Satyaagrah reviews the work of Aravindan Neelakandan, who traces the long and difficult story of Hindu resistance in Kanyakumari. At the southernmost tip of India, this land has for centuries been both sacred and contested, its people standing firm against waves of missionary aggression and colonial manipulation.

A recent event in early 2025 brought this history into sharp focus. During the sacred ritual of the Mandaikadu Bhagavathy Amman Temple, the head priest—who traditionally rides atop an elephant in the ceremonial procession—was compelled to dismount and walk. What appeared to some as a dispute of convenience was, to many Hindus, a deliberate and planned humiliation. As Neelakandan writes, it was not an isolated insult but a single frame in a long film that reveals the plight, resilience, and struggle of Hindus in Kanyakumari.

From the 19th-century spiritual awakenings that confronted the colonial-evangelical alliance, through the political and educational battles of the 20th century, to the organized Hindu movements of today, Kanyakumari’s Hindu identity has been forged in the furnace of resistance. The region is not just geography—it is sacred land where Purana, history, and divine geography converge, producing a spiritual landscape unmatched in depth and energy.

Devi Kanya Kumari

Neelakandan reminds readers that the very name “Kanyakumari” comes from the virgin goddess Devi Kanya Kumari, an avatar of the Divine Mother Shakti, worshipped at the ancient Kumari Amman Temple. This shrine is revered as one of the 108 Shakti Peethas, where the goddess stands eternally as a virgin at the land’s end, holding a japa mala, engaged in tapas to win Lord Shiva, the yogi of yogis meditating in the Himalayas. As the review highlights, this makes Kanyakumari more than a scenic pilgrimage town—it defines the spiritual essence of India.

Historically, Kanyakumari was part of Travancore until its merger with Tamil Nadu in 1956. Known as the “granary of Travancore”, the land was ruled by the Cheras, Pandyas, and later the Venad dynasty. But as early as the 16th century, conversion became a disruptive force. Jesuit Francis Xavier, with Portuguese backing, secured protection for Venad against Naicker invasions in return for land to build a church and the right to convert coastal people. Notably, Xavier also petitioned the King of Portugal to establish the Goa Inquisition [source: Priolkar, Goa Inquisition: The Terrible Tribunal for the East, 1961].

Bhutala Vira Udaya Marthanda Varma, then ruler of Venad, issued an edict forbidding Hindus from resisting conversions. As recorded in V. Nagam Aiya’s Travancore State Manual (1906), he declared: “the senior and junior Kangan … that they should not ‘harass’ the Christian converts who ‘were exempted from paying the taxes due to the village community of the heathens….” (Vol. I, p. 296).

King Marthanda Varma (1706–1758) later consolidated Travancore, modernized its army, and dedicated the kingdom to Lord Padmanabha Swamy. But even his reign reflected the paradox of conversions. His Diwan, facing opposition from Brahmins, deployed Christian battalions against them because “unconverted soldiers would not attack Brahmins.” (P. Shungoonny Menon, A History of Travancore from the Earliest Times, Vol. 1, 1878, pp. 153–154). Neelakandan notes the irony: two centuries later, the Catholic Church would still claim false martyrdom from “official persecution.”

The Coming of Ringeltaube

The 19th century brought a new wave of missionary expansion. In 1816, the Prussian missionary William Tobias Ringeltaube arrived in Kanyakumari. His first convert, Maharasan—a Sambavar who had set out for pilgrimage to Chidambaram—abandoned his ancestral faith under Ringeltaube’s influence. Unlike others, Ringeltaube often rejected converts he thought were motivated by material benefit, preferring “genuine” conversion.

Yet his presence was part of a broader colonial design. As Travancore became a protectorate of the East India Company, the Maharajah, meant to rule as Padmanabha Dasa, now functioned largely as a puppet under British power. Evangelical missions flourished under this colonial shield.

The Shadow of Evangelism and the Dawn of Hindu Resistance

Satyaagrah continues its review of Aravindan Neelakandan’s work, highlighting how missionary activities in Travancore carried both arrogance and aggression, despite the patronage they received from a Hindu kingdom.

Charles Mead, who had already been enriched by Travancore’s generosity, revealed in his own diary the deeply hostile intent of his mission. He wrote: “West there is the Mohamedan mosque, in the East there stands a heathen Hindu temple, and on the highway in the midst I have commenced a House to the Living God. God grant that the other two should decrease and that this House should increase.” (C.M. Agur, Church History of Travancore, 1903, p.703). This sentence captures the mindset that saw coexistence not as harmony but as competition, where the destruction of other faiths was considered divine progress.

