There are distinct demarcations that are layed out with respect to the three acts of Santosh. The first is dedicated to the world building, essentially a searing commentary on the operations of the police force through the gaze of Santosh. You see the position of power being put to use even as Santosh is a silent observer in the larger scheme of things. Her task is mostly clerical of having to abide by the ‘unsaid’ rules of the department with respect to her seniors. This includes having to help her superior’s wife in the kitchen or even taking his pet dog for a stroll, all in order for her to survive in this patriarchal space. The actual tasks of hers even on the field include moral policing that includes stalling two characters from sharing a private moment to beating up the guy only to let him go after receiving a small bribe. There is a regressive kind of an environment coupled with towers of corruption and authority that Santosh is seen to grapple with, a reality in today’s times in a country that is hierarchial in matters of power.

The journey of Santosh takes a deft turn following the investigation behind the death of a Dalit girl that sees an uproar. While the initial bits of investigation is reduced to how the post-mortem is only performed by secondary officials (as opposed to a doctor), only after being asked to pay an amount (and all because the girl is a Dalit). But with the introduction of a charismatic female cop Sharma (a terrific Sunita Rajwar), things begin to change. There is a comforting bond that Santosh and Sharma share even as the latter, although authoritative is willing to hand-hold Santosh and guiding her in the investigation by assigning her a few tasks. You do see her praising Santosh too for some seamless work that is performed by the latter. It is almost as if Sharma sees an earlier version of herself in Santosh while empathizing with her and trying to mould her to be stoic without getting attached to the victim.

There is an underlying layer of communal politics that laces the narrative here (something that has just become a norm these days in reality). The investigation tilts towards a Muslim youth that is seemingly involved in the murder of the Dalit girl, a sort of a trigger and a redemption of sorts for Santosh whose husband, we are told died in a Muslim riot. So, the driving force of Santosh in going to any lengths to gain justice was nicely setup here. There is a stray commentary on social issues too – the villagers (mostly from the lower strata of the society) do not have clean water to drink as the Dalit girl (and a dead animal) is found in a well which was previously their source of clean water. This slight deviation aside, Santosh unfolds like a thriller in a tight police procedural that results in an alarming final act.

It is the polar opposite characterization of Sharma and Santosh that comes to the fore here. Santosh is naive and often a spectator to things happening around her. Sharma is authoritative and essentially a character standing up to patriarchy. In a scene, you see the perpretrator being beaten up with Sharma sitting on a chair, but the moment she stands to leave, the chair is taken by a male character just before Santosh could react for the chair. Yet, the diabolically opposite traits of the characters don’t end there. There is a sense of blurred morality that Sharma functions on, asking the more concerned and affected Santosh to move on in life (when the latter tells her that she cannot sleep). Her solutions are trivial and simplistic while also being extremely protective of Santosh. I think the area where the film slightly falters in, is in its final act that seemed a little too stretched for my liking even as Santosh takes an important call for herself. Nevertheless, the screenplay here is brilliantly pondering which often acting as a mirror with relevant issues being discussed as an undercurrent.