Lingayatism’s bid for recognition as a standalone religion has stirred quite a pot in Karnataka and beyond. On one side, passionate voices point to its 12th-century reformer Basavanna’s rejection of caste hierarchy and temple rituals as a clear departure from mainstream Shaivism. They argue that unique practices—like carrying the ishtalinga instead of visiting traditional shrines—merit distinction. A 2018 Karnataka cabinet resolution even sought state recognition, spotlighting more than 15 million adherents and promising social uplift.

Yet, not everyone’s on board. Critics see political maneuvering at play—parties hoping to woo Lingayat voters before elections. When Governor Vajubhai Vala sat on the 2018 bill, it underscored fears that carving out a new religious category could upset India’s delicate secular balance. In 2021 the Supreme Court weighed in, ruling that Lingayats remain a Shaiva sub-stream rather than a separate faith. That verdict didn’t exactly defuse tensions; it reignited debates about constitutional safeguards for minority religions versus mere religious denominations.

Internal divisions add more spice. Some Lingayat groups prefer the older “Veerashaiva” label, while others insist on exclusivity. Reservations become a hot-button issue too: separate religious status could reshape affirmative action quotas, which opponents fear might open a Pandora’s box for similar demands across other communities.

Recent headlines even tie this tussle to census reforms. With the government exploring a religion-based survey, Lingayat leaders argue that official recognition would finally cement their identity on paper—while detractors worry it could fragment social unity. Beyond legal technicalities, at stake is the soul of a movement born out of social reform: can an inclusive creed survive the politics it now finds itself entangled in? Whether in courtrooms or community halls, the Lingayat story remains one of faith, politics, and the ever-evolving quest for identity.