The tagline behind the title – it reads “The Untold Story of Ujwal Nikam” – reveals that we can believe that Prahar, produced by Dinesh Vijan of Maddock Films, written by Sumit Roy and directed by director-cinematographer Avinash Arun, is out to tell a story that just had to be told.

This notion may be open to debate but consider this: while dramatic depictions of the 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks and their immediate aftermath have often found their way onto the screen, the legal process that led to the conviction and execution of the lone surviving terrorist, Ajmal Kasab, has not.

Prahar’s director and screenwriter, moving in lockstep, do their best to work around the trial and enhance a lawyer’s resolve to bring justice to Kasab without pressing his right to a post-trial hearing.

A certain degree of grandeur is inevitable in such a narrative. Credit to Prahar’s makers, they don’t go away.

The film doesn’t deviate too much from the real-life story of a prosecutor who rose to national prominence with his single-minded pursuit of the power granted to him by the law of the land to avenge the dastardly acts of cross-border terrorists.

Rajkumar Rao makes a fair fist to take out Ujjwal Nikam, who is seen celebrating his victory in the 1993 Mumbai blasts case when the film opens.

The lead actor may not disappear into the character as completely as he did while playing another real-life lawyer in Shahid, but he comes pretty close. She stays remarkably true to real-life inspiration.

On the other hand, several lawyers defending Ajmal Kasab at various points in the 26/11 trial are condensed into a fictional figure, a Muslim lawyer (Sikandar Kher) aware that he is fighting a battle he has already lost as all recorded and widely publicized evidence points to his client’s guilt.

The defense lawyer is facing public anger. Prahar does not ignore the fact that this lawyer, too, is only doing what is within the provisions of the legal system.

That she belongs to India’s dominant minority community only complicates her situation that much more – a fact that the film acknowledges without shying away from the complexities inherent in the situation.

Nikam, played with requisite poise by Rajkummar Rao, is essentially portrayed as a patriot and tireless lawyer committed to his mission, but the overall tone of Prahar is marked by equanimity.

Naik is far more committed to upholding the law than provoking an understandable wave of public outrage against the lone survivor of the 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks. Nikam says, “Justice delayed is justice denied but justice rushed, justice buried.”

Indeed, rather than lionizing a man for simply doing his duty as in Hindi films, Prahaar showcases the efficiency of India’s judicial system which ensures that even a convict is not sent to the gallows without due process.

It helps that Rao is now an old master at playing real-life individuals with complex undertones. He never tries to go beyond the script and screams “I’m larger than life”.

This despite the fact that Nikam is a man on a short fuse. When the going gets tough, he plays tough. This aspect of the character fuels almost everything that is scripted for him through actions and words.

Nikam has to deliver lines to that extent on declarative, but the script mentions that the ’emotions’ of a terrorist’s trial should not overpower the logic of the lawyer’s considered pleas and arguments in court.

Rao’s steady performance is the backbone of Prahar, but there is little in the film that shines brighter than Lalit Prabhakar’s (whom audiences saw earlier this year in the stormy relationship drama Toh Ti Aani Fujii) transformation into Ajmal Kasab. He does a first-rate, surprisingly convincing impersonation.

What the screenplay does is humanize Kasab to a great extent, without in any way trying to condone the diabolical quality of the work he and his cohorts do in Mumbai’s darkest nights. The film assumes that the man in the dock has been fed a staple of poison – he’s a wary, misguided boy ready to commit murder.

Avinash Arun’s approach to Ujjwal Nikam’s story benefits from the precise eye for framing and blocking he possesses as a cinematographer. He does not use the camera to influence how we see the courtroom drama and the individuals involved.

He uses it to achieve a combination of studying objective distance and proximity. This, above all else, sets Prahar apart from any 26/11 film Bollywood has made.

The latter quality is brought out by Nikam’s portrayal of domestic life, which to some may seem like an avoidable disorder. But it isn’t. It only helps the audience to understand Nikam Aadmi.

Wamika Gabby plays his wife Jyoti, a woman with whom he spends little time, and Ritwik Sahore is cast as his son, Aniket, who, too, is deprived of his father’s presence during his older years.

The 26/11 terrorist attack happened when Nikam was preparing for his daughter’s wedding. His life as a lawyer immediately takes precedence over everything else, which explains why he is estranged from his family.

Family dynamics sometimes manifest themselves in the character’s professional moves, necessitated by circumstances that emphasize that no great work is ever achieved without navigating small slippery stones.

Prahar – a celebration of the power of the proverbial long arm of the law – retains its balance almost all the time. It has not reduced to a series of glittering hammer blows. The shocks find their mark but that’s not all there is to the film.

Jaideep Ahlawat impresses in a brief role of a Pakistani lawyer who crosses swords with Nikam. The character is forced to give ground but is sometimes allowed to have his say.

Prahar does not describe the horrors of 26/11 but projects his anger and rage in a courtroom sequence involving a 10-year-old victim of terrorism. It drives home the toll it takes on the innocent.

Prahar remains focused on its stated objective, which ensures it stays on course for the most part – no mean feat.