Roohani Taqat (1991)

Stan Winston’s Pumpkinhead provided fertile pilfering ground for later Bollywood horror filmmakers, but veteran borrower Mohan Bhakri got there first with this 1991 effort, producing an Indianized variation on the theme with surprisingly entertaining results.

The story centres upon the feared tantrik Bherunath, a sorcerer capable of summoning a terrifying zombie-like demon to carry out acts of revenge on behalf of paying clients. Over the years Bherunath has built a lucrative trade from the misery and grudges of others, dispatching his monstrous servant whenever somebody requires supernatural justice.

One day, however, a terrible incident turns the villagers against him.

A young woman loses her newlywed husband after a rejected suitor hires Bherunath to unleash the creature upon the unfortunate couple. Consumed by grief and rage, the widow devotes herself to dark occult practices, swearing vengeance upon both Bherunath and his demonic servant. Years pass as she pursues forbidden knowledge and prepares for the day she can settle the score.

That opportunity finally arrives when a jeep-load of overgrown students breaks down near the village. Their arrival triggers a fresh chain of tragedies, culminating in the brutal assault and death of a local girl. Her devastated fiancé, Karan, turns to the very man the village has long condemned.

Desperate for revenge, Karan persuades Bherunath to resurrect the monster once more.

The bargain comes at a terrible price. The creature is revived using Karan’s own blood, creating an unbreakable bond between man and monster. Each act of vengeance carried out by the zombie will exact a physical and emotional toll upon Karan himself.

What follows is easily the film’s highlight.

The resurrection sequence is an astonishing piece of low-budget Bollywood horror spectacle. Skeletons, bones and rotting remains are reassembled through a barrage of wildly ambitious visual effects that far exceed anything one would reasonably expect from a film of this scale. The sequence possesses the same sort of delirious enthusiasm that made films like Surakshaa so memorable and remains one of the most impressive effects scenes of its era.

Unfortunately, Roohani Taqat also suffers from many of the afflictions that plagued non-Ramsay horror cinema. There are lengthy stretches of excruciating comic relief, much of it supplied by Jagdeep in a triple role. Entire sequences seem designed solely to test the audience’s patience and bring the momentum to a grinding halt.

Fortunately, Bhakri compensates by keeping the horror elements coming at a fairly steady pace. The rivalry between Bherunath and the vengeful widow is entertaining, the monster itself is effective, and there is enough bizarre supernatural nonsense on display to maintain interest throughout.

Kiran Kumar delivers a solid and sincere performance as the grief-stricken Karan, while most of the younger cast range from mediocre to outright dreadful. The actress playing the elderly sorceress strives for menace but often ends up looking more eccentric than frightening.

Despite its flaws, Roohani Taqat possesses something many Bollywood horror films sorely lacked: imagination. The special effects are ambitious, the central monster is memorable, and the film’s blend of folk magic, revenge and supernatural horror gives it a distinctive flavour.

Mohan Bhakri was never the most polished of filmmakers, but with minimal resources he manages to deliver a surprisingly entertaining slice of desi horror. Derivative though it may be, Roohani Taqat remains one of the more enjoyable post-Ramsay genre efforts and a worthy Bollywood cousin to Pumpkinhead.