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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

The Unequal Cousins

Raj Thackeray’s ‘sacrifice’ saved Shiv Sena (UBT) but sank the MNS Mumbai: In the volatile theatre of Maharashtra politics, the long-awaited reunion of the Thackeray cousins on the campaign trail was supposed to be the masterstroke that reclaimed Mumbai. The results of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) elections, however, tell a story of tragic asymmetry. While the alliance has successfully helped the Shiv Sena (UBT) stem the saffron tide and regain lost ground, it has left Raj...

The Unequal Cousins

Raj Thackeray’s ‘sacrifice’ saved Shiv Sena (UBT) but sank the MNS Mumbai: In the volatile theatre of Maharashtra politics, the long-awaited reunion of the Thackeray cousins on the campaign trail was supposed to be the masterstroke that reclaimed Mumbai. The results of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) elections, however, tell a story of tragic asymmetry. While the alliance has successfully helped the Shiv Sena (UBT) stem the saffron tide and regain lost ground, it has left Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) staring at an existential crisis. The final tally reveals a brutal reality for the MNS - Raj Thackeray played the role of the savior for his cousin, but in the process, he may have become the sole loser of the 2026 mandate. The worse part is that the Shiv Sena (UBT) is reluctant to accept this and is blaming Raj for the poor performance of his party leading to the defeat. A granular analysis of the ward-wise voting patterns exposes the fundamental flaw in this tactical alliance. The vote transfer, the holy grail of any coalition, operated strictly on a one-way street. Data suggests that the traditional MNS voter—often young, aggressive, and driven by regional pride—heeded Raj Thackeray’s call and transferred their votes to Shiv Sena (UBT) candidates in wards where the MNS did not contest. This consolidation was critical in helping the UBT hold its fortresses against the BJP's "Infra Man" juggernaut. However, the favor was not returned. In seats allocated to the MNS, the traditional Shiv Sena (UBT) voter appeared hesitant to back the "Engine" (MNS symbol). Whether due to lingering historical bitterness or a lack of instructions from the local UBT leadership, the "Torch" (UBT symbol) voters did not gravitate toward Raj’s candidates. The result? The UBT survived, while the MNS candidates were left stranded. ‘Second Fiddle’ Perhaps the most poignant aspect of this election was the shift in the personal dynamic between the Thackeray brothers. Decades ago, they parted ways over a bitter dispute regarding who would control the party helm. Raj, refusing to work under Uddhav, formed the MNS to chart his own path. Yet, in 2026, the wheel seems to have come full circle. By agreeing to contest a considerably lower number of seats and focusing his energy on the broader alliance narrative, Raj Thackeray tacitly accepted the role of "second fiddle." It was a pragmatic gamble to save the "Thackeray" brand from total erasure by the BJP-Shinde combine. While the brand survived, it is Uddhav who holds the equity, while Raj has been left with the debt. Charisma as a Charity Throughout the campaign, Raj Thackeray’s rallies were, as always, electric. His fiery oratory and charismatic presence drew massive crowds, a sharp contrast to the more somber tone of the UBT leadership. Ironically, this charisma served as a force multiplier not for his own party, but for his cousin’s. Raj acted as the star campaigner who energised the anti-BJP vote bank. He successfully articulated the anger against the "Delhi-centric" politics he accuses the BJP of fostering. But when the dust settled, the seats were won by UBT candidates who rode the wave Raj helped create. The MNS chief provided the wind for the sails, but the ship that docked in the BMC was captained by Uddhav. ‘Marathi Asmita’ Stung by the results and the realisation of the unequal exchange, Raj Thackeray took to social media shortly after the counting concluded. In an emotive post, he avoided blaming the alliance partner but instead pivoted back to his ideological roots. Urging his followers to "stick to the issue of Marathi Manoos and Marathi Asmita (pride)," Raj signaled a retreat to the core identity politics that birthed the MNS. It was a somber appeal, stripped of the bravado of the campaign, hinting at a leader who knows he must now rebuild from the rubble. The 2026 BMC election will be remembered as the moment Raj Thackeray proved he could be a kingmaker, even if it meant crowning the rival he once despised. He provided the timely help that allowed the Shiv Sena (UBT) to live to fight another day. But in the ruthless arithmetic of democracy, where moral victories count for little, the MNS stands isolated—a party that gave everything to the alliance and received nothing in return. Ironically, there are people within the UBT who still don’t want to accept this and on the contrary blame Raj Thackeray for dismal performance of the MNS, which they argue, derailed the UBT arithmetic. They state that had the MNS performed any better, the results would have been much better for the UBT.

