By Harshita Rai
When Prime Minister Narendra Modi launched the Bihar Rajya Jeevika Nidhi Saakh Sahkari Sangh Limited on Tuesday, he was not merely unveiling a new financial instrument for women’s empowerment—he was sending a clear message. On one hand, his government is investing in dignity, opportunity, and empowerment for women. On the other hand, the opposition, blinded by arrogance and dynastic entitlement, has chosen the path of insulting women, mothers, and Bharat’s cultural ethos.
Modi’s words carried a rare blend of policy vision and raw emotion. By recounting his late mother’s sacrifices—her toil, poverty, and resilience—he struck a chord with millions of Indians whose lives are shaped by similar maternal sacrifices. But what turned his address into a political thunderbolt was the reminder that from an opposition stage in Bihar, abuses were hurled not only at his mother but, symbolically, at every mother in India.
This is no small matter. In a land where matrushakti is worshipped as divine—where Sita, Ganga, and Chhathi Maiya are revered—the opposition’s reckless rhetoric is an unforgivable blunder. Modi rightly framed it as a national insult, not a personal one. By doing so, he placed the dignity of women at the heart of the political battlefield.
The Prime Minister minced no words in exposing the mindset of the so-called “royal dynasties.” Born with silver spoons, they see power as inheritance, and the people of Bihar as expendable. For them, women are not partners in progress but collateral in their feudal arrogance. Modi turned this elitism on its head: “The people of India blessed the son of a poor mother and made him Prime Minister.” This contrast between sacrifice and privilege is the crux of the coming political storm.
History has shown that whenever regimes with anti-women mindsets gain power, it is women who suffer the most. Bihar remembers the “jungle raj”—the lawlessness, the kidnappings, the rapes, the fear. It was women who bore the brunt of that dark era. It is no coincidence that women voters have repeatedly rejected that order, propelling Modi and the BJP to dominance. His speech was not just a reminder but a warning: the opposition seeks revenge against the very women who defied them at the ballot box.
By invoking women-centric schemes—Lakhpati Didi, Drone Didi, Bank Sakhi—and aligning them with the emotive strength of Navratri and Chhath, Modi did more than promise development. He offered women the dignity of recognition, the power of ownership, and the assurance of protection. Against this backdrop, the opposition’s abuse stands exposed as both misogyny and political suicide.
The message was sharp: those who insult mothers and sisters cannot be trusted with power. Modi has transformed the abuse hurled at his late mother into a rallying cry for women across India. He has made women’s dignity the litmus test of politics. The opposition, instead of countering with vision, has handed him a weapon—one that will echo in every street of Bihar and beyond.
As the festivals of Navratri and Chhath draw near, when the land of Bihar bows before Maa Durga and Chhathi Maiya, the opposition will have to answer why they desecrated the sanctity of motherhood with their reckless words. Modi has already framed the battle: this is no longer about party politics—it is about whether Bharat’s mothers are honoured or insulted.
And in that battle, the opposition has already lost the moral ground.
