Director: Gopi Puthran and Manan Rawat
Cast: Vaani Kapoor, Vaibhav Raj Gupta, Surveen Chawla. Shriya Pilgaonkar 
Episode – 8 
Platform – Netflix 
 
Mandala Murders begins like any other whodunit: a train ride, a mysterious man with a camera, and a body turning up without a torso. But the moment you settle in expecting a conventional investigative thriller, the show throws you deep into a dense labyrinth of political intrigue, spiritual fanaticism, and secret societies. Think Sacred Games meets Asur with a splash of True Detective — if that sounds overwhelming, that’s because it often is.
 
Based on Mahendra Jakhar’s book The Butcher of Benares, this Netflix original plunges headfirst into the eerie and secretive world of Charandaspur — a town that feels both familiar and cursed. The story centers on CIB officer Rea Thomas (Vaani Kapoor), who’s investigating a series of grotesque murders beginning with a man found butchered and floating in a river. The deeper Rea digs, the more sinister the puzzle becomes, uncovering ties to a cult known as the Ayastians, local gangsters, political puppeteers, and unresolved traumas of her own.
 
Vaani Kapoor shoulders the show with surprising grit. While not pitch-perfect in every frame, she commands the screen during key sequences — particularly a gripping bridge fight and a high-stakes rescue involving a kidnapped child. Vaibhav Raj Gupta, as Vikram, brings an everyman quality that grounds the chaos, though he occasionally wobbles emotionally. Surveen Chawla stands out with a performance that simmers with quiet intensity, while Shriya Pilgaonkar lights up her limited screen time in a cameo that leaves an impact.
 
Directors Gopi Puthran and Manan Rawat orchestrate Mandala Murders with impressive ambition. The show is gorgeously mounted — Shaz Mohammed’s cinematography crafts an atmospheric Charandaspur full of smoky alleys and cold-blooded secrets. The world-building is immersive, the score by Sanchit and Ankit Balhara is haunting, and the action, while sparing, is efficiently executed. The show leans heavily into mood and tone, and that works — at least for a while.
 
But while the ambition is laudable, the narrative often gets tangled in its own threads. Characters are introduced at breakneck speed, some with cryptic motivations and others with names you’ll struggle to remember two scenes later. If you don’t binge-watch it, good luck remembering who Birju is, or how Vyankat Pandey connects to the cult storyline. With so many players and subplots, the show starts to feel less like a mystery and more like homework — requiring spreadsheets and string maps to keep up.
 
Then there are the logic gaps that occasionally break the spell. A series of murders — brutal, symbolic, and utterly grotesque — somehow don’t make national headlines or provoke a real-world police frenzy. The killer, often dressed like a Walking Dead extra, slips in and out of town unnoticed. The fact that CCTV footage becomes a revelation only in the final episode is just baffling. And don’t even get started on the conveniently sidelined characters who reappear just in time for dramatic payoffs.
 
Still, for all its clutter, Mandala Murders remains a compelling binge. The cult subplot involving the Ayastians is genuinely creepy — their ideology, rituals, and ultimate motive make for one of the most disturbing plotlines Indian streaming has dared to touch. It’s a twisted reflection of modern fanaticism wrapped in spiritual dread. The finale (thankfully) ties many loose threads together, offering a mix of closure and ominous possibility for a second season.