Mead’s personal life further stirred controversy. He married three times and fathered fifteen children. At the age of sixty, he took a teenage Indian girl as his wife, raising questions not just about age but also about coercion under authority. The shock expressed by his fellow missionaries was not directed at the exploitation but at caste—“the marriage of Mr. Mead to a young native woman of the Pariah caste, had filled the missionaries with surprise, disappointment and sorrow.” His retirement was made compulsory, yet he lived comfortably in Travancore on a pension, leaving behind a legacy of both controversy and ecclesiastical achievement. In 1866, under the church he served, four native ministers were ordained, a landmark event in Protestant history.

Competing Missions and Exploited Populations

Protestant missions soon came into conflict with Catholic establishments, creating a competitive religious marketplace. While Catholics had already secured the entire coastal belt, Protestants shifted inland, targeting marginalized communities who had been systematically disempowered by political intrigues of the Travancore rulers since the 17th century.

With colonial power backing them, missionaries pressed hard upon Hindu spiritual traditions. In many cases, temples were destroyed after conversions, with sacred murtis removed and shipped to Europe as trophies of “rescued” idol worship. Neelakandan draws attention to a telling example:

“The image of Paramasattee (Heavenly Power), represented in the above engraving, was worshipped above thirty years ago at a village in Neyoor district. It was committed to the flames by the people on their embracing Christianity, but was rescued by one of the missionaries. It was sent to England, and placed in the museum of the London Missionary Society, where it may now be seen.”* – Rev. Samuel Mateer, The Land of Charity, 1871, p. 203.

In another account, the destruction extended even to sacred trees, centuries before environmental consciousness made such acts recognizably sacrilegious. Missionary records noted:

“In one of the mountains of Travancore grew a noble timber tree which our assistant missionary, Mr. Ashton, wished to secure for use in the erection of the large chapel at Neyoor. The trunk was so large that four men with outstretched arms could not compass it… Even the native Government had refrained from cutting down this monarch of the forest… At last the tree fell with a terrible crash, which echoed amongst the surrounding mountains, amidst the screams and cries of the heathen, who from that time seemed to listen more readily to the exhortations of the missionary.” (ibid., p. 207).

This account, written 138 years before Avatar was released, mirrors the cinematic scene of the felling of the sacred tree.

Colonial Taxes and Anti-Christian Backlash

The British administration, through the Travancore state, imposed punishing taxes that destabilized Hindu communities. A palm tree tax introduced in 1807 alone brought thousands of rupees, while a cruel head tax was levied on Ezhavas, Channars, and Pulayas—extracting Rs. 1,63,000 annually. Ironically, powerful landed communities like Nayars, Vellalas, Muslims, and Kanmalas were exempted.

Colonel Munro in 1815 made matters worse. He exempted converted Shanars from compulsory temple labor taxes, while simultaneously lowering grain prices without reducing paddy taxes for cultivators. This created strong resentment among landed Hindu groups, sparking anti-Christian riots. Missionaries portrayed these clashes as persecution, while in reality they were fueled by economic injustice and frustration.

Neelakandan notes that these conflicts also built an intra-community bond between converted and non-converted marginalized groups. As documented by S. Ramachandran and A. Ganesan (TholCiilaik Kalakam, 2011), this duality of violence and solidarity accelerated conversions, particularly among the oppressed Nadar community.

Rev. Hacker summarized the speed of this change:

“It was during the first year of Mr. Mead’s service that great numbers of Shanars were added to the church, as many as three thousand in one year. … Ringeltaube refused to accept five thousand people of this caste when they came to him, as he plainly saw, from interested motives. It is doubtful if in Mr. Mead’s time their motives were more worthy. At any rate their accession is important, as this marks the beginning of the predominance of this class in the London Mission of South Travancore.” (A Hundred Years in Travancore, 1908, p. 34).

Thus, the engineered economic decline and heavy-handed policies created fertile soil for proselytisation, which the London Mission Society presented as “liberation,” framing Hindu Dharma as “a heathen religion of idolatry” and Christianity as salvation.

Dharmic Resistance: Parithranaya Sadhunam

At a time when Hinduism appeared to be gradually eroding in Kanyakumari, resistance emerged in a uniquely spiritual form. In 1809, Muthukutty Swamy was born, later revered by his followers as Iyya Vaikundar. Seen as an avatar of Narayana, he became the first Hindu leader to systematically critique not just the foreign rulers but also the internal decay that missionaries exploited.

He coined two powerful terms: “Ven-Neesan” (white-skinned evil-doers) for British colonials, and “Kali Neesan” for local collaborators perpetuating the darkness of Kali Yuga. By equating them with epic villains like Ravana and Duryodhana, Vaikundar turned political resistance into a Dharmic narrative easily understood by common people.

Satyaagrah, in reviewing Neelakandan’s account, underscores how Vaikundar’s spiritual leadership marked a turning point. His teachings ensured that even amidst colonial pressure and aggressive conversions, the Hindu spirit of Kanyakumari refused to be extinguished.

