Bayaan Review | Huma Qureshi’s Procedural Drama Is A Significant Commentary On Gatekeepers Of Patriarchy

Bikas Ranjan Mishra’s Bayaan (2025) returns home after its Toronto premiere for the first time at the ongoing Red Lorry Film Festival in Mumbai. Premiering as a part of the festival’s centrepiece spotlight curation, Bayaan brings forth the bold subject matter of religious indoctrination and the larger machinery that sustains it. Through the skeleton of a procedural drama, the film attempts to conjure the very sprouting seed of a cult and what makes a successful cult leader. The title exposes the turbulent pursuit of a voice that speaks truth—one constantly obstructed by unseen, yet formidable barriers and gatekeepers. Produced by Shiladitya Bora, Madhu Sharma, Kunal Kumar and Anuj Gupta, the film’s script had been in development since 2017. The film also secured support from the International Film Festival Rotterdam’s Hubert Bals Fund.

In a country like India, the spectacle of babas and matajis presenting themselves as divine emissaries or reborn saints is hardly unfamiliar. What should remain austere and spiritually restorative is many a times distorted into a grotesque economy driven by profit and predation. It is tempting to dismiss the followers of such religious leaders as “uneducated”, ignorant or worse, gullible, while pointing the finger away from the obvious culprits. This is the crux of Bayaan: how readily do the vulnerable clutch the nearest lifeline when they feel themselves sinking? And how swiftly do the privileged judge them for doing so?

When a film centres on a lone female police officer, it often invites certain expectations upon her—of moral perfectionism, political correctness and at times, a quiet deference to male authority, be it voluntary or imposed. Whether tied to ideals of womanhood or the obligations of police duty, she reveals an anomaly within a male-dominated system. Her deeply empathic persona is also fuelled by the relentless pursuit of the truth. Such is the fight against any patriarchal setting—lonesome and tiring. Enter Roohi Kartar (Huma Qureshi), the bumbling DSP and daughter to a successful investigator (Sachin Khedekar). Qureshi’s portrayal of the timid and all-over-the-place cop is refreshing, as it realistically allows her to find her footing, rather than being the confident one from the start. 

Though one can go on about nepotism, Roohi never doubts whether she deserves the opportunity of leading a case—her only concern remains being able to do it the right way. That is when all her expectations collapse, as she discovers that the bearers of justice are as flawed as those who are blind to the crime. Bayaan takes a giant leap from being just a women-centric drama to an intersectional commentary on the gatekeepers of patriarchy. Picture women being the most ardent protectors of an abuser and witnessing how power corrupts immeasurably. Tonally, the film carries a certain angst as women across classes collide. 

Inspired by numerous accounts of individuals who endured religious and sexual trauma, the film seeks to understand the psychology of those who trusted what seemed like a second chance at life. Ashram women from the fictional town of Kirangarh occupy the visual centre of the narrative—cut off from their homes, assigned new names and dressed in austere white garments. In fact, the film opens with an arresting tableau of them meditating together. An unbroken line of women appear sitting obediently—eyes shut and ears pressed closed beneath their palms. Their rhythmic chants reverberate through the courtyard. Amid this ritualised stillness, a young girl manages to slip away. Moving on silent feet, she reaches the printing room where she tucks an anonymous letter into books, appealing to newspaper editors for help : “Holy Father is abusing us at the commune. Help us.”

Maharaj “Pitaji” (Chandrachur Singh) operates as the harbinger of justice and kindness—to an extent that people are willing to sacrifice their lives to protect him. Constructing numerous schools, providing jobs and establishing his own ashram for the vulnerable and economically distressed, few have dared to challenge the hand that has sustained them, even as it quietly drives the blade in. Singh’s portrayal of the religious leader is impressive to say the least. His serene expression and gentle presence disguise a darker impulse that lingers just beneath the surface. One of the film’s most unsettling sequences finds Qureshi’s Roohi forcing her way through a swarm of women draped in white saris. They slam metal utensils in a loud, defiant rhythm as she tries to reach Maharaj Pitaji and demand answers. The moment carries a jolt of unease and for once, Roohi’s composure cracks and fear shows plainly on her face.

Narratives around women police officers have become far more textured in recent years. Shows like Dahaad (2023) and Kohrra: Season 2 (2026) present investigators whose professional resolve runs alongside private anxieties and vulnerabilities. Bayaan moves within that space too, as it examines Roohi’s complicated relationship with her father, personally and professionally. The film unravels how men in positions of authority cushion her path through the investigation. The help appears generous at first glance, but she soon realises that it carries a patronising edge. Their protection chips away at her agency and reduces her to someone who must be guided and used as a pawn for reasons unveiled later. Roohi begins to recognise the privilege that frames her life as an urban woman failing to reconcile with indoctrinated villagers and women. She soon realises that despite her independence, she still belongs to a world that expects women to comply, much like the rural lives she observes.

Bayaan does not attempt to reinvent the genre entirely. What it does manage is a fairly steady walk through a world, where crime is an everyday occurrence and the system works overtime to keep things exactly as they are. The writing often leans on certain familiar turns and occasionally stumbles into awkward dialogue. Characterisation, however, remains its strongest asset. Some figures emerge with a striking sense of agency while others feel noticeably constrained. 

Roohi’s movement through this new space feels strangely removed from the sort of setbacks, doubt or hard-won learning that usually shapes such a trajectory. Her shift from a fumbling newcomer to someone suddenly certain of herself arrives without much warning. The film never quite tells us when and how that conviction takes root—what solidifies Roohi’s core motivation remains frustratingly unclear. It seems improbable that Qureshi, an actor of clear talent, finds herself confined within a story built around her. She performs capably, yet the unyielding reserve of the role soon grows tiring. In the end, it is the supporting cast whose performances keep the film afloat.

Roohi’s companions Karnail (Vibhore Mayank) and Meena (Sampa Mandal) come with a clearer sense of history. Their backstory is more layered, despite unfolding along fairly predictable lines. Mayank gets one of the film’s most striking moments, wherein Karnail approaches a personal mission finding himself face to face with Maharaj Pitaji. Meena moves through the story with shifting loyalties—her pull between Maharaj Pitaji and Roohi gives the character an edge of unpredictability. Mandal plays her with calm restraint, yet the collapse of Meena’s illusion arrives through lazy exposition, diluting the emotional blow. Nirmala-mai (Swati Das), Maharaj Pitaji’s indispensable righthand, emerges as a formidable presence retaining striking emotional depth. Das navigates the character’s blend of buried trauma and hard-earned power with precision.

A film that is devoid of songs and fast-cut action places unusual weight on its visual language. Cinematographer Udit Khurana therefore carries a significant burden. He manages to capture the bleak texture expected of a slow-burn narrative, yet the element of thrill rarely reaches its full charge. Small technical lapses, particularly in focus pulling, are easy to dismiss in theory, but they occasionally disrupt immersion. That is unfortunate because Bayaan often feels poised on the edge of something compelling. The film repeatedly suggests that its pieces will lock into place, though the final result lands as a promise only partly realised. In conclusion, Bayaan comes across as a competent thriller—one that carries its share of flaws yet is guided by clear intent. The narrative avoids turning a sensitive issue into spectacle and resists passing neat moral verdicts on those shaped by indoctrination.

Bayaan screened at the ongoing Red Lorry Film Festival in Mumbai.