Black Water and Black Hearts: The Politics of Citizenship in KAALA PAANI
The medical survival thriller Kaala Paani (2023) explores the dehumanization of indigenous communities through the prism of politics, development, and a dangerous pandemic in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Imagine driving at high speed on a highway, when suddenly, a car cuts into your lane without warning. It’s a definite collision if you don’t swerve. But, from the corner of your eye, you notice that a dog has wandered onto the highway. If you keep going straight, you hit a car filled with people, possibly killing a family. But if you swerve, you kill the dog. What do you choose?
In an anthropocentric world that values human life over every other species, you would probably choose to swerve and hit the dog. But what if it wasn’t a dog… but your sister on her motorcycle? What would you choose then? Variants of this ethical dilemma, what you might know as The Trolley Problem, form the central theme of Kaala Paani, a thrilling new survival drama on Netflix.
Created by Sameer Saxena, Biswapati Sarkar and Amit Golani, Kaala Paani is an edge-of-seat medical survival thriller, which drowns its audience in the black waters of unpredictability and suspense till the very end. Released in October 2023, the series features a talented acting cast including Mona Singh, Ashutosh Gowarikar, Sukant Goel, Amey Wagh, Arushi Sharma, Vikas Kumar, and Radhika Mehrotra.
Set in Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the year 2027, the premise follows a mysterious and deadly plague that is let loose upon the islands. There is no known cause or cure. In rapid succession, the death toll rises and the whole island is under lockdown, battling the epidemic called LHF-27.
The series comes at an interesting time in world politics. Globally, we are only now recuperating from the COVID-19 pandemic which drudged up long-invisibilized issues of bias and inequality in healthcare, unjust governments, and a capitalist system that caters mostly to the rich and powerful.
Closer home in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, there have been increased conflicts between development and ecology, in the form of the proposed Greater Nicobar Holistic Development project, which—if successful—will directly lead to mass deforestation, displacement of indigenous communities, and the destruction of the natural habitat of many endangered species. Positioned against this context, in only seven episodes the writers engage with important topics such as the rights of indigenous communities, casteism, the conflict between development and ecology, poverty, medical access, and the intricacies of human relationships in times of crisis.
One of the most pertinent themes the series addresses is of the dehumanisation of indigenous communities. The narrative introduces a fictional indigenous tribal community called the Oraka, no doubt inspired by the real tribes that call the Islands their home. Kaala Paani captures the complicated dynamics of what subaltern studies theorist Gyanendra Pandey referred to as the ‘subaltern citizen’, wherein through the Orakas, the series holds up a mirror to the politics of citizenship of the oppressed and subordinated classes of society.
The very first instance of this subalternity shows itself when Chiranjeevi (Sukant Goel) introduces the Oraka as illiterate, destructive, and fundamentally anti-development. His opinion is interesting, because it is descriptive of how the masses perceive the tribal people, as individuals who live off government aid without hard work or effort. Chiranjeevi repeats this assessment also while describing activists who work for the Oraka, yet again reflecting public sentiment around environmental and indigenous rights activism.
The series comes at an interesting time in world politics. Globally, we are only now recuperating from the COVID-19 pandemic which drudged up long-invisibilized issues of bias and inequality in healthcare, unjust governments, and a capitalist system that caters mostly to the rich and powerful.
As the show progresses, we see that the virus pervades every aspect of life on the Islands. The activists working for tribal welfare find that the Orakas have abandoned their settlement, eliciting worry about their lives in the face of the deadly virus. But we soon learn that through centuries of living closely with nature, the Orakas have learned not only to fight the plague, but have also become immune to it.
This, by all accounts, should be great news. But the writers of Kaala Paani astutely understand that if a tribal community were to gain immunity toward a deadly virus—that too an immunity that the rest of the population does not share—they are sure to be exploited by the governments and pharmaceutical companies alike.
This is precisely what occurs: When Dr. Ritu Gagra (Radhika Mehrotra), the NICD postdoctoral fellow consulting on communicable diseases and ACP Ketan Kamat (Amey Wagh) learn the connection between the Orakas and the cure to the virus, they immediately triangulate the tribe’s location. In a violent scene, the police officials launch themselves at Enmae (Desire Junior Binde), a member of the Oraka tribe and pin him on the ground. He is physically restrained and transported against his will to the hospital in Port Blair to conduct the necessary tests. This moment narrates the subordinated status of the Orakas in the social order and their lack of agency and bodily autonomy.
At this point, a compelling dynamic emerges when we are introduced to Dr. Ritu Gagra (Radhika Mehrotra). Coming from a Dalit family, her well-educated and successful father had experienced first-hand the trauma of caste and the seeming inability to rise above a person’s surname in India. In an emotionally charged scene, he recounts his own father’s prophesy that, just like his ancestors, he, too, would amount to nothing in his life. This scene emphasizes what leaders and activists like Dr. Ambedkar and Periyar have long maintained that there can be no political freedom or emancipation without fundamental self-respect.