Missionary records themselves testify to this deep patronage:

“In this year (1818) the Ranee of Travancore gave a donation of Rs. 5000 to the mission (a sum of Rs. 20,000 was given at the same time to the Church Missionary Society in North Travancore), which Mr. Mead added to the lands and put aside a portion towards the erection of the Nagercoil church…. On New Year’s Day, 1819, was laid the foundation-stone of the great Nagercoil church. Mr. Mead was able to employ a good deal of convict labour on the preparation of the massive stone foundation and plinth of the building, and during its erection, which extended over several years, large donations were received from the Maharajah of Tanjore, the Raja of Cochin, and also members of the royal house of Travancore. The erection of so large a building, 127 feet long by 66 wide, capable of seating two thousand people, exhibited a large amount of faith in the purposes of God.” – Rev. I.H. Hacker, A Hundred Years in Travancore (1908), p. 34.

This shows, as Neelakandan, how colonial power and Christian missions merged seamlessly to reshape Kanyakumari’s social and spiritual landscape.

The Torch of Resistance: From Vaikundar to Vivekananda and Beyond

Satyaagrah, continuing its review of Aravindan Neelakandan’s narrative, highlights how the Hindu resistance of Kanyakumari transformed from spiritual assertion into socio-political awakening. At the heart of this transformation stood Iyya Vaikundar, whose vision went far beyond ritual devotion.

Vaikundar correctly identified the crushing British taxation as the root of the socio-economic misery afflicting his people. His insight was far more incisive than that of many university-educated Indologists of his time. To uplift his followers, he revived an ancient honorific, calling the Channar community the “Children of the Eye”, infusing a sense of Puranic dignity into his message of unity.

But he was not merely a preacher. Vaikundar built institutions. At Osaravillai, he constructed a temple modeled on the sacred Chidambaram temple, reclaiming spiritual sovereignty for his people. Within it, he erected a roof with 96 fittings, symbolizing the Chithasa, the ultimate reality that transcends the 96 principles of Saivaite Siddhanta. This was a direct intellectual challenge to missionaries, whom he condemned for ignoring the all-pervading consciousness of Hindu Dharma. His movement preached vegetarianism, cow protection, and a fierce denunciation of proselytism.

This bold assertion shook the missionaries who had been enjoying a “field day” among the Nadars of South Travancore. Alarmed by his influence, the colonial establishment responded harshly.

The Clash with Missionaries

Robert Caldwell, notorious for his role in shaping missionary rhetoric, dismissed Vaikundar’s path as “a distorted heathenish imitation of Christianity.” But his own report revealed the true fear of the state. In 1844 he admitted that Vaikundar had begun to “prophesy the overthrow of the Company’s government,” which “led to the interference of the authorities and the prophet’s downfall.” Missionary records confirm that the Travancore Collector reported Vaikundar and his disciples for teaching sedition, leading to his arrest and imprisonment.

Despite missionary predictions that the movement would fade after his Mahasamadhi in 1851, Iyyavazhi only grew stronger. By 1871, missionary accounts bitterly acknowledged the spread of this faith, branding Vaikundar an “impostor” and “one of the chief obstacles to the spread of the gospel.”

Satyaagrah notes that the Iyyavazhi movement, with its distinctly Hindu rituals, vahanas like Garuda and Hanuman, and its Puranic framework, became the foundation of holistic Hindu resistance in Kanyakumari.

Swami Vivekananda at Kanyakumari

The spiritual defiance of Vaikundar found its echo in later years when a young monk visited Kanyakumari in December 1892. After worshipping at the Kumari Amman Temple, he stood gazing at the rocks offshore. Local resident Sadasivam Pillai noticed his intent and offered help. The monk declined, dove into the sea, and swam to the rocks.

For three days and nights, amidst the roaring waves and the eerie skies of Christmas, Swami Vivekananda meditated. His vision was of Mother India and her suffering children—crippled by colonialism, poverty, disease, and illiteracy. On those rocks he resolved to dedicate his life to the service of humanity, transforming spirituality into nation-building.

Remarkably, around the same time in the small mountains nearby, two other monks—Chattampi Swami and Sri Narayana Guru—were meditating with similar resolve. Their quest for upliftment through the vision of non-duality would revolutionize Kerala’s spiritual and social life.

Hindu Resurgence Takes Shape

As the 19th century drew to a close, Hindu awakening began to take visible form. Communities increasingly opposed Christian propaganda centers being built near Hindu temples. In 1898, the Travancore Government was forced to pass a regulation: “no place of public worship should be newly executed nor old existing building converted into public place of worship without the prior written permission of Travancore Government.”

By 1930, the Catholic Church consolidated its power by creating the Diocese of Kottar. Hindus, however, were also becoming organized. Hindu Mission meetings spread across the district. In 1934, at Colachel, the Devasom League passed a resolution that temple properties should not be leased out to non-Hindus.

