BIHAR ELECTION 2025 PHASE-1 VOTING: Before the sun had warmed the dusty lanes of Bihar, the early-morning chill had already stirred something more potent: possibility. At 7 AM, across 18 districts and 121 assembly constituencies, the first phase of the 2025 Bihar Legislative Assembly elections commenced. Long queues traced from village lamp posts to urban polling booths — a diverse mosaic of women in saris, older men on walking sticks, first-time voters clutching identity cards, all converging in one act: casting their franchise, a testament to the inclusive nature of our democracy.
Under the pale dawn of democracy, Bihar awakened to a day heavy with history and hope. This was not just another election day, but a moment that would be etched in the annals of Bihar’s political journey, a day where every vote cast would shape the future of our state. Across 121 of its 243 assembly constituencies, the state’s heartbeats synchronized in rhythm with the clicking of ballot buttons and the rustle of voter slips — a chorus of conviction echoing through fields, alleys, and riverbanks.
It was a contest not merely of parties, but of purpose — a triangular battle of ideologies that cut across caste, class, and memory. On one side stood the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Janata Dal (United), bound together under the banner of the National Democratic Alliance (NDA); on the other, the Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) and Indian National Congress (INC), united under the familiar call of the Mahagathbandhan, the ‘grand INDI-Alliance.’ And, adding a new chord to the composition, Prashant Kishor’s Jan Suraaj Party — a fledgling force aiming to reimagine politics from the grassroots upward — entered the arena for its maiden test of faith.
From 7 AM to 6 PM, Bihar’s democracy pulsed in motion — orderly, restless, determined. As of 5 PM, the Election Commission’s data reflected an impressive 60.13 per cent voter turnout —proof that Bihar’s people, often underestimated but never silent, had once again chosen participation over apathy. In Begusarai, democracy soared with a 67.32 per cent turnout, the highest in the state, while Sheikhpura, though quieter, still spoke in ballots with a 52.36 per cent turnout. Each percentage point is a testament to the resilience of people who have long learned to turn hardship into endurance, a source of inspiration for all.
The ballot this time bore the weight of familiar names and unfinished promises. From Tarapur, BJP’s Deputy Chief Minister Samrat Choudhary stood as the NDA’s face of continuity, his candidacy reflecting the alliance’s confidence in its governance model. In Raghopur, Tejashwi Yadav, the youthful voice of the Mahagathbandhan and the opposition’s chief ministerial candidate, sought to extend his streak — his campaign charged with the energy of crowds that chanted for badlaav (change). His brother, Tej Pratap Yadav, waged his battle from Mahua, carrying the banner of his own outfit, Janshakti Janata Dal, a reminder that Bihar’s politics has always been a family of rivalries within kin.
In Alinagar, rising cultural icon Maithili Thakur, fielded by the BJP, brought a different hue to the contest — her candidacy fusing art and politics, melody and manifesto. Meanwhile, in Mokama, the fight took a darker turn. JD(U)’s Anant Singh, contesting from jail, stood accused in the murder of a Jan Suraaj supporter, Dularchand Yadav — his candidacy a stark reflection of Bihar’s complex political contradictions, where charisma and controversy often coexist.
For Prashant Kishor, architect of many political victories now turned reformer, this election was less about seats and more about soul. His Jan Suraaj Party, making its electoral debut, symbolized an audacious bid to rewrite Bihar’s political grammar — one where the language of caste and patronage gives way to the vocabulary of governance and opportunity. Whether his message will resonate beyond rallies into votes remains to be seen, but his presence has undeniably shifted the discourse, compelling veterans to heed the whispers of change rising from the margins.
And then there was the seat that carries legacy like a torch — Raghopur, where Tejashwi Yadav seeks not just victory, but vindication. Here, every poll booth breathes the history of his mother, Rabri Devi, who once lost this very ground to Satish Kumar, the BJP’s candidate again, now carrying the memory of that 2010 upset as both sword and shield. Tejashwi’s contest is more than electoral — it is generational. For him, it is not merely about defeating a rival; it is about reclaiming a chapter that once defined his family’s fall and could now mark its resurgence.
