New Delhi, Dec 14 (IANS) It becomes impossible to ignore -- when a centuries-old Deepam lighting ritual in Tamil Nadu is projected as a threat to communal harmony, while political attempts to resurrect the Babri Masjid narrative in West Bengal are met with studied silence -- as an uncomfortable truth.
What is being played out is not a defence of secularism, but its selective application. The contrasting responses to these two issues expose how secularism in contemporary Indian politics has increasingly become a matter of convenience -- invoked, ignored, or weaponised depending on electoral needs.
The Deepam lighting controversy at Thiruparankundram is a case in point. Lighting lamps during Karthigai Deepam is a cultural practice deeply embedded in Tamil Hindu life, observed for centuries and referenced as far back as the Sangam era. The ritual symbolises devotion and collective identity, and the Thiruparankundram hill has traditionally witnessed the lighting of the Deepam as a beacon of faith.
When the Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court permitted the lighting of the lamp on December 3, the political reaction was swift, but disproportionate. Instead of facilitating the smooth implementation of a judicial order, the state machinery appeared hesitant, even obstructive. Suddenly, it became an issue of communal disharmony. The opposition expressed concerns, and a sitting judge found himself accused of ideological bias.
MPs from the opposition went so far as to seek impeachment proceedings -- an extraordinary response to a ruling that merely upheld an established religious practice within the framework of law.
The message was unmistakable: a Hindu cultural ritual, even one sanctioned by a constitutional institution, could be framed as provocative if it fell outside the opposition's ideological comfort zone. Faith, in this narrative, becomes suspect not because of its conduct, but because of its identity.
This reaction becomes even more revealing when contrasted with developments in West Bengal. There, attempts to revive the Babri Masjid discourse -- decades after the dispute was conclusively settled through judicial process -- have not attracted comparable outrage from the same political voices.
A Trinamool Congress legislator's actions led to a token suspension, but the larger political ecosystem around him remained largely supportive.
The INDIA bloc, usually vocal on questions of communal sensitivity, and jumped on the Deepam lighting issue, chose silence. Apparently, there was no danger to harmony in reopening a chapter that once deeply polarised the nation.
The inconsistency is glaring. If lighting a lamp atop a hill is capable of disturbing public order, how does resurrecting the Babri narrative escape scrutiny? Why does secular sensitivity awaken selectively, and only in certain directions?
West Bengal offers a broader illustration of this pattern. Over the years, Hindu festivals such as Ram Navami processions or Durga immersion ceremonies have frequently been subjected to heightened restrictions, heavy policing, and administrative caution. Other religious gatherings, however, often proceed unhindered. When tensions erupt, responsibility is rarely fixed on administrative bias or political appeasement. Instead, blame is conveniently shifted to "provocation".
What unites the Deepam controversy in Tamil Nadu and the Babri rhetoric in Bengal is not religion -- it is about power in the vote bank. For several opposition parties, selective secularism has become a familiar political crutch. By portraying Hindu cultural expression as something that must be constantly regulated, explained, or restrained, they exhibit an outdated narrative where the majority is expected to prove its restraint repeatedly, while minority politics is insulated from comparable scrutiny. This approach has less to do with protecting harmony and more to do with preserving and boosting vote banks.
The Constitution of India does not endorse such asymmetry. Article 25 guarantees all citizens the freedom of conscience and the right to freely profess, practice, and propagate religion, subject only to public order, morality, and health. It does not rank faiths, nor does it authorise the state to selectively interpret "harmony" based on political use.
Dr B.R. Ambedkar, the principal architect of the Constitution, was unambiguous in his understanding of secularism. He had cautioned against the misuse of constitutional principles for partisan ends.
True secularism, as Ambedkar envisioned, was never about suppressing religious expression but about preventing the state from becoming an instrument of religious favour or discrimination. And this is exactly what is happening in West Bengal or Tamil Nadu.
A secular state cannot fear a lamp being lit, nor can it keep historical disputes alive on political life support. It treats all religions with equal respect.
Those who are vocal on the Deepam issue and silent on the Bengal Babri mosque need to recognise that cultural practices are not conspiracies and that the majority faith need not be curtailed disproportionately for harmony to prevail.
Voters today are far more alert to double standards than they once were. They can distinguish between neutrality and bias, between inclusion and appeasement. Attempts to selectively moralise faith no longer go unquestioned; instead, they have started to invite scepticism and resistance.
The Deepam lighting issue in Tamil Nadu and the Babri Masjid episode in Bengal have exposed the hollow core of much of today's secular rhetoric -- and the electorate is beginning to see through it.
(Deepika Bhan can be contacted at deepika.b@ians.in)
--IANS
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