In a country that loudly proclaims “unity in diversity,” it is ironic that Hindu institutions are expected to apologize for preserving their own sacred boundaries. The recent decision by the Kedarnath and Badrinath shrine boards to restrict entry to Hindus is not an act of exclusion—it is an assertion of constitutional, civilizational, and spiritual sovereignty. And it is long overdue.
Let us begin with a simple truth that India’s self-appointed secular guardians conveniently forget: religious freedom in India is not a one-way street. It protects the right to worship—but it also protects the right to preserve religious character.
The Indian Constitution is unambiguous on this.
Article 25 guarantees all citizens the freedom of conscience and the right to freely profess, practice, and propagate religion—subject to public order, morality, and health. This does not mean faith must be diluted into a public spectacle. It means believers have the right to practice their religion in spaces designed for that purpose.
More importantly, Article 26 grants every religious denomination the right to:
- Establish and maintain institutions for religious purposes
- Manage its own affairs in matters of religion
- Own and administer property in accordance with law
In plain language, this means Hindu institutions have a constitutional right to decide how their sacred spaces function. The Kedarnath and Badrinath boards are not violating the Constitution—they are exercising it.
Yet, the moment Hindu temples assert this autonomy, the familiar chorus rises. The discredited Congress ecosystem and the so-called “pseudo-secular” intelligentsia rush to paint the decision as “intolerant,” “divisive,” or “regressive.” The hypocrisy is staggering.
Across the world, religious spaces maintain faith-based entry norms. Many mosques restrict non-Muslims. Churches often limit access to certain sacraments and sanctums. The Vatican is not a tourist mall—it is a sovereign religious space. No one calls these traditions “majoritarianism.” They are called respect for faith.
But when Hindus draw a line around their holiest shrines—two of the four Char Dham that define the spiritual geography of Sanatan Dharma—it suddenly becomes a “national crisis.”
Kedarnath and Badrinath are not monuments. They are not cultural museums. They are living spiritual centers, rooted in centuries of ritual, discipline, and metaphysical belief. Pilgrims do not go there for architecture or photography. They go there for darshan, penance, and transcendence.
Faith, by definition, is not a public utility. It is a personal covenant between the believer and the divine.
What makes this debate even more uncomfortable for the political class is the deeper question it exposes: Why are Hindu temples still under government control?
Through a web of state laws, Hindu religious institutions are administered by government departments, their revenues regulated, their boards appointed, their traditions monitored. No such framework exists for churches or mosques. This is not secularism. This is selective supervision.
True secularism means the state maintains equal distance from all religions—not tight control over one and hands-off treatment for others.
The shrine boards’ decision, therefore, is not just about entry. It is about reclaiming spiritual self-governance. It is about saying that faith is not a policy file on a bureaucrat’s desk.
Critics argue this sets a dangerous precedent. But the real danger lies in turning sacred spaces into ideological battlegrounds. For decades, Hindu institutions have been expected to absorb every political and cultural pressure in the name of “inclusivity,” even as their autonomy is steadily eroded.
The judiciary, too, must confront this imbalance.
Indian courts have repeatedly upheld the distinction between essential religious practices and administrative oversight. The time has come to extend that logic further—to free Hindu temples from the structural grip of state governments and return them to the communities and traditions that built, sustained, and sanctified them.
This is not about exclusion. It is about preservation.
Civilizations survive not by dissolving their core, but by protecting it. Sacred traditions do not endure because they are endlessly negotiable—they endure because they are deeply rooted.
The Kedarnath and Badrinath boards have not closed their doors to society. They have reaffirmed the purpose of those doors.
In a nation that prides itself on pluralism, the most pluralistic act is to allow every faith the dignity of defining its own sacred space.
And perhaps the most uncomfortable truth for India’s political class is this: Hindu institutions no longer want to be managed, interpreted, or morally policed by those who neither practice their faith nor respect its boundaries.
This decision is not a retreat into the past. It is a declaration of spiritual self-respect in the present.
And it signals something larger—something the old secular playbook is struggling to accept: Hindu society is done asking for permission to be itself.
