The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly Of BJP's One Year In Odisha

On completing one year in power, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government in Odisha stands at a critical juncture. After decades of dominance by the Biju Janata Dal (BJD), in the 2024 assembly elections, the BJP managed to form the government, riding on a wave of anti-incumbency and promises of reform.

Yet, the electoral mandate was complex. While the national mood favored the BJP overwhelmingly, Odisha’s verdict reflected nuanced voter calculations rather than a straightforward “saffron wave.”

Now, a year later, it is time to assess what this political transition has meant for governance, development, and the people of Odisha.

Has the BJP government fulfilled its promises?

Where has it succeeded, and where has it stumbled?

What challenges remain, and what does the future hold?

This article breaks down the BJP’s first year in Odisha into four broad categories: the Best, the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. It aims to provide a comprehensive analysis of the administration’s performance.

From promising policy initiatives aimed at women and farmers to ambitious cultural reforms at the Jagannath Temple, from administrative challenges and bureaucratic resistance to unfilled institutional positions, thee piece explores how the BJP has sought to establish itself in a state where politics is deeply intertwined with identity, culture, and local power networks, and whether it has succeeded in translating electoral victory into effective governance.

The Best: Early Achievements And Promising Initiatives

For a party that came to power with limited legislative cushion and no prior experience in running the state, the BJP’s first few weeks in office were defined by a desire to project decisiveness.

Unlike many new governments that take months to settle into the bureaucracy and policy pipeline, the BJP’s leadership under Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi moved swiftly to act on its two most headline-grabbing electoral promises: the Subhadra scheme for women and the hike in the Minimum Support Price (MSP) for paddy farmers.

Both policies were symbolic and strategic, aimed at shaking the BJD’s dominance over two of Odisha’s largest and most politically consequential voter bases: women and farmers.

Under Naveen Patnaik, the BJD had masterfully constructed a political constituency among women through the Mission Shakti program, a state-run Self-Help Group (SHG) initiative that transformed thousands of rural women into entrepreneurs and credit-bearing economic agents.

Over time, Mission Shakti became not just a development platform but an emotional and cultural identity—‘Ama Gruha, Ama Shakti’ (Our Home, Our Strength)—especially in rural Odisha. It made women voters the bedrock of BJD’s electoral machine.

To pierce this support, the BJP rolled out its promise of the Subhadra Yojana in its manifesto—a direct benefit transfer (DBT) scheme promising ₹50,000 over five years to all women aged between 21 and 60.

Unlike the institutional approach of SHGs, Subhadra was aimed at individual empowerment, emphasizing personal choice and direct fiscal autonomy. The scheme's name itself, rooted in Odisha’s spiritual and mythological landscape (Subhadra being Lord Jagannath’s sister), subtly tried to merge welfare delivery with cultural resonance.

In his very first Cabinet meeting, CM Majhi approved the implementation framework of the scheme. This move was designed to send a clear signal: the BJP is not just here to rule, it’s here to deliver.

Odisha’s political economy is deeply rooted in agriculture, with paddy cultivation dominating both the landscape and livelihood. Despite rapid urbanisation in Bhubaneswar and a thriving mining sector in districts like Keonjhar and Sundargarh, over 60% of Odisha’s population remains dependent on agriculture.

For years, farmer unions had agitated for a fairer Minimum Support Price for paddy. The BJD had offered incremental increases, but many farmers felt those were inadequate and disconnected from input costs.

During the 2024 campaign, the BJP made a bold promise: raise the paddy MSP to ₹3100 per quintal, far above the prevailing central MSP. Sceptics dismissed it as an electoral stunt, but the Cabinet approval of the ₹3100 MSP, again in the government’s earliest policy actions, demonstrated resolve.

Politically, this was a smart attempt to consolidate BJP’s rural base, especially in Western and Southern Odisha, where the BJD had begun to lose its grip.

Beyond symbolism, this policy also had administrative implications. It required budgetary allocation, procurement redesign, and coordination with central Food Corporation mechanisms.

That the Majhi government moved quickly to operationalise it underscored not just commitment but a basic administrative coherence, something many had doubted when BJP came to power.

