After hours of relentless rain, the skies over Alinagar finally ease. The drizzle lingers as Maithili Thakur’s cavalcade halts near the Bramhasthan at Dath Chowk. The 25-year-old folk singer, now the BJP’s youngest candidate in these Bihar elections, steps out to offer prayers at the roadside shrine. Word spreads fast — Maithili aa gayi hai.
Within minutes, boys and girls rush in, phones raised for selfies. Thakur, smiling, obliges them all. She switches easily between laughter and small talk, greeting women in fluent Maithili and sharing jokes as if she has always belonged here. For many, she is the region’s pride come home.
But hovering close are BJP leaders, coaching her through the rituals of campaigning. “Keep looking both sides and greet everyone while walking,” one instructs, gently. When news arrives that Chief Minister Nitish Kumar’s convoy is approaching, there’s a scramble for a Mithila paag, the red-and-white traditional headgear she must wear to greet him.
For the BJP, Thakur’s candidacy is meant to be more than star appeal — it’s a cultural statement. Fielding the young singer from Alinagar, in Darbhanga district, is the party’s attempt to turn Mithila’s cultural pride into political capital across the region.
Yet, Alinagar is far from easy ground.
Maithili Thakur dismisses the “outsider” tag. “I grew up here for nine years,” she says.
This has long been RJD territory, dominated for decades by veteran Abdul Bari Siddiqui, who won seven times before bowing out after his 2015 victory. In 2020, the seat went to the VIP’s Mishri Lal Yadav — another RJD old-timer who had switched to the NDA — by a margin of just over 3,000 votes. The social arithmetic here is tricky: Brahmins and Muslims make up around 20% each, followed by Yadavs, EBCs and Dalits. The RJD has now fielded Binod Mishra, while Biplaw Kumar Chowdhary contests from Jan Suraj.
The BJP’s calculus is clear: consolidate Brahmins, draw in non-Yadav OBCs, and attract Dalit and EBC voters through the NDA’s welfare pitch. But the real gamble is emotional: that the beti of Mithila can embody both cultural identity and political trust.
At the Brahmin Tola near Dath Chowk, Gopal Kumar Jha insists he will vote for her. “She is gaon ki beti. This controversy about the paag and makhana was unnecessary,” he says, referring to viral images of Thakur eating makhana out of the revered headgear. “We worship both paag and makhana — what’s wrong in that?”
A few kilometres away, Rajneesh Jha, 24, who works in Mumbai’s diamond industry, echoes a more pragmatic voice. “I like Maithili but my vote is for Modi,” he says. “If an NDA government comes, there will be development. The vote is for the NDA, not her stardom.”
That sentiment — admiration tinged with doubt — recurs across Alinagar. Despite being from the region, Thakur is still seen by many as a Delhi transplant. Her local supporters often do the explaining for her.
In Ghanshyampur, Guneshwar Yadav, 65, a lifelong BJP voter, calls her “a child.” “She doesn’t understand politics,” he says. “But when the PM has blessed her, our vote goes to her. Sanjay Singh is with her, he helps everyone here.” Singh, a local BJP leader who had hoped for the Alinagar ticket himself, is now leading her campaign and is widely seen as her bridge to the ground.
At Pohaddi Vela village, Fekan Sahu (EBC), who works in Punjab, voices similar hesitation. “She’s too young, and she’s an artist — always travelling for shows. Who knows how often she’ll come here? But I’ll vote for her in Modi’s name. The vote is for the country.”
Thakur is aware of these doubts. “The responsibility on my shoulders is perhaps greater than that of others because people wonder what a 25-year-old can do,” she tells The Indian Express. Yet, she says, her lack of political lineage is an advantage. “Nobody can accuse me of nepotism or being born with a silver spoon. Whatever I’ve achieved is through my own hard work and my family’s support.”
She dismisses the “outsider” tag. “I grew up here for nine years. Then I left to learn music with my father. Those calling me an outsider are just repeating a narrative. Whatever doubts people had initially have now settled down. I’m here to stay and work for the people,” she says.
Still, scepticism runs deep, especially in villages where caste loyalties and political memory remain strong. At Shyampur, Surender Yadav, 50, offers a blunt assessment. “BJP has never won here. There are too many Yadavs and Muslims. Last time, VIP won because the candidate was a Yadav. Maithili is a videshi. People want someone they can reach out to.”
Nearby, Satya Narayan Yadav, a 24-year-old tutor, is equally dismissive of the NDA. “Why should I vote for Modi or Nitish? They call RJD voters deshdrohi. Fine, Tejashwi is 9th fail — then Samrat Chaudhary is 7th fail. The 9th fail is more educated!” he says, laughing. “Tejashwi is young and talks about jobs. Nitish’s own partners say he’s grown old and lost his mind.” Still, he admits he admires Maithili. “I listen to her songs. She is Mithila’s pride. But BJP has lowered her stature by dragging her into politics.”
Despite such voices, BJP leaders in the constituency remain confident. “Ultimately, the Rs 10,000 transferred into women’s accounts will swing the polls,” one says, referring to the state’s welfare payouts. But not everyone agrees that money will trump caste. Ram Rai Devi, 35, a Yadav woman and beneficiary of the scheme, says simply, “My vote will go with my caste.”
By late afternoon, the drizzle has stopped. Campaign vehicles pass through slushy lanes, loudspeakers blare campaign songs between speeches. At a tea stall in Alinagar block, 60-year-old pan seller Mohammed Izhar sums it up with the matter-of-fact realism that marks the Bihar’s electoral ground and the street.
“Votes will actually be decided on the night before polling,” he says. “Being an outsider is a disadvantage for her. Yadavs and Muslims will go with the lantern. RJD’s Binod Mishra will get some Brahmin votes, but most will go to BJP. Where the others go — that will decide everything.”
As the night settles over Alinagar, the songs fade into loudspeaker static. Maithili Thakur may have brought melody to the campaign trail, but in Bihar’s rough and rooted politics, it is caste and memory — perhaps not only the new notes of music — that may still write the tune of victory.
