In an age when narratives are manufactured with calculated precision and prejudice is repackaged as spectacle, Kerala stands as a quiet repudiation of fabricated fear. Beyond the celluloid distortions and incendiary rhetoric, there exists another chronicle—unwritten, unvarnished, yet luminously real.
It is a chronicle inscribed not in propaganda but in compassion; not in suspicion but in solidarity. This is the Kerala where mosques shelter Hindu rituals, where temples and churches share walls with quiet fraternity, where grief dissolves doctrinal boundaries, and where humanity prevails over the shrill arithmetic of division.
What follows is not conjecture, nor a polemical rebuttal, but a constellation of lived episodes—moments when ordinary citizens, unheralded and unscripted, embodied an ethic of coexistence that no contrived narrative can eclipse. If cinema seeks sensation, Kerala offers something far more enduring: moral courage tempered by tenderness, and a civilisation sustained by reciprocal grace.
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Chapter 1
Friday Morning Miracle
Friday morning, February 13, 2026: An unusual sight unfolded in the madrasa hall of the Mecca Masjid in Kumaranellore, Kottayam. Incense and lamps were burning; the conch and gong were sounding. The chanting of “Om Namashivaya” filled the room. In the middle, on a flower-decked bier, lay the body of a 62-year-old Hindu woman, Omana Rajendran.
Outside the mosque, relatives and friends chanted “Rama… Rama…” aloud. Inside, members of the mosque committee arranged water and other facilities.
This occurred on February 13, the eve of Valentine’s Day. Yet what was evident here was a different kind of love — the love of humanity that transcends religion and caste.
What truly happened there?
In a corner of this small village, Omana Rajendran had lived in a modest house. She passed away on Thursday night. Reaching her home through narrow streets was not easy.
The family suddenly faced a grave difficulty. They could not bring in a mobile freezer unit or even a stretcher. The house was small, with no space to accommodate the many relatives and friends who gathered. Where would the body be kept? How would the last rites be performed?
By evening, members of the neighbouring Mecca Masjid committee, having understood the predicament, arrived voluntarily. Led by their president, Mohammed Faisal, they told the family, “Use our madrasa hall for as long as you need. We will arrange all the necessary facilities.”
On Thursday night, Omana Rajendran’s body was moved to the madrasa hall of Mecca Masjid. The family performed all their rituals in accordance with tradition. They lit lamps, burned incense, sang bhajans, and chanted the name of Rama. The mosque members facilitated every arrangement. President Mohammed Faisal announced that children’s classes could be suspended until Saturday, if required.
“Do good to others regardless of religion or caste. That is the true duty of a religious person.” These words were spoken by Mecca Masjid President Mohammed Faisal.
Later, the body was cremated at the Muttambalam crematorium. As the bereaved family thanked the mosque officials and bid them farewell, their eyes filled with tears — tears that, even in the midst of sorrow, bore witness to gratitude and affection.
Is this not the real Kerala story?
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Chapter 2
The Second Part of the Lie
The film The Kerala Story 2 is scheduled for release on February 27. The first instalment was promoted with the claim that 32,000 women from Kerala had joined ISIS — a figure for which no substantiating evidence was provided. This claim was later withdrawn, and the filmmakers added a disclaimer stating that the story concerned three individuals. The creators themselves acknowledged that the earlier figures were fictional.
Now, the second instalment arrives with the alarming assertion that “India will become an Islamic country in 25 years.”
But do those outside Kerala truly know what the real Kerala story is?
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Chapter 3
The Hindu Son Who Called Her Umma
Kalikavu, Malappuram: A Dalit woman named Chakki, who worked in the home of a Muslim woman named Subaida in Thenna, died during childbirth. The baby did not survive. Left behind were three small children — Ramani, Leela, and one-year-old Sreedharan.
Subaida and her husband, Abdul Aziz Haji, did not hesitate. Despite already having two children, they brought Chakki’s three children into their home.
Yet the most remarkable aspect of this story is this: they made no attempt to convert the children.
While Subaida’s own children attended the madrasa to study the Quran, Sreedharan and his sisters went to the temple. Subaida herself applied vibhuti and saffron on their foreheads. They were educated in accordance with Hindu customs and later married within their tradition.
Years later, Sreedharan would reflect that without Subaida Umma, their lives would have remained confined to oppression; she had taught them dignity.
In 2019, when Subaida died, Sreedharan wrote on Facebook: “My mother has died.”
Many were astonished to see a Hindu man call a Muslim woman “Umma.” The story went viral. Even international media reported it. A film titled Ennu Swantham Sreedharan (“Yours Truly, Sreedharan”) was later released based on this true account.
When Subaida passed away, the vicar of a nearby church rang the bell and offered prayers for her.
Religion did not divide them; love united them.
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Chapter 4
Menon Mosque in Necholi, Panoor
In September 2011, a renovated mosque was inaugurated in Necholi village, Panoor. The 150-year-old structure, which had space for only 35 worshippers, was rebuilt into a 5,085-square-foot mosque accommodating 500 people.
The reconstruction was undertaken by Adv. C.K. Menon, a Hindu from Thrissur, who purchased additional land for the expansion.
When Panakkad Syed Hyderali Shihab Thangal led the inaugural prayers, C.K. Menon was present inside the mosque. After the ceremony, local worshippers invited him to speak.
He greeted them with “Assalamu alaykum.”
The congregation responded with warmth and affection. It was a moment that transcended doctrinal divides.
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Chapter 5
When the Former Chief Minister of Kashmir Embraced Kerala
On February 17, Farooq Abdullah, the former Chief Minister of Jammu and Kashmir, spoke in Thiruvananthapuram. At 90, he became visibly emotional while praising Kerala’s social harmony and unity.
Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan embraced him warmly. Two leaders from different states and different political affiliations, yet sharing a common message: unity and coexistence.
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Chapter 6
Kerala’s ‘Secret’ Formula — Shared Spaces of Faith
In Palayam, Thiruvananthapuram, a Juma Masjid shares a wall with a Ganapati temple, while a Christian church stands across the road.
In Kattilapeedika, Kozhikode, Sree Hamsakulangara Shiva Temple and Badar Juma Masjid have shared a wall for five decades.
In Venjaramoodu, Thiruvananthapuram, Sree Chamundeshwari Temple and Parayil Masjid share the same gate.
In Elavaramkuzhi, Kollam, a Juma Masjid and Mahadeva Temple share a platform for offerings.
In Malappuram, the Mampuram Dargah and Kaliyattakkavu Temple have collaborated for over a century.
These are not isolated anecdotes; they are architectural metaphors of coexistence.
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Chapter 7
2018 Floods — Humanity Beyond Division
In August 2018, unprecedented floods devastated Kerala. Thousands were displaced.
Temples, churches, and mosques opened their doors to all. Hindu families found refuge in mosques; Muslim families sought shelter in temples; people of every faith prayed together in churches.
They shared food, clothing, and consolation.
That was the real Kerala story — one no film can eclipse.
When narratives attempt to commodify fear, Kerala continues to practise fellowship.
While numbers may be fabricated, these stories endure — living, breathing, and profoundly real.