The third standout feature of BJP’s first year is less about policy and more about personality. Mohan Charan Majhi’s image—as a tribal leader from Keonjhar, a long-time party foot soldier, and someone untainted by elite circles—has been deliberately cultivated in contrast to Naveen Patnaik’s aristocratic distance.

Where Patnaik rarely engaged with constituents and was shielded by layers of bureaucracy and by V.K. Pandian’s coterie, Majhi has taken a far more hands-on approach.

The Chief Minister’s Grievance Cell, which had become a formality under the BJD, has now been revived—not just in Bhubaneswar but also extended to regional hubs like Sambalpur.

He has been seen regularly visiting flood-hit areas, tribal villages, and district offices, often holding impromptu meetings with people.

As a result, while his predecessor Naveen Patnaik, who was often seen as a distant, reclusive leader with a polished, urbane image, Majhi is seen as a “son of the soil,” someone more grounded and connected to the everyday lives of Odias.

The BJP knows that governance alone won’t undo 25 years of BJD loyalty. It has to also be seen as governing differently.

Majhi’s direct connect with the people, whether driven by strategy or temperament, forms the bedrock of BJP’s “new politics” pitch in Odisha.

The Good: Pragmatic Continuity and Cultural Fulfilment

While the BJP in Odisha swept into power promising a new dawn, its first year in office has also been marked by an unexpected quality: pragmatism.

It would have been easy, and ideologically tempting, for a new party to rip up the policies and platforms of its predecessor, especially one that had ruled the state uninterrupted for 24 years.

Instead, what the Majhi government chose was a strategy of symbolic differentiation with operational continuity.

Rather than dislodging the BJD’s welfare structure entirely, it selectively retained, merged, and rebranded key schemes to establish its own governance identity without risking service disruption.

This approach, while not revolutionary, was smart governance. It forms the backbone of what can be fairly classified as “The Good” from BJP’s first year in Odisha.

A major ideological victory for the BJP came in the form of its swift and decisive action on the Shri Jagannath Temple in Puri—a religious and cultural touchstone not just for Odisha, but for Hindus across India.

During the campaign, the BJP had raised two highly emotive demands:

• The reopening of all four gates of the Jagannath Temple, which had remained closed since the COVID-19 pandemic.

• A full inventory of the Ratna Bhandar—the temple’s famed treasury chamber, long shrouded in secrecy and alleged mismanagement under the BJD.

The BJD had been accused of opaque interference in temple matters. The BJP, in contrast, framed itself as a party of religious accountability and spiritual sovereignty, returning the temple’s fate to the hands of its servitors and devotees.

Within the first 100 days of taking office, the BJP government reopened all four temple gates, a gesture met with public approval and religious enthusiasm.

This was followed by the initiation of a process to conduct a scientific and secure inventory of the Ratna Bhandar, despite opposition and procedural delays.

Even critics admitted this marked a symbolic but significant shift. Not only was the BJP delivering on a campaign promise, but it was also occupying cultural ground long dominated by the BJD’s soft secularism.

This was not just good optics; it was good politics, executed competently.

On the healthcare front, the BJP faced a delicate challenge. While it had promised to roll out the Ayushman Bharat (AB-JAY) scheme in Odisha—India’s flagship insurance-based health coverage program—the fact remained that Biju Swasthya Kalyan Yojana (BSKY), the state’s existing health assurance scheme, was wildly popular.

Replacing it outright would not only confuse beneficiaries but also risk alienating a large section of the public that had developed trust in the BSKY brand.

Instead of confrontation, the BJP government chose co-optation. It merged the two systems to launch a new composite scheme: the Gopabandhu Jana Arogya Yojana (GJAY).

Named after Utkal Gourav Gopabandhu Das, the scheme cleverly rooted itself in Odisha’s cultural heritage while blending the financial architecture of Ayushman Bharat with the delivery depth of BSKY.

This move was a technocratic compromise and political masterstroke. It retained popular features from the BJD era but gave them a new institutional identity under the BJP.

In doing so, the government avoided bureaucratic paralysis, ensured continuity of care, and successfully flagged the initiative as a BJP achievement.

