Queens in Palanquins — And the Bahujans Still Carrying Them

— T. Chiranjeevulu, Retired IAS Officer and Chairman, BC Intellectuals Forum

In the age of kings, there were boyis — men whose sole purpose was to bear the weight of royalty on their shoulders, carrying maharajas and maharanis wherever they wished to go. Centuries have passed. Kingdoms have fallen. Democracy was born. And yet, in Telangana and Andhra Pradesh today, the palanquin is still moving — only the carriers have been given a new name. They are called voters.

What makes this moment particularly striking is not merely that dominant castes continue to hold power. It is that dominant-caste women are now competing for that power even against their own fathers, brothers, and mothers — founding rival parties, waging public warfare against their own blood — all in pursuit of the same throne. It is difficult to find a parallel for this anywhere else in India.

A Family Business Dressed as Democracy

Look closely at what is unfolding across the two Telugu states and a pattern emerges — one that is hiding in plain sight.

In Andhra Pradesh, it is a brother and sister from the YS family locked in a bitter contest for dominance. In Telangana, it is a father and his daughters within the KCR family pulling in opposite directions. From a distance, these appear to be genuine multi-party contests — the drama of democracy at work. But strip away the performance and what remains is something far simpler and far more calculated: a single family ensuring that power, regardless of which "side" wins, never leaves the family compound.

This is not competition. This is choreography.

Two parties, sometimes three, all rooted in the same bloodline — a strategy designed not to offer voters a real choice, but to guarantee that the circle of power remains sealed. Whatever the election result, the same caste, the same family, the same class collects the prize. The faces on the posters change. The reality does not.

The Palanquin and Its Bearers

In this elaborate performance, what exactly is the role of Bahujans — the BCs, the OBCs, the communities that constitute the overwhelming majority of Telugu society?

They are the audience. They are the fuel. They are the boyis.

With their votes, they build political kingdoms. And with the same votes, they unwittingly ensure that those kingdoms have no room for them. Election after election, they are wooed with promises, moved by emotion, divided by caste loyalties engineered from above — and then forgotten the morning after the results.

The demands of the BC majority are not radical. They are not revolutionary. They are not even extraordinary. A meaningful implementation of 42% reservation. A caste census conducted honestly. Budget allocations that reflect demographic reality. Scholarships paid on time. These are not the demands of people seeking privilege. These are the demands of people seeking their constitutional due — survival, dignity, and a seat at a table they helped build.

And yet, year after year, these demands sit in file drawers, gathering dust, while their advocates gather on the streets to protest — again. The same protests. The same promises. The same silence that follows.

This is not an accident. This is architecture.

A More Dangerous Dynasty

Hereditary political dynasties are not new to India. Families have passed power from parent to child for generations. But what is emerging now in the Telugu states is something more sophisticated and more insidious.

The old dynasty kept power within one party. The new model hedges its bets — split the family across two or three parties, cover all political ground, and ensure that no matter how the public votes, the outcome serves the same interests. It is monopoly dressed as competition. It is a private empire wearing the costume of democracy.

Real democracy demands equal opportunity, equal representation, and equal dignity. What exists today is a system where political power is concentrated within a handful of families from a handful of castes, where electoral contests are not genuine ideological battles but internal power negotiations — and where the majority of the population participates enthusiastically in an arrangement designed to exclude them.

This is not merely political failure. It is institutionalised social injustice.

The Arithmetic of Exclusion

The exclusion is not only political. It runs through every vein of economic and social life.

Look at who controls the land. Who profits from sand mining. Who dominates the liquor trade, the pharmaceutical sector, the private education industry, the mining contracts. In sector after sector, the story is the same — dominant castes at the top, BCs on the margins, their share of prosperity nowhere near proportional to their share of the population.

This is not coincidence. It is the compounded result of decades of structural exclusion — reinforced by the very political power that Bahujans help install with their votes, and which then turns its back on them the moment the election is over.

Meanwhile, across other Indian states — Bihar, Karnataka, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh — BC leaders have risen to become Chief Ministers. They have demonstrated that political power is not only possible but transformative. In the Telugu states, that possibility is suppressed — by dominant-caste gatekeeping, by a media ecosystem that shapes who is considered a "credible" leader, and by the absence of a consolidated Bahujan political will.

The Only Path Forward

None of this changes on its own. Awareness is not enough. Anger is not enough. What is required is organised, conscious, and sustained political action — rooted not in the borrowed agendas of dominant-caste parties but in a clear-eyed understanding of Bahujan interests.

The vote is not a small thing. In a democracy, it is the most powerful instrument available to ordinary people. But a vote cast without awareness is a weapon handed to your opponent. BCs must stop lending that weapon to those who use it against them.

Do not be moved by last-minute cash distributions. Do not be swayed by caste-based emotional appeals engineered in political war rooms. Do not carry flags for parties that have never carried your cause. The dominant-caste media will tell you who to trust. That is precisely why you must think for yourself.

Bahujan parties and organisations are emerging — imperfect, perhaps, still finding their feet, but fundamentally oriented toward the communities they represent. Support them. Give them the chance that has never been given. The dominant-caste parties have had decades. Their record is written.

Time to Roar

There is a question that every BC voter in Telangana and Andhra Pradesh must ask — not in a whisper, but in full voice:

"The votes are ours. Why are the seats theirs?"

And then the answer that must follow — not as a slogan but as a commitment:

"The votes are ours. The seats will be ours."

Dominant-caste women in the Telugu states are today fearlessly staking their claim to state power — fighting their own families, defying their own kin, willing to do whatever it takes to hold the reins. That audacity, that hunger, that refusal to accept a subordinate position — the BC majority must find the same fire within itself.

Wake up. Recognise the forces that have kept you where you are. Build your own leadership. Cast your vote with your own interest at heart. Claim your place in the democracy you have been sustaining for generations.

The palanquin has been on your shoulders long enough.

It is time to set it down.