Temple coffers and compassion

BY SUGATA SRINIVASARAJU

BRIDGING THE VINDHYAS

In the last fortnight, there was a piece of news from Tamil Nadu, which pertained to 47 rich temples in the context of Covid-19. It got swept away in the indifferent tide of routine events, and then, remained buried under a growing pile of bad news. In retrospect, it deserved greater dwelling upon.

The Tamil Nadu government, in its effort to mop up resources to tackle the humanitarian consequences of the pandemic, issued a circular urging the richest 47 temples under its control to donate ‘surplus funds’ totalling around Rs 10 crore, to the Chief Minister’s Relief Fund. There was a list along with the circular that explicitly suggested which temple could contribute how much. The government had invoked an existing provision of the law that said ‘surplus’ money could be collected ‘to feed the poor’ and also ‘build infrastructure to feed the poor’.

This amended provision under an old piece of legislation pertaining to Hindu temples and endowments has been around for nearly 40 years, since the time of MG Ramachandran, and nearly all Dravidian governments since have deployed it in a crisis. Covid-19 being an extraordinary crisis, and the government making this plan was a conscionable act. However, unfortunately, when some right wing organisations gave this a communal spin, and sought the intervention of the Madras High Court to get it squashed, the government meekly surrendered by withdrawing its order.

There has always been an argument of the caste elite, as old as the temple bells, which said governments should have no control over places of worship, though getting grants and subsidies is a separate matter. But is it piety or propriety of any kind to forward this ideological position, skewed or otherwise, during a pandemic? Especially, when millions are on the streets, and are going hungry.

Those objecting to the government circular not only used this rusty argument, but also said that the government was collecting this ‘surplus money’ only to meet the needs of another scheme, which promised 5450 tonnes of free rice to 2,927 mosques in the month of Ramzan. It pitched and professed victimhood by alleging that no such benefits are accorded to Hindus during their holy months and festivities. A right-wing mouthpiece quoted a predictable statement of an ideologue: “This is like the rule of the Mughals and transfer of temple money like jizya tax.” One wondered how Chief Minister E Palaniswami, and his deputy, O Panneerselvam, who never appear in public without ash and vermillion smeared on their foreheads, had become vassals of the Mughal empire. They were last seen as allies of the BJP.

There was absolutely no connection between the two commitments of the government – the pandemic and Ramzan. A fact-check by Alt News, in fact, established that giving free rice to Muslims in the month of Ramzan was a practice started by J Jayalalithaa two decades ago. It was also proved that the government’s Pongal gift hamper in 2020-21 was in excess of Rs 2,300 crore, while the Ramzan rice offer costed a little over Rs 15 crore to the exchequer.

If there was one incandescent opportunity this pandemic offered that was the chance to redeem one’s humanity and compassion. In this case, it appears to have burnt up like camphor, but without that healing scent. Also, in principle, by surrendering to the fringe view, the AIADMK government had let down two of its iconic leaders – MGR and Jayalalithaa. Feeding the poor has been a sterling tradition of the Tamil Nadu government from K Kamaraj’s midday meals to Jayalalithaa’s ‘Amma Unavagam’ (mother’s canteen).

In the tedium of argument in Tamil Nadu around this, nobody pointed out that temples are not corporations to protect their profits. Sadly, earlier this month, the Tirupati temple, the richest temple in the world, had sacked its contract labour, and was apparently struggling to pay its staff despite its gold reserves of eight tons, and fixed deposits running up to Rs 14,000 crore, according to one estimate. Religious organisations are known to operate in the long term, in the scale of centuries, not in the short term of lockdowns. They are supposed to deepen faith and offer protection to their own vulnerable believers, and the government circular on surplus funds would have only accrued ‘punya’ for the temples, not a transient government.

The rich may build temples and cupolas of gold, as the 12th century mystic Basaveshwara said, but even the poorest who go to temples drop a penurious coin when they pray. Religion for the longest has been perceived as an alternate welfare state. Social reform at one point was also religious reform. There was much to gain from opening the coffers of the temples during the pandemic. Whether a mosque, a church, or a gurudwara did it deserves an independent assessment. A simple point here is that a great chance to showcase the abundant humanity of the world’s oldest religion was missed, especially when there is such glowing ambition among its proponents to instruct the world in the 21st century.