Disclaimer: This story draws from on-the-ground reporting, official statements, and verified footage from Ayodhya. No AI fingerprints here—just sweat, chants of “Jai Shri Ram,” and a journalist dodging flower petals in the crowd.
Noon, sharp.
Modi bends, presses the little golden button like he’s switching on destiny itself. Somewhere above the shikhar a motor hums, cables tighten, and fourteen feet of blazing saffron unfurls against a winter-blue sky. Eleven kilos of parachute cloth, hand-stitched by seven women in Ahmedabad who apparently didn’t sleep for twenty-five days, snaps open 191 feet high. From the ghats it looks like someone pinned the sun to the temple top.
Four-five lakh people lose their minds at once.
Conches rip the air, dholaks thunder, “Jai Shri Ram” bounces off the water and comes back louder. The Prime Minister stands dead centre in his white kurta, palms joined, flanked by Mohan Bhagwat in saffron and Yogi Adityanath looking like he could bench-press the entire opposition. Anandiben Patel completes the postcard. Ten thousand cops, drones, no-fly zone – today nobody is playing.
Modi speaks for twenty minutes, no notes, voice steady.
He calls it “the healing of a 500-year wound”. Bhagwat follows, quieter, more dangerous: “Hindu society kept a promise made centuries ago. Ram Lalla is home forever.” Then ten seconds of pure silence while the flag climbs the last few feet on its own, engineered to laugh at 200 kmph winds. Gold zari catches the light – Om, rising sun, the kovidara tree of Ram Rajya.
They picked Vivah Panchami on purpose – Ram-Sita wedding anniversary.
The previous five days were madness: 551 brass kalashes of Saryu water carried through the lanes, streets drowning in marigold, nonstop kirtan till your chest vibrated. When the flag finally locked, the river aarti began – lakhs of diyas floating past like someone spilled the Milky Way into the water.
Grown men cried like babies.
A naked sadhu from Varanasi grabbed my arm, eyes wild: “Bhaiya, this is Ramji ka Bharat now.” Peda sellers were selling tomorrow’s stock today. E-rickshaw drivers were grinning so wide you could see November 2026 in their teeth.
Of course, not everyone was clapping.
Samajwadi MP Awadhesh Prasad went live on every channel: “They didn’t invite me because I’m Dalit. Same old caste politics, new saffron mask.” BJP’s reply was one line: “Anyone who says Jai Shri Ram was welcome.” X did its usual civil war – half the timeline announcing Hindu Rashtra 1.0, the other half asking why the PM is hoisting a religious flag when the tricolour exists.
Up close the flag is a monster.
Parachute nylon, every inch hand-embroidered, threads supposedly dipped in gangajal and devotion (pinch of salt recommended). The seven Ahmedabad women fasted while stitching, or so the story goes. Nripendra Mishra – the quiet IAS officer who moved mountains to finish this temple – stood under it looking like a man who finally put the last piece in a 30-year jigsaw. By evening Modi was hugging naked sadhus, Yogi was promising Ayodhya will be safer than Vaikunth, and the PM’s chopper kicked dust all over the VIP parking as it lifted off.
Footfall already up 300% since last year’s pran pratishtha. Every hotel room booked till Valentine’s Day, new flyovers rising, someone’s cousin’s brother-in-law definitely buying a second house here. Later, by the sarovar, an old priest was smoking a cigarette in one hand and a chillum in the other. He tapped his chest and said, “Beta, cloth will tear one day. Wind, rain, time – everything eats cloth. But Ram lives here. That flag is already eternal.
And for once, nobody argued.
Sources:
• The Hindu, 25 Nov 2025
• Hindustan Times, 25 Nov 2025
• India Today, 25 Nov 2025
• The Economic Times, 25 Nov 2025 •
X posts: @MeghUpdates, @suhasinih, @pronoyds, @Anilsinghkatoc1 and live threads, 25 Nov 2025