By 1935, the Hindu Nadars convened district-wide meetings, while the Hindu Mission pushed strongly for temple entry. Their persistence bore fruit in the historic Temple Entry Proclamation of 1936. In 1937, the Kerala Hindu Mission reconverted twenty Christians in Kottar, signaling the beginning of an organized counter-movement.

Interestingly, while Travancore’s state machinery supported Christian conversions, its own CID kept weekly intelligence reports on Hindu Sanghatan activities, monitoring the growth of Hindu unity.

The results were measurable. As George Matthew records in Social Action (Vol. 33, No. 4, 1983), the Christian population in Kanyakumari grew by 32% between 1901–1911, by a staggering 221.1% between 1911–1921, and by 32.7% between 1921–1931. But between 1931–1941, growth slowed drastically to 5%—evidence of the impact of Hindu consolidation.

In 1940, a quiet but important development took place. Swami Ambananda, inspired by meeting Vivekananda in 1897 and later initiated into sannyas by Holy Mother Sarada Devi, founded a small ashram. Built on two cents of land donated by an individual, the ashram stood in a forest infested with snakes and scorpions, with no electricity.

Satyaagrah underlines the irony here: while Christian missions received land and funds from the Travancore state, Hindu missions had to rely on small individual donations from poor households. Yet these humble beginnings symbolized the enduring spirit of Hindu resilience.

The Continuing Struggle of Hindu Resistance

Even as India’s independence struggle reached its peak, Kanyakumari saw a parallel movement for Hindu social reform. Iyya Vaikundar’s vision was being integrated with the national cause.

A crucial platform for this was the magazine Thondan, founded by Arumuga Navalar. It attracted contributions from major Tamil intellectuals such as poet Kavimani Desigavinayagam Pillai and trade unionist V. Kalyanasundaranar.

Thondan fought for temple entry, debated the use of temple revenues for public education, and countered missionary influence. It also became a medium for early Hindutva thought in Tamil Nadu, with contributors like Marai Thirunavukarasu emphasizing Hindu unity over Dravidian separatism.

By 1947, Thondan was warning about the dilapidated state of temples under government boards and advocating for a “national army of Hindustan” to protect Hindus, especially after the horrors of the Noakhali riots. Satyaagrah notes how these concerns foreshadowed the rise of organizations like Hindu Munnani in 1980, which emerged as a street-level force to defend Hindu rights.

As India transitioned into independence, the challenge shifted. Hindus were no longer confronting colonial rulers but the entrenched power of missionary organizations in education and politics. Missionaries launched propaganda through schools, colleges, and academic literature designed to weaken Hindu confidence.

By 1952, five years after Independence, Hindu leaders responded with a landmark initiative. Every community and temple in the region pooled funds to launch their own college—an effort born from the grassroots rather than royal patronage. This marked the beginning of a new phase of Hindu self-assertion, built on education, politics, and spiritual revival.

Torchbearers of Hindu Resistance in Education, Politics, and Spiritual Awakening

Aravindan Neelakandan’s work, now turns to the twentieth century and beyond, where the Hindu resistance of Kanyakumari moved from survival to active assertion. This was a period when education, politics, and spiritual revival intertwined to produce remarkable leaders and institutions.

The establishment of Hindu educational institutions in the district was itself a milestone. Leaders like Illangathu Velayudam Pillai of Haindava Seva Sangham, Sivaramakrishna Iyer, S. Sundara Mudaliyar, and others united in their vision. With land and infrastructure provided by Thirupananthal Adheenam and the Desiyavinayaga Swami temple board—supported chiefly by the Chettiar community—the dream of a Hindu college became a reality. This initiative marked a turning point, planting the seeds for intellectual and cultural self-reliance.

Further momentum came from Haindava Seva Sangham leader Velayudam Pillai and S.D. Pandian Nadar, who envisioned a memorial for Swami Vivekananda on his centenary. In 1964, Pandian Nadar established Vivekananda College at Agastheeswaram, near Kanyakumari. These two institutions became the first Hindu-run educational establishments in the district, challenging missionary dominance in education.

Thanulinga Nadar: The Political Warrior

Three figures from Kanyakumari’s soil stand out in this period—Thanulinga Nadar, Swami Mathurananda, and Captain S.P. Kutty.

Thanulinga Nadar’s journey captures the essence of the Hindu struggle in the district. His activism was sparked by a family incident. His grandmother, Sitalakshmi, fiercely opposed the policies of a missionary school that forced her grandchildren to remove sacred marks and flowers. Her resistance stemmed from her own bitter past—she had once been christened “Kanni Mary” after her father’s conversion but later returned to her Hindu identity, denouncing the “psychological trauma the conversion was creating.”

