A Hindu Temple of Discord

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A Hindu Temple of Discord

Fri Dec 5, 8:35 AM ET

By ROBERT F. WORTH The New York Times For three decades, the Hindu Temple

Society of North America has been a peaceful refuge. Every weekend, thousands

of devotees stream to its gray-towered sanctuary on Bowne Street in Flushing,

Queens, where white-robed priests intone prayers in Sanskrit and bathe black

granite statues of the gods in milk, honey and sandalwood paste.

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But a bitter dispute has shattered the temple's calm.

The battle has nothing to do with Hindu theology or ritual. Instead, it is about

who should run the temple, and whether the messy business of democracy has any

place in a house of worship.

On one side are six members who say the temple is run too autocratically. They

are demanding the right to vote for the board of trustees. In August, a state

appeals court sided with the six members, ordering elections to be held for the

first time.

On the other side are the temple's trustees, who call the court's ruling an

outrageous invasion. They say the lawsuit is just a power play by disaffected

members who would like to run the temple themselves.

The struggle has riveted Hindus from coast to coast, stirring angry debates

about temple politics and the limits of church and state. Temple elections are

unheard of in India, but they have become common in this country, and many say

the struggle at Bowne Street the first Hindu temple to be founded in this

country could prove influential.

The six plaintiffs say they have no interest in changing the roles or rituals

performed by the temple's 10 priests, who have not taken sides. In all

likelihood, daily life of the temple would probably be unaffected.

But when it comes to elections, both sides are adamant. Dr. Uma Mysorekar, the

temple's president, says forcing an election among hundreds or thousands of

members could turn a sacred space into a circus. "We want a system that

prevails based on dedication and commitment, not based on popularity," Dr.

Mysorekar said. The current system, in which the temple's unpaid 11-member

board manages the temple's affairs and votes on its own members when their

terms come up, is democratic enough, she says.

The plaintiffs say they are stunned that the temple is spending money to fight

democracy, while American soldiers are dying to promote it in Iraq (news - web

sites). They concede that Indian temples do not hold elections, but say they

want to change that.

"We were never masters of our own destiny in India," said Krishnamurthy Aiyer, a

retired accountant who is one of the plaintiffs. "We feel grateful for our

exposure to American institutions, and we would like to export them to all

corners of the world." Both sides say they are praying anxiously to Ganesh, the

elephant-headed god to whom the temple is dedicated, and whose special power is

the removal of obstacles.

At the core of the dispute is how the temple spends its $3 million in annual

revenues. "What matters ultimately in a temple is whether it is a properly

provided-for sacred space," said Krishnan Ramaswamy, who lives on Staten Island

and comes several times a month. "When I give a donation, is it wasted?" The

answer, he adds, is an emphatic no. Like several other devotees, Mr. Ramaswamy

says he has spent time at a number of other temples in this country and in

India, and believes none of them are run nearly as well.

The plaintiffs take a different view. They say they deserve to have a voice in

the affairs of the temple, which has grown over the years to include a

community center, a school and a canteen where South Indian food is served

throughout the day. The temple has too much debt, they say, and should be more

conservative in its spending.

They also admit to having a personal grudge against Dr. Mysorekar, whom they

accuse of forcing out dissenting board members over the years to maintain her

control over the temple.

One thing seems clear: holding elections in such a hostile climate could be very

unpleasant. The plaintiffs are already planning a campaign to oust the temple's

current board. One of their lawyers, in a letter to the court-appointed

referee, demanded that they be allowed to set up a table before the election

"at a prominent spot in the Temple" to disseminate their views. If that is not

done, he wrote, the election will be a "Saddam Hussein (news - web sites)-type

farce."

That unflattering comparison is aimed at Dr. Mysorekar, who has been the

temple's president for nine years. A small, poised woman of 55, she has given

up most of her private practice as a gynecologist to volunteer her time at the

temple, and has donated over $1 million of her own money to its projects. She

can be found there at all times of day, arranging lectures, shepherding guests,

dusting tables. Even her enemies applaud her dedication.

To many of the temple's 20,000 devotees, she is an embattled saint. Mr. Aiyer

says his own wife sides with Dr. Mysorekar and is bitterly angry with him for

taking part in the suit.

Dr. Mysorekar does have a reputation for strictness, and some say she more or

less runs the place single-handedly. But many members say that is just fine

with them.

 

And she had the trustees, and the law, on her side or so everyone believed,

until a mysterious document came to light last year.

The document, discovered by a lawyer for the plaintiffs, is a copy of the

temple's original bylaws, filed with the federal government when the temple was

founded in 1970 and apparently lost soon thereafter.

The 1970 bylaws say the members have voting rights. And though the temple

trustees wrote new, more restrictive rules soon afterward, they never followed

the proper procedure in amending the old bylaws, because they were not aware of

them.

That failure was the basis of the legal ruling requiring the temple to reinstate

the 1970 bylaws and hold elections. The temple's board appealed the ruling to

the state's highest court, without success.

It is still not clear who will get to vote in the election, or when it will take

place. Its effect on the temple is anyone's guess. A decade ago, a similar

lawsuit led to forced elections at a temple in Southern California, though the

conflict was kept largely under the table. Afterward, there were years of

conflict and more litigation, said Nadadur Vardhan, the secretary at the

temple, the Hindu Temple Society of Southern California, in Calabasas.

"There is a price you pay if you make it more democratic, in terms of catering

to different interests," Mr. Vardhan said. "On the other hand, people want a

stake." At the Bowne Street temple, many devotees say the elections will be a

rout because of Dr. Mysorekar's popularity. But the doctor says she is so

dismayed by the prospect of a campaign that she probably will not participate.

"If I stand for election just because I'm popular, what is the use?" she said

wearily. "My duty is to the temple."

 

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