One year after the Ram Mandir consecration, the Ram Janmabhoomi dispute may have entered its next chapter, but the story is far from over. [Image via Reuters]

One Year After Ram Mandir

As India marks the first anniversary of the consecration of Ram Mandir in Ayodhya, a moment that was pitched as a closure to a decades-long dispute, it’s clear that the so-called “end of the chapter” isn’t as final as many hoped—or feared. The inauguration was celebrated as the culmination of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) decades-long mission to build a Ram temple at the disputed site of the Babri Masjid, a symbol for many of Hindu religious resurgence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s grand ceremony last year promised a victory for Indian Hinduism, framed in rhetoric that blended triumph with supposed humility.

But, one year later, the air around Ayodhya is still thick with the dust of unresolved controversies. Was the inauguration of the Ram Mandir really the end of the Babri Masjid-Ram Janmabhoomi conflict? Hardly. The high-flying banners of cultural pride that adorned the event have yet to unfurl into a world of peaceful coexistence or religious reconciliation. Instead, what we have seen is the continuation of the same ideological battles.

In Uttar Pradesh, Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath, the unsparing architect of the temple’s rise, speaks openly about reclaiming other religious sites, with the Gyanvapi Masjid in Varanasi and the Shahi Idgah in Mathura becoming the next flashpoints. In his world, disputed structures should no longer be called mosques, and reclaiming them for Hinduism is a moral necessity. It’s a vision that transcends Ayodhya. The Ram Mandir, though an unquestionable symbol of Hindutva victory, is but the first in what looks like an ongoing process of cultural reclamation. To borrow a metaphor from the ancient world: it’s like opening a Pandora’s box of disputes that have the potential to undo any promises of peace or tolerance.

When Modi called the Ram Mandir a “symbol of peace, patience, and mutual harmony,” many questioned whether those were more aspirational words than reflective of the reality on the ground. The political mileage gained from the temple’s consecration is undeniable, but what happens when the cycle of contention continues in the name of religious identity? It seems there are no full stops in this narrative—only a series of ellipses trailing towards an uncertain future.

Also See: Hindutva: A Civilisational Gerrymandering of India

Mohan Bhagwat, True Independence, and the Reconquista of India

The recent assertion of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) Chief, Mohan Bhagwat that India achieved “true independence” on the day of the Ram Temple consecration is telling. He said, “After India got political independence from the British on August 15, 1947, a written Constitution was drafted… But the document was not followed according to the spirit of the vision at that time… The true independence of India, which had faced many centuries of persecution, was achieved on that day (the day of the consecration of the Ram Temple at Ayodhya).” This claim ties the temple’s inauguration to a symbolic moment in India’s freedom struggle, invoking both the historical weight of independence and a specific cultural agenda. Modi’s remarks echo this sentiment, calling the consecration an act of restoring India’s “cultural consciousness.” But this political narrative seems to have taken on a life of its own, far beyond Ayodhya’s temple complex.

Just as Spain’s Reconquista was framed as a religious and cultural reclaiming of the Iberian Peninsula from Muslim rule, India’s current political narrative around the Ram Mandir increasingly positions itself as part of a larger, ongoing struggle to “reclaim” the nation’s ancient Hindu identity. The idea of “true independence” achieved through the consecration of the Ram Mandir signals a reinvocation of religious and cultural dominance, suggesting that India’s freedom is not complete until its ancient cultural identity is fully restored and recognized.

This vision of cultural reclamation parallels the events of the Reconquista, in which the Christian monarchs sought not only to expel Muslim rulers but also to erase the Islamic influence on Spanish identity and territory. Similarly, the rhetoric surrounding the Ram Mandir and the potential renaming of Kashmir reflects an effort to reposition India’s history and identity around a singular Hindu narrative, leaving little room for the pluralistic and diverse heritage that has shaped the subcontinent for centuries.

A Name, a Legacy — Kashmir’s Identity Crisis

On the other side of India’s complex geopolitical puzzle lies Kashmir, where names are not just names—they are symbols of identity, power, and history. The recent flurry surrounding the possibility of renaming Kashmir to reflect the region’s ties to the ancient sage Kashyapa is more than a semantic debate. It taps into a larger narrative of identity construction, one that mirrors the Hindu nationalism espoused by the BJP. Like the battle over Ayodhya, the question of renaming Kashmir is deeply political, a reflection of the need to assert control over both land and history.

Kashmir, with its long and complex history, is more than a political region—it is a symbol of pluralism, with layers of Persian, Central Asian, Buddhist, Shaivite, and Islamic influences. Yet, the debate over its name, and its recent reincarnation as a part of a Hindu cultural reclamation, signals a move to erase these multi-layered identities. Critics argue that renaming Kashmir is not just about a place, but about rewriting the region’s history to fit the ideological needs of those in power.

For many Kashmiris, the prospect of renaming their land is not an innocuous gesture; it is an existential threat to their heritage and culture. Much like the ideological battle over Ayodhya, Kashmir’s name is a battleground for competing histories. The BJP’s attempts to link Kashmir to its Hindu past by invoking Kashyapa are part of a broader effort to homogenize the region’s diverse history under a singular religious narrative.

But names are powerful. Whether in Ayodhya or Kashmir, they represent the struggle over memory and identity. And as with Ayodhya, Kashmir’s name change debate is not just about the past, but about what the future will look like. Will Kashmir continue to be a place where multiple identities coexist, or will it become yet another political tool used to enforce a singular narrative?

The outcome of this cultural reshaping will not only have consequences for India’s internal politics but also for its place in the broader geopolitical context. As the region’s history is rewritten, the stakes for Kashmiris—both in terms of their identity and their future—are higher than ever.

Looking Ahead

One year after the Ram Mandir’s consecration, the Ram Janmabhoomi dispute may have entered its next chapter, but the story is far from over. Similarly, the name-change debate in Kashmir is but one piece in a larger puzzle of identity politics that threatens to reshape India in ways few could have imagined. If the BJP’s vision is allowed to unfold unchecked, the region could witness a process similar to Spain’s post-Reconquista efforts: a redefinition of its cultural and religious identity, one that seeks to marginalize those who do not fit into the new narrative.

The next year will likely see more discussions surrounding these themes, as the ruling party seeks to consolidate its base by appealing to religious sentiments, whether in Ayodhya, Kashmir, or elsewhere. And for those who seek a pluralistic, inclusive India, this is a moment for reflection: how does one reconcile the political and religious forces shaping the country with the ideals of democracy, justice, and peace?

But one thing is certain: the political battles of the past will continue to echo into the future, with both Ayodhya and Kashmir at the heart of a struggle for India’s soul.

What is clear, one year after the consecration of the Ram Mandir, is that India is undergoing a radical transformation—one that seeks to impose a singular cultural and religious identity at the expense of its pluralistic legacy. Whether this transformation will lead to the unity and harmony promised by the BJP remains to be seen, but the trajectory seems more inclined towards division, cultural homogenization, and political domination.

The looming question is: what next? If the path forward involves reclaiming not just disputed sites but entire identities, the very fabric of India’s democracy and pluralism could be at stake. For now, the politics of religion, names, and cultural reclamation continue to rise, with no signs of a slow down.

And one year after, it is clearer than ever that this is a conflict without closure. It’s a conflict that is destined to redefine the very contours of India itself.

The question remains: who gets to define India’s future, and at what cost? Until then, the question remains—what’s next?

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