In the bustling heart of Babhanpura, along Phulwari Sharif-Janipur Road, a humble two-story building serves as a sanctuary for over 250 young men and women. This private library is their daily haven, a place where dreams of government jobs are meticulously nurtured. Many of these aspirants hail from Patna and surrounding villages, finding refuge here from the prohibitively expensive private coaching centers, yet clinging steadfastly to the promise of a stable government career.
Aman Kumar, a 23-year-old graduate from Patna, embodies this struggle. He embarked on his journey to secure a government job a year and a half ago, tasting success in the written exam for Bihar Police not once, but twice. His first attempt was thwarted by a physical injury. The second, a devastating paper leak, led to the exam’s cancellation and a year of agonizing uncertainty.
For Aman and many others like him, government employment isn’t just a preference—it’s the only viable path. “There are simply no private jobs here,” he explains, highlighting the region’s underdeveloped private sector. “Our education system has been weak from the beginning. Private coaching is too costly for village children, so everyone’s hopes are pinned on government positions.”
The journey is further complicated by the erratic nature of exam notifications. “Sometimes they appear out of nowhere, sometimes they are delayed for so long that students lose all motivation,” Aman laments. “If exams were held on a predictable schedule, we could plan our lives properly.”
‘Honesty Doesn’t Help’
Even the application process itself is fraught with challenges. “Getting certificates from the block office without paying bribes is impossible,” Aman reveals. “If you try to follow normal procedures, your application keeps getting rejected. You return repeatedly until you finally give in and pay. Only then does anything move forward.” He pauses, glancing at his books, a flicker of resignation in his eyes. “We study with integrity, but honesty seems to be of little use here.”
Thirty kilometers away, in Madhuban village, 27-year-old Dharmendra Kumar faces the same relentless uphill battle. He has been preparing for government jobs for four years. His father passed away during the pandemic, leaving his mother, Rita Devi, to sustain the family through arduous farm labor.
“My mother toils in the fields and does some farming,” Dharmendra shares. “That’s how we manage, with an income of about six to eight thousand rupees a month.” He is the first in his family to achieve a graduation degree.
“In our village, those preparing for government jobs command respect,” he explains. “They offer a sense of power and security. Private sector jobs here barely pay eight to ten thousand rupees for twelve hours of work, which is nowhere near enough to support a family.” Dharmendra spent a year in Patna for his studies before returning home to continue his preparation. “My friends who once studied alongside me are now working as laborers in other states,” he says, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “I stayed because I still believe my education should count for something.”
An Endless Exam Cycle
Flipping through a file brimming with exam receipts and admit cards, Dharmendra recounts his experience. “I’ve applied for numerous exams—Bihar Police, Railways, and SSC,” he states. “But they are either canceled or delayed for years. Paper leaks ruin everything for everyone. Poor students can’t afford repeated coaching. Every new government announcement reignites our hopes, only for us to lose our money and months of study when it falls apart.”
During his time in Patna, he lived frugally. “I received a thousand rupees from home each month,” he recalls. “I cooked simple meals with rice and dal brought from the village. Coaching was simply too expensive, so I relied on self-study.”
“In our village, people feel the government has abandoned its youth,” he says, his voice tinged with weariness. “We’re beyond anger now; we’re just tired.” He looks away for a moment, then adds, “Sometimes I consider giving up. But my mother urges me to persist. Maybe this time, I’ll finally make it.”
On her verandah, Rita Devi’s hands, calloused from farm work, speak volumes. “I work in the fields and do manual labor,” she affirms. “Even when we faced starvation, I prioritized his education. Government jobs are superior to private ones; they offer stability and crucial benefits for families and children.”
‘Our Only Hope: Education’
She proudly states, “I never had to borrow money. We sold goats and crops to cover his fees. He is the first in our family to pursue such extensive studies. People in the village question my investment, but I tell them this is our only hope.”
Her voice softens with maternal affection when she discusses Dharmendra’s future. “I tell him not to lose hope,” she whispers. “If not this time, then the next. I still believe he will succeed.”
In Patna, Niranjan, who advocates for students from the Manjhi community, emphasizes that unemployment has spiraled into one of Bihar’s most critical issues. “Families often sell land or jewelry to fund their children’s coaching,” he explains. “When these children don’t succeed, the pressure becomes unbearable. Some boys even express thoughts of ending their lives if they fail this time.”
He also highlights the growing disparity in information access. “Within just 30 km of Patna, the situation changes drastically,” Niranjan observes. “Village students often miss out on new exam notifications because they rely on others for updates. By the time they learn about an opportunity, the application deadline has already passed.”
Niranjan views the timing of job announcements with cynicism. “The government tends to open job portals only a month or two before elections,” he states. “For the remaining five years, nothing happens. It’s a cruel cycle of fleeting hope and profound disappointment.”
The Enduring Social Value of Government Jobs
He further notes that the societal prestige of government jobs continues to outweigh mere income. “In Bihar, even a government peon is held in higher regard than someone earning ₹25,000 in a private role,” Niranjan elaborates. “Parents often pressure their children, saying, ‘Get a government job or don’t come home.’ This societal expectation pushes everyone towards the same path.”
Pausing for a moment, he concludes, “The problem isn’t just unemployment; it’s also a crisis of lost direction. Many students prepare for exams they don’t truly desire, simply because it’s what everyone else is doing. When it doesn’t pan out, their self-confidence crumbles.”
Data from the Periodic Labour Force Survey (PLFS) indicates Bihar’s unemployment rate hovers around 5%, yet its labor-participation rate—the percentage of people actively working or seeking employment—remains among the lowest in India. Among young individuals aged 15 to 29, only about 28% are employed, with the figure being even lower for women.
A recent press note from a senior official in the State Labour Resources Department confirmed the government’s initiation of new training and recruitment drives. However, the official acknowledged that “exam irregularities and overlapping vacancies” have significantly hampered their progress.”
Indeed, widespread paper leaks in 2024 and early 2025 have already caused substantial delays in recruitment across crucial departments, including police, staff selection, and revenue. With elections approaching, many young aspirants feel a deep sense of betrayal, their hopes repeatedly dashed.
Bridging the Gap Between Education and Opportunity
Despite numerous government announcements, the majority of jobs available in Bihar remain informal and unstable. This vast chasm between educational aspirations and actual opportunities leaves an entire generation adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
As evening descends, the private library in Babhanpura gradually empties. Students close their books, their murmurs still revolving around elusive exam dates and notifications. Aman collects his notes, preparing for another uncertain evening.
“We study from dawn till dusk,” he states, the weight of expectation evident in his voice. “There’s immense pressure from family, neighbors, everyone. People constantly ask when we’ll finally get a job, but no one truly understands the silent struggle aspirants endure.”
He steps into the narrow lane, the urban din of traffic and evening chatter rising around him. “That’s our reality now,” he says quietly, his gaze distant. “We wait.”