This generational trauma passed down for decades reflects in Ritu’s own self-confidence. She often second-guesses herself, and finds herself unworthy of the ‘Dr.’ title, despite a degree that permits its usage. And yet, contrarily, when she learns that the antidote to the virus is within the Oraka people, extractable through a procedure that could kill them, she does not hesitate to share this information immediately. Is this her making the right medical decision, and therefore giving herself the respect she deserves? Or is this act further perpetuating the denial of self-respect and autonomy to another oppressed community? What, if anything, does she and the wider medical community owe the Orakas?
Notably, throughout Kaala Paani, the viewer is urged to revisit the Trolley Problem in a variety of ways. At one point, the fate of five thousand non-infected residents rests in the hands of the CEO of multi-million dollar corporation ATOM, whose wife Swasti Shaw (Poornima Indrajith) is infected by the virus. In a typical capitalist exchange, ATOM agrees to evacuate the non-infected only if Swasti can be saved. In the face of this dilemma, Lieutenant Governor Admiral Zibran Qadri (Ashutosh Gowarikar), who up until that moment had pledged a lifelong debt to the Orakas for having once saved his life, gives them up. He reconciles with his decision to sacrifice the tribal community for a cure that can save Swasti and thousands of other lives in Port Blair.
As much as it is a moral and ethical question, this incident equally conveys the value (or lack thereof) placed upon the lives of the tribe. Qadri defends his decision to commit what is, bluntly put, an act of genocide against them citing the spiritual doctrine of dharma—or as interpreted in this instance, his “duty” toward his citizens. In turn, this decision raises questions about the autonomy and rights that are available to the indigenous Orakas despite being legitimate citizens of India.
This idea of subalternity embodied by the Orakas reinforces the message that the blanket application of the term ‘citizen’ does not promise equality, nor does it grant the same level of rights to all who are deemed citizens. The moral juncture when Qadri tolls the death knell upon the Orakas is reminiscent of Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben’s theory of the camp, which reflects that during times of extraordinary crisis when law is suspended, it creates a state of exception in which everything is permissible. When applied to the isolated Andaman and Nicobar Islands under siege by the virus, the usual rights to life do not apply to the tribal community. The Orakas now become a resource to be exploited, lives less valuable than those in Port Blair, actions against whom go without repercussions. The ability to make decisions that devalue one group of people in favour of another is representative of the dangerous and unchallenged biopolitical powers vested in the government. Particularly, the fact that such an important decision is in the hands of a single individual speaks volumes about power and the responsibilities that accompany it. In this sense we can see how loyalties shift and hierarchies emerge based on whose lives are at stake.
The Orakas become a resource to be exploited, lives less valuable than those in Port Blair. The ability to make decisions that devalue one group of people in favour of another is representative of the dangerous and unchallenged biopolitical powers vested in the government.
Delving deeper into the question of loyalties, we can also look at Chiranjeevi’s character arc to see how old hatreds can transform into powerful alliances. In an initial encounter, rage consumes Chiranjeevi when he learns of the death of his mother while in service of the Orakas. He blames the Orakas for the death of both his parents and feels a sense of betrayal at what he perceives as his mother’s lifelong preference for the Orakas over him. In an act of retribution, he makes the hasty decision of kidnapping and assaulting Enmae to learn the cure for the virus that killed his mother. But as the plot develops, a single epiphany shifts his perspective. He is overcome with guilt at having trapped Enmae, and instead volunteers himself as a tribute for the medical procedure.
Up until this point, for Chiranjeevi, the Orakas were the Other to be hated and destroyed. But when he learns he is more closely connected with the Oraka than previously imagined, he feels a sense of duty toward them.
Chiranjeevi’s storyline is emotional, and yet it forces us to ask ourselves: Do our loyalties hinge solely upon a shared DNA? Do the Orakas continue being the Other for Qadri, Ritu, and everyone else because they believe they are intrinsically different from them? Does intimacy with non-human species make the tribal people less human than those living in Port Blair or the mainland? What are the grounds on which loyalties are built and sustained in a world filled with Trolley Problems?
In the final few minutes of the season finale, Qadri explains that his decision to sacrifice the Orakas reflects how as humans, we are meant to evolve. Making tough decisions that necessitate sacrifice dictates a stage in evolution that he believes other non-human species failed to achieve. Not only does he determine that evolution is the natural order for humans, but also that humans are the pinnacle of evolution. In the same breath, he posits that the Orakas were never destined to survive because they could not evolve.
With this speech, Qadri places the final nail in the coffin in the dehumanisation of the Oraka tribe. Echoing the sentiment of millions of people, Qadri explicitly distinguishes humans from tribals, and while doing so, argues that the lives of the tribal people are worth sacrificing to save those of the “human”.
Although Kaala Paani’s closing scene offers us a glimmer of hope and reiterates the strategic genius of the Oraka, it nevertheless also shows us our follies as a society. In the end, what we are left with is an innate understanding that the subalterns in Kaala Paani—like the Orakas and Ritu Gagra’s Dalit father—are forever trapped in the liminal space between being and becoming. To borrow Gyanendra Pandey’s argument, they are always only a potential: potential dangers, potential resources, potential citizens, and potential equals.
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Anusha Prakash is a writer and poet based in Bengaluru, India. She holds an MA in English and Cultural Studies. Her work has been published in Arts Illustrated and EKL Review. You can find her on Instagram: @anushareflects and Twitter: @anushareflects.
