Vivek Ranjan Agnihotri likes to make all the right—pun intended—moves. Ahead of the release of The Bengal Files, the third instalment of his Files series, he picks a Bengali-themed restaurant in suburban Mumbai for an interview, tells us that he likes Kishore Kumar’s Bengali songs and settles down for a Bengali meal with shukto and fish paturi . Excerpts from the conversation.

I would have felt suffocated. I would have failed. My idea was to pick up taboo subjects, and in my mind the problem was that even after 78 years of Independence, we are still fighting with the same problems that led to the Partition. Unless you acknowledge there is a problem there can be no healing, no solutions. The purpose, the whole objective of my movies is to start a conversation. Since the trailer has launched, everybody is writing about Direct Action Day or Gandhi’s role, they are dissecting the film. Many Bengali Hindus are now admitting that their parents or grandparents had spoken about Direct Action Day and the Partition trauma. This, I believe, marks the beginning of healing from a generational wound.

No other place has sacrificed as much as Bengal: it was the cradle of the Renaissance, the wellspring of nationalism in all its shades—Congress, communist, centrist—with both Vande Mataram and Jana Gana Mana emerging from here. Bengal gave India its cultural crown, from cuisine and poetry to cinema, the Bengal School of Art shaped by Abanindranath Tagore. For me, Bengal is India’s lighthouse. My purpose was to shock people into realising how much we’ve lost.

That’s a very deep question. Which other state in the world has been divided three times? Without Direct Action Day or the Noakhali genocide, there would not have been Partition. Gandhi himself spent seven months in Noakhali, yet afterwards Bengalis were told not to speak of their pain—silenced by political forces that wanted to take India on a different path.

Later, communist ideology took deep root in Bengal, but it viewed everything only through oppressor versus oppressed. That western lens does not fit India, where the so-called majority was ruled and persecuted by minorities for 1,200 years—our literature, music, architecture, everything was distorted. That is why, I argue, Bengal’s decline cannot be seen separately from communal fault lines.

First, let’s be clear—which lot of people? Viewers? Critics? I am very research-oriented. And why should I force closure when history itself has none? Lal Bahadur Shastri’s death has no closure. Kashmir still has no closure—people were killed in Pahalgam just recently. But this film does have closure. What I believe should be done, that’s the closure.

Look at The Kashmir Files. People warned it would cause unrest. Nothing happened. Instead, I received thousands of emails from Kashmiri Pandits saying the film began their healing process. I can guarantee Bengali Hindus will say the same after this film; they already are, across screenings in the US.

Of course. Healing belongs to everyone. But not everyone had the luxury of moving on. Many were forced. Did we really move on? Germany and Poland confronted their past—they outlawed Nazi glorification, built museums, preserved Auschwitz.

Should India simply say “move on”? Or acknowledge that we have a genuine Hindu–Muslim faultline—Partition, Bombay blasts, Pahalgam killings, constant election rhetoric. If America could confront slavery through films, articles, debate, why are we in India told to stay silent about our own history?

What backlash? Sourav and I had lunch recently. He never distanced himself. A journalist twisted his words, and he immediately asked, “Show me my tweet, quote me if I said that.” Same with Saswata. He never disowned the film.

That’s media manipulation. Do you think an actor of his calibre would sign without reading the script? He has to say things to survive in Bengal. I even spoke to his family—they shrugged it off. Look, he speaks Bengali throughout, eats paturi maach, plays a Murshidabad MLA. He knew what he was doing. After Nana Patekar in Parinda, we have not had such a cold-hearted villain in our cinema.

Cinematic closure. But let’s be real—I cannot close the Hindu– Muslim conflict in Bengal or India. Who am I?

Honestly, what India needs right now is silence. All politicians should shut up for five years. Dalit leaders, Brahmin leaders, Muslim leaders, TV anchors— everyone. Just shut down the noise. And focus only on eradicating corruption. Solve that and 90% of India’s problems vanish.

I’d rather die than join politics. But yes, I understand politics deeply. My father was a freedom fighter, I’ve debated politics since childhood. That’s why I can say what I say; most filmmakers can’t.

Conviction. A filmmaker must guard their work like a mother rabbit protecting her babies from vultures. Most filmmakers lack that instinct. I don’t. I fight till the end.

Look, if you make a film on caste, someone’s offended. On women’s persecution, men are offended. On Muslims, Hindus are offended. Everyone is offended. But cinema cannot be hostage to sentiment. Honestly, I do not understand Muslim trauma or pain. Maybe if I am born as a Muslim in my next life, I would. But I still have the right to tell stories drawn from history and testimony.

Then I fight for them. I don’t know why they don’t come to me, I would be happy to fight for them. Even my ideological enemies, I defend their freedom of speech. I fought for comedians like Kunal Kamra and Samay Raina.

He’s in jail, it’s sub judice, so I won’t comment.

Yes, yes. They were the fiercest. Part of the akharas, too.

Why? Bengalis eat meat. What’s wrong with that? Hindus in Kerala eat beef, Kashmiri Pandits ate meat too. India is not a vegetarian country; 73% of Indians eat non-veg. To reduce Gopal to food habits or language is just superficial politics. I believe in total freedom of food, speech, lifestyle.

Trailers don’t need disclaimers. The film will have one, because the law demands it. I hate disclaimers. They assume audiences are stupid. Does a painting carry a disclaimer? Cinema is art. My disclaimer will be the usual: “based on true incidents, survivor accounts, historical texts… intention not to hurt anyone.” Plus the silly statutory warnings—smoking kills, animals unharmed, etc. But because Jinnah was a chain-smoker, I was forced to add two extra minutes of anti-smoking ads.

----------------------------------

I am nobody to find answers. I am not the Prime Minister, not a social scientist. I am a storyteller. My job is to observe and narrate, not to prescribe solutions. People expect too much from filmmakers. Journalists often ask me — why don’t you rehabilitate Kashmiri Pandits? I tell them, I am not a politician. It’s like asking Satyajit Ray after Pather Panchali to eradicate poverty. That’s not how art works.