How the Ayodhya dispute can be solved. Permanently.

With the Supreme Court’s stay on the Allahabad High Court verdict in the Ayodhya dispute, we’re back to where we were in – oh, I don’t know – maybe 1526 or something. That’s the year a certain vainglorious invader-emperor changed the skyline in Ayodhya, and set off ancient quarrels that our collective memories have carried forward and kept alive as forever-weeping wounds for nearly 500 years now. The dispute in Ayodhya, of course, relates to the title of ownership over the land that many believe to be the precise birthplace of the mythological warrior-king Ram. (There’s, of course, enough in that claim to set off our very own birther movement, but you can’t hope to reason with the power of faith.) The question of whether Babur-the-Builder’s mosque came up after demolishing a Ram Janmabhoomi temple at the site can never be convincingly settled one way or another despite valiant efforts of archaeologists pottering about in search of ancient pottery shards. [caption id=“attachment_7578” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“The 500-odd year dispute can only be solved with some out-of-the-box thinking. Noah Seelam/AFP Photo “]  [/caption] When the Allahabad High Court ruled in September 2010 that the land be divided between the three contesting parties, it was celebrated as a “ pragmatic compromise”. It did cause one newspaper to apologise for its formulaic, denominational summation of the news.  And the very fact that hardliners in both the easily inflamed communities had passed up the opportunity to whip up a communal riot was seen as a maturing of Indian political minds. But with the Supreme Court’s latest action, all that has been undone. It seems blindingly self-evident that a dispute that hasn’t been solved in nearly 500 years cannot now be solved without some out-of-the-box thinking. Fortunately, my keen and incisive mind, employing just such a technique, has come up with what I feel convinced is a permanent, and peaceable, solution to the Ayodhya dispute. Here’s how it would work. All three parties to the dispute will agree to renounce their claims to the ownership title in return for a one-third stake each in an Ayodhya IPL cricket franchise. A glistening, post-modern stadium will be built at the disputed site as a concession to the historicity of Ayodhya; one bowling end could be christened the Ram Janmabhoomi end, and the other the Babri Masjid end. Think about what this would mean: the place that, more than any other in India, sadly came to symbolise the communal fractures in our society, will henceforth resonate not with the poisonous slogans of extreme hotheads but secular, collective roar of cricket-lovers. The town where local businesses have virtually died out owing to security fears ever since December 6, 1992, will henceforth hum with the commerce of cricket. A year after the demolition of the Babri Masjid, a weekly magazine invited suggestions from readers on what could be done at the site. Some readers suggested that schools or hospitals, which would serve Hindus and Muslims alike, be built. While these suggestions scored high on political correctness, they miss out on the buzz factor that a cricketing venue would bring. Jawaharlal Nehru famously called the Bhakra Nangal dam the “ new temple of a resurgent India” but that metaphor is oh-so-20th-century. (In more modern times, big dams have been likened by polemical commentators rather more to nuclear bombs.) Today, the only religion that commands any sort of faith in India is cricket; and it is India’s most famous cricketer who comes closest to being seen as divine (although there are persuasive contrarian opinions on that as well). Which would make cricket stadia the real temples of modern India. That alone should be enough to persuade the parties to the Ayodhya dispute that they aren’t really forsaking their gods or their prophets – or even their profits. So, what say: cricket in Ayodhya, anyone?