This playbook has been extended to all such popular government schemes and can be seen in the Majhi government’s decision to retain, rather than repeal, most of the BJD government’s major social welfare schemes.

While it is common for new governments to scrap existing programs to assert authority and innovation, the BJP in Odisha chose instead to rebrand at least 21 key schemes.

What changed? Names. Colours. Narrative.

• The names. Many schemes were renamed to reflect nationalist, Hindu, or Odia civilizational values.

• The colours. Branding was shifted from BJD’s signature green to the BJP’s saffron and orange hues, seen across hoardings, pamphlets, and scheme literature.

• The narrative. Communication from the CMO and departmental press releases started using language of “efficiency,” “transparency,” and “empowerment,” distancing the programs from their earlier political associations.

This approach allowed the BJP to own the delivery network without having to rebuild it from scratch. It recognized that BJD’s governance, especially in welfare delivery, was structurally sound.

It also allowed the party to create a new memory architecture in the minds of voters. Schemes that continued to function well were no longer associated with Naveen Patnaik, but with the new government and CM Majhi.

The logic behind this rebranding strategy is threefold:

• Institutional pragmatism: Dismantling successful programs only to recreate them afresh wastes time, money, and political capital.

• Electoral repositioning: Rebranded schemes help shift public credit without direct confrontation, especially important in rural areas where political memory is tied more to everyday delivery than to policy details.

• Administrative stability: The bureaucratic system, still largely composed of officers from the BJD era, is more likely to cooperate with continuity than with abrupt change.

In short, the BJP has chosen not to fix what isn’t broken, but to repaint it and redirect the applause.

This approach has drawn criticism from some ideological purists who expected a more disruptive governance style. But viewed through the lens of statecraft, the decision to preserve and repackage reflects a maturity rarely seen in first-time ruling parties. It positions the BJP as a custodian of continuity, even as it pursues new political alignments.

The Bad: Bureaucratic Paralysis, Unrealised Promises, and Political Inexperience

For all the symbolic victories and continuity-minded pragmatism, the BJP’s first year in Odisha has also laid bare serious structural weaknesses, largely driven by the lack of administrative depth, bureaucratic resistance, and the failure to deliver on some of its most emotive campaign promises.

If the “Good” section shows what the BJP could control and did manage well, the “Bad” illustrates where the party's limitations, not just external but internal, have held it back.

One of the biggest political triggers for the BJP’s win in Odisha was not a pro-BJP wave, but a deep-rooted anti-incumbency against the BJD, particularly focused on one man: V. Karthikeyan Pandian.

A 2000-batch Tamil Nadu cadre IAS officer, Pandian was seen as the de facto power center behind Naveen Patnaik’s administration for years. His visibility, bureaucratic dominance, and non-Odia identity became flashpoints in a state increasingly restless for political accountability.

The BJP rode this wave. Its manifesto promised a full investigation into Pandian’s conduct, alleged corruption, and his excessive interference in the functioning of the elected government. The narrative was simple: bureaucrats should serve, not rule.

Yet, a year later, there has been no real movement. No commission. No inquiry. No forensic audit of his role in key financial decisions.

In fact, his wife Sujata Rout Karthikeyan’s Voluntary Retirement Scheme (VRS) application was cleared in a record 48 hours, raising eyebrows across the political spectrum.

Two senior IAS officers and two IPS officers considered close to Pandian were initially sidelined but later sent on central deputation—a signal more of compromise than of accountability. One of them, Ashish Thakre, once collector of Keonjhar (the CM’s home district), was transferred only to be later appointed Director in the Department of Empowerment of Persons with Disabilities, Government of India.

This is not just a policy failure. It is a political betrayal of a key promise, leaving the BJP vulnerable to charges that it, too, is unwilling to act decisively when it comes to entrenched bureaucratic power.

In a remarkable admission during a Block Development Officers’ (BDO) meeting, CM Mohan Charan Majhi confessed that files were not moving and that even the Chief Secretary’s directives were being ignored. This wasn’t an offhand remark—it echoed what multiple BJP MLAs and RSS-linked workers had been complaining about for months.

