West Bengal’s political ballgame seems to be revolving around this year’s Rath Yatra taking the religious festival into the state’s electoral battleground, out of its spiritual framework.
Both Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee and her arch rival Suvendu Adhikari are pulling not just the ropes of Lord Jagannath’s chariot, but also the strings of public sentiment eyeing the 2026 Assembly elections.
The grand inauguration of the Jagannath Temple in Digha and Mamata’s participation in Friday’s Rath Yatra appear to be more about politics than reflection of religious devotion.
Mamata seems to be equally desperate to retain her Hindu vote bank by portraying her soft Hindutva and cause a sharp dent in the saffron camp’s electoral stake on the line of religion.
“Her (Mamata) every move is politically well-calculated. She is not only portraying herself as Bengal’s secular ruler but also branding her arch rival BJP as a party of a particular religion where her party is also leaving no stone unturned to secure electoral dividend in the 2026 electoral exercise,” said a Trinamool Congress leader.
Rath Yatra 2025 has thus evolved into a showdown of spiritual symbolism and strategic messaging.
By shifting her focus from the traditional ISKCON Rath Yatra in Kolkata to the newly sanctified Jagannath Dham in Digha, Mamata Banerjee has made it abundantly clear that this is no ordinary celebration.
With a massive administrative push—from public works to power supply, from crowd control to artistic lighting—the state machinery has been mobilised with precision. Her message is twofold—religion belongs to all and governance can serve devotion.
Mamata’s presence in Digha is also designed to reframe the narrative—to counter the BJP’s claim over Sanatan Dharma and to demonstrate that faith and secularism can coexist under the same banner.
Ministers from key departments have been deployed, special lighting artists brought in from Chandannagar and police forces instructed to avoid any Kumbh Mela-style tragedy. This isn’t just a festival. It’s a calibrated performance of inclusive governance and soft Hindutva.
Not to be outdone, Suvendu Adhikari has planned a triple-header of Rath Yatra events—beginning in Central Kolkata and stretching across his political bastion in Purba Medinipur.
His response is rooted in traditionalist faith and positioned as a counter-narrative to the government-sponsored festivities. The decision to distribute Mahaprasad from Puri instead of participating in what the BJP sees as "state-packaged sanctity" is a calculated one.
The opposition leader’s participation is being framed as consistent and spiritual, in contrast to what BJP MLAs describe as the ruling party’s sudden religious awakening for political gain. As Kanthi South BJP MLA Arup Das put it, “The Leader of the Opposition has always been a believer. He is not here for a spectacle.”
But is this really a contest of devotion? Or is it a well-choreographed act in the prelude to the 2026 electoral showdown? Make no mistake—both sides are weaponising religiosity.
TMC is rebranding Hindu traditions under a broader umbrella of Bengali pride and state leadership, while BJP continues to beat its nationalist drum with rituals and identity at the forefront.
What’s at stake is more than just Rath ropes or chariot wheels—it’s the very narrative of power and people.
After dominating the 2024 Lok Sabha elections and scoring a decisive victory in the Kaliganj by-election, TMC is in a position of strength. But with Basirhat and Tehatta by-elections potentially on the horizon, the BJP is far from conceding the battlefield.
Meanwhile, the electorate watches this theatre unfold—some with reverence, others with cynicism. The “apolitical” claim of either party rings hollow in the face of the grand displays, political speeches wrapped in devotional hymns and the unmistakable undertone of electoral arithmetic.
In the end, the chariot’s journey is symbolic of a deeper, more consequential march—the one toward the ballot box. Who holds the rope today may not hold the reins tomorrow. Yet, in this elaborate dance of devotion and democracy, one question looms large: In 2026, who will steer the chariot of Bengal?
That, as always, rests not in temples or rallies—but in the hands of the people, the intermediaries of democracy.
By Pranab Mondal
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