Shiva in Kantara begins as a man deeply rooted in the physical world—he’s impulsive, indulgent, and disconnected from the spiritual legacy of his ancestors. His life revolves around thrill-seeking, village politics, and resisting authority. Though he’s part of a community that reveres the forest and its deities, Shiva distances himself from these beliefs, especially after the mysterious disappearance of his father during a sacred ritual.
But everything shifts when Shiva is pulled into a divine encounter during the ritual of Bhoota Kola. Possessed by Panjurli Daiva, a guardian spirit of the forest, Shiva becomes a vessel for justice and ancestral truth. The experience is not just spiritual—it’s transformative. He begins to see the forest not as a battleground, but as a sacred entity that demands reverence and protection. This awakening leads him to confront corruption, reclaim stolen land, and restore balance to his community. His personal redemption becomes a collective healing.
Cut to out second story in lens, Baba, the setting is starkly different. Baba is an atheist, a man who scoffs at spirituality and lives by his own rules. He’s rebellious, brash, and uninterested in the divine. Yet, his life takes a dramatic turn when he encounters Mahavatar Babaji, a mystical sage who reveals Baba’s true identity as a reincarnated saint. Granted seven wishes, Baba is thrust into a journey of self-discovery, where each wish tests his character and detachment.
Unlike Shiva’s explosive transformation in the forest, Baba’s evolution is gradual and introspective. The city becomes a mirror for his internal battles—temptation, ego, and loss. As he begins to understand the weight of his spiritual inheritance, Baba sheds his worldly desires and embraces a higher calling. His final ascent to the Himalayas symbolizes his complete surrender to the divine, leaving behind the noise of the city for the silence of enlightenment.
Shiva and Baba are not just protagonists, they’re instruments. Their stories suggest that the divine doesn’t concern itself with the mundane churn of politics, ego, or material chaos. It watches, waits, and when necessary, intervenes, not to fix the world directly, but to test a chosen soul. The transformation of that soul becomes the spark that shifts everything around it. In Kantara, Shiva’s possession by Panjurli Daiva isn’t a reward, it’s a reckoning. The deity doesn’t descend to negotiate with corrupt landlords or argue with forest officers. Instead, it chooses Shiva, a flawed man, to carry its fury and justice. The divine tests him through pain, loss, and revelation. And once Shiva surrenders, the forest breathes again. The land is reclaimed, the rituals restored, and the community healed, not because the divine fixed it, but because Shiva did, under its influence.
Similarly, in Baba, Mahavatar Babaji doesn’t intervene in Chennai’s chaos. He doesn’t stop politicians or cleanse the city of greed. He simply grants Baba seven wishes, a spiritual test disguised as a gift. Baba’s journey through those wishes is riddled with temptation and heartbreak. But as he evolves, shedding his ego and embracing detachment, the world around him begins to shift. His resistance to corruption, his protection of the innocent, and his final surrender to the Himalayas leave behind a ripple of change.
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