By Ariaratnam Gobikrishna –

Ariaratnam Gobikrishna MD

Growing up just a stone’s throw from the Nallur Murugan Temple in Jaffna, some of my fondest memories revolve around listening to the epic Ramayana. I was enthralled by the characters—their valor, chivalry, and the intricate plots that wove the story together. Year after year, I would listen to these tales, never tiring of them. Yet, even as a young boy, I understood that while the Ramayana was a captivating and timeless epic, it remained just that—a grand old story, rich in lessons but rooted in mythology rather than reality.

Fast forward six decades, and recently, Prime Minister Modi, with great fanfare, inaugurated the Ram Temple at Ram Janmabhoomi in Ayodhya, a site steeped in controversy. According to Hindu tradition, this is the birthplace of Lord Ram, as described in the Ramayana. During the Muslim invasions, the Mughal emperor Babur is said to have destroyed a temple at this site and built a mosque in its place—a structure that stood for centuries until it was demolished by a Hindu mob, sparking one of the most contentious disputes between the Hindu and Muslim communities in India.

The matter ultimately reached the Supreme Court, which ruled in favor of the Hindus, allowing the temple’s construction. The decision was based partly on ancient texts and archaeological evidence suggesting the remains of a Hindu temple lay beneath the mosque. As the overwhelming majority in India, the Hindu community had an opportunity to demonstrate magnanimity by allowing the mosque to be rebuilt, thereby fostering reconciliation. However, they chose not to take this path. Instead, the decision to build the temple represents a return to a centuries-old grievance, overlooking the reality that historical conflicts often involve the destruction and replacement of religious sites. Trying to undo such events centuries later can be seen as an impractical and divisive approach to addressing the past.

I see parallels to this when I look back, particularly during my transition from Tamil literature, like the Ramayanam, to exploring English novels—a journey that began with my discovery of Leon Uris’s Exodus. I remember being unable to put the book down, with a dictionary always at hand. I became particularly enamored with the character Ari, especially when he confronted the British Navy with a ship full of Jewish refugees from Europe and exhorted, “Let my people go,” invoking the ancient plea of Moses to free the Jews from bondage in Egypt.

At the time, the novel’s portrayal of Arabs—as inept and consistently outmaneuvered due to their perceived incompetence—had a profound impact on me, fostering a strong contempt. However, upon rereading the book recently, I realized how one-sided and hagiographic it is, glorifying the Jewish characters while vilifying the Arabs. Now that I know world history better, I recognize how disingenuous it is to portray a people who held vast empires for centuries and contributed to the creation of a new religion and culture, as nothing more than incompetent. Anyone familiar with the glorious centuries of Islamic empires would see their ingenuity and valor, making such depictions not just biased but historically false.

The long history of the Jewish people, on the other hand, is marked more by trials and tribulations than moments of jubilation. When perusing, major events center around the creation and destruction of their homeland, with the temple as the focal point. From their return to the Promised Land after captivity in Egypt, to their exile to Babylon following the destruction of the First Temple, their story is filled with hardship. They were reinstated by the Persian emperor to rebuild the Second Temple, only to be dispersed again after its destruction by the Romans. For centuries, they endured pogroms and persecution, confined to ghettos in Europe and Russia. Their periods of respite came briefly under the Persian Empire, during the Golden Age of Islam, and later, after the Enlightenment. However, their success following the Enlightenment was marred by antisemitism, and the rise of the Nazis brought them to the brink of annihilation. After World War II, mass migration to the United States and the creation of Israel reignited their cultural and national pride.

The creation of Israel, though highly controversial, was achieved against overwhelming odds and celebrated by a people who had endured centuries of adversity. After years of conflict, many Arab nations that were initially hostile to Israel’s formation adopted a “live and let live” approach through various treaties. This should have offered Israel the chance to seek a peaceful solution for the displaced Palestinian population, especially as the state quickly found success through immigration and substantial financial backing from the U.S. and Europe.

As a prosperous nation, Israel had both the means and the moral responsibility to address the plight of the marginalized Palestinian population. Sadly, rather than seeking reconciliation, Israel adopted an indifferent stance and later capitulated to the demands of its orthodox fringe groups. These groups, driven by antiquated beliefs and mythological claims to “ancestral” lands, pushed the country down a path of aggressive land acquisition, exacerbating the conditions for the growing, impoverished Palestinian population. The consequences of these actions are clear: endless religious conflicts among the three Abrahamic religions, spreading far beyond the region and igniting tensions worldwide.

When examining the histories of various players, their similarities become evident in the cyclical rise and fall of their fortunes. However, one striking commonality is the recurring influence of a dangerous illusion—the belief that the past can somehow be recreated. As Nick Carraway famously warns Gatsby in The Great Gatsby, “You can’t repeat the past.” Yet, this is exactly what leaders and religious extremists around the world attempt to do. From Osama Bin Laden’s vision of restoring a caliphate, to Putin’s longing for the Soviet Union’s former glory, to Modi’s push for a Hindu revival in India, to the Christian right’s push to reshape America into a white Christian nation (MAGA) and the Orthodox Jews’ insistence on reclaiming “ancestral” lands, they all seem fixated on resurrecting an idealized version of history. These ambitions, while grand in their rhetoric, come with devastating human costs. What all of these movements have in common is a desire to return to a time when their respective groups held perceived power and purity. Yet, trying to drag the present into the past inevitably leads to conflict, suffering, and disillusionment.

When we examine the most groundbreaking scientific advancements that have transformed human life for the better, many have come from those who dared to depart from suffocating religious doctrines and ideologies. These individuals breathed the fresh air of secular education and allowed their minds to imagine the unimaginable. This is particularly evident in the disproportionately large contributions of Jewish Nobel laureates, whose secular approach to learning enabled them to make discoveries that changed the world.

At the same time, it’s important to acknowledge that everyone needs a starting point, and for many, that place of comfort and identity is their religion and culture. There’s no shame in taking pride in one’s heritage or following personal beliefs in private. The problem arises when those beliefs are weaponized—when individuals or groups attempt to impose their worldview (or vision of the afterlife) on others. This creates friction, hostility, and ultimately chaos.

Moreover, everyone has their own sacred text or tradition that they hold dear to their hearts. Challenging those deeply held beliefs is a path to endless conflict. If we can’t respect that simple reality, perhaps we are setting ourselves up for a future dominated by division and strife, rather than one shaped by the shared pursuit of understanding and peace.