The Impossible Victory

October 19, 2010

10:45 PM — Aritra's Villa, Jadavpur, Kolkata

The soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the dimly lit study, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound. Outside, the surface of Dakuria Lake shimmered under the moonlight, the water so still that it looked like glass. The occasional rustle of leaves from the coconut trees lining the far bank was the only indication that the world outside still moved. But inside, within the cold, calculated realm of Aritra's private study, time felt frozen.

Aritra sat at his desk, his fingers poised lightly against the armrest of his chair, eyes flicking over the multiple screens that lined the far wall. Each screen displayed live data streams—news reports, polling updates, private intelligence feeds from Bihar. The numbers were brutal.

The election was already lost.

Even before the final day of polling, the writing was on the wall. BVM had held its urban ground, but in the villages, they were being erased. The ruling party hadn't just engaged in rigging—they had ensured absolute dominance. There were booths where every single vote had gone to them, as if BVM had never even contested.

His jaw tightened slightly as he watched another batch of polling station reports flicker across the screens. There was no pattern of natural voting behavior. In most elections, you would expect fluctuations—a mix of wins and losses, districts swinging in different directions. But in rural Bihar? The ruling party's vote count was too clean. Too precise. It was a statistical impossibility.

He exhaled slowly, leaning forward. His fingers tapped against the desk in steady rhythm, a subconscious habit when he was deep in thought. Then, in a voice that was calm, controlled, but carried an unmistakable weight, he spoke.

"Lumen."

A faint pulse of light flickered across one of the dark screens in the corner of the room. A soft, mechanical chime followed—a response that no one else in the world would ever hear.

"Yes."

Aritra didn't turn to face the screen. He kept his gaze fixed on the election numbers, his mind already processing the layers of deception at play.

"How much manipulation has already taken place?" His voice was neutral, as if he were asking about a stock market fluctuation, not the collapse of democracy in Bihar.

Lumen's voice was as precise as ever. "Rural Bihar has been locked out of external communication. Over 78% of polling booths are compromised. Vote data has been pre-fed into EVMs in multiple districts. Large-scale voter suppression tactics have been deployed, including physical intimidation, media blackouts, and coordinated police inaction."

Aritra let the information sink in. He already knew most of it. His own intelligence teams had reported similar findings. But Lumen wasn't just confirming facts—it was analyzing them in real-time, predicting the endgame before the final move was played.

He sat back, exhaling. "Projected result?"

"Under current conditions, BVM will not cross 100 seats."

For the first time that night, his expression flickered. A result under 100 seats was more than just a loss—it was a complete humiliation. It would render BVM politically irrelevant in Bihar, destroy their momentum for years.

His fingers stilled against the desk. He had anticipated corruption, anticipated fraud. But this wasn't just a rigged election.

This was annihilation.

His voice remained steady. "And if left unchecked?"

"BVM's presence in Bihar will collapse. The ruling party will consolidate control over the state, setting a precedent for similar actions in future elections."

His eyes darkened slightly. That was the real danger. If they accepted this, if they allowed Bihar to be stolen without resistance, then it wouldn't just be Bihar. It would be Maharashtra next. Haryana. Jharkhand. Even Arunachal.

Power was about perception. And if the world saw BVM lose badly, then their legitimacy as a national force would crumble.

He took a slow breath. He didn't need to ask what needed to be done. Lumen was already running thousands of simulations, calculating the cleanest, most undetectable path forward.

A single word left his lips. "Solution."

Lumen responded immediately.

"To maintain government formation, BVM requires a minimum of 122 seats. To establish legitimacy, 130 seats would be optimal."

His eyes flickered. 130. Not an overwhelming victory. Not a suspicious landslide. Just enough to win.

A number so precise that no one could question it.

Aritra exhaled softly, then nodded. "Make it 130."

There was a brief silence. Then, Lumen acknowledged the command.

"Adjustments will be made."

He leaned back, watching as the election data continued to scroll across the screens. Somewhere, deep in the digital veins of India's electoral system, the invisible war had just begun.

Lumen wouldn't be hacking anything. There would be no direct alterations. No fingerprints.

Instead, it would be identifying weak points, statistical anomalies, seats where the ruling party had overplayed their hand.

And then, in a way that no one would ever detect, it would correct the imbalance.

Aritra exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. He wasn't happy about this.

But this was war. And wars weren't won with ideals.

They were won with precision.

Somewhere in Bihar, the tide was beginning to turn.

October 24, 2010

7:00 AM — BVM Headquarters, Patna

The war room was dead silent.

No ringing phones. No frantic typing. No last-minute strategic calls.

Just the hum of the air conditioning and the quiet, almost reverent glow of the election dashboard, which dominated the entire wall in front of them. It was as if the entire team had forgotten how to breathe.