As evening descended and the last votes were cast, EVMs were sealed under tight security, their blinking red lights flickering like the embers of a long day’s battle. Convoys rolled out under armed escort, heading toward strongrooms where democracy sleeps under watchful eyes.
Outside polling stations, weary officers sipped tea in steel cups, their uniforms dusty but their eyes steady. Groups of villagers lingered under streetlights, debating who would win and who would deliver. The young spoke of jobs, the old of dignity, and women — many of whom turned out in remarkable numbers — spoke of safety, respect, and the right to be heard beyond polling day.
Bihar’s first phase of voting has ended, but its story is still being written—in the quiet pride of those ink-stained fingers, in the sealed boxes waiting to speak, and in the unseen hands that guided an entire state toward its tryst with change.
In this dance between tradition and transformation, Bihar stands once again at the crossroads — torn between the weight of its past and the pull of its future. And somewhere, in that silent space between promise and power, lies the hope that this time, the ink will not fade before the impact does.
The morning of November 6 dawned softly over Bihar — the mist lifting from paddy fields, temple bells echoing faintly in the distance — as 3.75 crore voters prepared to script the next chapter of the state’s political destiny. Across 121 constituencies, spread through 18 districts, democracy came alive not in speeches or slogans, but in the steady shuffle of feet toward the polling booths.
The ballot journeyed through the beating heart of the state — from the bustling lanes of Patna to the river plains of Darbhanga and Saharsa; from the ancient learning corridors of Nalanda to the fertile stretches of Muzaffarpur, Begusarai, and Vaishali. The story of democracy also travelled through Gopalganj, Siwan, Saran, Samastipur, Madhepura, Lakhisarai, Munger, Sheikhpura, Buxar, and Bhojpur — eighteen districts where every inked finger became a verse in Bihar’s long-running poem of change.
At the heart of this moment stood a figure more powerful than any candidate — the voter. As many as 3.75 crore Biharis held in their hands the power to decide the fate of 1,314 candidates. Of them, 10.72 lakh were first-time electors, stepping into the sunlight of civic duty with eyes wide open and dreams freshly minted. In the sprawling network of 45,341 polling stations, the hum of democracy resonated — 36,733 in rural heartlands where fields merged with faith, and 8,608 in urban centres where old loyalties met new aspirations.
Each booth carried its own character: 320 model polling stations shone with improved facilities; 926 all-women-managed stations became potent symbols of empowerment; and 107 booths, run by persons with disabilities, embodied the inclusive spirit of Indian democracy.
THE CONTEST OF COALITIONS: WHERE POWER MEETS PROMISE
In this grand theatre of democracy, alliances stood like constellations —each luminous, each flawed, each trying to claim the same sky.
The National Democratic Alliance (NDA)—the ruling constellation—marched under the stewardship of Nitish Kumar’s Janata Dal (United) and the Bharatiya Janata Party, joined by Chirag Paswan’s Lok Janshakti Party (Ram Vilas), Jitan Ram Manjhi’s Hindustani Awam Morcha, and Upendra Kushwaha’s Rashtriya Lok Morcha. Together, they carried the banner of continuity—the promise of experience, stability, and a governance model that has long defined Bihar’s political rhythm.
“Bihar’s first phase of voting has ended, but its story is still being written—in the quiet pride of those ink-stained fingers, in the sealed boxes waiting to speak, and in the unseen hands that guided an entire state toward its tryst with change”
Facing them across the pitch stood the Mahagathbandhan, or the Grand Alliance, the opposition’s coalition of conscience and counter-narrative. Spearheaded by Tejashwi Yadav’s Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) and the Indian National Congress, it drew strength from the ideological left — the Communist Party of India, the CPI (Marxist), and the CPI (ML) Liberation, along with Mukesh Sahani’s Vikassheel Insaan Party. Together, they carried the voice of discontent, speaking to youth without jobs, farmers without security, and families without hope.