Fires of Superstition

Bihar’s crumbling state governance is ensuring that witch-hunts remain a grim reality in India’s heartland.

Bihar
Bihar

When a mob in rural Bihar set five members of a family on fire for alleged witchcraft, it was reminiscent of the bad old days for an often-disparaged state. It reflects poorly that India, a nuclear power with ambitions of becoming a global leader, continues to permit medieval violence to fester unchecked in its hinterland. In Purnia district, a woman named Sita Devi was blamed for the illness and death of a neighbour’s child. What followed later in the backwater Tetgama village was governance failure in its rawest form.


Fifty people barged into the family’s home, beat them with bamboo poles, doused them with inflammables, and set them alight. Five corpses were later found dumped under water hyacinth. A 16-year-old boy, Sonu Kumar, barely escaped.


In most countries, such a gruesome act would provoke national outrage, emergency interventions and even high-level resignations. But in India’s tribal and rural interiors, witch-hunting remains both a social practice and a symptom of broken policing, caste tensions, entrenched patriarchy and a political class that would rather look away.


The Purnia massacre is far from isolated. In 2021, five women were dragged out of their homes in Jharkhand’s Bokaro district and bludgeoned to death for allegedly casting evil spells. In 2022, in Odisha’s Mayurbhanj, an entire family was lynched on suspicion of practising black magic. In Khunti, Jharkhand, in 2015, women were stripped, paraded naked, and beaten for supposedly causing illness in the village. In Dumka, Bihar, in 2020, an elderly woman was tied to a tree and killed after a child died mysteriously.


Women, particularly those who are elderly. The charge of ‘witchcraft’ becomes a social weapon to settle scores, grab property, or reinforce caste and gender hierarchies. The official justification is always illness, death or misfortune. But beneath lies a more calculated cruelty that the state has done little to deter.


It is not that laws are absent. Jharkhand passed an anti-witchcraft act in 2001. Bihar and Odisha followed with their own legislation criminalising witch-hunting and penalising those who instigate or participate in such acts. But enforcement is sporadic at best. Police are either absent, under-staffed or under pressure to maintain the fiction of rural harmony. Arrests, when made, are symbolic. Villagers admit to witnessing the violence but did not intervene.


This erosion of justice is a structural malaise. Rural India, particularly tribal belts in eastern states, suffers from a yawning governance deficit. Health systems are fragile, schools ineffective and state institutions distant. In such a vacuum, centuries-old beliefs fester. Disease and death, instead of being understood through medicine, are interpreted as curses. The local ‘ojha’ or witch-doctor gains more authority than the district magistrate.


The state’s response is unforgivably weak. Awareness campaigns are patchy and underfunded. Witness protection is non-existent. Political leaders avoid confronting the issue for fear of offending dominant local sentiments. The result is an informal apartheid of reason.


The human cost is severe. According to India’s National Crime Records Bureau, over 2,500 women were murdered between 2000 and 2020 after being branded witches. Jharkhand alone has accounted for over 500 such killings. The actual number is likely higher, given widespread under-reporting and the quiet collusion of local elites in suppressing such cases. And behind each statistic is a story like that of Sita Devi - of someone beaten not just by neighbours, but by an indifferent republic.


India cannot hope to ascend on the global stage while tolerating medieval violence in its villages. The fight against witch-hunting is not just about superstition but restoring the primacy of law, reason and basic human dignity. That requires political courage, sustained education and institutional reform.


Tetgama, the village where five people were burned to death this month, is not cursed. But it is condemned by neglect, by silence and by a state that shows up after the fires have cooled.

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