The gridlock staggers the mind.

To the east stretches the snaking — and now stalled — road show of the All India Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen’s Bihar president, Akhtarul Iman. To the west is a DJ party and motorcycle rally of the JDU. A smaller BSP campaign by its Amour candidate, Lakshmi Kumari, lies somewhere in between.

Then there are the returning customers and sellers from the weekly haat at Bada Idgah Bazar.

A perfect snarl — for several hours and several kilometres, from Baraili to Palsa, on a riverine stretch in Purnea district close to Bengal.

The annoyance of those stranded at the traffic jam is eclipsed by the entertainment, typical of what elections provide in the heartland. Behind the vehicle fumes and the cacophony lurk lessons in politics and sociology.

As Iman inches through the jam, his torso protruding through the sunroof of the car, he spots the DJ party of the JDU coming towards him down a road barely wide enough to allow two lanes of traffic.

In many parts of India, such physical proximity between rival parties amid the heat of the polls could lead to a clash.

Here, the campaigner atop the JDU truck dances energetically, almost challenging Iman. The two parties’ cadres are now close enough for their bike handlebars to touch each other.

Iman smiles and greets the JDU men with folded hands. Now, the cadres of both parties are grooving to the Bihari remix of Daler Mehndi’s Bolo Ta Ra Ra Ra, with the lyrics changed to eulogise Iman’s JDU opponent, Saba Zafar.

Supporters whip out their selfie sticks. The road is now a sea of green: the flags of both parties are the same colour, practically indistinguishable when waved vigorously.

“Sab bhai hain (They are all brothers),” exclaims Alam, a government employee trying to return to Purnea from Amour.

“One side has more Hindu supporters and the other side is Muslim, but once the DJ gets going, they will start merrymaking anywhere without a care for traffic jams. These leaders attacking each other in their speeches is all an act. Sab bhai hain.”

Babulal and Faizan are best friends. They grew up at the housing colony of a public-sector construction firm in Sitamarhi, and learnt the basics of construction from their mason fathers. Now they build bridges and culverts along the Mahananda and Kosi river systems.

Their profession is notorious for the kickbacks exacted by officials and politicians — and for disasters. The two friends are among the few who dare to earn a living as sub-contractors in the Kafkaesque maze of public works in Bihar.

They don’t mind being stuck in the traffic jam as they are in no hurry to go anywhere. They can’t resist the beat; their legs start shaking to it. The lyrics resound: “Virodhi sab ke khel khatam, bolo tam tam (It’s game over for the opponents).”

“We used to be kattar (hard-core) JDU. Nitish did a lot for the state. I still think he is a good chief minister, but look at the corruption,” says Babulal, who collects videos of collapsed bridges on his phone the way other people collect memes.

“This contractor made money on the piling. The top part is OK but the foundation practically doesn’t exist,” he says, showing the video of a bridge cave-in in Araria.

“What will the contractor do? All his profit goes into paying bribes. Even so, he could have siphoned off money from other work, not the piling. It’s as bad as committing murder.”

Faizan says: “Nitish is a good man; the BJP has spoilt him. Chhota chhota baat sab pe Hindu-Muslim kar deta hai (They sow communal division at the drop of a hat).”

So, who will they vote for?

“We don’t look at caste or religion. (Majlis leader Asaduddin) Owaisi speaks well. Miya log ka area sab mein oo vote kaatbe karega (He will split votes in all Muslim areas),” Babulal says.

Faizan is not too convinced.

“Just because he speaks well doesn’t mean he will solve problems. (Mahagathbandhan chief minister hopeful) Tejashwi Yadav should be given a chance,” he says.

“Everyone should get a chance. Rahul (Gandhi) also speaks well. It doesn’t matter how well you speak, but if you can develop Bihar like Bengaluru, then Biharis will vote only for you.”

A man walks with a fish trap over his head through a roadshow of Amour AIMIM candidate Akhtarul Iman on Friday. Picture by Pheroze L. Vincent

They both rave about Bengaluru — the glittering shops on Brigade Road, drinking grape juice in Cubbon Park, the buttery idlis at Rameshwaram Café. A construction job in Bengaluru had changed their outlook on life.

The haat is winding up. Fishermen walk through the jam with their bamboo fish traps. Women vendors pick up their unsold bamboo baskets and leave. Some of them
count money as they negotiate the jam.

“What will you do with all that money?” a stranded driver, Raja Khan, teases one of them.

“It’s for my daughter’s wedding,” she retorts. “You boys won’t come with a baraat (bridegroom’s party) if we don’t give you a motorbike (as dowry).”

Khan was a driver in Kerala. “If I could learn Malayalam, I would stay there,” he tells The Telegraph.

“Even the police are so polite there. Construction workers there earn more than what I get as a driver.... And no Hindu-Muslim (communal tensions),” he says.

“The CM is Hindu but his son-in-law is Muslim. Here, even if a Sheikh marries a Surjapuri (both Muslim communities), there will be a riot.”

A clash breaks out in the traffic jam.

“Hamra paisa deejiye. Apna haq maang rahe hain.... Bol de rahe hain, Amour aana mehanga padega (Give me my money; it’s my right.... I’m warning you, you’ll pay for coming to Amour),” yells a young man in a freshly pressed shirt, tight jeans and polished shoes.

A crowd gathers. The BSP’s Lakshmi Kumari is in the car that’s the target of the young man’s tirade.

He gets into a shouting match with the BSP activists. After a long argument, which further stalls the traffic, a man with a gamchha around his neck steps out of the car and speaks in a deep, loud voice, silencing the crowd.

“We have paid your boss; why are you shouting?” he tells the well-dressed man, showing him a register. Lakshmi Kumari too warns him not to threaten them, and leaves.

The dapper youth looks dejected. He pulls out his phone and shows it to the crowd.

“I did three stories for her. They said one was not positive enough, and they won’t pay. But now they are refusing to pay for the others, either,” he says, showing videos of his news reports.

The man is a journalist. His demand: A sum of ₹2,000 for two news interviews of the BSP candidate.

Alam, the government employee, sighs. “Bihar produced such great authors and journalists. Look at where we are today,” he says.

n Bihar votes next on November 11