Motivated by this injustice, Thanulinga Nadar acted decisively. He established the Sri Krishna Primary School, offering a Hindu alternative free from religious persecution. The school was so successful that local missionary institutions lost students and had to close. Alongside education, he organized prayers and satsanghs, strengthening the community’s faith and resilience.

His leadership soon extended into politics. As a close ally of Congress leader K. Kamaraj, Nadar played a key role in merging Kanyakumari with Tamil Nadu. He opposed anti-Hindu campaigns led by Christian communal forces in alliance with the DMK. Most significantly, he persuaded Kamaraj to support the Vivekananda Rock Memorial project, defeating internal opposition within government ranks.

The 1982 Mandaikaddu riots became a decisive moment. At a peace meeting with Chief Minister M.G. Ramachandran, Nadar broke his silence to challenge the idea of equating victims and aggressors. His sincerity stunned the room, forcing the government to recommend a law banning proselytisation.

In his later years, Nadar drew close to the RSS, admiring them as “Hindus with spine.” Despite violent attacks, he toured persecuted villages, refusing to retreat. In 1987, he staged a fast unto death demanding the transfer of a headmaster who distributed Bibles in a government school. The agitation paralyzed the district until the government relented.

His life ended in 1987 as he wished—not in bed, but on stage—while addressing a conference marking the centenary of Dr. Hedgewar, the founder of the RSS. His final words praised Hedgewar as a divine leader, sealing his life as a political warrior dedicated to Hindu survival.

Swami Mathurananda (1922–1999): The Spiritual Architect

While Nadar fought political battles, Swami Mathurananda of the Vellimalai Sri Vivekananda Ashram nurtured the Hindu soul. Taking charge in 1951 after Swami Ambananda, he recognized by the 1970s that Hindu youth were losing confidence. Wearing vibhuti or expressing devotion was ridiculed, and ignorance of scriptures left many defenseless against mockery.

His response was visionary. He founded Samaya Vahuppu (spiritual classes) across towns and villages. This was not just Sunday schooling; it was a comprehensive system. Mathurananda personally designed textbooks for every stage—from childhood to adulthood—covering devotional Tamil literature, the Upanishads, the Gita, and the lives of patriots.

He collaborated with scholars like Dr. Pa. Arunachalam, a Saiva Siddhanta authority, and N. Krishnamurthy, an IIT-trained engineer from Vivekananda Kendra who trekked to remote villages teaching the Gita. By popularizing Tulsi Ram’s Tamil translation of the Gita, he enabled children to memorize Sanskrit verses alongside lucid Tamil meanings.

Graduates of this system, called Vidya Jothis, became leaders—qualified to teach, conduct pujas, and counsel communities. Under Mathurananda, Hindu society moved from being defensive to confident. As Neelakandan notes, his work built the intellectual and spiritual backbone of Hindu assertion in Kanyakumari.

Captain S.P. Kutty (d. 2024): The Intellectual Defender

If Nadar fought with politics and Mathurananda with spirituality, Captain S.P. Kutty represented the modern Hindu intellectual warrior.

An army engineer who served in the 1965 war, he returned to discover that most of his family had converted. This personal loss, combined with experiences of caste discrimination in both upper-caste circles and missionary schools, forged his resolve. When a relative dismissed the Gita as “a book which incites familial conflict,” Kutty vowed to master it himself.

He studied Sanskrit and the Bhagavad Gita with determination, arming himself with knowledge. Soon, he became an outspoken defender of Hinduism—writing pamphlets to counter missionary claims that Hindus were devil worshippers. His arguments empowered ordinary Hindus to resist with confidence.

Kutty’s scholarship also reclaimed history. He reinterpreted Iyya Vaikundar as an anti-colonial hero. The cover of his book depicted a soldier striking Vaikundar with a rifle butt—a weapon unique to East India Company troops, not native forces. This exposed the colonial role in persecuting the Hindu saint.

As a storyteller, Kutty excelled. His serialized novel in Vijaya Bharatam, inspired by Partition’s horrors, captivated readers and strengthened Hindu activism. Later, his commentary on the Gita dismantled notions of caste discrimination, affirming its philosophy of equality.

By the time of his passing in 2024, an entire Hindu knowledge movement in Kanyakumari stood on the foundations laid by Captain Kutty’s intellectual courage.

Aravindan Neelakandan’s narrative, highlights the vital role of women in Kanyakumari’s Hindu renaissance. Ratnabhai S.P. Kutty (wife of Captain S.P. Kutty), Dr. Lakshmikumari—a botanist who became a full-time worker of Vivekananda Kendra and later its president—and Om Prakash Yogini, who articulated the feminine spiritual aspirations of the district, did not work from afar. They went village to village, organizing among women and children, building confidence, and strengthening families through lived practice. Their presence on the ground turned quiet conviction into a sustained, everyday movement.