And then, entering the field with the freshness of an untested idea, came Prashant Kishor’s Jan Suraaj Party. Once a political strategist known for crafting others’ victories, Kishor now steps into the arena himself — his movement built on niti (policy), naitikta (ethics), and naya Bihar (a new Bihar). The Jan Suraaj Party has done what few dared — fielded candidates across all 243 seats, signalling that this is no experiment, but a declaration of intent.
THE HUMAN STORY BEHIND THE NUMBERS
Beyond the banners and speeches, the statistics themselves tell a profoundly human story. Of the 1,314 candidates vying for a place in the Assembly, 122 were women — their presence, though still modest, carried the quiet defiance of progress. The rest, 1,192 men, continued to dominate the fray, a reminder that representation remains a work in progress.
Out of 3,75,13,302 eligible voters, 1,98,35,325 were men, 1,76,77,219 were women, and 758 belonged to the third gender — a small but significant testament to inclusion.
In every corner of Bihar, from the shadow of old palaces to the glow of new roadside stalls, the electorate arrived — some on foot, some on cycles, others ferried by boats across sluggish rivers. For many, voting was not a duty, but a prayer — a way to speak to a state that too often forgets to listen.
AN ELECTION AS OLD AS HOPE, AS YOUNG AS CHANGE
The first phase of the Bihar Assembly Election 2025 is more than a routine exercise of governance — it is the renewal of faith in democracy itself. In this act of collective courage, 3.75 crore hearts beat together, whispering the same silent question: Who will remember us tomorrow?
From rural polling booths adorned with banana leaves and thermocol decorations to urban centres buzzing with youth clicking selfies outside schools turned into polling stations, the day unfolded like a festival — a festival not of colours, but of conviction.
SEALING THE MACHINES, UNSEALING THE FUTURE
Behind the spectacle of polling stood the steel backbone of the electoral process. Thousands of Electronic Voting Machines (EVMs) were sealed at dusk, packed into armoured vans, escorted under the watch of CAPFs (Central Armed Police Forces), their every serial number logged and locked. Across the state, polling stations followed a new norm: a cap of 1,200 electors per booth, briefly pausing the traditional bottleneck and ushering in a flicker of accountability.
In Patna district’s command centre, officials moved like chess players orchestrating a long-drawn endgame. Webcam recorded booth entrances. Voter lists had been scrubbed in the months before—the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) had removed over 60 lakh names from the rolls, drawing both praise and dissent.
As the machines locked and the ballots awaited dawn, one message lingered: democracy is not a checklist. It is a journey—fragile, contested, and yet moving forward.
THE VOTER WHO TURNED UP
Along the levees of the Gandak River in Saran, a woman in her mid-sixties arrived at 6:30 AM, sandals slapping the early pavement. She had voted before—many times—but today she had an urgency. “I want the next government to ask my son to come home for work, not to leave for Mumbai,” she said, ink-mark visible on her finger.
In Muzaffarpur’s Minapur constituency, first-time female voters were in abundance—a signal that the political script may be changing. “This vote is my voice,” said a 21-year-old student as she left her voting booth.
Young men and women queued beside grandparents, their chatter interlaced with cellular selfies and the quiet seriousness of decisions. In every fold of the queue lay a story of migration, of aspiration, of unspoken demands: jobs, dignity, a future not borrowed but earned.
ALLEGATIONS THAT CLOUDED CALM
Yet, democracy’s open sky did not remain unclouded. In Mohiuddinnagar and Sarai, the Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) raised alarms. A video shared on X (formerly Twitter) showed alleged police personnel entering homes and threatening residents ahead of polling.
The RJD’s accusation struck a chord: “Intimidation cannot be the undercurrent of ballot boxes,” said a party strategist. For the ruling coalition, led by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Janata Dal (United) (JD(U)), it was a moment of damage control — denying the claims and promising investigations.
The ECI, as chartered by the constitution, now bears the heavy burden not only of counting the votes but also of guarding the integrity of the act itself.
