In Bihar, dry days may not mean sober politics. As election fever grips the state, prohibition, once Nitish Kumar’s proud moral badge, has turned into a political hangover. And now, Prashant Kishor, who sells reason with a reformer’s flourish, has promised to pop the cork if voted to power. For once, the bottle might decide the ballot.

Bihar’s political theatre, always soaked in drama, now stages its quirkiest act yet. Nitish Kumar, the master of somersaults, is again somberly asking for trust; Tejashwi Yadav, the tireless youth icon with a rebel’s fire, vows to end unemployment, one government job at a time. And then there’s Prashant Kishor, the strategist-turned-saint, unravelling his grand ‘Jan Suraaj’ pitch that echoes more like a movement and less like a campaign. Can PK cork up Nitish’s bottle of survival? Or will this remain the same old cocktail, shaken, not stirred? 

Read in Hindi: नीतीश की पलटी राजनीति और तेजस्वी की बग़ावत में पीके का जोशीला तड़का!

Political commentator Prof Paras Nath Choudhary calls it “a clash between credibility and fatigue.” “The real fight,” he says, “is between two major alliances. Nitish’s repeated U-turns have made him a political trapeze artist, thrilling at times, but exhausting to watch. The NDA, fortified by the BJP and Chirag Paswan’s LJP, plays the governance card, while Tejashwi thumps the chest of youth anger. It’s old warhorses versus young stallions.”

But somewhere in the middle of this stampede, Kishor has entered like an unscheduled halftime show. Sociologist T. Srivastava notes, “PK’s Jan Suraaj is the third ripple that might become a wave. His direct conversations, his village circuits, they’ve unsettled both sides. Even if he doesn’t bag seats, he could tilt the margins.” 

Nitish Kumar’s journey itself reads like a syllabus on political survival. From the JP Movement to the corridors of power, from socialist slogans to capitalist pragmatism, he’s seen it all, and, perhaps, switched sides through most of it. In 2005, he broke the RJD’s monopoly and ushered in roads, girls’ education, and what locals called the “good governance era.” But two decades later, the man who promised stability now represents everything unstable, a walking, talking case study of political gravity-defiance. 

And then, of course, there’s prohibition. Introduced with pious conviction in 2016, welcomed by women, and cursed by everyone else, the policy has become Bihar’s open secret; illegal booze flows like official hypocrisy. Hooch deaths, underground liquor mafias, lost tax revenue, it’s a policy that sobers no one and troubles everyone. Still, Nitish clings to it, counting on women voters to forgive what men whisper about.

“Whatever its faults, it restored a kind of peace at home,” says Janardan from Muzaffarpur, sipping tea that probably has seen more business than toddy in recent years.

Meanwhile, Bihar’s restless youth are scripting a quieter revolution, from coaching hubs, not party rallies. The ‘Khan Sir Syndrome’ defines a new generation that doesn’t shout slogans but scribbles answers. In Patna and beyond, teachers are celebrities, classrooms are campaign grounds, and every mock test feels like an election. “These educators manufacture hope in bulk,” says social activist Vidya Devi. “They’re Bihar’s new folk heroes, replacing netas with notebooks.”

In this election, then, the real fight isn’t between left, right, or centre. It’s between disillusionment and desire, between the politics of promises and the hunger for change. 

The last word belongs to the voter, of course, that master of irony in Indian democracy. Will Nitish flip again, or will the people finally call last order on his politics? Either way, one thing is certain: Bihar knows how to serve its politics neat, no chaser required.