The reason is plain: the senior bureaucracy is still dominated by officers groomed under BJD rule, with little incentive to align swiftly with the new government. Officers continue to work through old networks of influence, and a culture of non-cooperation has reportedly set in.

This bureaucratic resistance has consequences far beyond optics. Budget files remain stuck, delaying major announcements. Local-level implementation suffers, with BDOs, tehsildars, and collectors hedging their loyalty. Ministers and MLAs are increasingly frustrated by the slow turnaround of basic approvals.

On the other hand, bureaucrats loyal to the BJP are migrating.

Upon assuming office, Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi appointed Manoj Ahuja as the new Chief Secretary and brought in a small team of loyalist officers, including three who were placed in key positions such as Additional Chief Secretary and Private Secretary to the CM.

However, this attempt to build a fresh administrative inner circle has been undermined by a quiet exodus. Notably, Nikunj Dhal, who served as Additional Secretary to the Chief Minister, has opted for central deputation. Similarly, Satyabrata Sahu, Odisha's Additional Chief Secretary (Home), has now been empanelled for a Secretary-equivalent post at the Centre.

This steady migration of senior officers, especially those familiar with the state's functioning, suggests either a lack of confidence in the current dispensation or an attempt to avoid alignment with the new political order. Either way, it is not a good sign for a government that promised to clean up and take charge of the bureaucratic apparatus.

In short, the BJP has found itself in power, but not fully in control.

One of the most controversial moves by the Majhi government has been the introduction of 11.25 percent reservations in education for SEBCs (Socially and Educationally Backward Classes), effectively creating a formal OBC quota.

On the surface, this might appear to be a progressive step—OBC reservations are commonplace across Indian states. But in Odisha, this move touched off a political and cultural fault line.

Historically, Odisha has been less caste-politicised compared to states like UP or Bihar. The BJD had consciously fostered an identity-neutral political environment, often downplaying caste as a vector of political mobilisation.

By bringing caste into education quotas, the BJP has opened itself up to charges of social engineering for political gain. It has drawn protests from BJD and even civil society groups who fear fragmentation of the state’s social harmony. Has the BJP even built the organizational structure to harness this caste mobilisation electorally? Many of the party’s well-wishers worry that it may have poked a sleeping tiger without preparing to ride it.

Lastly, Odisha typically has 21 Cabinet-rank ministers (excluding the Chief Minister). Yet, only 15 positions have been filled.

For a new government, especially one seeking to establish grassroots credibility and balance caste, regional, and political factions, this vacuum is baffling.

This lack of appointments has created:

• Portfolio overburdening, especially among first-time ministers who lack prior administrative experience.

• Regional dissatisfaction, with multiple districts feeling underrepresented in the Cabinet.

• Power bottlenecks, where key ministries cannot make decisions promptly due to a lack of leadership.

This reveals a broader problem that plagues the BJP in Odisha: it is a party in government, but not yet a party of government.

Unlike the BJD, which had developed a tightly knit administrative-political network, the BJP remains a party of agitators and campaigners trying to learn governance on the fly.

Chief Minister Majhi is a sincere, grassroots leader, but neither he nor most of his ministers have held significant government portfolios before. Outside of Deputy CM Kanak Vardhan Singh Deo, there is a noticeable lack of experience in running ministries, dealing with bureaucracies, or implementing long-term policy.

The result is over-centralisation, administrative delays, and inconsistent messaging, hallmarks of a government still finding its feet.

The Ugly: Power Without Appointments, Governance Without a Machinery

If the “Bad” shows where the BJP government has failed to meet its own promises, the “Ugly” reveals the structural vacuum that has hobbled governance—an institutional paralysis that goes beyond teething issues.

After a year in power, the BJP continues to govern a state with half-filled posts, underutilised machinery, and a growing trust deficit among its own foot soldiers.

A year after forming the government, close to 50 key positions in public sector undertakings (PSUs), corporations, statutory commissions, and quasi-judicial bodies remain unfilled.

These aren’t ceremonial posts. These are critical engines of implementation, advisory, and public grievance mechanisms.

