The impending hearings before the Supreme Court of India on the Sabarimala issue once again bring to the fore an uncomfortable question: where does constitutional morality end and civilisational continuity begin?
The 2018 verdict that opened the doors of the Sabarimala Temple to women of all ages was hailed in some quarters as a triumph of equality. Yet, for millions of devotees of Lord Ayyappa, it felt like an intrusion into a sacred practice that predates the modern Indian state by centuries. The matter now returning to a Constitution Bench is not merely a legal dispute; it is a test of judicial restraint.
Sabarimala is not just another public temple. It is a unique denominational shrine with its own distinctive customs rooted in the concept of a naisthika brahmachari deity. The 41-day vratham, the austere pilgrimage, the specific rituals — all form an indivisible spiritual discipline. The restriction on women of a particular age group was not framed as a statement on impurity or inferiority, but as part of this specific theological framework. One may agree or disagree with the belief. But disagreement alone cannot become the basis for constitutional invalidation.
The Indian Constitution guarantees equality. It also guarantees freedom of religion and the right of denominations to manage their own affairs in matters of religion. When courts begin to weigh theological consistency or reinterpret essential practices, they step onto uncertain ground. The judiciary is trained to interpret law, not to recast faith.
There is also a democratic dimension that cannot be ignored. Social reform in India has historically emerged from within communities — often through dialogue, persuasion and gradual change. When reform is judicially mandated in matters of deep religious sensitivity, it risks provoking social fracture rather than fostering consensus. The unrest that followed the 2018 verdict was not incidental. It was a reflection of hurt sentiment among ordinary devotees who felt unheard.
This is not an argument against gender justice. Nor is it a defence of discrimination as a principle. It is a plea for constitutional balance. Every religious practice cannot be flattened into a uniform template of modern rights discourse without examining context, theology and denominational autonomy.
If tomorrow courts begin adjudicating entry rules in mutts, monasteries or mosques with the same zeal, the line between secular governance and spiritual doctrine will blur dangerously. A secular republic must protect religious freedom as firmly as it protects equality. The two are not adversaries; they are co-travellers.
The Sabarimala debate ultimately asks whether the judiciary should become the final arbiter of faith practices that do not demonstrably threaten public order, health or morality in the constitutional sense. Restraint here would not signal weakness. It would reflect maturity.
Faith survives centuries not because it is imposed, but because it is believed. Courts would do well to remember that devotion cannot be rewritten through a judgment.