Respecting Sacred Spaces And National Symbols Is Essential For True Secularism
The Hazratbal incident highlights the delicate balance between faith and sovereignty, reminding us that dialogue and mutual respect are vital for harmony in a diverse nation
By Basarat Bashir
The Hazratbal Shrine has always stood as a confluence of faith and history in Kashmir. To the devout, it is the custodian of a sacred relic; to the cultural historian, it is a monument of Kashmiri craftsmanship; and to the nation, it is a shared heritage. Its recent renovation, inaugurated with much pride, symbolised both devotion and renewal. Yet within days, that moment of unity was clouded by controversy—the marble inauguration plaque, bearing the national emblem of India, was vandalised and torn down by an angry crowd.
The images of the Ashoka pillar being defaced within the walls of Hazratbal unsettled two kinds of sensibilities at once: the reverence owed to the national emblem, and the sanctity attached to a place of worship. One symbolises the sovereignty of the Republic; the other, the sovereignty of faith. Their collision on a single stone has raised questions that go far beyond an act of vandalism; they touch the very heart of India’s constitutional philosophy.
Islam, in its theological core, resists the placement of figurative or representational symbols in spaces of worship. The very idea of tawheed, the oneness of God, rejects the possibility of competing icons. For many, the placement of the national emblem inside Hazratbal was a violation of this spiritual principle. The opposition was not against the Republic but against the intrusion of a symbol in a space that, by religious logic, must remain empty of all but divine remembrance. Yet, the national emblem is not an idol; it is the insignia of sovereignty. Its desecration, therefore, constitutes an attack on the authority of the Indian state. This is why the act invites criminal liability under laws protecting state symbols, even while reflecting genuine religious anxieties.
The Indian Constitution offers guidance, though not always simple answers. Article 25 guarantees the freedom of religion. If the presence of a state symbol inside a shrine offends core tenets of worship, the faithful have the right to object. Article 26 grants religious denominations the autonomy to manage their own affairs in matters of religion. The Supreme Court in the Shirur Mutt case (1954) held that what constitutes an essential practice of religion must primarily be decided by the community of the faithful, not by the state. By that reasoning, if the Hazratbal administration felt that the emblem’s presence violated religious discipline, their grievance carries constitutional weight. But Article 51A(a), through the Fundamental Duties, requires every citizen to respect the Constitution and its symbols. The violent destruction of the emblem cannot be reconciled with this obligation. The Court in Bijoe Emmanuel (1986), when it protected the right of Jehovah’s Witness children to refuse singing the national anthem, reminded the nation that respect for symbols need not always take the form of conformity, but it must never descend into contempt. The Hazratbal incident crossed that boundary.
Indian secularism has never been about the absolute separation of state and religion. Unlike the West, our model was imagined as one of principled distance and mutual respect. Mahatma Gandhi described this vision best in his idea of sarva dharma sambhava: equal reverence for all religions. For Gandhi, secularism was not about the absence of religion from public life, but about creating a moral space where every faith could breathe without fear of domination. The Hazratbal incident reveals how fragile this principle can be. To place the emblem in the shrine was to blur the line between state authority and religious space. To demolish it with violence was to trample on the civic respect owed to national symbols. Both actions weaken the secular compact: the first by overreach, the second by rejection.
The Supreme Court in S.R. Bommai v. Union of India (1994) famously declared secularism to be part of the basic structure of the Constitution. That declaration was not a mere abstraction—it meant that every organ of the state, every citizen of the Republic, carries the responsibility to nurture secularism in practice. Hazratbal shows how easily this responsibility can be betrayed, both by imposition and by vandalism. The Court’s jurisprudence has consistently attempted to balance the autonomy of religion with the sovereignty of the state. In Ismail Faruqui (1994), while ruling on the acquisition of religious property, the Court said that mosques are not immune from state regulation, but at the same time, it emphasised that religious practice must be respected where it is essential. Hazratbal’s predicament lies exactly in this constitutional grey zone.
Hazratbal has often mirrored the dilemmas of Kashmir itself—a sacred space caught between devotion and politics, faith and sovereignty. Its recent renovation was meant to mark a new chapter, one where heritage preservation could transcend divisions. Instead, the emblem episode reminds us that symbols, however noble, cannot be imposed upon sacred spaces without consent. At the same time, the act of demolition shows how easily grievance can turn into illegality. If every group took the law into its own hands when offended, the very fabric of constitutional order would fray.
What lesson, then, does Hazratbal teach us today? Perhaps that secularism is not about dominance but restraint. The state must restrain itself from intruding into religious sensibilities; religion must restrain itself from rejecting the authority of the Republic. Both must find accommodation in dialogue rather than in confrontation. The emblem and the shrine need not be adversaries. One embodies the majesty of the state, the other the majesty of the divine. Each has its rightful space; neither should colonise the other. To preserve this balance is not merely a legal necessity; it is a Gandhian obligation, for without sarva dharma sambhava, secularism becomes hollow rhetoric.
The broken stone at Hazratbal is more than a piece of marble; it is a fractured metaphor. It shows us how the lines between state and faith, sovereignty and spirituality, law and belief, can blur and break if not handled with care. India’s secularism, unlike that of other nations, was always meant to be a dialogue of differences. The shrine must remain a sanctuary of faith; the emblem must remain a symbol of the Republic. When each respects the other’s boundary, both can coexist without conflict. The law of the land will punish vandalism; the spirit of secularism must prevent its recurrence. Hazratbal’s lesson, therefore, is one of humility: that the state and the faithful alike must walk gently where belief and sovereignty meet.
The writer is a law scholar at the School of Law, University of Kashmir
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