The inauguration of the Jagannath Temple in Digha is not merely a religious or cultural milestone—it is a glaring manifestation of competitive communalism, an ominous milestone in the political history of West Bengal. What should have been a celebration of pluralism and diversity has instead become a carefully choreographed political spectacle, funded by public money and cloaked in the language of devotion.

This is not cultural preservation. This is state-sponsored religion.

Constructed by HIDCO—a government body—the Jagannath temple project is a brazen violation of Article 27 of the Indian Constitution, which prohibits the use of public funds for the promotion of any religion. Costing upwards of Rs 250 crore, this temple stands as perhaps the first instance in post-independence India where a state government has directly built, funded, and consecrated a Hindu temple. In doing so, Mamata Banerjee has gone even further than the BJP’s Ram Temple project in Ayodhya, which, for all its religious overtones, was at least funded by private donations.

Despite being dressed up as a cultural centre—the Jagannath Dham Sanskriti Kendra—this is no museum. It is a fully operational Hindu temple. And its inauguration was no civic function—it was a tightly controlled religious ceremony, overseen by the Chief Minister herself, complete with Vedic yajnas, aarti, and public restrictions that bordered on authoritarian. Muslim tourists in Digha were reportedly advised to remain indoors. Local businesses selling non-vegetarian food were asked to close. The signal was loud and clear: this was not an inclusive public celebration, but a sectarian pageant.

And all of this was funded by taxpayers—Hindus, Muslims, atheists, and everyone in between.

Much like Narendra Modi's consecration of the Ram Temple, Mamata Banerjee's role as the yajman (ritual patron) of this ceremony smacks of political theatre. Both leaders have merged their political personas with religious symbolism. Both projects were timed to align with electoral calculations. Both were packaged as engines of economic revival through pilgrimage tourism. And both, ultimately, reduce religion to a tool in the cynical calculus of votes.

But Banerjee’s act is not just mimicry of the BJP’s model—it is a form of soft Hindutva, a saffron-lite designed to counter the BJP’s aggressive Hindutva with a more palatable Bengali version. It is a deliberate shift from the struggle for rice to the politics of ritual. The recent embrace of Ram Navami, the staging of a faux Kumbh in Hooghly, the Ganga Aarti in Kolkata—all these signal a calculated attempt to reshape West Bengal’s political landscape through religious spectacle.

What makes this strategy even more dangerous is the veneer of "inclusivity" it wears. The installation of a Patitpavan idol—meant for those deemed ritually impure—and a separate viewing gallery for non-Hindus are being hailed as signs of openness. But they only reinforce the very hierarchies they pretend to dissolve. This is not inclusion—it is stratification disguised as benevolence.

By actively co-opting religious symbolism for political gain, Mamata Banerjee is eroding not just the constitutional fabric of secularism, but also Bengal’s historic legacy of inclusive, reformist politics. From Chaitanya’s universalist bhakti to Vidyasagar’s humanist rationalism, Bengal has long stood as a bulwark against religious orthodoxy. This temple project defiles that legacy.

Even from a religious perspective, the project raises uncomfortable questions. The Jagannath cult is rooted in syncretism. Originating among the tribal Sabaras, it later assimilated Vaishnavism, Saivism, Buddhism, and Jainism—evolving into an inclusive tradition that welcomed all, irrespective of caste or creed. It was revitalised by Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, who stripped it of ritualism and infused it with accessible, ecstatic devotion. To now see this legacy tethered to state power, patronage, and exclusion is a betrayal of everything Jagannath once stood for.

Moreover, the very act of the State appropriating religious identity for political gain reduces faith to a performance and believers to spectators. As social scientist Indranil Dasgupta rightly points out, when religion becomes an appendage of the State—fed by public money and guarded by political muscle—it ceases to be authentic. It chokes under the weight of government appropriation.

"Nationalization of religion should of course horrify all non-believers, who believe that tax-payers' money should not be spent on religion of any kind. But it should horrify believers even more, because authentic religiosity of the people chokes to death when it is turned into an appendage of the state, whether through money or muscle - patronage or power. Mamata Banerjee's sarkari religion violates her raj dharma exactly as much as it violates the dharmic autonomy of the believers," wrote Dasgupta. 

This isn’t just a failure of secularism. It is a failure of public priorities. In a state where thousands of teachers remain jobless, where infrastructure in rural areas continues to languish, and where public healthcare is in crisis, Rs 250 crore has been lavished on a temple project. This is not governance—it is appeasement of the majority, dressed up as devotion.

From all corners—academics, journalists, opposition leaders, civil society—the condemnation has been fierce and clear. But beyond political opposition, this should worry every citizen who still believes in the spirit of the Constitution. Bengal has long resisted the rise of theocratic nationalism. But with this temple, Mamata Banerjee has chosen to walk down the very path she once claimed to oppose.

The Jagannath Temple in Digha may stand tall, overlooking the Bay of Bengal. But beneath its ornate facade lies the crumbling foundation of secular democracy.



The author is an independent journalist. The views are personal.