Prelude to the Mandaikaddu Riots

Amid relentless evangelical aggression, a growing Hindu consolidation created the conditions for confrontation—first in propaganda, then in physical clashes. The sacred rock where Swami Vivekananda meditated in 1892 became the earliest theatre of conflict. When Hindu leaders Velayutham Pillai and Pandian Nadar proposed a memorial there, they faced fierce resistance from Catholic fishermen incited by a fanatical clergy.

With the Church receiving tactical support from the ruling Congress Party at both state and central levels, local Hindus looked for national backing. The call reached the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh; its Sarsanghchalak M.S. Golwalkar (Guruji) deputed General Secretary Eknath Ranade with a single mission: ensure the memorial becomes reality.

Ranade saw beyond a mere structure. Guided by the blessings of Swami Ranganathananda (Sri Ramakrishna Mission) and the decisive moral influence of Kanchi Sri Chandrasekarendra Saraswati, who helped persuade the Congress chief minister, he undertook a Bhagirathi-like effort. Political tides shifted, and M. Karunanidhi came to power; even then, Ranade’s conviction prevailed, and by 1971 the Vivekananda Rock Memorial stood inaugurated—a towering victory for the Hindus of the district. Yet the respite was brief.

Systematic Attacks on Hindu Temples

Frustration soon manifested as targeted assaults on small village shrines—attacks designed to draw minimal attention. Such incidents might get a third-page local brief, rarely national coverage, leaving village Hindus demoralized and vulnerable to predatory evangelism. After the riots, local activists compiled cases and submitted them to then Tamil Nadu Chief Minister M.G. Ramachandran. A few entries from that list:

• 12 Jan. 1980: Erumaivillai Sasta Temple — Idols destroyed.

• 8 Jan. 1981: Mayiladumparai — Nagar shrine destroyed; a cross planted in place of Nagar idols.

• 13 Jan. 1981: Paraiyadi Pathrakali Amman Temple — Sacred vessels seized by a Christian mob days before the festival; recovered only with police force.

• 18 April 1981: Murugankuntram — Ganesha and Vel removed.

• 26 Dec. 1981: Vazhikalampaadu village — Three temples desecrated.

At times, country bombs were also used in these attacks on village temples.

The year 1981 marked an organized crescendo. Kanyakumari Congress MP Dennis joined a fanatical Christian Unity March at Christmas; a massive Christian crowd marched through villages, threatening Hindus, shouting offensive slogans, and even attacking shrines and Ayyappa devotees’ pandals.

The same year, a deeply offensive book on Iyya Vaikundar, published by a Protestant mission with endorsement from Concordia Seminary and the local Church of South India Bishop, caused anguish among Hindus—especially the Nadar community. Pamphlets and street sermons abused Hindu deities. This writer’s recollection mentions a school-and-church play glorifying St. Francis Xavier—the very saint who called for the Goa Inquisition—dragging a priest’s wife from behind a Goddess idol to “expose” the deity as fake. Parallelly, identity erasure advanced: Christian-dominated localities systematically changed village names—as many as 127, according to a 1983 report in The Hindu.

Sri Jayendra Saraswati Swamigal

Amid an assertive Hindu pushback, Sri Jayendra Saraswati of the Kanchi Kamakoti Peetham emerged as a pivotal spiritual statesman. He urged Hindus to strengthen themselves socially and—crucially—through deep knowledge of their spiritual heritage. A true visionary, he endorsed Swami Mathurananda Maharaj’s initiatives; the Peetham supported the publication of Hindu religious education textbooks. In his benedictory note, he gave a clear plan:

“Make them memorise the hymns. Tell them to study the stories. Create question-answer sessions and make them write. Make them memorise the Apta-Vakyas,”

—his concern was genuine; his approach practical and cost-effective.

To advance the cause, Jayendra Swamigal launched the Iyyappa Jothi Yatra, carrying a sacred Ayyappa idol and literature through key Hindu villages. In a significant social reform, he visited Scheduled Caste localities and temples, urging so-called caste Hindus to serve them and heal historic divides.

He preferred strategic pacification over confrontation. When an attempt was made to change Ramanputhoor to Carmel Nagar, tempers ran high. During his visit, Hindu leaders raised the issue angrily. With characteristic humor, he first calmed them: “Is Rama not Karmegha Vannan (the color of dark clouds)? Then consider Carmel as another name for Sri Rama.” As faces relaxed, he guided the community toward effective legal and strategic steps. Today, Carmel Nagar remains a small enclave inside the larger Ramanputhoor—a practical result of his nuanced leadership.

