India has never lacked for faith. What it increasingly lacks is accountability from those who monetize it. The latest controversy surrounding Avimukteshwaranand is not an isolated embarrassment—it is part of a recurring pattern. A self-styled spiritual authority lays claim to exalted lineage, courts attention through provocative declarations, faces allegations or scrutiny, and then—almost on cue—discovers political patronage as a shield. The script is tired. The damage, however, is very real. To claim spiritual inheritance from giants like Adi Shankaracharya is not a minor exaggeration; it is a theological and civilizational overreach. Shankaracharya was not a brand to be franchised, nor a title to be self-assumed. The spiritual traditions he shaped are rooted in discipline, scholarship, renunciation, and institutional legitimacy. They are not conferred by press conferences or amplified by social media. When allegations surface—whether about financial impropriety, questionable conduct within ashrams, or dubious claims of spiritual supremacy—the response must be institutional, not emotional. If any seer’s mutt or ashram is accused of wrongdoing, it must be investigated under existing law. Faith does not grant immunity. Saffron is not a legal firewall. In that context, the stance of the Government of Uttar Pradesh, led by Yogi Adityanath, in rejecting questionable claims and maintaining order in Varanasi—one of Hinduism’s holiest cities—was not an act of suppression but of responsibility. Governance demands that sacred spaces not be converted into battlegrounds for personal aggrandizement. Yet, what follows in such episodes is depressingly predictable. The moment scrutiny tightens, some political actors appear beside the embattled godman, draping him not just in saffron but in the cloak of victimhood. Suddenly, enforcement becomes “persecution.” Legal questions become “attacks on faith.” Accountability becomes “majoritarian oppression.” Sections of the Indian National Congress, for instance, have often walked this tightrope—oscillating between deriding Hindu assertion as “polarization” and embracing controversial religious figures when electorally convenient. It is a cynical calculus: fragment the majority by caste, sub-sect, and regional fault lines, yet opportunistically align with a rogue seer if it yields a few thousand votes. This duplicity fuels the very divisions it claims to oppose.
Let us be clear: uniting Hindus across internal fractures is not inherently divisive. Every community seeks cohesion. What is dangerous is the outsourcing of that unity to self-proclaimed messiahs whose legitimacy is suspect and whose conduct invites investigation. When political parties—whether the Bharatiya Janata Party or Congress or any regional outfit—selectively embrace or disown godmen based on convenience, they reduce faith to a campaign prop. History offers sobering lessons. India has seen charismatic spiritual leaders rise meteorically—only to fall amid allegations of exploitation, financial fraud, or worse. Some sought refuge in political patronage; others weaponized their followers to intimidate investigators. In almost every case, political complicity prolonged the damage. Instead of drawing a firm line between religion and criminality, parties calculated vote shares. The result? Erosion of trust. Not merely in individual gurus, but in genuine spiritual institutions that quietly serve society—running schools, hospitals, and relief operations without theatrical claims of reincarnation or divine mandate. The larger tragedy is cultural. When every loud claimant to holiness is platformed, and every legal inquiry is reframed as an ideological war, the public grows cynical. Youth begin to conflate spirituality with scandal. Devotion becomes spectacle. Dharma becomes headline management. If Avimukteshwaranand—or any other seer—has made grandiose claims or presided over institutions facing credible allegations, the answer is simple: investigate transparently, prosecute if warranted, and exonerate if innocent. No shortcuts. No political grandstanding. No martyrdom narratives. And political parties must decide: will they stand for institutional integrity, or will they continue to treat godmen as vote-bank accelerators? Divisive politics does not begin with slogans; it begins with selective outrage and selective protection. Faith deserves reverence. It does not deserve manipulation. India’s spiritual heritage is too profound to be left at the mercy of self-anointed reincarnations and opportunistic politicians. The republic must send a clear message: holiness is not self-certified, and the law bows to no robe—however saffron it may be.