Aditya Pratap sat at the head of the long oak conference table, his knuckles pressed against the polished wood, his posture rigid. His usual sharp, decisive demeanor had been replaced with uncertainty, his eyes flicking across the screen in disbelief.

For the past ten hours, every single update had been a death sentence.

BVM had been losing.

Not just losing—being obliterated.

The rural belts had fallen first, one by one, their names turning red on the map as the ruling party swept through them like a plague.

Then came the small towns.

Some had put up a fight. Some had resisted. But one after another, they had collapsed under the weight of mass booth rigging, intimidation, and outright fraud.

By 5 AM, the reality had been clear.

BVM was done.

Their number had stalled at 97 seats.

The ruling party was on track for a landslide victory.

The media had already begun celebrating. News anchors, emboldened by what seemed to be the end of BVM's political dominance, were declaring a crushing defeat.

"The myth of BVM's invincibility ends today."

"A shocking failure for the young party—experts say the Bihar election proves that urban popularity does not translate into rural strength."

"End of the BVM wave?"

The opposition was already gearing up for victory celebrations.

Even inside the war room, defeat had settled into the bones of the people present. Some aides had left, too humiliated to watch the slow destruction of what they had worked years to build. Others sat with lifeless expressions, too stunned to even react.

Then, at 6:00 AM, something strange happened.

The updates stopped.

For almost an hour, the election data froze.

Not a single vote count changed. Not a single district reported a new update. The television networks stuttered, their scrolling tickers repeating the same information over and over. An eerie, unnatural silence fell across the entire election process.

Then—at exactly 7:00 AM—everything started moving again.

And this time, the numbers began to shift.

BVM, which had been stuck at 97 seats, suddenly moved to 102.

Then 108.

Then 115.

The room stirred.

Ritika was the first to react, her voice hoarse with disbelief. "Wait… what?"

Aditya's fingers twitched. He didn't blink.

Because something wasn't right.

"We're gaining," Mishra muttered, eyes wide.

No one spoke.

Then, in a slow, almost deliberate rhythm, the numbers continued to rise.

118.

121.

124.

The television networks scrambled to adjust. The anchors, who had just an hour ago been talking about BVM's collapse, were now frantically backpedaling.

"BVM… is making an unexpected comeback."

"We're seeing shocking turnarounds in semi-urban districts—this is not what exit polls had predicted."

"Wait, what's happening? Is this even real?"

The ruling party's strongholds were still intact, but the precise districts BVM needed to cross the majority threshold were flipping in real-time.

127.

128.

129.

Then—

130.

The war room exploded.

People who had just minutes ago been mourning their loss were now shouting, cheering, crying. Staff members leaped from their chairs, hugging each other, shaking hands, slamming the table in exhilaration. Some even collapsed onto the floor, their bodies unable to process the emotional whiplash.

Mishra stared at the screen, hands in his hair, muttering curses under his breath.

Ritika was half-laughing, half-sobbing, clutching the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Aditya, however, didn't move.

He was still watching the screen. Watching the exact number that had sealed their fate.

130 seats.

No more. No less.

His throat felt dry.

The perfection of it bothered him.

But there was no time to think.

Because the next moment, the doors to the war room burst open, and a flood of BVM supporters rushed in, shouting at the top of their lungs—

"WE WON!"

---

October 24, 2010

7:30 AM — Ruling Party Headquarters, Patna

The Chief Minister sat motionless in his chair, his face devoid of emotion, eyes fixed on the same horrifying reality flashing across the screen.

BVM — 130 seats.

Ruling Party — 60 seats.

Opposition — 53 seats.

For the first time in his entire political career, he felt fear.

Not the kind of fear that came from losing an election.

Not the kind of fear that came from watching power slip through his fingers.

No.

This fear was something else.

Something deeper.

Something he could not explain.

Because they had done everything right.

The rigging. The voter suppression. The media blackouts.

They had ensured their victory.

And yet, BVM had still won.

The screen flashed again, showing district-by-district results. The pattern wasn't natural.

They had lost exactly the number of seats required for BVM to form government.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The Chief Minister exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the armrests of his chair.

Something had happened.

Something he couldn't see.

Something he didn't understand.

For the first time, he felt the weight of a power far greater than his own.

And that terrified him.

October 25, 2010

10:00 AM — BVM Headquarters, Patna

The sun rose over Patna, its golden glow casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the headquarters of BVM, the real dawn was just beginning. The war room that had been a silent crypt just twenty-four hours ago had transformed into something else entirely—a battlefield after a hard-fought war, still bearing the scars of uncertainty, but now pulsing with the raw, undeniable energy of victory.

The air was thick with the scent of strong chai and sweat, exhausted party workers moving between desks with dark circles under their eyes, some still unable to fully process what had happened. They had won.

And now, they had a government to form.

