The Clash of Narrative And Reality In The Temple Demolition Controversy
By Gajanan Khergamker
Recent viral claims disseminated via social media leveraged
two highly inflammatory elements to maximize their impact and emotional
resonance: heritage destruction and ideological motive. The initial social
media video and accompanying posts alleged the demolition of a
"centuries-old" temple, specifically naming the Gorakhnath Temple or
a similar ancient structure. This framing immediately elevated the incident
from a routine civic clearance to an act of historical sacrilege, implying the
destruction of irreplaceable cultural and religious heritage.
Crucially, the claim went further by attributing the
demolition to a highly specific and politically charged purpose: creating
parking space for the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS). This accusation
injected an intense political and ideological dimension, transforming the
incident into a narrative of organized, targeted persecution rather than a mere
administrative error. The narrative thus became a potent mix designed for rapid
sharing: destruction of ancient faith by a specific political entity.
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Officials confirmed that no legally established temple or
sacred site was targeted or touched. The administrative action was strictly
limited to the removal of "unsafe encroachments" and unauthorized
structures built adjacent to a religious complex. This distinction is vital,
separating the legal necessity of removing illegal construction from the
political act of destroying a place of worship.
The site in question was identified as the Baba Peer Ratan
Nath temple-dargah complex. Fact-checks established that this specific complex
was post-1947, directly contradicting the viral claim of a
"centuries-old" structure. This chronological discrepancy
fundamentally shifts the context, indicating that the structures removed were
unauthorized extensions or recent constructions rather than ancient heritage.
And no, the Baba Peer Ratan Nath temple-dargah complex in Delhi's Jhandewalan area was not demolished, despite claims in viral videos showing bulldozers nearby. The Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD), along with the Delhi Development Authority (DDA), conducted a joint anti-encroachment drive on November 29, 2025, targeting only "dangerous and dilapidated" structures in green belt areas along DB Gupta Road. MCD explicitly clarified that no religious structures, including the Mandir Dargah Baba Shri Peer Ratan Nath Ji Maharaj, were touched or affected during the operation.Videos circulating on social media depict protests and emotional reactions from locals, including women crying and AAP MLA Vishesh Ravi being detained, but these relate to nearby encroachments, not the shrine itself. The site, established around 1947 by a saint from Peshawar, holds historical significance for both Hindu and Muslim devotees, fuelling misinformation amid political allegations near an RSS office. Occupants of unsafe structures received prior notices (two from MCD, one from DDA) and some had been relocated earlier, with actions deemed necessary for public safety.
The reality presented by the authorities focused on
illegality (unsafe encroachments) and recency (post-1947 complex), whereas the
viral claim focused on sacredness (temple) and antiquity (centuries-old) to
construct its emotional appeal.
The incident created a textbook example of perceptive
dissonance, the gap between what a community perceives (a targeted attack) and
what officials state (a routine clearance). The immediate fallout was
characterised by intense local protests fuelled by the viral narrative. Locals,
operating under the sincere belief that a sacred, centuries-old site was being
destroyed, resorted to emotional pleas and public demonstrations. Their
reaction, while genuine, was a direct consequence of the successful viral
narrative that framed the administrative action as a violation of faith,
overriding any official communication about encroachment.
Officials adopted a robust defence, emphatically denying
that any sacred site had been targeted and classifying the viral videos and
claims as outright misinformation. The strategy was one of clear, reactive
clarification, emphasising that the action was administrative, authorized, and
solely concerned with the safety and legality of the encroached structures.
In this scenario, the initial, emotionally charged claim
(demolition for a political motive) travels faster than the detailed,
administrative fact-check (removal of unsafe, post-1947 encroachments). The
administrative truth is often perceived as a bureaucratic cover-up, solidifying
the initial, emotionally satisfying narrative in the public's mind before
verification can occur.
This incident underscores the profound challenge facing
modern governance in the age of rapid digital dissemination. A routine, legally
sound administrative action—the clearance of unsafe encroachments—was instantly
weaponized and transformed into a public relations and political crisis through
the application of two false but compelling components: false antiquity and
false motive.