The work did not stop with him. Dr. Pa. Arunachalam, retired Tamil professor (Malaysia University), formed Arulneri Mantram to circulate crisp pamphlets explaining core Hindu ideas. Captain S.P. Kutty conducted Gita classes in every village for adults. Tulsi, a gifted poet, rendered the Bhagavad Gita into Tamil verse and translated Sri Narayana Guru’s Atma Sadakam into Tamil verse—easy to memorize. Soon, Hindus could recite Sanskrit verses with Tamil meanings and articulate Vedantic concepts in discussions with Christians. Results followed swiftly.

On 26 Oct. 1981, 71 Christians reconverted to Hinduism. The Ghar Vapasi was conducted by the Hindu Endowment Board (Devasom) of Kootallamoodu Pathreswari Temple, a remote-village shrine. Thereafter, sporadic and largely spontaneous homecomings occurred across the district, powered by this spiritual and institutional consolidation.

Organised Resistance and the Mandaikaddu Flashpoint

Individual effort and institutional work soon coalesced into a more organized phase of resistance. In 1981, a mammoth Hindu Unity Conference at Nagercoil drew over two lakh Hindus. Religious seers like Madurai Adheenam attended, and strong speeches denounced conversion aggression. A district long accustomed to massive Christian rallies now witnessed an unprecedented show of Hindu unity.

This rising assertion collided with expansionist forces, culminating in the Mandaikaddu riots. During the Mandaikadu festival in 1981, Christian evangelists distributed pamphlets inside the Hindu venue. Local Hindus seized and burnt the material. The Mandaikadu Temple, called the Sabarimala of women, became the flashpoint. Violence erupted when Catholic zealots, encouraged by fanatical clergy, unleashed humiliation and molestation against Hindu women taking their sacred sea baths. The tragedy escalated—police firing, loss of life, and later organized night raids on Hindu villages. Many Hindus lost homes and lived as refugees in their own land.

The bitter irony is unmistakable: the missionary zeal once patronized by Hindu kings and queens of Travancore—the Dharma Rajya—left Hindus orphaned in their ancestral soil.

Justice, Riots, and the Contemporary Battlefield

Satyaagrah reviews Aravindan Neelakandan’s account of the aftermath of the Mandaikaddu riots, where judicial investigations, renewed aggression, and subtle tactics all shaped the continuing struggle of Hindus in Kanyakumari.

The government appointed the Justice Venugopal Commission to probe the tragedy. Venugopal, known as a staunch Dravidianist and often critical of the RSS, nonetheless could not ignore what he saw in Kanyakumari. A close reading of his report shows that even he admitted “the aggressive, expansionist, and intolerant behaviour of Christian radicals as the primary instigation for the riots.”

He was particularly shaken by the testimony of victims. A 19-year-old unmarried girl spoke with immense bravery about the humiliation she suffered at the hands of the mob. The judge was moved to tears and found her testimony, along with others, credible and powerful, concluding unequivocally that fishermen had ‘caused trouble for them, humiliated them and molested them’.

Among Hindu leaders, Sri Jayendra Saraswati Swamigal emerged as the most prominent in helping refugees rebuild their lives.

Headless Krishna

The hate campaign against Hindus was relentless. Every festival became an occasion for mockery. One chilling example was the circulation of Headless Krishna images by a Christian preacher to priests and devotees of a village Krishna temple. The Malayalam caption read: “Head of Purushotama is Jesus.” This incident epitomized the evangelical strategy of systematic insult and humiliation.

The Second Hindu Unity Conference

By 1983, Hindu organizations planned a second Hindu Unity Conference. Its date—13 February 1983—was set, and all permissions were obtained from the district administration and police. But suddenly, Nagercoil woke up to find Section 144 imposed, effectively banning the gathering.

The decision backfired. Thanulinga Nadar, the veteran leader, defied the order. Within hours, nearly two lakh Hindus assembled at the rally point. They were unarmed but determined. Police responded with brutality—opening fire on the crowd. The official toll listed only one death, but eyewitnesses insisted far more were fatally injured. Reports circulated that doctors were threatened not to treat the wounded, with police stationed at hospitals to prevent treatment. A few brave Hindu doctors defied orders and saved lives.

As narrated later by Dr. Ramachandran of Ramachandra Hospital, the anger of Hindus lingered for weeks. The AIADMK became deeply distrusted by the people of Kanyakumari, taking years to rebuild confidence.

Yet, out of tragedy came consolidation. The riots and their aftermath forged a new Hindu Vote Bank (HVB). In 1984, the Hindu Munnani-supported candidate won in Padmanabhapuram. Across constituencies, Hindu-backed candidates shaped outcomes. The HVB strategy was clear: between a Hindu and non-Hindu candidate, support the Hindu; between two Hindus, support the one with a stronger Dharmic stance. Soon, no political party could ignore this vote bank.

