Thamma (2025): Ending Explained

By Luna Sterling

In the shadowy underbelly of Thamma (2025), director Aditya Sarpotdar weaves a tapestry of forbidden romance, ancient curses, and blood-soaked redemption that pulses with the humid dread of forgotten jungles and the stifling tension of urban secrets. Starring Ayushmann Khurrana as the hapless journalist Alok Goyal and Rashmika Mandanna as the enigmatic Tadaka, this Maddock Horror Comedy Universe entry blends visceral horror with comedic beats, all underscored by a creeping psychological unease. As the credits loom, the film's ending leaves viewers with a metallic tang of blood on their tongues and a lingering chill in the air—questioning the cost of love in a world where humanity's darkness mirrors the supernatural. If you're searching for a breakdown of Thamma's twisty finale, including what happens, its deeper meanings, and the ambiguities that haunt it, read on. Spoilers ahead, naturally.

Quick Recap

Thamma opens in the dense, mist-shrouded jungles where meek journalist Alok Goyal, ever the pretender to bravery, ventures for a story on adventurous footage. Attacked by a massive bear, its growls echoing like thunder through the undergrowth, Alok teeters on death's edge until Tadaka—a mysterious woman from a tribal enclave—intervenes, her presence both salvation and enigma. She rescues him not just from the beast but from her own sect of betaals, vampiric creatures who've sworn off human blood after witnessing the Partition's horrors in 1947. Their leader, Yakshasan, a blood-hungry betrayer, rots in a cursed cave for defying the ban, his rage simmering like an unearthed wound.

Tadaka spirits Alok back to the bustling chaos of Delhi, where she reinvents herself as "Tarika" to blend into his family life. The air thickens with suspicion—Alok's father eyes her warily, sensing the otherworldly aura that clings to her like damp earth. Tadaka grapples with her suppressed hunger, her eyes glazing with a feral glint during mundane meals. A boozy dinner spirals into chaos: she dances wildly amid throbbing music and leering strangers, only for a pack of aggressive men to pursue them on the rain-slicked roads home. Alok's pleas for peace shatter as Tadaka unleashes her betaal form, her fangs a whisper of restrained fury, leaving the attackers battered but alive. Yet Yakshasan's shadowy followers slink in, finishing the job with cold efficiency, their presence a fog of impending doom.

As the noose tightens, a betaal police officer confronts them, mistaking Tadaka for the killer and urging her flight for Alok's sake. The lovers' bond frays under the weight of secrecy, hurtling toward a precipice where human frailty collides with immortal curse.

What Happens in the Ending

The finale of Thamma unfolds with a visceral crash that reverberates through the screen, blending high-stakes chase with intimate horror. Desperate to reclaim Tadaka, Alok races after her departing bus on Delhi's fog-veiled streets, the engine's roar mingling with his frantic breaths. In a heart-stopping moment, his car flips in a screech of twisting metal and shattering glass, the impact a brutal symphony that leaves him broken and bleeding out on the cold asphalt. The air hangs heavy with the acrid scent of burnt rubber and spilled life, as Tadaka, sensing his peril, rushes to his side. With tears streaking her face—salty rivulets against her pale, eternal skin—she bites him, her fangs piercing flesh in a act of defiant love, transforming Alok into a betaal to pull him back from the void.

Yakshasan, imprisoned in his cursed cave where shadows writhe like living veins, senses the violation immediately. His guttural laugh echoes through the stone, a sound like grinding bones, as he revels in the breach of the sacred rule against turning humans. Tadaka, now marked as the criminal, faces imprisonment in his stead, her freedom traded for Alok's second life. As Alok awakens to his new existence—eyes burning with an unnatural hunger, veins thrumming with otherworldly power—Tadaka guides him through the haze of transformation. They navigate Delhi's undercurrents together, her touch a grounding anchor amid the psychological storm of his bloodlust.

The tension peaks when Alok's father, ever the skeptic, spots the telltale fangs glinting in the dim lamplight of their home. The revelation crashes over the family like a monsoon downpour: Alok's pleas mix with his father's denial, the room thick with the metallic tang of fear-sweat. Refusing the impossible, the elder Goyal drags his son to an exorcist, the ritual's incense-heavy air cloying and oppressive, chants rising like a futile ward against the encroaching night. The screen fades on this fraught confrontation, leaving the outcome suspended in ambiguity, the cave's curse and Yakshasan's looming release casting long, jagged shadows.