The primary implication is the dangerous fragility of social
harmony when verifiable facts are consistently outpaced by emotionally
resonant, unverified narratives. Officials were forced to spend considerable
capital and resources to clarify a localised clearance operation, demonstrating
how local civic action can be immediately elevated to a national or ideological
flashpoint solely through the mechanism of viral misinformation.
The preservation of faith in factual reporting and official
communication remains the critical defence against such
manufactured crises.
Addressing the Menace of Misinformation and Deepfakes in
India
There comes a moment in every democracy when the truth
itself begins to buckle when institutions, already creaking under partisan
strain, find themselves grappling not merely with contested narratives but
manufactured realities. India, in December 2025, arrived squarely at that
moment. The rupture did not occur overnight; it was authored painstakingly,
link by link, by an ecosystem that profits from engineered outrage, algorithmic
volatility and digital impunity.
Two developments—the Parliamentary Standing Committee’s
report on fake news and the Supreme Court’s disposal of a PIL on deepfake
governance should have marked a decisive turning point. Instead, they exposed
India’s chronic policy inertia, masked as “consultation,” “coordination,” and
“ongoing process.” What we witness today is a regulatory vacuum wide enough for
misinformation to metastasise and for deepfakes to shred reputations in
seconds, leaving victims no meaningful recourse.
This is not merely a legislative gap; it is a constitutional
hazard.
Fake news is no longer the handiwork of fringe mischief-makers operating from dark corners of the internet. It is a well-oiled economy—weaponised by political players, amplified by media mercenaries, and turbocharged by platforms whose algorithms reward emotional combustion over civic coherence.
The government’s own Fact-Check Unit handled more than 1.63
lakh queries and flagged over 2,000 falsehoods in five years. The numbers speak
less of efficiency and more of scale—an unending torrent, relentlessly
replenished.
And then came the deepfakes.
Videos of Akshay Kumar “endorsing” political causes,
journalists like Sudhir Chaudhary “admitting” to conspiracies, singers like
Kumar Sanu “confessing” fabricated scandals—each one forged with uncanny
realism, each one travelling faster than any rebuttal possibly could. The
judiciary, confronted with desperate petitioners scrambling for dignity, issued
interim reliefs. But interim reliefs don’t stem a flood.
Nor do soft words.
The Standing Committee, led by Nishikant Dubey, rightly diagnosed the problem: ambiguous definitions, lax deterrence, broken grievance redressal, algorithmic opacity, and a “safe harbour” regime too safe for Big Tech and too hostile for truth.
But the prescription wavers.
A legally binding definition of fake news is overdue—but
defining fake news without trampling on free speech is a constitutional
tightrope India is ill-prepared to walk, especially when public institutions
themselves have been accused of confusing criticism with falsehood.
Recommendations of fines up to ₹25 lakh, accreditation
cancellation, and licence revocation sound muscular on paper, but the real test
will be whether these powers remain insulated from political misuse. India’s
history with media regulation offers few comforting precedents.
The committee’s push for AI labelling, internal ombudsmen,
fact-checking units and algorithmic audits is forward-looking. The call to
revisit Section 79 safe harbour is necessary, if not inevitable.
But, as always, the devil lies in the enforcement—and
India’s regulatory labyrinth is where good ideas go to suffocate.
Advocate Aarati Sah’s PIL, seeking a national AI authority
and licensing norms for deepfake tools, was an opportunity for the Supreme
Court to lay down foundational principles—much like the Puttaswamy verdict did
for privacy.
Instead, the Court stepped back.
After a brief exchange, it accepted the Centre’s assertion that draft AI rules were “already prepared” and being “placed for consultation.” Petition disposed. No monitoring, no directives, no timelines. The judiciary, often the lone institutional counterweight against executive drift, chose restraint over intervention.
In normal times, judicial restraint is a virtue. In a deepfake-ridden information ecosystem spiralling out of control, it may be a missed opportunity.