Aditya Pratap sat at the head of the long conference table, surrounded by the party's core leadership. The final seat count remained unchanged—130. Just enough. No more, no less. The ruling party had been reduced to 60 seats, the opposition 53.

Despite the celebrations outside, the atmosphere in the room was tense.

"This victory… it doesn't feel real," Mishra muttered, rubbing his temple as he stared at the election map still displayed on the giant screen.

"That doesn't matter now," Aditya said sharply. "What matters is that we move fast."

The others nodded. They had no time to waste. The ruling party still controlled the state machinery. The opposition had powerful business backers who would not let this defeat stand. The next few hours would decide whether BVM's victory was permanent—or just another phase in Bihar's long history of stolen mandates.

"First order of business," Aditya continued, "we appoint a Chief Minister."

The room shifted slightly.

Technically, Aditya himself could take the position. But that would be a disaster. He was too controversial, too closely associated with the urban elite. The rural voters who had begrudgingly given BVM their support would immediately feel alienated. They needed someone from Bihar, someone who could command respect among traditional power groups.

Ritika glanced at the seat allocation sheet. "Vikram Sinha," she suggested.

Aditya nodded. "A strong candidate."

Vikram Sinha was a two-time MLA from Patna, one of BVM's earliest ground-level leaders in Bihar. Soft-spoken but ruthless when necessary, deeply connected to both urban and rural factions, and—most importantly—seen as a 'Bihari leader' rather than a Delhi transplant.

"Get him in here," Aditya ordered.

A junior aide rushed out, and minutes later, the man who would soon be Bihar's new Chief Minister walked in.

Vikram Sinha was in his early forties, dressed in a simple white kurta, his face still carrying the exhaustion of the past few days. But his eyes—sharp, calculating—gave away the fact that he had already anticipated this moment.

"Congratulations, Chief Minister," Aditya said smoothly.

Vikram's lips twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile he ever allowed himself. "I assume this is final?"

"Your name will be announced within the hour," Ritika confirmed.

Vikram exhaled, nodding once. "Then let's make it official."

And just like that, Bihar had a new leader.

---

12:30 PM — Victory Parade, Patna

The streets of Patna were flooded with people.

Supporters filled every corner of the city, waving BVM's saffron and blue flags, their voices rising in chants that echoed through the narrow alleys and wide boulevards. The sound of dhols and conch shells rang through the air, an impromptu carnival of political triumph.

Vikram Sinha stood at the front of an open-top jeep, flanked by senior BVM leaders. His face remained composed, his hand raised in a calm but firm wave to the crowd.

Behind him, a convoy of hundreds of vehicles rolled through the streets—cars, motorcycles, even auto-rickshaws with party colors painted across their metal frames.

On rooftops, people threw marigold petals onto the streets below. In the marketplaces, shopkeepers handed out free sweets to strangers.

For the first time in years, there was electricity in the air.

The people—at least in the cities—believed.

They believed that change had come.

But not everyone in Bihar was celebrating.

---

2:00 PM — Opposition Headquarters, Patna

The air inside the ruling party's office was thick with cigar smoke and silence.

Seated around the long conference table were the most powerful men in Bihar—not politicians, but businessmen.

The Chief Minister, now a former Chief Minister, sat at the head of the table, his fingers tapping slowly against the wood. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—sharp, cold—gave away his fury.

"We underestimated them," he said finally.

No one responded. Because no one knew what to say.

BVM was never supposed to win.

The booths had been captured. The EVMs had been controlled. The police had done their job.

And yet, BVM had still won.

A deep, bitter silence filled the room.

Then, one of the businessmen—a steel magnate who had heavily funded the campaign—leaned forward. "We can still fix this," he said quietly.

The others turned to him.

"They've won just barely. 130 seats." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "That means they have no margin for error."

The Chief Minister nodded slowly, beginning to understand.

"If we can pull away even 10 MLAs," the businessman continued, "they'll collapse."

The plan was simple.

Buy them.

BVM was full of first-time MLAs, men and women who had never tasted real power before. Some of them had won unexpectedly, their victories as much of a surprise to them as anyone else.

And every politician had a price.

Another voice spoke up, this time from a real estate tycoon who had deep roots in Patna. "I know a few BVM MLAs who owe me favors. Some of them already have… financial difficulties."

The former Chief Minister leaned forward. "Then let's start the offers. How much?"

There was no hesitation.

"Ten crore per MLA."

Another pause.

Then a quiet, approving nod.

It was a fortune, even for seasoned politicians. For first-time MLAs, it was life-changing.

The businessman took out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. "We'll start with the weak ones. The ones who are still unsure. Once a few defect, others will follow."

The Chief Minister exhaled slowly. The bitterness of defeat remained, but now… now there was something else.

Hope.

This wasn't over.

Not yet.