People don’t know much about Nitish Kumar, though he has been one of India’s tallest political figures for nearly two decades. Even after 18 years as chief minister, he remains a cipher—his aces held close to the chest, his moods tightly reined in, his mind rarely legible to the public. There are no reams of anecdotal literature about his likes, dislikes, whims, or temper. There is only a distant outline: a quiet strategist, but a direct communicator with the masses, a man who has attracted far more brickbats than bouquets and yet—paradoxically—earned the epithet “Paltu Ram” for switching alliances with unnerving frequency.

Back in the 1980s, Nitish was a younger version of this same man: sober, sombre, unflappable. Neither worry nor elation creased his face. He listened more than he spok

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