Look, if you’re reading this, chances are you’re already a card-carrying member of the Panchayat fandom. Maybe you dream of chai with Vikas under the neem tree, or secretly wish you could run for Pradhan just to chill with Prahlad. Well, good news: Panchayat Season 4 is back, and it brings all the charm, chaos, and chutney of rural India with a side of slow-burning romance.
First off—everyone is back. Yes, including the ever-endearing Sachivji, who finally gets more than just puzzled looks and awkward silences this time. He’s got depth now. He’s got purpose. And guess what else he’s got? Game. His budding romance with the Pradhan’s daughter is no longer a background ringtone—it’s practically its own subplot now. Watching the two of them tiptoe around their feelings like they’re playing emotional kabaddi is oddly satisfying and sweet.
Now let’s talk about Bhushan. Ah, Bhushan. Still the man with too many opinions and just enough dramatic flair to deserve his own political spin-off. This season, he gets a more fleshed-out arc—and no, I don’t just mean more screen time to complain about Sachivji. There’s actual growth here, especially when paired with his equally ambitious (and impressively scheming) wife. Together, they’re like the rural Macbeths we didn’t know we needed.
And then there’s Binod. Yes, that Binod. The quiet chaos machine who finally gets a few scenes to truly shine. His arc has the emotional texture of a well-cooked baingan bharta—smoky, complex, and surprisingly satisfying.
Let’s not forget the villainous spice in the curry: Chandu Singh returns as the Vidhayak, with that simmering quiet menace that makes you go, “Yup, this man definitely has people followed.” He’s so good in his role, I found myself respecting how much I disliked him. And just when you think he’s safe in his political nest—bam! Enter his boss. Yes, the top brass finally shows up and throws a political chappal right at his career. Drama? Check. Karma? Served cold.
Of course, Neena Gupta, the ever-iconic Pradhan Ji (actual, unofficial, and spiritual), is flawless as always. She could read the ration card and I’d still be glued to the screen. Her expressions, her timing, the way she shifts from motherly warmth to political warrior in seconds—chef’s kiss.
And let’s appreciate that ending. No forced victory laps. No cheesy come-from-behind wins. They don’t win. And yet, it feels perfect. Bittersweet, but real. A reminder that in the world of Panchayat, it’s not always about big victories—sometimes it’s about dignity, community, and figuring out how to fix a hand pump without starting a village war.
Visually, the show remains a postcard from the heartlands. It’s lush, lived-in, and lovingly shot. It doesn’t romanticize rural life—it respects it. The small joys, the petty politics, the unsaid love stories—all of it stitched together like a well-worn gamchha.
Bottom line: Panchayat Season 4 is the kind of escapist joyride that doesn’t need flashy cars or high-stakes heists. It’s comfort food. It’s nostalgia wrapped in satire, served with a ladle of wit and a pinch of heartbreak. And yes, it’ll make you laugh, tear up, and maybe even Google “how to become a village Sachiv.”
Bring on Season 5, please. I’m already emotionally invested in Phulera’s next panchayat meeting.
Honest Reviews 