In an era where Indian cinema grapples with the shadow of Hollywood’s polished spectacles, Mahavatar Narsimha emerges as a defiant roar from the heart of Hindu mythology. Directed by debutant Ashwin Kumar and produced by Hombale Films—the powerhouse behind KGF and Kantara—this 2025 animated epic isn’t just a film; it’s a cultural declaration.
Released in theatres on July 25, 2025, across Hindi, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, and Malayalam, it shattered expectations by grossing over ₹53 crore in its first week, with the Hindi version alone contributing ₹32.82 crore. Now streaming on Netflix since September 19, 2025, it arrives as a Navratri gift, blending devotion with high-stakes action in a way that feels both timeless and urgently modern.
At its core, Mahavatar Narsimha retells the Puranic tale of Lord Vishnu’s fourth avatar, the half-man, half-lion Narasimha, drawn from the Bhagavatam, Vishnu Purana, and Narasimha Purana. The story unfolds in the Satya Yuga, where chaos reigns after the demon brothers Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu defy divine order. Hiranyaksha’s drowning of the Earth prompts Vishnu’s Varaha (boar) incarnation to rescue it, a prelude that sets the stage for familial tragedy.
Enter Hiranyakashipu (voiced with tyrannical menace by Sanket Jaiswal), who, fueled by vengeance against Vishnu for his brother’s death, secures a boon from Brahma: immortality except by day or night, indoors or outdoors, man or beast. Emboldened, he declares himself a god, enforcing worship through terror.
His young son, Prahlad (Aditya Raj Sharma), becomes the story’s moral anchor—a pint-sized devotee whose unyielding faith in Vishnu defies his father’s wrath. Attempts to kill Prahlad—flames, serpents, stampedes—only amplify his piety, culminating in Vishnu’s ferocious manifestation as Narasimha at twilight, on a threshold, tearing apart the demon with claws that skirt the boon’s loopholes.
Mahavatar Narsimha punches
This narrative, scripted by Kumar alongside Jayapurna Das and Rudra Pratap Ghosh, masterfully weaves spectacle with spirituality. The film’s 130-minute runtime (2 hours 10 minutes) prioritizes emotional depth over relentless pacing, though it occasionally drags in the mid-act buildup of Hiranyakashipu’s rise. Prahlad’s arc, in particular, shines as a beacon of innocence amid darkness; Sharma’s voice work infuses the child with a quiet resilience that echoes real-world tales of faith under persecution. Haripriya Matta lends grace to supporting roles like Holika, while Priyanka Bhandari’s ethereal tones elevate divine chants. The voice ensemble, free from star egos, allows the animation to breathe, a refreshing pivot from live-action mythologicals like the ill-fated Adipurush.
Visually, Mahavatar Narsimha punches above its weight, marking India’s boldest foray into large-scale 3D animation. Crafted by a team blending Indian studios with international VFX collaborators, the film conjures mythic realms with vivid authenticity: golden palaces crumble under demonic fury, subterranean lairs pulse with infernal glows, and the Varaha sequence—a colossal boar upheaving oceans—is a jaw-dropping feat of fluid dynamics.
The titular transformation, where Vishnu erupts as Narasimha, is the crown jewel: fur ripples with primal energy, eyes blaze like solar flares, and the twilight battlefield throbs with chiaroscuro shadows. It’s not Pixar-level seamless—some character models feel stiff in close-ups, and crowd scenes occasionally glitch—but for an Indian production, it’s a quantum leap, evoking the grandeur of Prince of Egypt while rooting deeply in desi iconography like temple carvings and Vedic motifs.
Mahavatar Narsimha
What elevates the visuals is Sam C.S.’s score, a sonic juggernaut that fuses orchestral swells with Carnatic ragas and tribal percussion. Tracks like “Roar of Narsimha” build to goosebump-inducing crescendos, syncing perfectly with the lion-man’s rampage. The sound design—claws rending flesh, Prahlad’s defiant hymns—immerses viewers in a multisensory darshan. Editing by Kumar and Ajay Varma keeps the rhythm taut during action beats, though the film’s devotional interludes invite pauses for reflection, ideal for family viewings.
Thematically, Mahavatar Narsimha resonates as a parable for our divided times. Hiranyakashipu embodies unchecked ego and false divinity, a mirror to modern demagogues who demand blind allegiance. Prahlad’s faith, meanwhile, champions dharma’s quiet power: protection for the righteous, annihilation for the arrogant. It’s unapologetically Hindu, yet universal in its exploration of justice—Vishnu’s avatar as a “threshold guardian,” neither fully one thing nor another, symbolizes balance in chaos.
Critics have praised this sincerity; Ahana Tiwari of Zee News called it “emotionally effective,” compensating for flaws with “heart and message.” On IMDb, it boasts a stellar 9.1/10 from thousands of users, with audiences hailing the “soul-stirring” climax. Rotten Tomatoes echoes the sentiment, deeming it a “homegrown triumph” in ambition and cultural rootedness, though audience scores hover around 95% fresh. Netizens on X (formerly Twitter) echo this fervour, dubbing it the “best-ever animated film” and a “Navratri gift,” with families sharing stories of children chanting “Jai Narsimha” post-viewing. One user raved about the “beyond imagination” animation and “outstanding” dialogues, calling it a “new era” for Indian cinema.