Kantara was guided by higher forces; I just followed their lead: B Ajaneesh Loknath
For music director B Ajaneesh Loknath , every film is a blend of creativity and learning. But with Kantara : A Legend Chapter 1, it became something far deeper — a spiritual awakening where art and divinity converged in ways he never knew before. In this conversation, Ajaneesh reflects on the film that transformed both his music and his faith. Excerpts:
‘DURING THE MAKING OF KANTARA AND ITS PREQUEL, I FELT THE INTENSITY OF UNSEEN FORCES GUIDING US’
Since childhood, I’ve had immense faith in the divine. When Kantara came my way, I began to see how cosmic forces shape our lives. While the first film felt intense, the prequel took it to another level. I had set certain personal rules for myself, knowing this was not an ordinary film but one rooted in sa cred energies. One incident still gives me goosebumps. I had broken one of my own rules, and that day, my brand-new computer simply refused to switch on. It was only after I realised my mistake and sought forgiveness from higher powers that the system powered up again.
‘SNAKES AND PEACOCKS WOULD OFTEN SURROUND MY COMPOSING STUDIO IN KUNDAPUR’
The studio was at a land’s end, where the sea met a river. While composing, I would often see peacocks gather nearby — their calls became a part of the film’s soundscape. Snakes, too, would appear in the compound, which I took as another divine sign. In the evenings, the sea’s gentle whoosh inspired the opening notes of the Brah makalasha song.
‘WE ACTUALLY ENCOUNTERED THE OLD MAN IN THE FILM ON A RAINY NIGHT IN THE GHATS’
Many viewers have spoken about the mysterious old man in Kantara. What they don’t know is that he was inspired by a real incident. One night, while returning from the shoot through the ghats, we saw an old man cross our path. It had been raining; the entire road was wet — except for the patch where he stood, and he was completely dry. We froze in silence. Encounters like these made us feel we were part of something beyond explanation. Every film is sacred to me, but Kantara was an intense journey that showed me how the divine operates. I feel humbled to have experienced the grace of Tulunadu’s daivas — and I will carry that essence into every film I create next.
‘THE GODDESS HERSELF HELPED ME COMPOSE THE CLIMAX SCORE’
Rishab (Shetty) and I were in Kochi , racing to finish the film. The climax background score was pending, and I had neither eaten nor slept for nearly 20 hours. Exhausted and blank, I prayed for divine guidance. Soon after, I fell into a deep six-hour sleep — the first in weeks. When I woke up at 3.30 am, I still had no inspiration. But as I stepped out for a walk, the entire score suddenly played in my head. I rushed back, composed it, and finished in 30 minutes. As I completed the track, the studio owner — a man I barely knew — placed his hand on my head and asked, “Have you eaten anything?” He then took me home and served me dosas at dawn. How else could I describe that moment but as grace?
‘DURING THE MAKING OF KANTARA AND ITS PREQUEL, I FELT THE INTENSITY OF UNSEEN FORCES GUIDING US’
Since childhood, I’ve had immense faith in the divine. When Kantara came my way, I began to see how cosmic forces shape our lives. While the first film felt intense, the prequel took it to another level. I had set certain personal rules for myself, knowing this was not an ordinary film but one rooted in sa cred energies. One incident still gives me goosebumps. I had broken one of my own rules, and that day, my brand-new computer simply refused to switch on. It was only after I realised my mistake and sought forgiveness from higher powers that the system powered up again.
‘SNAKES AND PEACOCKS WOULD OFTEN SURROUND MY COMPOSING STUDIO IN KUNDAPUR’
The studio was at a land’s end, where the sea met a river. While composing, I would often see peacocks gather nearby — their calls became a part of the film’s soundscape. Snakes, too, would appear in the compound, which I took as another divine sign. In the evenings, the sea’s gentle whoosh inspired the opening notes of the Brah makalasha song.
Many viewers have spoken about the mysterious old man in Kantara. What they don’t know is that he was inspired by a real incident. One night, while returning from the shoot through the ghats, we saw an old man cross our path. It had been raining; the entire road was wet — except for the patch where he stood, and he was completely dry. We froze in silence. Encounters like these made us feel we were part of something beyond explanation. Every film is sacred to me, but Kantara was an intense journey that showed me how the divine operates. I feel humbled to have experienced the grace of Tulunadu’s daivas — and I will carry that essence into every film I create next.
Rishab (Shetty) and I were in Kochi , racing to finish the film. The climax background score was pending, and I had neither eaten nor slept for nearly 20 hours. Exhausted and blank, I prayed for divine guidance. Soon after, I fell into a deep six-hour sleep — the first in weeks. When I woke up at 3.30 am, I still had no inspiration. But as I stepped out for a walk, the entire score suddenly played in my head. I rushed back, composed it, and finished in 30 minutes. As I completed the track, the studio owner — a man I barely knew — placed his hand on my head and asked, “Have you eaten anything?” He then took me home and served me dosas at dawn. How else could I describe that moment but as grace?
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