Checkmate by Stealth

In Maharashtra’s fractious politics, the BJP is showing that power lies not in noise, but in deft timing.

Maharashtra’s politics has rarely lacked for drama. Alliances fray and reform, and crises appear with theatrical regularity. Yet the state’s current political moment is less about spectacle than about subtlety. Two seemingly unrelated episodes – the grim scandal surrounding a self-styled godman in Nashik and a local council election in Satara - offer a revealing glimpse into how the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) maintains its edge.

On March 16 and 17, Deputy Chief Minister and Shiv Sena leader Eknath Shinde travelled to Delhi. While official explanations were routine - meetings with Narendra Modi, discussions about Maharashtra’s development - the timing raised eyebrows. It was unusual for Shinde to make this trip given that the State’s budget session was underway. More intriguingly, Home Minister Amit Shah, Shinde’s usual interlocutor in Delhi, was not available.

There was frenzied speculation as Shinde has long sought to assert his autonomy within the ruling Mahayuti alliance. His party’s talk of ‘Operation Tiger’ - an effort to lure MPs from Uddhav Thackeray’s camp - suggested a leader keen to expand his footprint. A Delhi visit, even without Shah, might have been intended to signal ambition or secure a stronger hand in the coalition.

If so, the effort was swiftly eclipsed. Shinde returned to Mumbai in the early hours of March 18. By morning, the political conversation had shifted entirely.

Political Currency

Enter Ashok Kharat. The arrest of the controversial godman on charges involving the exploitation of women was, on its own merits, a serious matter demanding scrutiny. Yet the chronology invites attention. Police sources indicated that the case file had been ready for months. The complaint was formally registered on the afternoon of March 17 - the very day Shinde was in Delhi. Kharat was arrested around midnight. Hours later, Shinde landed back in Mumbai. By dawn, images of the godman with political leaders - most prominently Shinde - were circulating widely.

Within days, additional photographs surfaced, showing Kharat alongside figures from across the political spectrum, including BJP leaders like Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis, Amit Shah and Chandrakant Patil. Fadnavis responded with studied balance: a photograph, he said, did not imply guilt; those culpable would face consequences. The remark projected fairness. It also underscored a deeper reality. As Maharashtra’s Home Minister, Fadnavis oversees the police machinery. The pace, direction and intensity of the investigation ultimately rest with him.

This is where timing becomes political currency. The Kharat case did not merely expose alleged wrongdoing; it reshaped the narrative. Whatever Shinde sought to achieve in Delhi was buried beneath a scandal that placed him on the defensive. Congress leader Nana Patole had, intriguingly, hinted before the episode that “something big” would follow Shinde’s visit. Whether prescience or coincidence, the sequence is striking.

The ripples spread further. NCP (Ajit Pawar faction) leader Rupali Chakankar, who was reported to have links to the accused and to have intervened with media coverage, soon found herself under pressure. Both Fadnavis and Praful Patel suggested she step down. She resigned promptly.

For seasoned observers, the episode echoed an older playbook. After the 2008 Mumbai attacks, Sharad Pawar sought to unseat Chief Minister Vilasrao Deshmukh. Rather than confront him directly, Pawar first pushed for the resignation of his own deputy, R. R. Patil. The ensuing public outcry made Deshmukh’s position untenable. One resignation paved the way for another. In political chess, pawns can be sacrificed to expose the king. Whether Chakankar’s resignation serves a similar function remains uncertain. But the logic feels familiar.

Electoral Contest

While attention fixated on Nashik, another contest unfolded in Satara, some 250 kilometres away. The election for the presidency of the Satara Zilla Parishad, a local governing body, ought to have been straightforward. The Mahayuti alliance commanded the numbers: BJP with 27 members, the Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) with 20, and Shiv Sena with 15. A joint candidate would have secured an easy victory.

Instead, the BJP went it alone and won. Its candidate prevailed by 33 votes to 30, implying cross-voting from allies. Opposition figures alleged a quiet ‘Operation Lotus,’ (alluding to the BJP’s long-accused tactic of persuading rival legislators to defect or defy party lines). There were also claims, denied by the BJP, that police action against certain NCP members prevented them from voting.

The contest turned unruly. Shambhuraj Desai, campaigning for his party’s candidate, emerged from a confrontation with a bandaged finger and allegations of police excess. Yet the outcome stood. BJP’s nominees secured both the presidency and vice-presidency. Publicly, alliance partners celebrated. Privately, the message was unmistakable: even within the coalition, the BJP could outmanoeuvre its allies on their own terrain.

None of this is unprecedented. India’s political history is replete with such manoeuvres; the Congress party once perfected them. What distinguishes the BJP in Maharashtra today is the precision and consistency with which these tactics are deployed.

For Shinde, the implications are delicate. His authority depends on both his alliance with the BJP and his ability to project independence. Episodes like the Kharat affair constrain that space. The investigation is ongoing; further revelations could widen its political fallout. Each development will be read not only for its legal significance but for what it signals about intra-coalition hierarchies.

For the BJP, Satara offers a template. If a local body election can be swung despite unfavourable arithmetic, similar strategies may be attempted elsewhere. Incremental gains at the grassroots can cumulatively reshape the balance of power.

The broader lesson is about the nature of control. In politics, as in chess, dominance is not always visible. It lies in the quiet occupation of key squares, the anticipation of opponents’ moves, and the orchestration of events that appear, individually, unconnected. Maharashtra’s recent episodes suggest that the BJP, under Fadnavis’s watchful eye, has mastered this art. The loudest players may command attention. But it is the quietest planner who often dictates the game’s outcome.

(The writer is a political observer. Views personal.)