When three Muslim women were caught on video offering namaz inside the historic Shaniwar Wada Fort in Pune, it was initially brushed aside as an innocuous act of faith. But those familiar with India’s long history of cultural dilution and land encroachment saw it for what it truly was: a deliberate act of symbolism.

For Hindus, Shaniwar Wada is not just another monument. It is the beating heart of the Maratha Empire, built in 1732 by Bajirao I, the Peshwa who restored Hindu sovereignty across much of India. The fort stands as a civilizational reminder of a time when Bharat reclaimed its pride from centuries of foreign subjugation.

To offer namaz within its walls, therefore, is not merely an act of religious expression. It is a symbolic intrusion into a space that represents the Hindu civilizational ethos. And when BJP MP Medha Kulkarni responded by holding a shuddhikaran (purification) ritual and protest, it wasn’t political theatre as accused by the opposition parties. It was a cultural defence, an act of reclaiming what history has already sanctified.

Predictably, her detractors accused her of “communalising” the issue. But that framing misses the real point. The Shaniwar Wada namaz is not an isolated incident; it is part of a larger continuum of encroachment, one that begins with normalisation and ends with ownership.

The normalisation tactic: How devotion becomes dominion

Across India, the public offering of namaz on roads, in parks, on railway platforms, or in government compounds has grown steadily over the past two decades. Initially justified as a necessity due to a lack of mosques, these open-air prayers are now seen by many as exercises in visibility and claim-making.

The process typically unfolds predictably. It begins with namaz being offered in a public or non-Islamic space, justified as a temporary arrangement. As the act continues, it becomes routine, and society begins to accept it as part of the local landscape. Gradually, the repeated performance of namaz at the same location transforms into a claim of historical or religious significance. Finally, the Waqf Board steps in, citing this continuity to assert ownership of the land as Waqf property.

Once that happens, the transformation from faith to legal possession is complete. This pattern from temporary tolerance to permanent claim is now visible across multiple states, from Haryana and Uttar Pradesh to Karnataka and Madhya Pradesh. And it is precisely why what happened inside Shaniwar Wada must not be dismissed as trivial.

From Makhni to Srirangapatna: The expanding shadow of the Waqf Board

In Madhya Pradesh’s Makhni village, located in Raisen district, the Waqf Board issued notices claiming ownership of three acres of land, including private homes, farmlands, and even a village Shivling. Villagers who have lived there for generations were suddenly told that their land belonged to the Waqf. The Board’s justification was that the area was once a graveyard, allegedly donated by a man named Qadir Khan. No documentary proof was provided. The villagers have no record or even memory of such a person ever existing in their community.

Shockingly, the Waqf Board’s claim extended to state-owned land, despite official revenue documents showing clear government ownership. For locals, the inclusion of their Shivling in the list of claimed properties crossed every line of religious and cultural decency. The outrage in Raisen is a vivid reminder of how unchecked Waqf powers can destabilise entire communities.

Under the Waqf Act of 1995, once land is declared Waqf property, it becomes perpetual, inalienable, and immune to challenge in regular civil courts. Only a Waqf Tribunal, often composed of individuals aligned with or sympathetic to the Waqf establishment, can adjudicate such disputes. This asymmetry leaves ordinary citizens powerless against arbitrary claims.

The Makhni incident is not a rural anomaly. It is part of a nationwide pattern, and nowhere is that pattern more alarming than in Karnataka.

Karnataka: When even heritage belongs to Waqf

Earlier this year, a report published in the Star of Mysore revealed a stunning development: the Karnataka Waqf Board had laid claim to more than 70 properties in Srirangapatna taluk, including government-owned lands, ASI-protected monuments, and even Hindu temples.

Among the listed sites were the Tipu Armoury, a heritage monument under the Archaeological Survey of India; the Sri Chamarajendra Memorial Government Museum, a building belonging to the Department of Archaeology, Museums, and Heritage; the Chikkamma Chikkadevi Temple in Mahadevpura village; and even a government school in Chandagalu village. In addition, agricultural lands owned by local farmers were recorded as Waqf properties in official RTC (Record of Rights, Tenancy, and Crops) documents.

These claims followed a similar controversy in Vijaypura, where the Waqf Board attempted to take over 1,200 acres of farmland in Honwada village of Tikota taluk, declaring it as property of the Shah Aminuddin Dargah. Villagers pointed out that no such dargah had existed for centuries and that their families had owned the land for generations. Only after massive protests did the Karnataka government intervene, issuing a circular on November 9, 2024, ordering District Commissioners to withdraw all Waqf-related notices, reverse land mutations, and take disciplinary action against any official who had facilitated illegal encroachments.

That the Waqf Board could list ASI monuments, temples, museums, schools, and private farms as its property should alarm every citizen who values India’s civilizational integrity. It exposes how legal loopholes and bureaucratic complicity are being used to convert faith-based assertions into administrative facts.

The Shaniwar Wada connection: When history is rewritten by precedent

Seen in this light, the offering of namaz inside Shaniwarwada is not a random act; it is a symbolic precursor. Once a religious act is performed in a historically Hindu or state-protected space, it can later be invoked to claim “historic usage.” That is how soft encroachments evolve into hard claims.

If the Waqf Boards can list the Tipu Armoury or the Chikkamma Chikkadevi Temple as their property today, what stops similar claims tomorrow if religious rituals at Hindu monuments go unchallenged? Legally, under the current Waqf Act, such assertions can be made with minimal scrutiny. Culturally, they gain legitimacy if society continues to treat them as harmless acts of devotion.

That is why the Shaniwarwada namaz must be seen as an act of testing boundaries, a probe into how far such symbolic incursions can go without resistance.

Selective secularism and the erosion of heritage

India’s secular discourse has long operated on a one-way street. If Hindus were to conduct Hanuman Chalisa inside Haji Ali Dargah or Jama Masjid, outrage would erupt across leftwing cabals, and FIRs would follow within hours. Yet, when non-Hindu rituals are performed inside Hindu or national heritage sites, the same commentators appeal for calm and tolerance.

This selective secularism has allowed the gradual erosion of Hindu cultural spaces under the guise of inclusivity. The protests led by Medha Kulkarni and others in Pune were, therefore, not acts of intolerance but of preservation, a reminder that Hindu spaces are not open grounds for religious experimentation. “It is our duty to preserve Hindu culture and traditions,” Kulkarni declared. That sentiment echoes beyond Pune, from Makhni to Srirangapatna.

Civilizational vigilance: Beyond law, beyond politics

To its credit, the Government of India has begun addressing these distortions. The Waqf Amendment Bill, whose Joint Parliamentary Committee report was tabled in February 2025, seeks to make land declarations more transparent, introduce third-party audits, and curb arbitrary claims. But legislative reform alone cannot safeguard heritage. What is required is civilizational vigilance, the collective determination to protect spaces that define India’s identity.

Because civilisations rarely fall through invasion alone. They crumble when they surrender their cultural confidence, ritual by ritual, concession by concession. The namaz at Shaniwar Wada was not merely a breach of ASI rules; it was a psychological test of whether Hindus would once again stay silent as their heritage is slowly redefined.

The outrage in Pune suggests that silence is finally breaking. And that matters.

Because in the end, the Shaniwar Wada namaz was not a prayer. It was a precedent. And if the examples of Makhni and Srirangapatna are any guide, precedents, once ignored, have a way of turning into property deeds.