TURNOUT’S WHISPER, CENSUS OF CHANGE
A sixty per cent turnout at 5 PM is more than a number. It is a whisper of awakening. It signals a citizenry that knows its crease and plans its innings. Some districts saw a 67 per cent increase; others remained lower.
In villages where fields lie fallow and factories are dreams away, the act of showing up becomes electoral poetry. A tribute not to parties, but to self. As one voter put it: “Today I told the state I exist.”
That shift—of identity, of expectation—is the political undercurrent everyone now watches.
SECURITY, SEALS, AND THE SYMBOL OF INTEGRITY
The stage for the vote was guarded like a fortress — thousands of CAPF personnel, CCTV links, web streams of booths, and EVM convoys glinting in the afternoon sun. The message: the box may be small, but its contents are massive — the voice of 74 million Bihar voters.
At one Patna depot, officials covered machines with tarpaulins and chained them to their metal racks. The machines themselves appeared silent and unassuming — but to these officials, they were the heart of the democratic body.
WHAT TOMORROW HOLDS
Phase 1 is done. Phase 2 arrives on November 11. Results will be declared on November 14 — but the honest reckoning will not come from the scoreboard alone. It will come in fields and factories, in roads built and jobs created, in the dignity returned to migrant workers.
The RJD sits poised under the banner of change; the NDA whispers stability from its record. The voters, having shown up in unprecedented numbers, now part ways with the booths—but not with their expectations.
THE SILENT PROMISE OF THE INK-MARKED FINGER
As dusk fell on November 6, the ink-marked fingers of voters glowed like torches of hope. The ink is not permanent—but what it represents may be.
In Muzaffarpur, an 82-year-old couple posed for a photograph after casting their votes. In Patna, cell phones recorded the first voting selfie of a shy teenager. In Nalanda, a woman carried a wooden stick—to her, strength meant voting and walking.
Against the clatter of slogans and machines, the human puzzle of Bihar remains: lives shaped by migration, layered by caste, and laden with aspiration. Today’s vote did not erase the past—but it claimed a place in the future.
If Bihar has a new slogan, it may not be “engine” or “improvement”. It may simply be: I vote.
The booths across 121 constituencies became temporary chapels of agency. Long queues were not crowd footfall — they were hums of a democracy vibrating. The EVMs were not just machines — they were silencers of distance.
And now, as the machines are sealed and the convoys roll out, what remains is the promise. Not of instant change. But that change might start.
In a political landscape thick with colour and noise, the quiet hum of an EVM being sealed is its own drama. The Click-click of the seal, the Confirm button pressed, the shutter of the ballot box locked away: this is where noise recedes and decision takes root.
An EVM is not democratic; the voter is. The machine is not just a tool — it is the moment of truth. Today, Bihar sealed thousands of those moments.
In the days to come, candidates will claim victory; coalitions will craft alliances. But the true victory will be if homes change — migrants return, daughters study, elders travel free. Voting is just the start. Governing is a marathon.
When the results are announced on November 14, headlines will flash: “Who won?” But what Bihar’s Phase 1 really told us is: Who showed up?
Today, the people of Bihar cast more than ballots—they cast a mood, a moment, a memory. The machines will tally the seats; the soul of the election will live in villages where women waited in line early and youth blinked at cameras for the first time. In this era of noise, the quiet act of turning up still matters the most. The ink-stained finger is still one of democracy’s bravest adornments.
Addressing a public gathering in Triveniganj, Supaul, RJD leader and INDIA bloc CM candidate Tejashwi Yadav stated that the unprecedented public support has boosted his morale 14 crore times. “In Bihar now, a single voice is rising from every heart: Change-Change-Change,” said Tejashwi.
The Bihar election unfolds against the backdrop of a simmering controversy — one that reaches deep into the heart of Indian democracy. Just months before polling, a revision of the electoral rolls stirred turbulence and suspicion. Opposition parties cried foul, claiming that the cleansing of names from the voter list was no act of housekeeping but a political manoeuvre — an attempt to edge out genuine voters and tilt the scales in favour of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). Both the BJP and the Election Commission of India, however, stood their ground, dismissing these allegations as unfounded and politically motivated.
