Like crores of Hindus, I grew up listening to stories during Harikatha performances from the Ramayana and revering Lord Ram as the embodiment of righteousness, duty and moral courage. In later years, I read the great poet Kuvempu’s iteration of the epic.
For many Indians, Ram transcends theology—he is part of our cultural inheritance, much as Christmas is observed across the world even by many who have never opened a Bible.
It is precisely because of that enduring reverence that recent reports of alleged financial irregularities involving donations to the Ayodhya Ram temple have prompted an uncomfortable question. As the scandal is growing, what is both a paradox and a cause for concern is that charges are being levelled by saffron associates of the BJP and the heads of various Hindu orders.
Is the Ayodhya temple merely another place of worship, or does it occupy a unique place in India’s contemporary public life? This is not a question about faith. Faith belongs to the realm of personal conscience. Nor is it a question about the legal dispute over Ayodhya, which has been settled through constitutional processes. The question is one of accountability.
Unlike most ancient temples that evolved gradually through centuries of patronage, pilgrimage and local devotion, the Ayodhya temple emerged from one of the most consequential political movements in independent India. Its journey from a disputed site to a grand national shrine was shaped not only by religious beliefs but also by political mobilisation, public campaigns, court proceedings, governmental action and intense national debate. Whether one applauds or criticises that journey, its political character is impossible to ignore. And it is precisely that character which imposes a special responsibility.
When political leaders and public institutions become closely identified with a religious project, they assume obligations extending beyond ordinary administration. Every rupee donated by a devotee represents trust. Every administrative decision acquires public significance. Every allegation of wrongdoing raises questions not only about the individuals involved, but also about the systems to safeguard public faith. This explains why reports of financial impropriety at Ayodhya attract attention far beyond the sums involved.
For decades, lakhs of people contributed to the Ayodhya movement not merely with money but with emotion, sacrifice and conviction. Some donated modest sums collected in villages; others travelled long distances to participate in pilgrimages and public gatherings. The temple, therefore, carries an accumulated moral investment that extends far beyond its account books. When questions arise about the handling of donations, what is placed at risk is not only financial credibility but also a reservoir of public trust built over generations.
The issue is not the amount; it’s accountability. Financial irregularities occur in governments, corporations, charities and religious institutions. Temples are no more immune to human frailty than any other organisation. History teaches us that wherever money, influence and prestige accumulate, temptation follows. The real test lies elsewhere.
Are the mechanisms of oversight strong enough to detect wrongdoing promptly? Are investigations conducted transparently? Are those responsible held accountable? Can devotees be assured that their offerings are protected?
During my years in the Indian Army, I learned that institutions are judged not by the absence of misconduct but by the quality and speed of their response to it. Perfection is impossible; vigilance is not.
The Ayodhya temple, therefore, deserves standards of governance at least as rigorous as those expected of any major public trust in the country. Independent audits, transparent accounting, clear lines of responsibility and swift investigation of allegations should not be viewed as acts of suspicion. They are expressions of respect for the faith of crores.
Some may regard such scrutiny as an attack on the temple itself. I see it differently. A distinction must always be maintained between the sacred and those entrusted with administering the sacred. Lord Ram requires no defence from mortals. Institutions created in his name require honest stewardship.
Democracy functions best when citizens can ask questions without being branded disloyal and when institutions can answer those questions without feeling threatened. Accountability does not diminish faith. Properly understood, it protects it.
Amid the magnificence of a grand temple, the vast resources that have gone into its construction and the immense public emotion that sustains it, one cannot help recalling Rabindranath Tagore’s celebrated lines: “Open thine eyes and see thy god is not before thee. He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground.”
The reminder is not a rejection of worship but a call to humility. The worth of any religious institution lies not merely in the splendour of its structures but in the values it embodies and the integrity with which it serves those who repose their faith in it.
Ultimately, the measure of the Ayodhya temple’s success will not lie in the grandeur of its architecture, the height of its spires or the size of the crowds and their offerings it attracts. It will lie in whether the principles invoked throughout its creation—truth, duty, rectitude, transparency and integrity—are reflected in its daily administration.
That would be the most fitting tribute to Lord Ram.
G R Gopinath | Founder, Air Deccan; former Captain, Indian Army
(Views are personal)