In Odisha, such positions were historically used by the BJD not just for rewarding loyalty, but for building a parallel structure of influence, ensuring that even outside elected positions, party loyalists had administrative voice and local clout.

Whether it was the Women’s Commission, the Minority Commission, the State Textbook Bureau, or the Mining Corporations, these were all filled with personnel who could execute, advocate, and ensure alignment between policy and people.

By contrast, the BJP has been shockingly slow to populate these bodies. Many of them still operate with acting chairs or under bureaucratic stewardship, further delinking the political from the administrative.

The most damaging fallout of this institutional gap is not from opposition parties, but from within.

Over the past few months, frustrated karyakartas from both the BJP and affiliated Sangh organisations have begun voicing their discontent quietly but firmly.

They had expected that once the BJP came to power, a new era would begin—not just in policy but in personnel.

“We’ve spent 20 years in the trenches protesting, mobilising, building this base. And now that the party is in power, the babus still call the shots, and we are back in the queue?” a BJP block-level leader in Ganjam district, lamented off the record.

Contractors and suppliers associated with the BJP are also disillusioned, claiming they are being denied work while those close to the old regime continue to flourish.

This is not just anecdotal. In a few districts, internal reports note the “failure to transition administrative loyalty” and the “marginalisation of committed workers.”

“We gave everything to the party. Now, how will we run our families?” a very senior organizational leader put it bluntly, off the record.

In a state where BJD had perfected the art of patronage governance, the BJP’s refusal or inability to fill seats of influence has created disillusionment not just at the top but at the booth level.

Not only are contracts and postings eluding grassroots karyakartas, but there’s also growing resentment that bureaucrats who served BJD loyally continue to hold the levers of power, while BJP’s own loyalists remain sidelined.

The deeper risk for the BJP is not electoral—it is institutional.

With empty chairs and unsupervised systems, the old networks remain in place, invisible but functioning. Files still go through BJD-era secretaries. Local officials still report to familiar power brokers.

And while the political branding may have changed from green to saffron, the gears remain stuck in a previous administration’s configuration.

Worse, the BJP's inability to quickly induct technocrats, ideological allies, or retired bureaucrats into advisory roles—as is commonly done by parties transitioning to power—has left it with no shadow state to implement its vision.

It is functioning on borrowed systems, with overstretched ministers, under-incentivised officers, and an angry cadre.

This isn’t just governance fatigue, it’s governance fragility.

Need to Rise above the "Ugly"

After one year in power, the BJP government in Odisha presents a mixed report card.

The administration has made some commendable strides, notably in delivering on key promises like the Subhadra scheme for women, raising the MSP for paddy farmers, and initiating culturally significant reforms such as opening all four gates of the Jagannath Temple and beginning the inventory of its treasure trove.

These achievements have helped the BJP carve out a distinct identity in a state long dominated by the BJD and have begun to win over crucial voter segments.

However, the challenges remain formidable.

The BJP’s approach to governance has, at times, been marked by inertia and a reliance on merely rebranding existing BJD schemes rather than introducing bold, transformative policies.

Administrative inexperience, bureaucratic resistance, and a failure to act decisively against corruption allegations have stalled much of the government’s momentum.

The controversies around the introduction of caste-based reservations and the large number of vacant institutional posts highlight deeper issues within the party’s organizational and administrative machinery.

Moreover, while Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi’s approachable leadership style contrasts positively with that of his predecessor, the true test will be whether this accessibility translates into sustained, effective governance and results on the ground.

As Odisha moves into its second year under BJP rule, the government must consolidate its early gains, address the lingering weaknesses, and rise above the “Ugly”—the institutional voids and bureaucratic challenges that risk undermining public trust.

Only by doing so can the BJP truly fulfill its promises and offer Odisha a credible alternative to the long-standing status quo.

The next year will be crucial, a period for the BJP not just to maintain power, but to demonstrate that it can govern with vision, efficiency, and responsiveness to the aspirations of Odisha’s people.

Note: The author would like to thank Sujit Bisoyi, Special Correspondent with the Indian Express for his inputs.