian accent, which is a definite no for a Maratha strongwoman like Yesubai. The chemistry between Sambhaji and Yesubai—or rather, the lack of it—makes things even more insufferable. There was much more to the lady than just being Sambhaji’s wife, and we expected her journey to be explored in the post-Sambhaji era, but Utekar and his writers didn’t deem it necessary. That is still fine, but the director perhaps focused too much on the yatana. Showing a man enduring extreme torture without pain or even a single cry is a tribute to Sambhaji’s immense physical and mental strength, but after a few minutes, it becomes uncomfortable to watch. What is the message here? Does this reflect Maratha valour? We fear the Aurangzeb apologists might silently cheer.
The answer perhaps lies in the objective behind Aurangzeb’s portrayal. Utekar gets his casting right here. In fact, Akshaye Khanna is the only actor who justifies his casting and the only well-etched character in the narrative. Aurang, as he is largely referred to by his opponents in the film, is depicted as a man scarred by past battles, particularly his duels with his arch-nemesis, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The film opens with the news of Shivaji Maharaj’s death. This is a moment for celebration, but the Alamgir (the title adopted by Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb) shows no joy. He stuns his court by lamenting that he now has no worthy opponent left and then prays to the Almighty to open the doors of heaven for the Lion of the Maratha Empire.
Aurang’s wish for a worthy opponent is soon answered when Sambhaji walks into one of his territories and burns it down. Enraged, Aurang vows not to don the throne till he has defeated Sambhaji. Soon saffron blood spills all over the region. He retaliates with the barbaric destruction of Hindu lands, and his cruel army does not even spare women and children.
Aurangzeb’s duel with Sambhaji lasted for nine years, taking a toll on him. Treachery within his own kingdom and years of bloody wars naturally left him cut a sorry figure.
Utekar rightly portrays Aurangzeb as a miserable emperor who finds no joy even in torturing his enemy. India is a bizarre land where invaders have had a strong presence in culture and history books. Though loyalists may remind us that Aurangzeb was born in Gujarat, such a barbaric ruler deserves no praise and certainly no places named after him. The current establishment was right in renaming Aurangabad as Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar.
Utekar and producer Dinesh Vijan had mentioned that Akshaye Khanna agreed to the film on the condition that he would portray the character in his own way. Thank goodness for that, as Khanna delivers a distinct portrayal of Aurangzeb. Here is an emperor who often knits during court proceedings—perhaps, at this stage of his life, the only activity that didn’t abandon him. Khanna’s Aurangzeb is a character so consumed by hatred for his opponents that it leaves him miserable and eventually draws admiration for Shivaji and his sons. Historians, however, may question the final visual of Aurangzeb.
Sadly, Khanna wages a lone battle, as the rest of the cast is either a misfit or not up to the challenge. Even the usually dependable Ashutosh Rana fails to make an impression as Senapati Hambir Rao Mohite. It’s the same story for Divya Dutta in her cameo role as Sambhaji’s scheming stepmother, Soyrabai. In an interview, Vineet Kumar Singh spoke about the lack of opportunities and how he still lives in rented accommodation. Well, here was a big opportunity to play poet-warrior Kalash Kavi, wielding both the pen and the sword, but Singh makes a complete meal of it. Whoa, Utekar deserves a ‘Dadasaheb Phalke International Award’ for casting Diana Penty as Aurang’s daughter, Zeenat.
Clearly, the director is so carried away by the Chhava persona that the action feels a little over-the-top. In particularly, Sambhaji and his men rising through the river on horseback while disguised as sages is quite exaggerated. RRR (2022) hangover! Shivaji Maharaj and the Marathas are considered the architects of guerrilla warfare, and we see a bright and believable example of this in a combat sequence set in lush green fields. However, the background score feels out of place. A.R. Rahman largely disappoints in playback as well. Of course, song and dance were ruled out, but Rahman fails to deliver a rousing score for the Marathas. Instead, he crafts The Crown for Aurangzeb, with lyrics rooted in Persian culture. One instance is fine, but the track repeats more than necessary, which reflects poor direction and editing. In fact, the poor editor is largely left to work on a war-riddled screenplay.
For all its flaws, Chhaava (2025) still merits a watch as a tribute to the Maratha king. This nation achieved Swaraj after nearly 700 years of invasions. Historical films serve as a reminder to the youth of the immense sacrifices made by our heroes and countless others to secure our freedom. It should be an eye-opener for the youth of today, including the Ranveer Allahbadias, Samay Rainas, and Apoorva Makhijas, who clearly take this freedom for granted.
Watch the video review below.
