As a disclaimer, let me just bring this up — that I wasn’t a big fanboy of detective novels when I was a kid. But I do remember hearing stories of kids curling up with old Bengali detective novels — the ones where Byomkesh Bakshi, Kiriti Roy, or Feluda always outsmarted the sly villain in the end. The criminal was just a shadow, a puzzle for the hero to solve — never the star. Which is the format, but then the world went ahead and began consuming the criminal mind as well and somewhere I, as a consumer, felt I’d be drawn to that very idea in Bengal as well, and so finally here it is.
It's like what if we looked at the bad guys not as monsters to chase, but as people shaped by the same dusty streets and rainy afternoons we all know? That’s what hits me hardest about Ganoshotru, the new Bangla Zee5 series that dropped recently — just in time for a Halloween shiver that lingers. Bengal is digging into its own gritty underbelly, turning notorious criminals into the beating heart of the story. No moral lectures, no easy heroes — just raw, human tales of rise, rage, and ruin. It’s like finally seeing our own ghosts step into the spotlight, and honestly, it feels both scary and freeing.
As someone who’s grown up hearing whispers of Calcutta’s old scandals, I love how Ganoshotru doesn’t shy away from the truth. This anthology weaves five real-life crime sagas, blending facts with a touch of fiction to make them pulse like a fever dream. Produced by Bangla Talkies, it’s directed by a fresh team — the ever-so-stylish Abhirup Ghosh on The Chainman, Madhura Palit making her debut as a director on Troilokya Devi, Sayan Dasgupta on Rashid Khan, Samik Roy Chowdhury on Sajal Barui, and Srimanta Senguptta on Hubba Shyamal.
They pull from police files, witness stories, and court records, but it’s the way they humanise these figures that sticks with me. These aren’t cartoon baddies; they’re products of poverty, betrayal, and that quiet cruelty society sometimes ignores. Bengal has always spun gold from its folklore and freedom fights, but tapping into its crime legends as protagonists? That’s bold. It says we’re ready to face the darkness we helped create, not just point fingers at it.
Take the first tale, about Sajal Barui, the young fugitive who terrorised Calcutta, Asansol, and even Mumbai. Played by newcomer Ayush Das, Sajal starts as this wide-eyed teen from a broken home, neglect and abuse twisting his sharp mind into something deadly. Watching Das slip into that role, I felt a chill; his eyes hold this mix of lost boy and cold hunter that makes you ache. As Das put it, “Sajal Barui was young yet dangerously intelligent, his methods instilling fear in many. Under Samik Roy Chowdhury’s guidance, I delved deep into his psyche to portray his rise in the world of crime with authenticity.” It’s not glorifying the crimes; it’s showing how a kid with no safety net can snap. In a land where we romanticise underdogs, seeing Sajal as the lead flips the script — he’s not the villain foiled by a clever cop, but a mirror to what happens when the world fails its own.
Then there’s the Chainman, Kamaruzzaman Sarkar, who haunted Burdwan with his twisted obsessions. Debopriyo Mukherjee brilliantly brings this quiet menace to life, his face a blank mask that hides a storm of unspoken wants. The story dives into how one man’s buried desires can rot into violence, all under Abhirup Ghosh’s steady hand. Mukherjee captures that eerie stillness perfectly, making every glance feel loaded. He shared, “The character of Chainman exposes how hidden human desires can evolve into conflict and violence. Playing this cold-blooded murderer was a challenge.”
I sat there thinking, how many shadows like this walk our neighbourhoods, unseen until they strike? No detective swoops in to save the day; we just watch the unraveling, and it forces you to question if monsters are born or broken.
But the one that gut-punched me? Troilokya Devi, a Brahmin widow turned ruthless extortionist in the British era. Paoli Dam owns this track, directed by cinematographer-turned-helmer Madhura Palit. Dam’s voice is soft as silk but sharp as a blade — her eyes flicker with that desperate fire of a woman crushed by patriarchy and colonialism. From humble prayers to bloody power plays, it’s a portrait of survival gone savage. In Bengali stories, women criminals are rare leads; here, Troilokya isn’t a side plot for some sleuth. She’s the storm, and it makes you root for her rage even as it terrifies.
Rashid Khan’s arc, the “satta king” behind the 1993 Bowbazar blast that rocked the city. Subrata Dutta plays him with a gambler’s charm masking pure greed, under Sayan Dasgupta’s direction. Dutta nails the oily confidence, that mix of street smarts and hidden brutality that lets you see how he pulled off the unthinkable. He reflected, “Rashid Khan, the ‘satta king’, orchestrated terror, revealing a hidden brutality. Throughout the series, we focused on portraying the facts and characters with utmost authenticity.” From hustles to explosive downfall, it’s about ambition eating the soul alive. No cop-hero narrative; just the slow poison of wanting more in a city that promises everything but delivers scraps.
And capping it off, Hubba Shyamal, the flamboyant gangster who ruled Bengal’s shadows — extortion, drugs, kidnaps, you name it. Rudranil Ghosh is electric here, all swagger and simmering fury. Ghosh nails the political pull and untouchable vibe, but underneath, it’s the loneliness of power. He shared, “Hubba Shyamal is a flamboyant gangster who escaped justice despite his crimes — portraying him was both intriguing and intense. Through Ganoshotru, I aimed to bring authenticity and depth, as every episode is intricately woven to feel gripping and real.” Seeing him as the flawed kingpin? It humanises the fear he spread.
What ties these threads? Power’s ugly dance with pain, how humble starts in Bengal’s villages or bustees can birth legends of terror. The cast shines — Dam’s subtlety, Ghosh’s fire, Das’s raw edge, Mukherjee’s chill, Dutta’s slyness — while the tech keeps it grounded: dim-lit sets, period touches for Troilokya, gritty chases for Shyamal.
In the end, Ganoshotru isn’t just entertainment; it’s Bengal claiming its scars. We’ve told tales of poets and rebels forever, but owning our criminals as complex souls? It sparks real talk—about inequality, mental cracks, the thin line between victim and villain. Now that it’s out on Bangla Zee5, I can’t wait to bring on the debate. If you’re tired of one-sided chases, this is your invite to the dark side. Bengal’s stories just got deeper, and damn, it feels good to finally see the shadows lead the way. I’m also quite excited to see each story and episode being done by different directors, bringing their own aesthetic to how the stories are told and yet keeping a sense of consistency. I love a big swing when I see one. This was quite the swing.