The Meaning Behind the Ending

At its core, Thamma's ending symbolizes the intoxicating peril of transcendence through love—a forbidden bite that binds souls but unleashes chaos. Alok's transformation isn't mere survival; it's a metaphor for shedding meekness, his blood now a river of inherited trauma from the Partition's ghosts and Yakshasan's ancient betrayal. The car crash, with its visceral crunch and spill of crimson, represents the fragility of human pretense, forcing Alok to confront the "horrors humans are capable of" that once bound the betaals. Tadaka's bite, tender yet savage, underscores themes of sacrifice: her violation dooms her to captivity, mirroring how love devours the self, leaving only echoes of freedom.

Psychologically, the ending probes the tension between control and surrender. Alok's struggle with his powers evokes the unease of awakening dormant instincts, the hunger a visceral stand-in for suppressed desires in a society still scarred by division. Yakshasan's joy in the cave—a dank prison of dripping stalactites and fetid air—highlights cyclical vengeance, suggesting that rules born of historical pain only breed more shadows. Ultimately, it posits redemption not as erasure of the past but as coexistence with its bite, the lovers' union a fragile dam against the flood of bloodlust.

Character Arcs and Resolution

Alok's journey from faux-brave journalist to reluctant betaal is the film's emotional spine, his arc culminating in a raw awakening. Once hiding behind words and bluster, the transformation strips him bare, his new senses amplifying the world's cruelties—the pulse of crowds like a siren call, the night's chill a promise of power. With Tadaka's guidance, he resolves not to conquer his nature but to harness it, evolving from victim to guardian, his love for her forging a tentative peace with his monstrous side. Yet the exorcist scene leaves his resolution hanging, a psychological tether to his human roots, underscoring that true change is an ongoing, tense negotiation.

Tadaka, the eternal outsider, arcs from secretive savior to willing martyr. Her decision to turn Alok defies her sect's oaths, born of a love that pierces her isolation like fangs through veil. It resolves her internal conflict—torn between tribal loyalty and personal desire—by embracing the curse fully, her fate in the cave a poignant echo of Yakshasan's, suggesting cycles of punishment for those who dare humanity's boundaries. Alok's father, a pillar of denial, embodies unresolved familial bonds; his exorcism attempt fractures yet humanizes the arc, hinting at the pain of letting go, his suspicion evolving into horrified confrontation.

Alternate Interpretations

Thamma's ending thrives on ambiguity, particularly the unresolved exorcism and Yakshasan's impending freedom, inviting multiple lenses. One reading casts it as a tragic loop: Tadaka's bite dooms her to replace Yakshasan, perpetuating the sect's blood debt and dooming the lovers to eternal separation, the cave's shadows swallowing their romance like the jungle's maw. This interprets the transformation as hubris, echoing the IMDb nod to Alexander the Great's jungle demise—overconfidence inviting supernatural retribution.

Alternatively, it could signal empowerment and subversion. Alok's betaal strength, honed with Tadaka, positions them as disruptors against Yakshasan's tyranny, the exorcism a comedic red herring that fails against their bond. Here, the ending affirms forbidden love's triumph, the father's ritual a futile grasp at normalcy while the couple forges a new, hybrid existence—human heart, immortal will. The psychological ambiguity amplifies this: Is Alok's hunger a curse or a gift, mirroring how trauma (like the Partition) can either consume or catalyze?

Themes and Symbolism

The ending reinforces Thamma's core themes of inherited darkness and the blurred line between monster and man, subverting horror comedy tropes by grounding them in historical viscera. The betaals' blood ban symbolizes post-Partition restraint—a collective vow against humanity's savagery—while Yakshasan's cave, with its echoing drips and confined rage, stands for repressed history that festers and breaks free. Fangs and bites recur as metaphors for intimacy's double edge: nourishing yet invasive, love's embrace laced with pain.

Broader, it explores nature's indifference—the jungle's predatory hum parallels urban chases, suggesting supernatural forces as extensions of human folly. The exorcism subverts redemption arcs, implying that psychological healing demands facing the "other" within, not banishing it. Amid laughs, the mood lingers on tension: the sticky warmth of blood, the whisper of fangs, evoking how comedy veils unease, much like Alok's initial bravado masks fear.

Final Thoughts

Thamma's ending works masterfully as a crescendo of atmospheric dread, its visceral details—the crash's metallic bite, the cave's suffocating echo—immersing us in a world where love's pulse quickens into horror. It doesn't tie every thread with tidy bows, instead leaving a psychological aftertaste of unease that lingers like fog over Delhi's streets, inviting rewatches to unpack its layers. For a genre mashup, it elevates the stakes, making the romantic core feel perilously alive. If you're drawn to endings that blend heart-pounding tension with thoughtful ambiguity, Thamma delivers, proving that sometimes, the sweetest salvation tastes of blood. What do you think—curse or catharsis? Share in the comments.