Why the secular legacy of Kerala’s temple grounds is under threat

On March 10, 2025, the Kadakkal Devi Temple, Kollam district, glowed with the spirit of the annual Thiruvathira festival. People, not only devotees, but from all walks of life, gathered under the night sky, their chatter blending with the rhythm of the crowd. Aloshy Adam, a popular singer, stepped up to perform, his voice a familiar comfort.

He launched into several popular songs, before the crowd started demanding his popular numbers, like ‘Pushpane Ariyamo’, (Do you know Pushpan, our comrade)—a tribute to Pushpan, the CPI(M) activist left bedridden after the 1994 Koothuparambu police firing, where he took a bullet to the spine during a DYFI protest. Pushpan, who died in 2024 after 30 years of struggle, was a living martyr to many, DYFI flags and images flickered on the screen behind Aloshy, a quiet nod to that legacy. The crowd listened, some humming along. Then came "Nooru Pookkale, lal salaam" (Red salute to hundreds of blooming flowers) another revolutionary tune, and the grounds held steady, no murmurs of dissent.

Temple festivals had long carried these echoes of Kerala’s past. But this time, the notes lingered too long. Hindu groups later called it an affront to the temple’s sanctity, and political foes seized the moment. The Travancore Devaswom Board stepped in, and within a week, the Kerala High Court too intervened, coming down heavily on ‘politicalising’ temple events, asserting that such activities violate the sanctity of these spaces. Aloshy’s voice, once a bridge to history, had stirred a storm, leaving Kadakkal to face a silence where its stories once sang.

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The issue escalated with the intervention of certain Hindu organisations, putting the Travancore Devaswom Board in a tough spot. On the surface, the matter was hard to justify for a body like the temple board, as political programmes are not permitted within temple premises. The board sought an explanation from the Kadakkal Devi Temple advisory committee regarding the political controversy surrounding the temple.

Aloshy Adam being felicitated at the Kadakkal Thiruvathira festival.

“The Honourable High Court has ruled that political, caste, or religious symbols and flags must not be displayed in or around temples, and it is the responsibility of the Travancore Devaswom Board to enforce this directive,” said the Devaswom PRO.

“It has come to the board’s attention that certain religious organisations are conducting activities, including ‘sakha’ training sessions, within some Devaswom temples. Such activities will not be permitted under any circumstances within temple premises. The Travancore Devaswom Board maintains a strict, non-compromising stance on such matters, as temples and their surroundings are meant solely for worship and devotion,” added the Sevaswom PRO referring to the RSS training programmes held at many temple premises.

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“Kadakkal temple has a unique tradition where people from all classes, religions, and castes participate in the Thiruvathira festival. Until 2012, the festival was marred by tension and violence every year. However, in 2012, we formed a people’s committee that included everyone, ensuring that the festival has been conducted smoothly ever since. This year, too, the controversy has nothing to do with our committee. Singer Aloshy performed based on public demand, and the video wall was arranged by the programme organisers of that day. The complainant in court has no understanding of our village's culture. None of the natives of Kadakkal have raised any complaints; the complainant is from Pandalam and has no knowledge of our tradition of inclusivity,” says Vikas Kadakkal the temple advisory committee member.

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The Kadakkal village holds historical significance as a bold act of defiance in Travancore, now part of Kerala, during India’s independence struggle known as Kadakkal Revolt of 1938. Triggered by oppressive tolls on farmers in Kadakkal, Kollam, the uprising saw locals overthrow authorities and establish ‘Kummil Pakuthi’, an independent entity led by PV Raghavan Pillai aka Franco Raghavan Pillai, the King of Kadakkal, and Chanthiran Kaliyambi the minister. Lasting nine days from September 26 to October 5, this tiny ‘state’ ran its own administration until military forces quelled it with violence.

The Kadakkal Devi Temple

Over the decades, the Communist Party built a strong presence here, mobilising farmers, labourers, and local communities through grassroots movements and trade unions. Even today, the party’s influence is evident in the region’s political culture, with its red flags, rallies, and revolutionary songs remaining a familiar sight, reflecting Kadakkal’s enduring legacy as a bastion of communist thought and activism.

“This temple and festival are special to us. I’m born a Muslim, but I’m the media convener for the Thiruvathira festival, showing how secular, our village is," says Sanu Kummil, a local journalist from Kadakkal. He adds that Muslims and people from other religions also sponsor the event. “It wasn’t just Aloshy’s show; a drama group linked to KPCC, led by Congress MLA CR Mahesh, performed a play as well,” Sanu says.

