By Suresh Unnithan
In the grand circus of Indian politics, where alliances shift faster than monsoon clouds and loyalties are as firm as wet sand, Nitish Kumar—the once-snarling tiger of Bihar—has finally been handed his golden retirement parachute. Yes, folks, the man who flipped more times than a dosa on a hot tawa is set to be nominated to the Rajya Sabha, with his son Nishant lined up as deputy CM in what can only be described as a generous “compensation package” for being gently ousted from the Bihar chief minister’s chair. Ah, the sweet irony: after a decade of being the NDA’s most reliable weathervane, Nitish gets a cushy Upper House seat to nap through sessions, while junior gets to play deputy in Patna—presumably under the BJP’s ever-watchful eye, ensuring the family silver stays polished but never too shiny.
Nitish! The man who dared to dream of a BJP-free paradise in 2014, when Narendra Modi’s ascension sent shivers down every regional satrap’s spine. Back then, with his trademark kurta and that perpetual squint of suspicion, Nitish broke off from the NDA faster than you could say “development model.” He called Modi a communal Frankenstein stitched from the worst threads of Hindutva. Oh, the audacity! The BJP’s response? A polite smile from Amit Shah, the party’s whisperer-in-chief, and the quiet rustle of CBI files being dusted off. Nitish’s wings were clipped not with scissors, but with endless, exhausting probes into everything from his lunch menu to his election funding. By 2017, the tiger was wheezing, and in a plot twist worthy of a Karan Johar soap opera, he flip-flopped back into Modi’s lap. But that was just Act One.
The real taming came in 2022, when he ditched the RJD for the umpteenth time, only to be rewarded with the chief minister’s chair—under BJP’s watchful eye, of course. Today, Nitish is less a roaring beast and more a purring kitten, batting at yarn balls of welfare schemes while Modi pets him from afar. “Paltu Ram,” they call him now, a moniker that sticks like glue. The master manipulators in Delhi didn’t need a whip; they just dangled the carrot of power, watched the tiger roll over for belly rubs, and now, in this final act of gratitude, they’re tossing him a Rajya Sabha sinecure and his son a deputy CM consolation prize. How touching—almost like a corporate golden handshake, but with more kurta and less stock options.
And now, enter stage left: Chandrababu Naidu, the tech-savvy sultan of Andhra Pradesh, whose Telugu Desam Party (TDP) once strutted as the uncrowned king of the south. Naidu, with his vision of Amaravati as India’s Silicon Valley 2.0 (minus the actual silicon), had been Modi’s frenemy since 2014. Remember the early days? When the NDA romanced the TDP post-elections, only for Naidu to bolt in 2018, citing unfulfilled promises like special status for Andhra. The betrayal stung worse than a chili-laced idli. Enter the Enforcement Directorate (ED), that shadowy sidekick to the BJP’s superhero duo. Naidu’s skill development scams were suddenly front-page fodder, his family under the microscope like lab rats in a pharma trial. Raids at dawn, freezes on assets—Naidu’s empire crumbled faster than his much-hyped capital city. By 2023, with YSRCP breathing down his neck and the ED’s noose tightening, Naidu did what any self-respecting satrap would: he meowed for mercy. Back into the NDA fold he slunk, just in time for the 2024 polls. Whispers suggest Shah’s chessboard has already mapped Naidu’s next move—a deputy CM post, perhaps, or a cabinet berth to keep him leashed. The kitten-ification is underway; soon, Naidu will be chasing laser pointers of infrastructure funds while forgetting his dreams of autonomy. After all, in Modi’s menagerie, regional roars are just background noise to the lion’s symphony.
This isn’t Nitish’s or Naidu’s solo tragedy; it’s a full-blown opera of orchestrated obeisance, with the Modi-Shah combine as the gleeful conductors. Flash back to 2014, when the BJP’s “achhe din” manifesto was less about jobs and more about janitors for opposition leaders. Take Ram Vilas Paswan, the eternal ally-shifter whose Lok Janshakti Party (LJP) was BJP’s Bihar bodyguard. Paswan, with his Dalit vote bank and that sly grin, was tamed early—post-2014, showered with ministerial perks, his son Chirag later groomed as a mini-Paswan puppet. But when Chirag dared a little rebellion in 2020, eyeing a solo run in Bihar polls, the BJP didn’t blink. They backed Nitish against him, and poof—Chirag’s wings were singed. Now? He’s a NDA lapdog, begging for scraps. Similarly, Jayant Chaudhary of the Rashtriya Lok Dal (RLD) in UP—grandson of the late Chaudhary Charan Singh, no less—was next on the chopping block. His farmer agitation against the farm laws in 2020? Met with ED raids and a sudden allergy to opposition alliances. By 2024, Jayant had flipped, joining the NDA with promises of Rajya Sabha seats. From firebrand to fire extinguisher, just like that.
But the real satire lies in how the BJP devours its own. Trusted allies? Mere appetizers. Shiv Sena, that Marathi manoos muscle once forged in Bal Thackeray’s image, was split like an overripe coconut in 2022. Eknath Shinde, the understudy turned star, was handed the CM gaddi on a platter, courtesy of Shah’s midnight calls and a dash of “defection is democracy.” Uddhav Thackeray, the reluctant heir, was left nursing his yoga mat and a pile of legal bills. Then came the Akali Dal, Punjab’s turbaned titans, who dared oppose the farm laws in 2020. Alliance broken, SAD marginalized, and now they’re ghosts at the feast, watching BJP cozy up to new suitors. And don’t get me started on the NCP’s great schism—Sharad Pawar, the wily old fox of Maharashtra, saw his party cleaved in 2023 when nephew Ajit Pawar jumped ship for a deputy CM post. The ED’s “investigations” into family trusts? Coincidence? Please. It’s the BJP’s favorite parlor trick: probe, prod, and poach.
In this grand game of thrones—sorry, thrones and drones—the BJP’s North Star isn’t pesky things like unemployment (which has youth rioting in their pajamas) or inflation (turning dal-roti into caviar prices). No, it’s an opposition-free raj, a monolithic mandir of power where regional satraps bow like backup dancers. Since 2014, the playbook has been flawless: unleash the hounds (CBI, ED, IT sleuths), sprinkle incentives (portfolios, pardons, cozy Rajya Sabha berths, and dynastic deputy posts), and voila—adversaries turn acolytes. The party’s ideologues preach “sabka saath,” but it’s really “sabka saath in submission.” Critics cry foul, but hey, who listens to pigeons when lions roar?
As Nitish prepares to nap in the Rajya Sabha and Naidu tinkers with apps in Amaravati, one wonders: who’s next? Mamata’s Bengal brigade? Kejriwal’s AAP antics? The Modi-Shah circus tent is vast, and the whips—and golden parachutes—are always at the ready. In the end, power isn’t just prime—it’s the only act in town. And in this satire of a democracy, the audience applauds, too busy munching popcorn to notice the tigers have all turned tail, tails wagging for one last treat.