But beneath the statistics and statements lies Bihar — raw, restless, and unyielding. A state of immense poverty and infinite potential, where fields grow more migrants than crops, and where hope has always travelled on trains to other states in search of wages. Bihar is one of the few frontiers where Modi’s BJP, despite its sweeping national mandate, has yet to claim complete dominion on its own. Here, power is never permanent — it shifts like the silted Ganga, carrying with it old loyalties and new ambitions.
The current government, an uneasy alliance between the BJP and Nitish Kumar’s Janata Dal (United), returns to the battlefield side by side — a coalition bound more by necessity than affection. Across the aisle, the Congress has joined hands with Lalu Prasad Yadav’s Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) and a chorus of smaller regional voices under the Mahagathbandhan, the Grand Alliance. It is a clash of memories as much as manifestos — of the old Bihar yearning to survive, and the new one daring to emerge.
Adding a fresh verse to this political symphony is Prashant Kishor, the strategist-turned-reformer, whose Jan Suraaj Party enters its maiden electoral race. Once the quiet craftsman behind victories for both the BJP and the Congress, Kishor now steps into the light — his debut not as a consultant but as a contender, promising to replace the politics of patronage with the politics of purpose.
Yet, this election carries a certain melancholy — for it might mark the final act of two titans who have shaped Bihar’s story for over four decades. Nitish Kumar, the pragmatic engineer of coalitions, and Lalu Prasad Yadav, the rustic voice of rebellion, who once turned caste consciousness into political capital. Both stand at the twilight of their journeys — weary, revered, and frail, yet inseparable from the soil that birthed their legacies.
Nitish, who has helmed Bihar for most of the past twenty years, remains a figure of paradox — a reformer to some, a survivor to others. His alliance with the BJP has made him a central pillar in India’s current power structure, his loyalty helping Narendra Modi consolidate his position on the national stage after the 2024 general elections.
Across the divide stands Lalu Yadav, the man who once redefined Bihar’s politics by giving voice to the voiceless. Between 1990 and 1997, he ruled not from polished offices but from the hearts of the downtrodden, weaving earthy humour into defiance. But time and scandal dulled his fire. Convicted in corruption cases, he now watches from the wings, his legacy both luminous and tarnished. Out on bail, he has handed his torch to his son, Tejashwi Yadav — the youthful face of resistance, projected as the chief ministerial candidate for the opposition alliance.
The shadow over this election deepened when the Election Commission announced its revised voter list in September, retaining 74.2 million names and removing 4.7 million. The opposition charged that the deletions disproportionately affected minorities, particularly Muslims, accusing the Commission of aiding the ruling party by silencing sections of the electorate. The Commission, alongside the BJP, firmly denied such motives, asserting that the exercise was a necessary purge of duplicates and defunct records.
But in the alleys of Patna and the farmlands of Samastipur, scepticism lingers like dust — the kind that doesn’t settle easily. For many, this election is not just about seats or symbols; it is about belonging, about whether every citizen’s name still matters on the page of democracy.
Bihar’s 2025 assembly polls thus arrive not merely as a political contest but as a reckoning — between old wounds and new visions, between legacy and reform, between faith and fatigue. The stage is set, the alliances drawn, and the people — always the ultimate poets of destiny — are ready with their inked fingers to write what history will one day call the last great election of the old guard, and perhaps the first of a new dawn.
As dusk descended and EVMs clicked shut under the watch of security forces, Bihar’s story found another verse. Each sealed machine now holds not just votes, but voices — the laughter of a farmer who believes his pain will be heard, the quiet determination of a mother who voted for her daughter’s education, the trembling pride of a first-time voter marking her future with a single press of a button.
The first phase is over. But democracy, like the Ganga that flows through Bihar’s veins, never stops. It bends, it deepens, it renews. And as night fell over Patna’s skyline, one could almost hear the murmur carried by the wind — Bihar has spoken; now let history listen.