But unity came with costs. Organizational splits, personality clashes, and caste divisions weakened the movement. Today, Kanyakumari hosts multiple Hindutva political outfits—some strong, some fringe—all emerging from once-dedicated Sangh workers who grew disillusioned.

The price of assertion was heavy. Hindu Munnani and BJP leaders became targets. In 1983, Tirukovilur Sundaram was brutally attacked. In 1984, Rama Gopalan survived an assassination attempt but lived with a metal plate in his skull. In 1993, Kumari Balan, a young RSS worker, died in an RSS office bomb blast.

UPA Rule and Renewed Aggression

Decades later, echoes of the 1980s returned. In 2021, Rev. George Ponnaiah, a mainstream Catholic priest, made a speech dripping with bigotry. Far from a fringe voice, he openly claimed that the DMK’s victory was “the alms we Christians and Muslims have thrown to you.” He boasted that Christians had crossed 62% in the district and would soon reach 70%. He ridiculed Hindu reverence for Mother Earth, saying: “We wear shoes. Why? Because the impurities of Bharat Mata should not contaminate us.” He even expressed a chilling death wish for the Prime Minister and Home Minister.

Neelakandan notes that Ponnaiah’s words revealed that the supremacist mindset of 1982 was alive and thriving. The Church, meanwhile, tested how openly it could display its aggression. Between the Mandaikaddu riots and the Ponnaiah episode, pan-Christian, non-BJP political alliances had become a permanent fixture.

In the aftermath of the NDA’s 2004 electoral defeat, attacks on Hindu temples rose. A pseudo-martyr myth was created around Devasahayam Pillai, falsely portraying him as a persecuted convert of the Travancore government. Despite this fabrication, the Church canonized him, making him India’s first commoner saint.

Academic credibility was manufactured through folklorists aligned with the Church. Institutions like St. Xavier’s College in Tirunelveli actively studied local deities to appropriate rituals into Catholic worship. This went largely unchallenged by Hindus.

By 2008, repression was visible even in local processions. A Goddess yatra was stopped on a Panchayat road built on Hindu-donated land. Police lathi-charged devotees, killing an elderly woman. For Hindus of Kanyakumari, humiliation became a daily reality.

The Church consolidated influence economically too. It launched Nanjil Milk, dominating dairy supply chains. Protestant missions used “faith-based industries”, creating self-help groups in traditional Hindu cottage sectors.

On the Hindu side, the RSS worked with limited resources but achieved notable success. Seva Bharati made Kanyakumari a clean district (2004–2006) and helped tribals secure land rights while forming women’s welfare groups. In 2008, splinter Hindu groups under Pa. Balasubramanian and Arjun Sampath achieved the Ghar Wapasi of over 100 Christians—a reminder of what unity could achieve.

Contemporary Battlefield: Subtle Tactics and Enduring Struggle

Today, the battle continues, but methods have shifted. The overt violence of the 1980s has been replaced by subtle cultural and demographic tactics. The 2025 Mondaicaud incident, where a priest was forced off his elephant during a ritual, symbolized this phase. While the priest displayed grace, Hindus saw it as calculated humiliation—a test of their weakening unity.

The Church, mindful of the Hindu vote bank, now employs nuanced strategies. A key ploy is the “sisterhood” fabrication, portraying Virgin Mary as the sister of Goddess Bhagavati. This undermines Hindu divinity by exploiting openness. Leftist folklorists collaborate, recasting Hindu gods as mere ancestral figures. Yet, as the 2025 incident showed, this illusion collapses in moments of confrontation.

Institutional expansion continues. Dairy cooperatives, Bishop Houses, and “progressive” workshops entrench influence. Narrative control has become a weapon too. The novel Marupakkam, promoted by Leftist-Christian circles, distorts the Mandaikaddu riots—demonizing Hindus while giving Christian extremists victim status.

Physical space is also contested. The small crucifix tower of 1982 is now a major shrine, defying Venugopal Commission’s advice against such constructions. Hindus are denied traditional sites like a hillock for the Karthikai Deepam festival, now absorbed by a Church college.

Neelakandan’s review culminates in a stark truth: from Iyya Vaikundar’s anti-colonial movement, to Thanulinga Nadar’s political battles, from Swami Mathurananda’s spiritual renewal, to Captain Kutty’s intellectual defense, the Hindu struggle in Kanyakumari has been one of extraordinary resilience. But the aggression today is camouflaged, the battlefield more complex.

The image of a priest stripped from his elephant, walking alone, becomes symbolic. It is a reminder that Hindu unity cannot be episodic or emotional. Without continuous, organized, and intellectually fortified effort, the community risks humiliation and dispossession.

Yet, the unyielding spirit of Kanyakumari Hindus endures. Whether that spirit can translate into a secure Dharmic future depends on the lessons learned from two centuries of sacrifice and struggle.