Sacred Sweets and Sacred Rage: The Politics of Religious Offence

The controversy surrounding the Tirupati Laddu, one of Hinduism’s most cherished offerings, underscores a stark truth about the nature of religious tolerance in India. Despite the discovery of sub-standard ghee and traces of animal fat in the famed prasadam, there has been no violence and no rioting from the devout millions who revere the Tirumala Venkateswara Temple – arguably India’s most visited religious site. No doubt the political fallout has been fierce, and the hurt to religious sentiment palpable, but the response from Hindu devotees has been largely peaceful.

Contrast this with the reaction to perceived blasphemy in Islam. Across the world, even minor offences against the Prophet Muhammad or the religion’s tenets have triggered violent reprisals. In 2015, when the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo published cartoons of the Prophet, the result was a brutal terrorist attack on its offices that left 12 people dead. The violence was not confined to France. Demonstrations and riots erupted in Muslim-majority countries from Pakistan to Yemen, with protesters demanding retribution. Similarly, the 2005 publication of caricatures in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten led to a global wave of riots, embassy burnings and multiple deaths.

In June 2022, Umesh Kolhe, a chemist in Amravati district, was gruesomely murdered for forwarding a WhatsApp message supporting then-BJP spokesperson Nupur Sharma, who had made controversial remarks about the Prophet Muhammad. Around the same time, in Udaipur, Rajasthan, tailor Kanhaiyya Lal Teli was similarly killed for the same reason, with one assailant recording the act on a mobile phone.

The point here is that Hinduism, in contrast, offers a model of remarkable tolerance and resilience in the face of insult or perceived sacrilege – notwithstanding the disparaging from the so-called ‘liberal’ champions of secularism.

This is not to suggest that Hindus are immune to provocation. India has seen its fair share of communal violence, often political in nature. But when it comes to religious offence, especially in cases involving sacred rituals or deities, the general pattern is one of legal redress rather than an immediate turn to violence seen in other parts of the world.

In the Tirupati laddu controversy, while Chief Minister N. Chandrababu Naidu’s Telugu Desam Party (TDP) is rattling sabres with Y.S. Jagan Mohan Reddy’s Yuvajana Sramika Rythu Congress Party (YSRCP), the broader Hindu population has remained calm. Rather than calls for violence, there were demands for accountability, investigation and ultimately justice.

The response to religious affront in Islam, by comparison, tends to escalate more quickly into violence. The theological underpinnings of this difference are complex. In Islam, any depiction or criticism of the Prophet is viewed as an act of blasphemy, punishable by death in several countries. This is rooted in sharia law, which prescribes severe penalties for apostasy and blasphemy. Even in countries where such laws do not exist, Muslim communities often react with intensity to perceived slights against their religion.

Hinduism, by contrast, is more decentralised and diverse in its interpretation of the sacred. With thousands of deities, multiple schools of thought, and no single religious authority, there is a degree of pluralism inherent in the faith which often extends to matters of religious offence.

The Laddu controversy, while deeply wounding to Hindu sensibilities, has been addressed within the boundaries of state authority. Investigations are underway, and while political rivalries continue to play out, the broader Hindu response has been one of tolerance, or at least restraint. This restraint is not a modern phenomenon. It is deeply rooted in India’s historical tradition of religious tolerance, exemplified by emperors such as Harsha and Samudragupta, whose rule, based on the tenets of ‘Dharmashastras,’ stood in stark contrast to the bloodlust and rapacity of marauding Islamic conquerors from Afghanistan and Central Asia who swept through India in the 11th century.

Though Harsha himself was a devout Buddhist, his kingdom embraced a pluralistic approach, with support extended to Buddhist, Hindu and Jain institutions alike. His administration was marked by tolerance and accommodation of multiple faiths. His diplomatic outreach to China and sponsorship of religious councils reflects a ruler more interested in intellectual exchange than religious dominance.

Similarly, Samudragupta, called the ‘Napoleon of India’ by Vincent Arthur Smith for his military conquests in the 4th century CE, also presided over a period of religious pluralism. Whatever Smith thought, I regard Samudragupta as being far greater to Napoleon, whose conquests brought misery to Europe for two decades and overshadowed his reforms.

This tolerance contrasts sharply with the rule of Islamic conquerors like Mahmud of Ghazni, whose infamous sacking of the Somnath Temple in 1026 CE was not merely a political act of conquest but one deeply imbued with religious motives. The looting and destruction of Hindu temples became a pattern among many subsequent Islamic rulers, from Muhammad of Ghor to the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb. This contrast is certainly not a commentary nor meant to disrespect Indian Muslims, many of whose remarkable contributions have greatly enriched Indian social life at every stage post-Independence.

The point is that the legacy of pluralism inherited from rulers like Harsha and Samudragupta has left a deep imprint on the Hindu psyche. Hinduism, with its multitude of deities, philosophies, and practices is inherently more accommodating of diversity and dissent.

The Tirupati Laddu affair highlights Hinduism’s capacity for measured responses to even the most delicate of religious insults - a lesson in tolerance that many other faiths, grappling with their own theological rigidity, would do well to learn.