“The only problem was the images shown on the video wall. The technician played them because he usually does that with revolutionary songs, and while it might look like a mistake, it wasn’t planned or intentional,” says Sanu.

However, the Kadakkal Temple issue immediately put the ruling CPI(M) on the defensive, with both the opposition BJP and the Congress accusing it of encroaching upon religious spaces for political propaganda. The controversy quickly gained momentum on social media, spreading like wildfire. Opposition did not waste the opportunity and cornered the ruling party on politicising a temple festival.

“After the last Lok Sabha elections, the CPI(M) has been in a state of panic. They believe that by infiltrating places of worship, they can win over believers’ support. Even at the Attukal Pongala festival, CPI(M) members suddenly turned into devout worshippers,” said K Surendran BJP state president.

“Those who sang Pushpane Ariyamo are now trying to storm into temples with such dramatic acts, hoping to portray themselves as champions. But it won’t work—people know the CPI(M) well. No matter how many times they take a dip in the Ganga, the public will never trust them,” added Surendran.

Leader of opposition VD Stheesan too echoed the same sentiment against the CPIM. “Why would they sing their party songs at temples. Don’t they have any other places to sing those. Are they trying to create a conflict to give space to the BJP,” he said, describing the incident as "shameful" and accusing the CPI(M) of shamelessly politicising a temple event.

“It was a completely normal event. This area has a strong Left presence, and most of us are CPI(M) sympathisers. The crowd wanted Aloshy to sing those songs, and at the time, no one had any objections. The controversy only began later on social media, where it was deliberately fuelled. The petitioner in court has no real connection to the Kadakkal Temple or this locality.”

“But you know how difficult it is to defend when extremists latch onto temple issues. For them, it’s easy—party propaganda and religious matters go hand in hand. They can sing their Ganageetham—the RSS anthem—at any temple, and no one dares to object. That’s the real issue,” says Sivaprasad, from the nearby village of Nilamel, who was present at the Thiruvathira celebration.

Kerala’s temple grounds have long been more than just sacred spaces for worship. For much of the 20th century, they served as vibrant public arenas where the secular and the cultural intertwined with the spiritual. These spaces hosted political meetings, cultural performances, and social discourse, reflecting the state’s unique blend of religious tradition and progressive ethos. From the fiery speeches of leaders like C. Kesavan and AK Gopalan (AKG) to the revolutionary storytelling of V. Sambasivan’s kathaprasangam and the politically charged dramas of the Kerala People’s Arts Club (KPAC), temple premises were once bustling hubs of community life.

According to several Left-leaning social commentators, this secular legacy is increasingly under threat as Hindutva forces assert control, shrinking the pluralistic character of these spaces.

Kerala’s temple grounds have a storied past as communal spaces that transcended their religious function. Unlike many parts of India, where temples were strictly devotional domains, Kerala’s socio-political landscape—shaped by reformist movements, communist ideology, and a strong tradition of public engagement—transformed these spaces into platforms for dialogue and expression. This was not an aberration but a natural extension of the state’s cultural fabric, where religion, politics, and art often overlapped.

“Kerala has been witnessing a trend where courts are increasingly defining the use of temple premises for secular activities. A notable example is the ruling on the use of the Vadakkunnathan Temple grounds in Thrissur, which set guidelines on how much temple space can be allocated for non-religious events. This shift began on the ground in the 1980s with the intervention of the Sangh Parivar, observed OB Roopesh, a post- doctoral fellow in social science and assistant Professor at VIT Chennai who has done extensive body of work on Kerala’s temples and the rise of Hindutva ideology.

“Kerala’s temple grounds had long functioned as cultural spaces, hosting speeches and discussions that, while sometimes political, were not overtly religious. This scene is now fast changing, with temple premises increasingly being reshaped to align with Hindutva narratives. However, the situation could become even more complex if caste identities are brought into the equation—potentially replacing religious discourse with caste-based divisions, adding another layer of irony to this transformation” adds OB Roopesh.

The temple entry reforms in Kerala, which opened sacred spaces to all castes and classes, transformed places like Kadakkal into ideal hubs for community gatherings and activism. This accessibility wasn’t limited to temple grounds; church premises and even some mosques, where festivals are permitted, embraced a similar spirit of inclusivity. These spaces became melting pots of pluralism, reflecting Kerala’s unique social fabric where diverse religious and cultural traditions coexist.

