PK: Jan Shunya

There was once a time when Prashant Kishor was the golden boy of Indian politics — the man who could apparently turn defeat into victory with a few clever slogans, a spreadsheet, and a team of sleep-deprived youngsters armed with data. He was hailed as the “Chanakya of the 21st century,” a strategist so sharp that prime ministers and chief ministers queued up for his counsel.

Today, the same Kishor stands deserted. His own candidates are quitting, his party is shrinking, and his confidence, once his greatest weapon, has turned into a liability. The air that puffed up his balloon of ambition has quietly escaped, leaving behind only a limp shell of self-promotion. The man who once sold victory is now struggling to sell himself.

Kishor’s fall is not a tragedy — it is an inevitability. You see, he mistook politics for marketing. He thought the pulse of the voter could be tracked through an Excel sheet, that a slogan could substitute for a soul. Politics, in his world, was a product — and he was its manager. But politics, my dear reader, is not a product; it is a passion. It cannot be outsourced to consultants or computed through surveys.

He rose meteorically — Modi in 2014, Nitish in 2015, Captain Amarinder in 2017, Mamata in 2021. Each victory added a feather to his cap until the cap became heavier than the man himself. Success intoxicates. Kishor drank deep from his own mythology. He began to believe that it was not ideology, not leadership, not the people — but he who was the real engine of democracy.

He strutted across the country, giving interviews about “strategy,” “messaging,” and “governance models.” His tone was that of a monk who had seen the light — except the light was the glow of television studios.

Then, like every ambitious man intoxicated by applause, he decided to step into the arena himself. Bihar — that cruel, unforgiving political theatre — was to be his proving ground. He launched *Jan Suraaj*, a movement that promised to clean up politics and give power back to the people. He spoke of contesting from Raghopur, Nitish Kumar’s old seat. The announcement created ripples; social media buzzed; newsrooms drooled.

And then, the bubble burst.

Before even the first phase of elections, Kishor withdrew. His candidates began deserting. Some cited pressure, some fear, most gave no reason at all. It was like watching a general retreat before the first bullet was fired. The same man who once boasted of making others win was now unable to make his own soldiers stay.

Three candidates — Akhilesh Kumar alias Mutur Shah from Danapur, Dr. Satyaprakash Tiwari from Brahampur, and Dr. Shashi Shekhar Sinha from Gopalganj — all walked away. Another, Prof. K.C. Sinha from Kumhrar, is reportedly preparing to do the same. Kishor blames the BJP, Amit Shah, Dharmendra Pradhan — anyone but himself.

Now, let us dismantle these allegations one by one, with the patience of a surgeon and the amusement of a journalist.

First, the claim that BJP “pressured” his candidates to withdraw. My dear Prashant, this is Bihar, not a finishing school in Gurgaon. If a candidate has conviction, no amount of pressure can make him flee. Leaders across parties have faced threats, poaching, bribery, and worse — yet they stayed and fought. If your men ran, it’s not because Amit Shah whispered in their ear; it’s because they never believed in you enough to stand their ground.

Second, the accusation that the Home Minister of India meeting local leaders violates the election code is laughable. If merely being photographed with Amit Shah is a crime, then half of Bihar would be in jail. Public life comes with visibility; not every handshake is a conspiracy. Kishor forgets that the same rules applied when he himself sat with half a dozen chief ministers, plotting strategies and crafting slogans. What was once his “network” has now become someone else’s “pressure.”

Third, the grand theory that the establishment fears *Jan Suraaj*. If the NDA fears anything in Bihar, it is the unpredictable mood of the voter — not a half-baked movement with no cadre, no structure, and no ideology beyond self-promotion. The BJP doesn’t need to dismantle Kishor’s campaign; Kishor is doing a fine job dismantling it himself.

Politics rewards courage and punishes excuses. Allegations are the language of the defeated — the soundtrack of surrender. Instead of asking who sabotaged him, Kishor should ask why his soldiers abandoned him.

He now claims he isn’t contesting because his “goal” is to win 150 seats. It’s a lovely goal — as theoretical as communism in an air-conditioned drawing room. How does one win 150 seats without contesting even one?

Contrast that with Arvind Kejriwal. He too began as a reformer, but when the time came, he fought from the front. He took on Sheila Dikshit herself and earned his legitimacy in battle. Kishor, on the other hand, stood at the edge of the battlefield, lecturing on strategy, and then fled when the dust rose.

Politics does not forgive such cowardice. Bihar least of all.

The irony, of course, is that Kishor built his fame on those very men he now accuses. It was Modi who gave him his first stage. It was Nitish who gave him official stature. It was Mamata who gave him moral validation. He borrowed light from others and began to think himself the sun. Now, deprived of their glow, he stands in darkness and blames the eclipse on others.

Look at the numbers. Opinion polls in Bihar give NDA 158 seats with 46 percent votes, the Mahagathbandhan 66 seats with 41 percent, and Jan Suraaj — Kishor’s grand experiment — 8 percent votes and zero seats. Even if he manages two or three, it will be charity, not achievement.

He calls himself a reformer, a visionary, a man with a mission. But reformers don’t retreat. Visionaries don’t whine about conspiracies. And men on a mission don’t abandon their own troops mid-battle.

Prashant Kishor’s story is not about failure; it is about illusion. The illusion that politics is mathematics. The illusion that democracy can be managed like a brand. The illusion that a man can win hearts through hashtags.

The Left-liberal ecosystem that once inflated his image is now silent, busy finding another messiah to promote. They, too, have moved on — as they always do.

Perhaps, in time, Kishor will return — humbler, wiser, with fewer slides and more substance. But until then, he remains what he is today: the strategist who forgot strategy, the campaigner who ran out of campaign, the man who mistook applause for affection.

Politics is not a consultancy firm. It is a carnival of contradictions. You can manage the noise, but not the soul. You can sell a slogan, but not belief. The cleverest man in the room still has to step outside and face the people. That’s where the truth begins — and where Prashant Kishor ended.”