TVF and Amazon Prime Video had a rare gem in their hands with Panchayat (2020-ongoing). Season one was fresh. We had a show that captured the quiet rhythms of rural India with warmth and gentle wit, inspired from the timeless classic Malgudi Days (1986). Here was a series that didn’t rely on high drama or social grandstanding; instead, it found humour and humanity in the small, often overlooked corners of village life. It was rooted without being reductive. It even managed to be reflective without being preachy. But somewhere along the way, in trying to stretch its appeal into an extended franchise, they bungled it. Written by Chandan Kumar and directed by Deepak Kumar Mishra, Panchayat began as a refreshingly honest look at the absurdities and affections of a sleepy village. However, it’s now become a tired loop of recycled storylines and undercooked arcs.
If season three of Panchayat was running on fumes, season four has none left. A gentle, observational dramedy about life in Phulera has been stretched so thin that it is more like a faded photocopy of its former self. Slice-of-life storytelling only works as long as there’s still life in the slice. Season four is the weakest this show has ever been.
The season opens with two episodes where nothing of consequence happens. Episode two, in particular (where there’s a fight over who will clean a stinky bathroom), feels like a half-line idea drawn out into a full-length ordeal. By the time we reach episode three, a glimmer of the show’s former self reappears, thanks to Ashok Pathak’s Vinod—a commendable character study.
The main plotline this season is the Phulera elections that will determine the next Pradhan. But the political tit-for-tat between camp Manju Devi (Neena Gupta) and Brij Bhushan Dubey (Raghubir Yadav) and camp Kranti Devi (Sunita Rajwar) and Bhushan (Durgesh Kumar), is reduced to repetitive petty manoeuvring. If one puts up posters, the other advertises on top of them. If one plans to clean a ground up for show and political clout, then the other arrives there first and does it louder.
The show’s continued unwillingness to engage with deeper, more realistic tensions of rural life is also a sore point. In four seasons, Panchayat has never addressed caste, class, or gender in any substantial way. For a village in India, it’s strangely suspended in a fantasy where nothing systemic ever goes wrong. That Phulera remains untouched by the weight of these realities starts to feel like wilful denial. It exists in a bubble — a conflict-lite world that never wants to touch any real discomfort.
What the show lacks in substance this season, it tries to make up for with extreme melodrama. A throwaway jibe from Kranti Devi, suggesting a salacious relationship between Khushboo and Prahlad Cha (Faisal Malik), spirals into a soap opera-esque moment stretched over several minutes, with a hefty song thrown in there. It’s the kind of moment you’d expect in an Ekta Kapoor soap, during her peak K-serial era, not a show that once prided itself on capturing life as it happens.
Even the long-running romantic storyline between Abhishek, aka Sachiv ji (Jitendra Kumar), and Rinki (Sanvikaa) is dealt with in frustratingly half-hearted fashion. Rinki is still floundering, trying to find a purpose—she no longer wants to prepare for MBA (which is fair) and has vague dreams of starting a business with her father. But she is mostly busy keeping her mother company, usually in the kitchen cooking a feast for the men.
The gender problem, in fact, has now become impossible to ignore. Gupta’s Manju Devi, once headed towards becoming a refreshing subversion of the quiet housewife trope, is back to mostly pottering around the house. She remains symbolic of a seat she doesn’t get to fully occupy. A consequential moment in the final episode—that should have centred on her—is undercut by the petty, emotionally immature response from Brij Bhushan, who lashes out like a man-child robbed of a toy.
What Panchayat continues to get right, however, is how petulant politicians can be. The little throwaway acts of humour also bring back some life into the season. A scene where Abhishek cycles Rinki's grandfather home, another where he interacts with a child who has to finish his homework under the streetlight—these are the brief moments that still hold the quiet charm the show used to deliver by the dozen.
The performances, at least, remain rock solid. The ensemble cast has grown into their characters so effortlessly that even when the script falters, they lend it dignity, levity, and weight. Durgesh Kumar as Bhushan, Faisal Malik as Prahlad, Ashok Pathak as Vinod, and the ever-dependable Raghubir Yadav—all make the most of what they’re given. If nothing else, the acting is still rooted.
Things pick up a little pace towards the penultimate episodes. A power outage happens just before the elections, where Bhushan manages to get a generator running for the village. The scene, set to a lovely track, is unexpectedly in tune. It’s a moment where the “villain” does the most effective good—which is another reminder that, while everyone loves mocking Bhushan with “Banrakas” barbs, his criticisms of the current leadership are often quite valid.
To be fair, there’s still space in our media landscape for stories where nothing much happens—especially ones set in India’s vast, underrepresented rural heartlands. But Panchayat needs to ask itself whether it still has anything left to say. Four seasons in, with a possible fifth on the horizon, the stretched nonsense feels less enjoyable and more like something made for second-screen viewing—hollowed out and running on autopilot. Once a refreshing show, Panchayat now feels like it’s just going through the motions, one threadbare plot point at a time.
Debiparna Chakraborty is a film, TV, and culture critic dissecting media at the intersection of gender, politics, and power.
