Muraleedharan is an influential officer in the Ministry of the state. Once upon a time a political enthusiast, he's now comfortably employed in the government services. A chance intervention in a plea submitted by a grieving mother and daughter throws him into a painful examination of his past.

The girl's father and he were once brethren to a revolutionary cause. Growing up together in an idyllic village in Kerala, theirs was an unlikely kinship - he the son of the temple priest, and Gopi, a notary's son. A kinship that blossomed into their youth and brought them shoulder to shoulder in their political concerns.

Amid upheavals and opportunism, they struggle to find their moorings in the ideals that once inspired them - with tragic implications for their friendship. A disheartened Murali opts out of the power game. Marriage, children, a cosy domestic life, and a smug job in the services - Murali's priorities are in contrast to Gopi's - who pursues a shining career as journalist. A contented life eludes him though, as he drifts dangerously into alcoholism. From a distance, Murali watches helplessly as his one time soul mate is ruined by drink and bad company. Their meetings now are few and far in between - at press conferences, journalist meetings and parties.

Years later on a surprise visit, Gopi cuts a sorry figure before his longtime friend and family. 'My daughter sings well; you must come home one day', says Gopi in parting. With half promises of meeting again, they bid their goodbyes.

Many years later, news of Gopi's passing reaches Murali. In a godforsaken nook, somewhere in the high ranges by a wayside café, Gopi is found dead. He had lain unattended in his final moments, stricken by pain, awaiting help.
As the narrative moves beyond this tragic retrospection, Murali is left with an indelible image of his friend - the bright, luminous eyes of his daughter, helpless in askance, in grief.