Raakh review: Haunting, atmospheric, impeccably acted take on Ranga-Billa horror

Prime Video's Raakh revisits the infamous Ranga-Billa case through a haunting fictionalised lens. Led by powerful performances from Ali Fazal, Sonali Bendre and Aamir Bashir, the crime drama explores grief, justice, bureaucracy and the stolen futures behind one of India's most shocking murders.

In Short

• Raakh revisits the 1978 Delhi double murder with the fictionalised Arora case
• The series captures the era's mood, accents, and city life vividly
• Investigation and forensic details drive gripping narrative

In August 1978, Delhi was shaken by a crime so brutal that nearly five decades later, the names Ranga and Billa continue to evoke horror. The kidnapping and murder of two siblings became one of India's most discussed criminal cases, sparking conversations around policing, public safety and capital punishment. Prime Video's Raakh revisits that chapter through the fictionalised Arora double murder case. The names have changed, some events have been reshaped, and the makers have taken creative liberties, but the emotional truth of the tragedy remains untouched.

The result is a series that is gritty, atmospheric and impeccably performed.

The Arora siblings are introduced with remarkable efficiency. Within minutes, the show establishes their bond, their innocence and their place within the family. It is an important choice because Raakh is not interested in turning its victims into headlines. It wants them to feel real. Which is why when tragedy strikes, it hurts more than it is supposed to.

Set in Delhi of the late 1970s, Raakh recreates a city that feels alive and unsettling at the same time. The Premiere Padmini cars, the high-waisted trousers, the accents, the bureaucracy, the smoky bars, the historical monuments and dimly lit streets - all come together to create a world that feels more breathable than reconstructed for a series. The lingering shots add to the mood. Faces do most of the talking, often before dialogues do.

The investigation forms the backbone of the narrative. Despite the case being widely known, the show manages to keep viewers invested. Every episode ends on a cliffhanger, and every revelation pushes the story forward. The inclusion of forensic investigation - still relatively new to India at the time - adds another layer of intrigue.

But Raakh is not just about catching criminals. It is, in fact, interested in exposing the machinery around crime. The bureaucracy is shown with sharp honesty. Officers compete for credit. Egos enter rooms before the case does. That commentary adds more layers to the story.

At the centre of the investigation is Ali Fazal's SI Jayaprakash Jatav. One might assume Fazal's screen presence is better suited to larger-than-life gangsters like Guddu Bhaiya (Mirzapur), but as Jatav, he appears completely at home. The Delhi accent comes naturally, the physicality feels authentic, and the restraint works in his favour.

One of his finest moments arrives when he dismisses attempts to downplay repeated criminal behaviour as youthful mischief. "Yeh shararat nahi hai. Bimari hai" - the line lands with force because it reflects the show's larger concern with understanding criminality than just condemning it.

Supporting him beautifully is Dibyendu Bhattacharya as his senior officer. Dibyendu brings authority without turning the character into a stereotypical police boss. There is intelligence, frustration and empathy beneath the uniform.

The emotional centre of the show, however, belongs to the Arora family.

Sonali Bendre delivers a haunting performance as a mother shattered by grief. Her refusal to recognise the reality of her children's deaths becomes one of the show's most devastating threads. There are scenes where she seems trapped between memory and acceptance, and Bendre plays those moments with extraordinary honesty.

Aamir Bashir is the surprise package.

As Lt Col Ashok Arora, he portrays a man caught between two impossible expectations: grieving like a broken father and behaving like the composed man society expects him to be. Bashir captures that conflict beautifully. His finest scene arrives when he secretly hires a private detective to obtain details from the forensic report, desperate to know whether his daughter was sexually assaulted. The scene is heartbreaking because it reveals a father searching for answers no parent should ever have to seek.

The scenes involving the parents are among the show's most devastating because they understand a difficult truth: there is no such thing as closure for parents who have seen their children die. There can be justice. There can be punishment. But closure remains a fantasy.

The series also finds warmth amidst overwhelming darkness through Rakesh Bedi. Playing Jatav's father, he spends much of his time feeding people chicken and mutton, finding joy in cooking and sharing meals. On the surface, he seems like a cheerful old man. Underneath, however, lies someone who understands loss and recognises the importance of holding on to life's smaller pleasures. Bedi brings a gentle humanity that the series desperately needs.

The supporting cast is uniformly excellent.

Anshul Chauhan, who many viewers may remember as Ranbir Kapoor's younger sister in Animal, plays journalist Nisar with sincerity and intelligence. Nisar is chasing a byline, but not in the sensationalist sense. She is ambitious, emotionally aware and deeply sensitive to the story she is covering. In her polka-dotted shirts and long satin skirts, Chauhan avoids the familiar reporter cliches and gives the character real depth.

Then come the two men at the centre of the horror.

Akash Makhija as Babu and Ramandeep Yadav as Rajjo are fantastic. Their performances carry a lingering sense of unease. The creepiness never feels especially designed. It grows gradually. What makes their portrayals particularly disturbing is how convincingly they chart the journey from petty criminals and pickpockets to rapists and murderers who increasingly begin to wear their crimes like badges of honour. Their faces - bruised and confused - will stay with you longer than you want.

The flashbacks to Bombay, their troubled childhoods, and the gradual escalation of criminal behaviour do not excuse their actions. They help explain how monsters are made.

Elsewhere, the series shines through details. The cross-dressing performers in shady bars help establish the culture of Delhi's nightlife. The jokes around masculinity reveal social attitudes of the time. Episode titles like Tilchatta, Dhoomketu and Rahu-Ketu add symbolic texture. Even throwaway lines such as "Hindustan mein aaj bhi bijli mehmaan hai" feel amusingly relevant decades later.

Most importantly, Raakh never lets the audience forget the victims.

The pain lingers scene after scene. Even when the focus shifts to evidence, suspects and investigations, the tragedy remains present. The show repeatedly returns to the horror of what happened, reminding viewers that behind every procedural breakthrough lies a family that has lost everything. At many points, Raakh appears to be a brilliantly envisioned and meticulously written series by creators and writers Anusha Nandakumar and Sandeep Saket.

Directors Prosit Roy, Nandakumar, and Saket also seem remarkably confident in their conclusions. There are no convenient loopholes, no forced ambiguities and no attempts to manufacture doubt around whether the investigation was complete. The narrative believes in its findings and proceeds accordingly. It does not create artificial doubt about whether the system rushed to judgement or whether crucial evidence was ignored - something that Black Warrant, a compelling Netflix series on the same case, did earlier. The makers seem convinced of their position and tell the story accordingly.

Spoiler warning: The next section discusses the ending.

Normally, I would avoid discussing a finale in detail. But some endings are too beautiful, too heartbreaking and too important to ignore. And because this is a story whose broad outcome is already known, the emotional impact lies not in what happened, but in what the show imagines could have happened.

The final moments present an alternate possibility - a glimpse into a future where the children survived, where life continued, where ordinary milestones unfolded as they should have. It is a gut punch.

Because suddenly the story stops being about murder. It becomes about stolen futures.

The ending forces viewers to confront the most painful question of all: What could these children have become if they had simply made it home that night?

That imagined future becomes more haunting than the crime itself.

In many ways, Raakh is less interested in the killers than in the city that produced them. It places responsibility back on Delhi - and on us. What has changed since 1978? How much remains the same? And what lessons have we chosen to forget?

Like embers buried beneath ash, the tragedy at the heart of Raakh never really cools. The series keeps returning to it, refusing to let viewers look away. Not every creative liberty works, but most of them deepen the emotional impact rather than dilute it.

Some crimes end when the verdict arrives. Some never do.

- Ends