In a dramatic turn of events that sent shockwaves across WhatsApp groups and tea stalls from Patna to Phulwari, Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) supremo Lalu Prasad Yadav has officially taken flight—literally and metaphorically—as “Moral Man,” the nation’s first dhoti-clad moral superhero. Armed with nothing but a folded family tree and a gavel of justice carved from outdated party manifestos, Lalu took to social media (and his son, Tej Pratap Yadav’s dignity) to declare a digital dharmayudh (moral crusade).
The battlefield? Facebook.
The weapon? An expulsion letter.
The villain? Alleged love.
The collateral damage? Family, party, and a giant balloon labeled “Anushka.”
Superhero Origin Story: From Fodder Scam to Father Slam
Lalu’s moral transformation reportedly occurred after a sudden epiphany while watching Ramayan reruns with muted volume and high-decibel party infighting in the background. “How could I, the upholder of social justice, tolerate personal injustice?” he reportedly told a loyal goat who serves as his unofficial speechwriter.
The moment of transformation was sealed when Lalu dramatically tore a photograph of his eldest son, Tej Pratap Yadav, from the family album and posted a powerful message on X (formerly Twitter, now Just Drama):
“Ignoring moral values in personal life weakens our collective struggle for social justice. Hence, Tej Pratap is hereby expelled from the party and the family. Both. Not in that order.”
The act marked the first time in Indian history that a political leader expelled his own child faster than a scam accused can say “CBI ka notice mila kya?”
Tej Pratap’s Crimes Against Sanskar
What heinous sin did Tej Pratap commit? Was he caught meeting the BJP in a dimly lit room? Did he say anything sensible on record? No.
Tej Pratap, in a now-infamous Facebook post, uploaded a selfie with a young woman named Anushka Yadav (no relation to Droupadi Murmu, in case Arnab Goswami is reading this). The caption read:
“The one seen in this picture is Anushka Yadav. We have been in a relationship for 12 years. Yes, 12. Like the number of excuses I’ll need by morning.”
The nation gasped. Aunties stopped peeling mangoes. Whatsapp forwards exploded. The youth of Bihar, still recovering from NEET results, suddenly had a new reality show: “Pyar, Parivaar Aur Party.”
A Marriage, A Meme, A Meltdown
The Facebook post was enough to trigger a timeline tsunami. Netizens dug up Tej Pratap’s previous high-profile marriage with Aishwarya Rai—not the one from Devdas, but the granddaughter of former Bihar CM Daroga Prasad Rai. That union, much like Tej’s sense of political direction, ended in chaos, with allegations of domestic abuse and a reality TV-worthy exit.
Suddenly, #TejKaPrem and #LaluKaGussa were trending faster than Lalu’s cholesterol.
To add masala to the already spicy saga, Tej Pratap backpedaled like a rickshaw on reverse gear and issued a clarification:
“My social media account was hacked. My photograph was edited. This is a conspiracy. A hatched plan. Like an omelette, but evil.”
Hackers, presumably tired of breaching banks and government portals, now allegedly spend their time uploading romantic declarations on behalf of semi-relevant politicians.
India’s cybersecurity experts were last seen shaking their heads in collective disbelief and applying for jobs in Canada.
Twitter Trial: Family Court Edition
Lalu’s statement had the gravitas of a Bollywood courtroom climax:
“From now on, he will not have any role of any kind in the party and family.”
Political analysts are now debating whether this “no role in party and family” policy can be applied retroactively to other leaders’ relatives, especially in states where family trees resemble banyan forests.
Meanwhile, Tej Pratap—unfazed by logic, legality, or loss—has continued posting cryptic Sanskrit quotes, blurry selfies, and occasional videos of himself dressed like Krishna, driving a chariot with no passenger.
One RJD insider anonymously revealed, “Honestly, we were just waiting for the day Lalu ji did this. We have had emergency exit plans ready since the day Tej Pratap compared himself to Lord Shiva and danced in a gas mask.”
Anushka: The Yadav Yoko Ono?
While the nation focused on Lalu’s wrath and Tej’s denial, a silent figure in the center of this emotional tornado was Anushka Yadav.
Reportedly a student, activist, or possibly a figment of someone’s Photoshop file, her silence has led to wild theories. One political gossip blog even claimed she is a spy planted by rival parties to distract Tej from his political duties, such as confusing the media and misquoting the Constitution.
Others insist she’s simply the only person willing to listen to Tej Pratap talk about cows, love, and cosmic karma for more than 15 minutes.
A conspiracy? A love story? A PR stunt? Or just another Thursday in Bihar politics?
RJD Rebranding: From Lanterns to Laser Beams
As Tej Pratap scoots away on a vehicle made of broken Instagram reels and Facebook regrets, the RJD is scrambling to salvage its image. Lalu’s other son, Tejashwi Yadav, has reportedly been given a new role: “Chief Sanskar Enforcer.”
One party worker joked, “We’re now installing moral antivirus software at every party office. We can’t risk another Prem Leela. From now on, no Facebook, no flirting, and definitely no posting without Lalu ji’s approval.”
The party’s new manifesto will include:
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One arranged marriage per MLA
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Compulsory recitation of Sanskrit shlokas before party meetings
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And a ban on all romantic interactions unless conducted under CCTV supervision
Lalu himself has suggested renaming the party from Rashtriya Janata Dal to Rashtriya Jagruk Dad.
Political Fallout: Who’s Next in the Family Firing Line?
Political families across India are now trembling. If Lalu can disown a son over a Facebook post, what hope does Akhilesh Yadav have if one of his kids uploads a reel dancing to Honey Singh?
In Tamil Nadu, a DMK leader was heard murmuring, “Bro, we better start monitoring our cousins’ Tinder swipes.”
Even Bollywood has taken note. Netflix is reportedly in talks to produce a limited series titled “The Expulsion: Tej vs. Papa”, starring Pankaj Tripathi as Lalu and Kartik Aaryan as Tej Pratap (if he agrees to gain 15 IQ points and 10 kg of unpredictability).
What the Common Man Thinks?
At a roadside dhaba in Bihar, a chaiwala summed up the situation better than any analyst:
“Pehle scam, fir sanskar. Bihari politics toh full entertainment hai bhai!”
(First scam, then sanskar. Bihar politics is full-on entertainment, brother!)
Another added, “At least now Tej Pratap can focus on becoming a full-time YouTuber. Or maybe start a love guru channel?”
In Conclusion: A Nation Reacts, A Father Acts, A Son Edits Captions
What began as a love post has ended in a political soap opera, proving once again that in Indian politics, blood may be thicker than water—but not thicker than public backlash and moral grandstanding.
Lalu Yadav, now soaring through the skies of satire as Moral Man, has sent a clear message to all political heirs:
“Party loyalty is temporary. Sanskar is permanent. And Facebook is dangerous.”
As Tej Pratap rides into the sunset on a scooter of broken trust and damaged reputation, we are left with the eternal Indian question:
Was it hacked, or was it heartbreak?
Disclaimer
This is pure satire. No MLAs were harmed (emotionally maybe) and any truth is purely accidental. If you’re upset, please send a tweet, not a defamation notice.
For more wild political parodies, hacked hearts, and dhoti-clad superhero sagas, follow Peak View Stories — the only place where drama, desi politics, and dark humor share a lunch table.
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