Not My Temple: A Personal Note on God, Places of Worship and the Law Governing These

The Ram mandir is set to be consecrated amid much fanfare on January 22, 2024. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, alongside a host of other celebrities such as athletes, film stars, industrialists, and spiritual leaders, are set to grace the grand celebration in Ayodhya. The noise in anticipation of the occasion has been loud, intense and unyielding, not only in recent times but since the demolition of the Babri Masjid in 1992, and perhaps even earlier for others.

Many people of the Hindu faith across the world, I am sure, are overjoyed, ecstatic, even fulfilled.

I, in stark contrast, am filled with anxiety, pain, fear, sadness, betrayal, helplessness, and regret. The external clamor mirrors an internal disquiet, a constant, thumping noise in my head that I now recognise as my heart racing to match the pace of my anxiety.

I was 11 years old when a mosque from the 16th century was violently demolished. As riots ravaged the city of Lucknow (close to Ayodhya where the mosque was located), I spent a sleepless night with a knife under my pillow in case the mobs reached our doorsteps. I could hear the rioting but was thankfully spared from witnessing it. I woke up the next day to see the Times of India carrying a picture of kar sevaks on the dome of the Babri Masjid with the headline, “Karsevaks Destroyed Babri Masjid.”

The day was eerily silent due to an imposed curfew, but the noise in my head persisted. I recall the day less for its events and more for the overwhelming emotions it left behind – anxiety, pain, fear, sadness, betrayal, helplessness, and regret. The feelings that I have carried well into my adult life, that have complicated my relationship with god, and faith itself. Overnight, my god, who is benevolent, and kind, with soft lotus like eyes, was transformed into an angry warrior king, an unrecognisable political force. 

The temple has been a big victory for the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and the Bharatiya Janata Party. They stuck to their ideology and delivered on a promise to their followers. After decades of mobilisation, the grand opening of the temple is now the ultimate prize. And it doesn’t hurt that it’s so close to the general election coming up in less than six months. The temple is however just a representation of the complete suppression of anyone and everyone that believed India to be a diverse, multicultural society with a well-functioning constitutional democracy.  It also shows that not only is the BJP dominating politics, society, and culture but also controlling other constitutional bodies. A situation I could not have foreseen when I was studying law at Delhi University in the early 2000s. A feeling of disillusionment with politics had started to take hold, especially after the Gujarat riots in 2002, but a deep faith in law and its guardian – the Supreme Court – had existed. That faith was shaken when the court delivered the Babri Masjid decision in 2019. 

Many scholars have written about the case and analysed the various facets of the law of possession, religious worship, limitation, and inherent powers of Article 142 of the constitution of India. The Supreme Court was congratulated for ending a decades long problem. An act of great statesmanship, the only possible solution to a knotty land dispute. And to me that’s where the problem lies. To reduce a monumental issue that led to the complete breakdown of law and launched the country into a crisis of faith to a land dispute is an extremely problematic framing. The court itself admitted that it was called on to determine the legal consequences arising out of a thousand years of prayer, contest, construction, and destruction at the disputed site. It was never ‘just’ a dispute over land, or title or possession but one about doing justice and fairness qua not only a minority community but also people like me, who believe that India is secular, that the rights of minorities are protected, that might is not right, and Hinduism is an inclusive and empathetic religion.

Also read: Ayodhya, Mathura, Varanasi: Why the Coming Week Is Crucial for the Hindutva Project

The court had concluded that the Hindus established a clear case of possessory title ostensibly on the principles of justice, equity and good conscience, but the decision shows that the verdict went in their favour on the basis of belief, faith and the ostensible existence of continued worship (longer than the Muslim community’s). Despite whatever the court would like us to believe, when the Supreme Court is more moved by the unshakable faith of the Hindu community undeterred in the face of an Islamic Mosque, that Lord Ram was born at the disputed site, rather than the encroachment and destruction of a Muslim religious site, it becomes challenging to receive the court as guardians of India’s minorities or its renowned multicultural heritage. 

Justice Kaul, recently in the decision on the reading down of Article 370, recommended the establishment of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Jammu and Kashmir as a trust building mechanism. But how is one to build trust when the building blocks of accountability, respect, and empathy are missing.

Dr. Rajeev Dhavan argued that the Ram Janmabhoomi case centred around "justice, equity, and good conscience." The Supreme Court, applying these principles, claimed to achieve the "ultimate balance for a just society" by ruling in favour of the prevailing party. The notions of right and wrong are typically clear-cut; even a five-year-old understands not to harm a neighbour's possessions. By typing up the issue in complicated legal knots, the court failed us by ignoring the interests of justice. The Ayodhya decision was unjust, and the imminent inauguration of the temple is morally objectionable. Instead of embodying the tenets of Hinduism like ahimsa, peace, non-violence, and harmony, the Ram temple stands for violence and has been reduced to a symbol of a majoritarian state. It delivers a very disconcerting message to the world- you can get what want by ugly, brutal force. 

The 11-year-old me is as disillusioned as the 42-year-old me. 

Devyani Kacker is a lawyer working in the human rights and the non-profit space.

The Wire is now on WhatsApp. Follow our channel for sharp analysis and opinions on the latest developments.