‘‘The King on the Border’’ is a quiet plea for unity beyond nations © by film critic Lalit Rao (FIPRESCI) dated 31.08.2025

Indian documentary film ‘‘The King on the Border’’ [2025] is a quiet plea for unity beyond nations © by film critic Lalit Rao (FIPRESCI) dated 28.08.2025 

 

Borders, in the modern nation-state system, are rarely innocent lines on maps. They carry within them stories of displacement, conflict, and uneasy compromises that ordinary citizens must negotiate in their daily lives. In his début short length documentary ‘‘The King on the Border’’, Indian filmmaker Anuj Vijayvergia takes us to Longwa, a remote village in Nagaland state on the India–Myanmar frontier, to explore how borders are lived, ignored, and reimagined by the ancient Konyak Naga tribe. At once quiet and poignant, observational yet politically sharp, Vijayvergia’s film offers one of the first cinematic portraits of Longwa, a place where the idea of national demarcation is both present and irrelevant.

 

Produced, directed, and edited by Vijayvergia himself, ‘‘The King on the Border’’ carries the hallmarks of a personal project. The filmmaker, who is also a solo traveler and runs the popular YouTube channel ‘Self Musafir’, brings to this work the sensibility of someone who has spent time traveling on the margins, away from mainstream tourist circuits. Currently a student at the University of the Arts London, Vijayvergia combines academic rigor with a traveler’s eye for detail and a documentarian’s sensitivity to human stories. This layered approach is perhaps why the film has already begun to attract attention, having been shortlisted for the prestigious One World Media Awards 2025 and screened at the 7th Bioscope Global Film Festival in Cuttack, where it was noticed by veteran film critic Mr. Lalit Rao and filmmakers Ms. Bijaya Jena and Mr. Gadadhar Puty.

 

                                                  A village at the edge of nations

 

The backdrop to the film is deeply political. In 2019, Myanmar’s civil war led to large-scale migration into India, while unrest in Manipur prompted the Indian government to announce the construction of a 1600-kilometer fence across the India–Myanmar border. Such decisions, rooted in security concerns, inevitably impact the everyday lives of borderland communities. Longwa is one such village in Nagaland whose people have long lived beyond the logic of borders. Here, the Indo-Myanmar frontier famously runs through the village chief’s house, and the inhabitants—mostly Konyak Nagas—have traditionally traversed both sides of the line without passports, visas, or even awareness of the concept of national territory.

 

It must be mentioned that articles on Longwa have appeared in the Indian media before, but Vijayvergia’s film is the first work of cinema to deal with the subject in depth. What emerges is not a sensationalist account of lawlessness or exotic tribalism, but a nuanced portrait of peaceful coexistence. By letting his camera linger on schools, churches and markets, Vijayvergia emphasizes how ordinary rhythms of life carry on uninterrupted despite the invisible presence of a border.

 

                                                        The King and his unique necklace

 

The figure at the heart of the film is his highness Tonyei Phawang, the 10th-generation king of the Konyak tribe. He is the “king” referenced in the film’s title, ruling over 30 villages in Myanmar and 5 in India. A gentle but commanding presence, Phawang becomes both a symbolic and literal bridge across nations. He embodies the paradox of being a ruler without a kingdom, a sovereign whose authority cuts across two nation-states that would prefer to assert control without borders, armies, and checkpoints.

 

One of the film’s most evocative images is Phawang’s necklace with three heads, representing India, Myanmar, and Longwa. Just as these heads coexist in a single piece of jewelry, the king envisions his people living in peace and unity irrespective of political divisions. Vijayvergia closes his film with this metaphor, allowing it to resonate as a quiet plea for harmony in a time when governments are more inclined to build walls than bridges.

Schools, churches, and everyday peace

 

Rather than completely relying on interviews or didactic narration, ‘‘The King on the Border’’ adopts an observational style. This choice suits the subject matter, for the story of Longwa is not one of dramatic events but of sustained ordinariness in the face of looming disruption. We see children going to school, women carrying out household chores, men working in the fields, and villagers attending church. There are two schools in Longwa—a primary and a middle school—with high enrollment, evidence that education remains a priority even in such remote settings. Yet there are challenges: many Myanmar students cannot understand English even by class eight, signaling the disparities that emerge when political boundaries divide communities with shared traditions.

 

The film makes no grand claims, but its simplicity is its strength. Vijayvergia suggests that peace is not an abstract concept—it is embedded in the ability of farmers to cultivate on both sides of the border, in children crossing freely to attend school, and in the king’s dual belonging. The quietness of the film underscores how fragile this peace is, how easily it could be undone by fencing, checkpoints, and militarization.

 

Borders that never mattered

 

One of the most striking aspects of Longwa, and indeed of the film, is how borders never mattered to its people. For generations, they have moved back and forth, sharing resources, lands, and kinship networks that predate the very idea of the nation-state. The absurdity of imposing rigid demarcations in such contexts becomes evident: how do you draw a line across a way of life that is inherently transnational?

 

By grounding his film in lived realities rather than policy debates, Vijayvergia makes a persuasive argument that borders are less about people and more about politics. The villagers’ fear that their peaceful coexistence will be threatened if a fence is erected becomes the emotional core of the narrative.

 

                            Observing Peace in Silence: The Meditative Style of ‘The King on the Border 

 

From a visual standpoint, ‘‘The King on the Border’’ resists the temptation of exoticizing the Konyaks. The cinematography is intimate rather than spectacular; the camera does not fetishize tribal ornaments or rituals but instead captures routine gestures—children reciting lessons, people going to the church, inhabitants of Longwa meeting with each other. The editing is slow-paced, in line with the film’s observational ethos. This quietness may test the patience of viewers accustomed to more dramatic documentaries, but it rewards those willing to immerse themselves in the rhythms of everyday life in Longwa.

 

 

Vijayvergia’s triple role as producer, director, and editor gives the film a coherence of vision. Yet one occasionally senses the limitations of a one-man crew—moments where sound design feels thin, or where a second camera might have offered richer visual coverage. But these are minor quibbles in an otherwise impressive debut.

 

                                  Political resonance to achieve a quiet plea for unity 

 

What elevates ‘‘The King on the Border’’ is its political resonance. By focusing on a village that straddles two nations, the film raises urgent questions about how borders are imagined and enforced. As governments invest in walls and fences, Vijayvergia’s film reminds us of the human costs such measures impose on communities that have lived in peace for centuries. It echoes broader global debates—whether along the US–Mexico border, between Israel and Palestine, or in Europe’s refugee crisis—about the violence inherent in drawing lines that divide people with shared histories.

‘‘The King on the Border’’ is, at its heart, a quiet plea for unity. In presenting Longwa and its king, Anuj Vijayvergia has created more than just a documentary—he has given voice to a community whose existence challenges the very notion of rigid national boundaries. The film’s significance lies not only in its cinematic achievement but also in its timing: at a moment when India and Myanmar are tightening their borders, here is a reminder that peace often resides in the very spaces where borders dissolve.

 

By the time the credits roll, one is left with the image of Tonyei Phawang’s necklace—three heads bound together, refusing separation. It is an image of resilience, of belonging, and of hope. And it encapsulates what Vijayvergia’s film so gently but powerfully asserts: that the true strength of nations lies not in the walls they build but in the coexistence they enable. “The King on the Border resonates as a global parable, reminding us that peace is fragile wherever borders turn into barriers, whether it is in Nagaland, Palestine, or along the Rio Grande.”