The architect of India’s most successful election campaigns discovered, in Bihar 2025, that strategy without structure is no match for entrenched politics
Our Bureau
Patna
Prashant Kishor entered the Bihar election like a master chess player stepping onto a kabaddi field — armed with strategy, precision, data and design, but facing a game that rewards instinct, agility, and ground muscle. For a decade, he had shaped victories for others from behind the curtain. But 2025 was the first time he stepped into the arena himself, not as an architect but as a contender. It was here, on Bihar’s unforgiving political terrain, that the gulf between meticulous theory and chaotic reality snapped sharply into focus.
Kishor’s belief was that he could build an alternative brick by brick: a 3,000-km padyatra, policy blueprints, dashboards, survey teams, thematic campaigns, and a grand, long-term mission under the banner of “Jan Suraaj.” But the party he tried to build ran before it learned to stand. And in what he called the “mother of all elections,” that proved fatal. His famous remark that Jan Suraaj would end up “arsh par ya farsh par” — sky-high or in the dust — landed exactly where he feared.
From the beginning, a familiar narrative swirled around Kishor: the next Arvind Kejriwal. Like the Delhi Chief Minister in 2013, he appeared as the outsider armed with policy plans, anti-establishment rhetoric, and a promise of new political grammar. His padyatra echoed AAP’s mohalla meetings — slow, deliberate trust-building at the grassroots. His clean-governance pitch, his critique of old caste matrices, and his technocratic language added fuel to the idea that Bihar had found its educated disruptor.
But the comparison, in hindsight, exposed the very gap that undid Jan Suraaj. Kejriwal built a movement that quickly evolved into a disciplined organisation; Kishor built a mission but not a machine. AAP transformed volunteers into cadres; Jan Suraaj transformed curiosity into applause. AAP decentralised leadership; Jan Suraaj had just one face. Anger became energy for Kejriwal; for Kishor, it became interest without commitment.
Movements win hearts. Machines win elections. Kishor built the former but needed the latter.
On the ground, Jan Suraaj’s campaign struck the right intellectual notes but struggled with basic organisational footing. When Kishor accused the BJP of squeezing his party out of the contest — claiming that three candidates were pressured to withdraw, even naming Amit Shah and Dharmendra Pradhan — it was both a tactical accusation and a psychological blow. One candidate, he claimed, was kept “occupied” for an entire day to prevent him from filing papers. The constituencies — Danapur, Brahampur, Gopalganj — became symbols of a party fighting for legitimacy even before fighting for votes.
Yet at the heart of the campaign stood a paradox: Kishor refused to contest. The strategist-turned-leader argued that running from Raghopur would distract him from building the party. But for voters, the message was damaging: the man asking for their trust would not put himself on the ballot.
Combined with his sweeping predictions — that Jan Suraaj would either sweep or collapse — the campaign acquired a reputation for volatility, even before polling day.
Imagine a magnificent architectural blueprint with no bricks, no workers, no scaffold. That was Jan Suraaj. When the party released its first list of 51 candidates, Kishor’s name was absent. Even senior leaders admitted they struggled to explain what Jan Suraaj really was and what it wanted to achieve. “People failed to understand us, and we also failed to make them understand,” said Bihar JSP president Manoj Bharti.
Kishor’s resume is unparalleled. He crafted Modi’s ascent, helped Nitish defeat Modi’s momentum in 2015, revived Amarinder Singh, and powered victories in Andhra, Tamil Nadu and West Bengal. His understanding of messaging, data and voter behaviour is unmatched.
But Bihar 2025 was not a puzzle to solve; it was a brawl to survive.
His brief stint in JDU — elevated directly to National Vice President — had already shown how his top-down approach irked traditional cadres. His opposition to the Citizenship Amendment Act ended that chapter abruptly, and Jan Suraaj was born from his desire for deeper, long-term engagement. He spent months on Bihar’s roads, understanding grievances, promising transformation.
But deep listening is not the same as deep embedding.
In the final weeks, Kishor’s social media engagement surged. His candidates — a mix of Bhojpuri singers, bureaucrats, academics, and defectors — brought visibility. Many believed Jan Suraaj would emerge as a serious force.
The results were a rude awakening. Jan Suraaj failed to win a single seat. In many constituencies, JSP candidates barely registered. Meanwhile, Nitish Kumar’s JDU — which Kishor had predicted would be routed — gained 41 more seats than 2020.
A strategist who once predicted India’s political tides had misread his own home turf.
Kishor had earlier said he had committed ten years to Bihar. Whether he retains the appetite after this crushing defeat remains to be seen. For now, only his state president has spoken: “Perhaps we could not make people understand. We will start again.”
If Jan Suraaj survives, it will be because Kishor learns the hardest lesson in Indian politics: strategy is a compass, not a vehicle. You still need wheels, roads, hands, and hearts.
