Only last week Morari Bapu unsettled received morality by inviting sex workers to his Ramayana discourse in Ayodhya. For those not in the know, Morari Bapu has popularised the Ramayana probably more than anybody else. While he has been supportive of the current established order, he has also been his own master. For example, in contrast to the warrior king cutouts of Rama doing the rounds during the 1990s Ayodhya movement, he sponsored instead a pacific, weapon-less image of the deity.

Morari Bapu’s reputation as a proponent of the Ramayana is arguably unchallenged among believers. But his invitation to sex workers to attend his Ram Katha in Ayodhya last week was not looked at kindly by several Hindu groups. According to them, with this gesture Morari Bapu was needlessly undermining, if not defiling, the solemnity of the occasion and the sanctity of the place, Ayodhya. Somebody else, quite unwelcome, was now living in their home.

Morari Bapu’s act, however, raises other thoughts too. It makes us contemplate the fundaments of both religion and citizenship, an unlikely duo, but so often paired in modern times, especially in India. Morari Bapu may have only wanted sex workers to be spiritually uplifted by the Ramayana, but his initiative has brought out issues of community and citizenship as well.

About six years ago, an unusual request came to the News Broadcasting Standards Authority (NBSA), then chaired by none less than the renowned Justice JS Verma. A group of sex workers were upset that a particular TV station had conducted a “sting” operation on them and requested the NBSA to reprimand it for violating their privacy. While some may have hesitated to take the complaint regarding the right to privacy of sex workers seriously, not Justice Verma. Without pre-judging the issue he granted them a hearing because, as he said, sex workers too were citizens first and whatever else, later.

Sex workers, like a host of underprivileged people, are hidden in plain sight. We don’t see them because we choose not to, but there they are and so are manual scavengers, transgenders and other marginals. What Morari Bapu did was to take the covers off sex workers and position them in our everyday midst, making many of us uncomfortable. The reason is simple. We never quite associate sex workers with either religion or citizenship, yet Morari Bapu’s simple move linked them rather unconventionally.

It is widely acknowledged that a religious congregation, or Sangat, where the faithful assemble, supercharges devotion. Hinduism was traditionally not very mindful of this aspect; praying alone, or with one’s guru, or to the family kul devta was perfectly in order. Yes, in Bhakti streams the collective has a stronger presence and pilgrimages, such as the Pandharpur Wari, are primarily conducted in euphoric batches.

With increasing urbanisation and the deracination that this has brought about, mainstream Hinduism is now increasingly pressured to emphasise the congregation. As earlier ties of village and caste no longer create a sense of belonging the way they used to, Hindus seek alternative bonds. This leads them to practise religion in a collective fashion much more regularly, and fervently. Witness, for example, the recent emergence of jagrans and satsangs in India. It is not surprising that they are largely urban expressions, because it is in towns and cities that rootlessness is felt the most.

This groundswell towards forming a Hindu community has posed faith versus citizenship like never before. Local gods and temples are losing out today to more established ones which attract worshippers from afar. This may sound jargon-like, but “little” traditions are giving way to “great” ones that have a regional, if not national appeal. This has brought together swarms of hitherto unconnected people seeking new equations. Citizenship emerges unsteadily, larva like, out of this aggregation for it alone can override divisions between caste, clan and gender. It is this freshly formed identity that is the force behind temple reforms.

In the past temple entry restrictions did not curdle relations because the communion was unimportant and citizenship was nowhere in the picture. In Hinduism, one needs to be reminded, congregation in strength is not always a sign of religious worth. So the believers are right when they characterise activists, such as the ones who encourage women to enter Sabarimala, as non-believers.

It is also true that those who oppose temple prohibitions are actually motivated by citizenship, not so much by faith. In the past, devotion could be expressed without coming together, perhaps there was even a premium on worshipping in isolation. Now that people of diverse provenance and backgrounds are thrown together in religious congregations, issues of citizenship come up, unplanned and without notice.

There is little point in denying that matters of faith, more often than not, run counter to the demands of citizenship. This is why, when judges are pushed to decide between the two they usually weigh in favour of citizenship while they may well remain devotees at heart. Morari Bapu perhaps does not face the same dilemma in the same way. Yet, once one strives to expand the Hindu communion, or congregation, issues of citizenship cannot be far behind; the leg is already over the fence.

Bowing low to pray or standing up for your rights have one thing in common. If done together in numbers, they make you stronger.