Sahiya Maker Sanjay Sharma Questions CBFC Why Is Showing War Allowed But My Film Called Naxal

“I won't name the film, but there was one recently that was nothing but violence from start to finish — heads being severed and kicked around like footballs — yet the Censor Board didn't see that as violence.” Filmmaker and producer Sanjay Sharma made this pointed observation while addressing the media over the ongoing certification battle surrounding his film Sahiya. His question was simple but uncomfortable: if Indian cinema can show war, terrorism and graphic violence on screen, why is a film about tribal lives and conflict being accused of promoting Naxalism?

Sharma, who is making his first film as both producer and director after spending 35 years as a journalist, did not mince words while speaking about his experience with the Central Board of Film Certification. For him, the issue is no longer only about getting a certificate for Sahiya. It is about the way filmmakers are treated by the certification machinery and whether a filmmaker can tell a difficult story without being made to feel that the subject itself is a crime.

Sahiya, starring Shantanu Maheshwari, Rinku Rajguru and Neeraj Kabi, is a romantic drama set against the backdrop of conflict between tribal communities, the police and Naxalites. Sharma deliberately shot the film in the natural surroundings of Netarhat in Jharkhand, rather than recreating the forests on a Mumbai set. “I poured my heart into making a beautiful film titled Sahiya,” he said, explaining that the film needed to be made in its authentic environment.

The filmmaker says the irony is that the very authenticity he wanted for his story has now become part of the problem. According to Sharma, the CBFC raised concerns about glimpses of the Naxalite movement appearing in the film and subsequently sent it to the review committee. His response was blunt: “Does the mere appearance of a forest in a film equate to Naxalism? Does the appearance of a tribal community imply Naxalism?”

He questioned the assumption that a story set in a forest or involving tribal characters must automatically be connected to Naxalism. “What kind of mindset is this — assuming that a story set in the forest must be about Naxalites?” Sharma asked.

The filmmaker repeatedly emphasised that Sahiya does not glorify the movement it depicts. “You’ve watched the whole film; there is absolutely no Naxalism in it,” he said. Sharma explained that the film is about a young tribal man and woman trying to survive while caught between Naxalites and the police. “It is a love story about a young man and woman from a tribal community trying to save their lives while struggling against both Naxalites and the police — showing how a wife helps her husband escape through the forest over a span of 24 hours.”

For Sharma, depiction cannot automatically be equated with endorsement. And this is where his comments about mainstream cinema become particularly important. Referring to a recent film without naming it, he said, “There was one recently that was nothing but violence from start to finish — heads being severed and kicked around like footballs — yet the Censor Board didn't see that as violence.”

While Sharma did not name Dhurandhar in his statement, his broader comparison inevitably brings contemporary war and action cinema into the conversation. Films dealing with terrorism, conflict and warfare often contain intense violence because violence is part of the reality being depicted. Dhurandhar, for instance, received an A certificate, with reported cuts to several graphic sequences. Sharma's larger question is whether the same principle of distinguishing depiction from glorification should not apply to a film like Sahiya.

His argument becomes even sharper when he talks about films based on sensitive geopolitical subjects. “By that logic, every film made about events in Kashmir would have to be branded as pro-terrorism,” Sharma said. “Every film based on war would have to be labeled anti-national.”

It is a comparison that goes to the heart of artistic storytelling. A filmmaker may portray war without supporting war. A film can depict terrorism without endorsing terrorists. A crime drama can show murder without celebrating murder. Sharma believes Sahiya should be understood through the same lens: it shows the reality surrounding Naxalism and its impact on ordinary people, rather than advocating the ideology itself.

The producer is equally critical of what he describes as the absence of specific reasons behind the objections. If the CBFC believes that his film promotes Naxalism or violence, Sharma says the Board should identify precisely where that happens. “Surely you would point out specific moments — like, ‘From the 3-minute-4-second mark to the 5-minute-6-second mark, there is a dialogue promoting Naxalism,’ or ‘From the 8-minute to the 11-minute mark, there is violence related to Naxalism.’”

Instead, Sharma said, the film was rejected with broad allegations that it promotes violence and Naxalism. “You could have told me, ‘We have objections to this specific part or that part,’ but nothing was done,” he said.

The certification delay has made the experience even more painful. Sharma said he applied for priority screening on April 30, paying three times the standard fee under the priority process. He expected the film to be viewed within five days. According to him, 51 days passed before the film was finally screened.

“I had read the rules: under the priority scheme, if you apply and pay three times the standard fee, the Censor Board is supposed to screen your film within five days. Yet, 51 days passed before the film was finally viewed,” Sharma said.

For a small film, those delays can have a devastating financial impact. Sharma says the film had been planned for a September 18 release, with theatres, public relations agencies and other arrangements already in place. Money had been spent, people had committed their time and the team had been working towards a release that could now be affected by the certification battle.

“The blood, sweat, and earnings of 100 to 200 people go into a single film; it represents their collective effort,” Sharma said. “Does the Censor Board have the right to blindly grant a certificate to whomever they please or reject whomever they choose? Shouldn't this question be asked?”

His anger is also directed at what he sees as an unnecessarily intimidating process. Sharma recalled being asked to leave his mobile phone outside before the screening. “I was astonished by these Censor Board rules. I am a producer; my film was being screened, and the Censor Board team was sitting there watching it. So, what is the objection if I am holding my mobile phone?”

He also questioned the secrecy surrounding the people who reviewed his film. According to Sharma, when he asked for the identity of one official who was questioning him, he was told that the person's name could not be revealed. “Six people are watching my film. I cannot even find out their names — is there some sort of confidentiality rule like ‘A, B, C’?” he questioned.

For someone who spent decades as a journalist, Sharma says the experience has been particularly difficult. He has now taken his film to the Revising Committee, which he considers his final available recourse. Yet he says the larger problem remains the atmosphere of fear surrounding filmmakers.

“Filmmakers often live in fear of the Censor Board,” he said. “They worry about future projects — the second or third film — and fear what the Board might do to them. How long must we live in fear? How long must we remain victims of this government machinery?”

Sharma's plea is ultimately not just for Sahiya. He believes filmmakers need to be able to tell stories about communities and uncomfortable realities without automatically being accused of supporting the forces depicted in those stories.

“I reiterate: there is absolutely no support for Naxalism anywhere in the film. We oppose Naxalism; we oppose violence. We stand for love. The film is a beautiful, wonderful love story,” he said.

He also described what audiences can expect from the film: “It features heart-touching songs. It tells the story of the dilemmas and hardships faced by tribal communities. The Censor Board ought to appreciate and even reward the makers for creating such a beautiful film.”

Then came the question that perhaps captures his entire grievance: “If they act this way, who would ever venture among tribal communities to make a film?”

That question matters because cinema has always attempted to enter places and lives that mainstream conversations often ignore. If portraying the suffering of a community becomes equivalent to supporting the forces responsible for that suffering, filmmakers may simply stop telling those stories.

Sharma believes Sahiya should not be judged by the presence of Naxalism in its setting, but by what the film actually says about it. His position is unequivocal: “We oppose Naxalism; we oppose violence. We stand for love.”

After 35 years as a journalist, Sharma entered filmmaking believing he could tell a story about people, conflict and survival. Today, he finds himself fighting a different battle — one over whether that story can even reach the audience for whom it was made.

And perhaps that is why his most powerful question is not about one film or one certificate. It is about the future of storytelling itself: if a filmmaker cannot show the realities of war, terrorism, insurgency or social conflict without being accused of endorsing them, then how can cinema honestly document the world around us?

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