Cultural performances further enriched this secular tradition. V. Sambasivan’s Kathaprasangam, a form of narrative storytelling blending music and drama, often unfolded on temple grounds. Sambasivan, a master of this art, used it to retell epics like the Ramayana or introduce world classics like Macbeth and Othello and other revolutionary tales, subtly weaving in messages of equality and resistance. His performances drew diverse audiences—devotees, workers, and intellectuals alike—transforming temple spaces into theatres of enlightenment. Similarly, Kerala People’s Arts Club (KPAC), founded in 1950, brought its politically charged dramas to these venues. Plays like Thoppil Bhasi’s Ningalenne Communistakki (You Made Me a Communist), first staged in 1952, were performed on temple grounds across Kerala, critiquing feudalism and capitalism while rallying support for the Left. These events were not mere entertainment; they were acts of cultural defiance, resonating with Kerala’s progressive zeitgeist.

This secular vibrancy was underpinned by a broader societal acceptance. Temples in Kerala, managed by Devaswom Boards under state oversight, were seen as public institutions as much as religious ones. Their grounds, often vast and unshaded, provided a practical setting for large gatherings in an era before auditoriums became widespread. The Vadakkunnatha Temple in Thrissur, for instance, was not just a site for the famous Thrissur Pooram but also a venue for public discourse and cultural exchange, embodying a harmonious blend of the sacred and the secular.

This pluralistic tradition began to wane in recent decades as Kerala’s political and cultural landscape evolved. The rise of Hindutva forces, particularly since the 1990s with the growth of the BJP with the ideological backing of the RSS, has challenged the secular character of temple grounds. These groups, rooted in a vision of a homogenised Hindu identity, view the multi-purpose use of temple spaces as a dilution of their sanctity. Their influence has grown in Kerala, a state once considered resistant to Hindu nationalism due to its strong Left and secular credentials, reshaping the narrative around temple premises.

“Last year at the Thrissur Pooram, we had floats on elephants celebrating everything from the Ayodhya Ram Temple to Lionel Messi’s World Cup win. Lord Ram has no connection to Thrissur’s Shiva temple, yet no one complained like they did at Kadakkal,” says Vijay Jose, a Thrissur native.

Another stark example is the “Ban non-Hindus” rhetoric surrounding temples like Thrissur Vadakkunnathan. While no formal ban exists, Hindutva narratives have amplified claims that secular or Leftist influences—such as the alleged dominance of communist appointees in Devaswom Boards—are alienating Hindus from their own sacred spaces. This rhetoric gained traction in 2018 during the Sabarimala protests, where right-wing groups accused the state’s Left government of undermining Hindu traditions by enforcing a Supreme Court order allowing women of all ages to enter the temple. Temple grounds, once platforms for progressive voices, became battlegrounds for ideological clashes, with Hindutva forces framing their defence as a reclamation of Hindu purity.

Historically, this incident might have been unremarkable. Songs with political undertones, like those performed by KPAC or requested during Sambasivan’s shows, were once part of temple festivities, tolerated as expressions of Kerala’s syncretic culture. But the backlash in Kadakkal reflects a heightened sensitivity, fuelled by Hindutva’s growing influence. Groups like the Hindu Aikya Vedi condemned the event as a communist ploy to “dismantle temple rituals”, echoing their broader narrative of reclaiming temples from secular overreach. The High Court’s order, while aimed at preserving religious purity, inadvertently aligns with this push, signalling a retreat from the pluralistic past.

The secular nature of Kerala’s temple grounds was never about erasing their religious essence but about expanding their role as communal spaces. Temple grounds are being redefined as exclusive domains, their openness curtailed by a narrative that equates sanctity with uniformity. The Kadakkal controversy, set against this backdrop, is not just a local dispute but a microcosm of a larger struggle over Kerala’s cultural soul—one where the echoes of a secular past are growing faint amid the clamour of a polarized present.

However, the local CPI(M) leadership’s approach of saturating festivals with their red flags and communist motifs may be counterproductive to their cause.

“In Kadakkal, where pluralism and inclusivity have long defined community events like the Thiruvathira festival, this overt display of political symbolism risks alienating participants who value the secular and diverse nature of these gatherings. The Communist Party has historically thrived in the region by championing the struggles of the working class and fostering unity. Yet, plastering festivals with party propaganda could dilute this legacy, turning a shared cultural space into a political battleground,” said TK Ahammed Sherief, a retired teacher from the neighbourhood.

For many locals like Sherief, such actions overshadow the spirit of harmony that draws all communities together, potentially weakening their grassroots support. They think instead of strengthening their cause, this heavy-handed branding might push away the very community they claim to represent.