Last week, in a closed meeting of a national television channel, I was in an interesting discussion on the issue of religious customs and traditions, and the right to change them, either by citizens themselves or through state or judicial intervention. Specifically, much discussion focused on the issue of girls and women between the ages of ten and fifty entering the Sabarimala temple.
I have been a lifelong student of Hindu philosophy. For me, as a rule, spirituality unites, and religion – in its practice – often divides. For example, according to Advaita or Vedantic doctrine – which is perhaps the most powerful school of Hindu philosophy – there can be no hierarchy or exclusion among human beings because the same cosmic consciousness exists in all of us. In the 8th century, when the disciples of Adi Shankaracharya sought to remove the “Chandala” or so-called “untouchable” from his vicinity, the Chandala himself asked the great philosopher how legitimate it was when the same Brahman was within him and in Adi Shankaracharya. It is said that the sage then composed the five-verse Manishapanchakam on the spot. Each stanza ends with the line: Chandala stu sa dvijo stu, gururityesha manisha mama: A person may be a Chandala or twice-born (upper caste); For me, they are both teachers, and this is my official decision.
I think this incident has a bearing on the Sabarimala issue. The Supreme Court of India, in its landmark 2018 ruling, held that the exclusion of women of menstruating age from the shrine of Lord Ayyappa was unconstitutional. However, the order refuses to settle. Petitions for review have been filed, and the community remains divided between respecting tradition and calling for reform.
At first glance, advocates of the ban cite religious customs. They argue that Lord Ayyappa is an eternal naisthika brahmachari – a celibate ascetic – and that the presence of women of childbearing age is incompatible with the sanctity of this covenant. According to them, the centuries-old practice of barring women between the ages of 10 and 50 is part and parcel of the nature of the shrine and is therefore protected under the freedom of religion guaranteed by the Constitution.
But this argument raises a larger question: Are religious customs eternally sacred?
Indian history suggests otherwise. Religion in India has never been a frozen edifice. It has continually evolved through introspection, reform and reinterpretation. Consider the practice of sati, where widows are forced or persuaded to sacrifice themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres. For centuries, its proponents have defended it as a sacred duty rooted in the affirmation of Scripture. However, determined opposition by reformers such as Raja Ram Mohan Roy led to its ban in 1829.
Likewise, entry into the temple itself was denied to so-called untouchables. The struggle against this injustice was long and arduous, eventually leading to the Temple Entry Proclamation, which opened temples in Travancore to all Hindus regardless of caste.
The cause of women’s dignity also found advocates in India’s reformist tradition. For example, the campaign for widow remarriage was led by visionary reformers like Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar. Through his efforts, the Hindu Widow Remarriage Act of 1856 was enacted, changing the lives of countless women who were condemned to a life of social death.
The Sabarimala case must therefore be viewed in this broader historical context. The exclusion of women between the ages of 10 and 50 is based on the idea that menstruation makes them impure, or that their presence disturbs Lord Ayyappa’s austerities. However, such reasoning does not fit with the spiritual philosophy underpinning Hinduism itself.
Moreover, the argument that the presence of a woman would desecrate a vow to the god seems philosophically weak. Could the spiritual power of a divine being be so fragile that it is threatened by the mere presence of women? Faith, if it is real, should inspire confidence rather than insecurity.
It is also important to remember that the Indian Constitution enshrines equality as a fundamental principle. Articles that guarantee equality before the law and prohibit discrimination on the basis of gender are part of our fundamental rights. When religious practices conflict with these constitutional values, society must ask whether these practices deserve continued protection.
However, law alone cannot resolve what is essentially a social and cultural issue. For many devotees, Sabarimala is not just a temple, but a very cherished tradition. The annual pilgrimage, with its arduous journey and strict vows of austerity, fosters a strong sense of spiritual community. To dismiss congregants’ concerns as mere obscurantism would be unfair and counterproductive.
Reform in India rarely succeeds through confrontation alone. It required dialogue, persuasion, and the gradual reshaping of social attitudes. Therefore, the controversy surrounding Sabarimala must be dealt with sensitivity and firmness. Sincerity deserves respect, but discrimination in its name cannot be defended.
India’s cultural history provides a clear answer. Time and again, when faced with a choice between strict orthodoxy and humane reform, the nation has moved — sometimes slowly, sometimes reluctantly — toward greater justice. The Sabarimala debate is another chapter in that long journey. Faith need not fear equality. Rather, when religion embraces the dignity of every human being, it acquires a deeper and more lasting sanctity.
(Pavan K Varma is an author, diplomat and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Views expressed are personal)
