When people think of Bihar, they often recall its colonial past, political dysfunction, and decades of neglect. For years, the state was seen as a symbol of what went wrong in India’s development story. I came here expecting to find remnants of that narrative — the poverty, the frustration, the brain drain. Instead, I found something profoundly different: A quiet, determined resurgence that could redefine India’s future.

I had come to Bodh Gaya seeking peace and reflection, to sit where the Buddha once found enlightenment and to quiet my own restless mind. But on the road to Nalanda, I came upon another monument to human endurance — the ridge carved by Dashrath Manjhi, the “mountain man”. Standing there, between sheer walls of rock, I felt as if I were walking through time, down a path literally born from loss and love.

Manjhi’s wife, Falguni Devi, was badly injured after falling along the rocky hillside, and the nearest hospital was on the other side of this mountain. By the time she could be taken there, it was too late. Stricken with grief, Manjhi resolved that no one else should ever die because a mountain stood in the way. With nothing more than a hammer and chisel, he spent 22 years cutting through solid rock, carving a passage that connected his village to the world beyond.

Today, that narrow road carries children to school and workers........

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