May 4, 2026
By Ishmeet Kaur and Anushka Padmanabh Antrolikar
Espionage has always occupied a powerful place in the public imagination. Its appeal lies not only in intrigue and secrecy, but in its central role in shaping political outcomes. Contemporary cinema often draws on this fascination, but its deeper roots lie in a long intellectual tradition of statecraft. Dhurandhar, a spy-action film written and directed by Aditya Dhar, reflects this continuity. While it presents a contemporary account of espionage, it also echoes principles articulated centuries ago in the Arthashastra by Kautilya.
At its core, the film centres on espionage- the systematic training of individuals to infiltrate hostile territories and extract intelligence in service of the state. This raises a broader question: why does espionage continue to resonate so strongly? The answer lies in its historical depth. The practices depicted on screen are not new; they draw from a structured and enduring tradition of intelligence thinking. To understand this, one must move beyond contemporary narratives to the political and intellectual milieu of ancient Magadha, where Kautilya developed a systematic theory of espionage and governance.
Long before the architecture of modern intelligence took shape, Indian soil had already produced a formidable mind in covert strategy and statecraft– Kautilya. He was a master strategist and realist of extraordinary insight; he is widely credited with orchestrating the fall of the Nanda dynasty and laying the foundations of the Maurya Empire under Chandragupta Maurya. His political treatise, the Arthashastra, constitutes a vast repository of knowledge on governance, statecraft, diplomacy, and social order. Within this framework, Kautilya reconceptualises kingship not as dominance but as responsibility centred on the protection and stability of the state. Central to this vision is the institutionalisation of espionage through extensive network of gūḍha-puruṣa (गूढपुरुष). These includes agents such as kāpaṭika (कापटिक, fraudulent student), udāsthita (उदास्थित, ascetic), gṛhapatika (गृहपतिक, householder), vaidehaka (वैदेहक, merchant), along with specialsied operatives like tīkṣṇa (तीक्ष्ण, assassins) and rasada (रसद, poisoners), each trained in deception, manipulation, and intelligence-gathering to serve the interest of the state.
In this sense, the Kautilyan framework does not purely belong to the past but offers a conceptual vocabulary through which the art of espionage continues to be imagined and reinterpreted through a new lens. In its modern cinematic portrayal of espionage, Dhurandhar presents spies not as one-dimensional operatives but as composite figures who embody multiple layers of strategy, deception, and psychological depth. The film’s effectiveness is therefore not entirely the function of cinematic craft; rather, it appears to draw, perhaps unconsciously, from a much older reservoir of strategic thought rooted in the Indian subcontinent where a spy is envisioned not simply as an agent of action but as a carefully cultivated instrument of statecraft.
Set in the volatile landscape of Layari, Pakistan, the story follows Hamza, portrayed as an Indian spy on a covert mission, who infiltrates hostile territory and embeds himself in the town’s social and political fabric. His objective is clear: to dismantle the authority of the local goon/strongman Rehman Baloch, not through the pursuit of overt force or warfare, but rather through calculated intelligence, deception, and psychological manoeuvring. In doing so, Hamza’s character begins to mirror the sophisticated espionage framework articulated by Kautilya in the Arthashastra where the destabilization of adversarial structures is achieved through covert means rather than direct confrontation.
The typology and organization of Kautilya’s spies finds a striking resemblance in Hamza’s methods. He operates as a sanchāra (संचार), a wandering agent who moves across regions, gathering intelligence while maintaining fluidity of identity; an approach that enables deep infiltration into unfamiliar socio-political terrains.
Simultaneously, he embodies the qualities of a tīkṣṇa (तीक्ष्ण), a sharp and decisive operative willing to undertake high-risk missions, even at the cost of personal safety, reflecting the Kautilyan view of an ‘assassin spies’ for dangerous and decisive interventions. His adept use of disguise, manipulation, and strategic alliances further aligns him with the kapātika (कपाटिक), the deceptive agent skilled in embedding himself within enemy structures and gaining trust.
The film foregrounds the nuanced skill of disguise as Hamza assumes multiple roles such as camaraderie among his fellow gang members, bodyguard of Rehman Baloch and that of a husband strategically navigating intricate human relationships to establish his network in a more subtle yet resilient manner. This layered performance of identity reflects the Kautilyan emphasis on veṣa-dhāraṇa (वेषधारण), the deliberate adoption of disguised as suited to context, enabling spies to penetrate diverse social spaces without suspicion. His association with the Mohammad Aalam also known as the sodawala, who operates under the guise of a local vendor in Karachi’s Layari, function as a covert node of communication; a discreet meeting point where encoded messages are exchanged. This dynamic closely parallels with Kautilya’s conception of clandestine communication through saṃjñā (संज्ञा, coded signs) and gūḍha-lekhya (गूढलेख्य, secret writing), aṅgavidyayā (अङ्गविद्यया, communication through gestures and bodily signs), ensuring intelligence flows without detection. Much like the spies (gūḍha-puruṣa) described by Kautilya in the Arthashastra, who infiltrate society as merchants, ascetics, or householders, Hamza leverages proximity, trust, and familiarity as instruments of statecraft. His actions also echo the Kautilyan insistence on multi-layered espionage networks, where information is not only gathered but circulated, verified, and operationalised through interconnected agents.
Yet, the parallels extend beyond typology in the very institution of statecraft. Kautilya’s spies were not passive informants but were active instruments in reshaping politics. Hamza, similarly, does not observe the existing orders in Layari; by cultivating trust, embedding himself within circles of power, he embodies Kautilya’s emphasis on proximity to authority as a decisive tool of influence. In the Arthashastra, espionage is inseparable from political engineering; in Dhurandhar, this principle is cinematically reimagined. At the same time, Kautilya’s framework is anchored in a broader ethical vision of dharma, within which artha, derived from the root arth (to seek, to aim) is pursued not merely as a material gain, but as a means towards a stable and just order.
In contemporary terms, Dhurandhar brings espionage into public discourse, but it also reveals something more enduring: the persistence of Kautilya’s strategic imagination. The film’s depiction of surveillance, deception, and infiltration reflects principles articulated centuries ago in the Arthashastra. This convergence points to a deeper continuity in strategic thought. It is not a new concept; India has engaged with the practice of espionage for centuries. What is required, therefore, is a more conscious recognition of this intellectual legacy, one that moves beyond cinematic representation to acknowledge and highlight India’s long-standing contributions to the theory and practice of statecraft.
About the authors: Ishmeet Kaur, Post Graduate Scholar, School of Hindu Studies, Nalanda University.
Anushka Padmanabh Antrolikar, Post Graduate Scholar, School of International Relations and Peace Studies, Nalanda University.
No comments:
Post a Comment