Why Some Villages Still Worship Ravana as a God

शिवभक्तः सदा राजा लङ्काधिपतिरव्ययः ।
प्रज्ञाचक्षुः कवीन्द्राणां रावणो नाम रावणः ॥

"Ravana, the eternal king of Lanka, ever a devotee of Shiva, the eye of wisdom among poets — such is Ravana."

Every year, towering effigies of Ravana go up in flames across India. Millions cheer as the demon king’s ten heads are consumed by firecrackers, marking the triumph of Rama over evil. Yet, in a few villages and towns scattered across India, Ravana is not set ablaze. Instead, his statues are garlanded, temples echo with chants in his praise, and people fold their hands to seek his blessings.

For most, Ravana is the villain of the Ramayana. For these communities, he is a godly ancestor, a great scholar, and a symbol of pride. Their devotion shows how India’s relationship with its myths is far more layered than the simple burning of an effigy. About 30 km from Greater Noida in Uttar Pradesh lies Bisrakh, a village that believes it is Ravana’s birthplace. The name Bisrakh comes from Vishrava, Ravana’s father and a revered sage. Locals here don’t celebrate Dussehra with fireworks and effigies. Instead, they light lamps and chant prayers for Ravana’s soul.

The villagers say they would invite misfortune if they ever dared to burn an effigy of their native son. Ravana is worshipped here as a brilliant Brahmin and an unmatched Shiva devotee who once performed intense penance under the very trees that still shade Bisrakh. In Mandore, near Jodhpur, Ravana is worshipped in a unique way — as a beloved son-in-law. According to local lore, Ravana’s wife, Mandodari, was a princess of Mandore. By that connection, he is still treated with in-law reverence.

Mandore has a temple dedicated to Ravana that sees a steady stream of devotees, especially around Dussehra. Instead of burning him, people offer prayers and seek blessings. The locals believe that to curse or vilify a son-in-law would bring dishonour and misfortune. About 500 km away, Mandsaur in Madhya Pradesh shares a similar story. Here too, people believe Mandodari came from this region, making Ravana their revered son-in-law. During Dussehra, there are no fireworks to mark his death. Instead, families visit Ravana temples to seek wisdom and courage.

The Ravana Rundi Temple in Mandsaur even holds a special place for students who believe praying to Ravana will bless them with intelligence and success in exams. This local faith turns the demon king into a guardian of learning. In Kolar district, Karnataka, the Kumbakarnan Kshetra temple complex features one of India’s tallest statues of Ravana — nearly 30 feet high. Here, Ravana is worshipped alongside his brother Kumbhakarna.

Devotees light lamps, offer coconuts, and perform rituals to invoke Ravana’s blessings. Locals believe that while Ravana’s actions were wrong, his devotion to Shiva and mastery of the Vedas make him worthy of respect. The temple attracts visitors from across southern Karnataka, especially during festivals. Even in the serene hills of Himachal Pradesh, a few pockets remember Ravana differently. In Kangra district, some communities narrate alternative Ramayana stories in which Ravana is not the villain but a great scholar who fell due to a single act of pride. During Dussehra, they don’t burn effigies but light lamps and sing bhajans about his penance to Lord Shiva. These villages and towns do not glorify every action of Ravana. Instead, they see him as proof that humans can hold both light and darkness. In these places, Ravana is not remembered only for kidnapping Sita but also for his deep devotion to Shiva, his musical genius, and his mastery of the sacred texts.

His image becomes layered — a warning against unchecked ego and a reminder that even those who fall have qualities worth remembering. For people in Bisrakh, Mandore, Mandsaur, Kolar, and parts of Himachal, worshipping Ravana is about family ties, ancestral pride, and the power to question a single version of a story. One reason Ravana survives in living temples and shrines is that the Ramayana is not just one text. There are countless local and tribal versions that offer different takes on his life. In some Gond and Bhil Ramayanas, Sita is Ravana’s daughter, abandoned due to a dark prophecy. Ravana’s act of taking her to Lanka becomes not an abduction but a tragic attempt to reclaim his lost child.

These folk narratives keep alive a Ravana who is deeply human — flawed, conflicted, but also capable of immense wisdom and devotion. In villages where Ravana temples stand, effigies do not go up in smoke. Instead, oil lamps are lit to honour the complexity of human nature. Prayers are whispered for knowledge, success, and protection. Local elders say that burning Ravana’s effigy would dishonour their own stories, their forefathers, and their roots.

These places remind us that India’s relationship with its myths is never just black and white. By keeping Ravana alive in temples and tales, they keep alive the idea that even villains have stories worth hearing. For most people, Dussehra is the day Ravana burns and goodness wins. But travel to Bisrakh, Mandore, or Mandsaur, and you will see another side of this story. Here, people remind us that what we destroy in the flames, we often forget. They believe the point is not just to celebrate victory, but to learn from what caused the fall.

In the end, Ravana’s ashes, whether burnt or not, keep whispering the same lesson: our greatest strengths can become our undoing if pride blinds us to truth. Perhaps that is why, in these villages, lamps flicker gently where fireworks roar elsewhere — so that even after the festival, the light of self-reflection never truly goes out.

It is a reminder that every legend we inherit can be told in more ways than one. And sometimes, it is the story that refuses to burn that teaches us the most.