What do you get when the philosophical quagmire of capital punishment collides with the razor-sharp intellect of Bengal’s most celebrated sleuth? Srijit Mukherji’s Bhuswargo Bhoyonkawr— a tale that is equal parts cerebral and scintillating. Rest assured, retired Justice Siddheshwar Mullick (played by Rajatava Dutta) doesn’t lapse into sanctimonious soliloquies about ethics. Instead, his torment manifests in a relentless moral haemorrhage—dragging our own three musketeers— Feluda, Topshe and Jatayu— into a labyrinth of guilt and intrigue that goes beyond the mortal realm.

The backdrop? None other than Kashmir—the land immortalised by Amir Khusrau’s effusive verse: “Gar firdaus, bar ruhe zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast.” (meaning, if there is paradise on this earth, it is here, it is here, it is here…)

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Through six impeccably crafted episodes, Bhuswargo Bhoyonkawr on hoichoi unfurls with a measured grace that mirrors the gentle sway of Kashmiri willows. Yet beneath this veneer of serenity brews an ever-rising tide of suspense—unhurried but unrelenting.

The narrative skillfully juxtaposes the idyllic allure of Kahwah-kissed mornings with the icy estrangement of a father and son. Add to this an ensemble of enigmatic figures, sessions of planchette and the jarring discord of gunfire that shatters Khusrau’s paradisiacal dream.

The cast is nothing short of a revelation. Rajatava Dutta commands attention with his gravitas, while Debesh Chatterjee as Dr Majumdar and Riddhi Sen as Shushanto Shome lend their unique subtlety to the ensemble. Sawon Chakraborty as Bijoy Mullick and Aniruddha Gupta as Arun Sarkar deliver performances as authentic as they are compelling.

As for the golden trio, Anirban Chakrabarti waltzes through the role of Lal Mohan Babu aka Jatayu with unmatched panache. He effortlessly embodies the comic relief with a carefree demeanour, yet surprises with keen erudition as he invokes Birinchi Baba’s musings on the “Martanda mantra”. Not stopping there, he engages Topshe in a fascinating discourse on the rare sun temples scattered across India—a delightful juxtaposition of levity and intellect. Kalpan Mitra, playing the role of Topshe, may have been sparing in his dialogues, yet his performance speaks volumes, delivering commendable flair. And when all was said and done, Tota Roy Chowdhury masterfully dons the mantle of Pradosh Chandra Mitter, alias Feluda, in Bhuswargo Bhoyonkawr. Diverging from his prior portrayals, Tota sheds the mantle of restraint, his craft now liberated and brimming with authenticity. He ideally transforms into the quintessential Feluda—charismatic, Charminar-smoking and wielding the iconic .32 Colt revolver with an effortless swagger.

As the grand curtain call to Srijit Mukherji’s foray into the Feluda universe, Bhuswargo Bhoyonkawr stands not merely as an apposite swansong but as the crowning jewel of his adaptations. The cinematography is nothing short of spellbinding—a visual sonnet to the paradisiacal Kashmir—while the execution displays a finesse that borders on the orchestral.

And then, there’s the auditory magic—a hauntingly beautiful Feluda theme rendered on the Rabab, echoing through the valleys like a melancholic muse. To top it off, a kaleidoscopic homage to Feluda’s most “highly magnificent” cases like Sonar Kella, Joy Baba Felunath, Gorosthane Sabdhan and Tintorettor Jishu, provides a fitting crescendo to this magnum opus.

With Bhuswargo Bhoyonkawr, the genius of Srijit Mukherji weaves a touch of literary brilliance into the narrative as Tota’s Feluda, amidst the trio’s rapture over Kashmir’s resplendent vistas, reciting lines about the Himalayas from Satyajit Ray’s Hirak Rajar Deshe. This ingenious nod to Ray is not just an homage but a cleverly orchestrated poetic stroke of narrative elan.

Eventually, Mukherji deftly underscores the ominous spectre of terrorism in the series, culminating in Feluda’s haunting final words: “Nothing seems right, Topshe. It will only get worse.”

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