By Nanditha Subhadra
The Sabarimala Ayyappa Temple stands as a beacon of devotion for millions of pilgrims across the globe. Many undertake gruelling treks each year, often barefoot, to offer their prayers and meagre earnings to Lord Ayyappa. Yet, this sacred site has become the epicentre of a scandal that exposes the dark underbelly of religious institutions in India. The arrest of Tantri Kandararu Rajeevaru, the temple’s chief priest, in January 2026, marks a shocking betrayal. Accused of criminal complicity and conspiracy in the theft of gold-plated artifacts, Rajeevaru allegedly facilitated the removal of gold from temple structures like the Dwarapalaka idols and sanctum doorframes, replacing them with inferior copper alloys. The Special Investigation Team (SIT), appointed by the Kerala High Court, has arrested 13 individuals, including former Travancore Devaswom Board (TDB) members and contractors, in what investigators describe as an organized racket siphoning off approximately 475 grams of gold—valued at crores—under the guise of “restoration.” Some estimates suggest the total misappropriation could reach 4.5 kg of gold, potentially worth ₹500 crore, though official figures remain conservative. The Enforcement Directorate (ED) has now registered a money laundering case, widening the probe to trace illicit gains. This isn’t mere theft; it’s a systematic plunder of devotees’ trust, where offerings from the poor—kanikka (donations) scraped from daily wages—are diverted into private pockets.
The Sabarimala case reveals layers of corruption: gold-plated panels were sent to a Chennai factory, Smart Creations, where the precious metal was allegedly extracted and sold, with fake documents passing off the items as plain copper. Rajeevaru, who signed off on the mahazar (inventory) during the process, is accused of abuse of power under the Prevention of Corruption Act. Additional arrests include former TDB member K.P. Sankar Das and N. Vijayakumar, highlighting how board officials colluded with contractors like Unnikrishnan Potti, the prime accused. Even as pilgrims donated generously—Sabarimala generates over ₹300 crore annually—this scandal underscores how faith-funded wealth becomes a target for insiders. In a related incident at the same temple, two Devaswom employees were caught smuggling cash and gold from the hundi (offering box), hiding valuables in their mouths, with ₹38,820 and foreign currency seized. These events erode the sanctity of a site where devotees, many from low-income backgrounds, seek spiritual solace amid economic hardships.
Sabarimala is no anomaly; temple thefts and scandals plague India, turning houses of worship into hubs of greed. In May 2025, around 100 grams of gold vanished from Thiruvananthapuram’s Sree Padmanabhaswamy Temple, one of the world’s richest with treasures worth ₹1.2 lakh crore, prompting a police probe into internal complicity. In January 2026, thieves stole gold and silver ornaments worth ₹70 lakh from Andhra Pradesh’s Venkateswara Swamy Temple in Kasibugga, Srikakulam, along with hundi cash, exploiting lax security post a tragic stampede. Hyderabad police busted an interstate gang in early 2026, recovering ₹26 lakh in stolen temple ornaments from Sri Venkateshwara Swamy Temple, revealing organized networks targeting vulnerable shrines. Corruption extends beyond theft: The Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD), managing the world’s richest temple with assets over ₹3 lakh crore, faced multiple scandals in 2025. The infamous laddu adulteration involved spurious ghee laced with animal fats, supplied from 2019-2024, leading to a CBI probe and arrests. Another scam saw fake silk dupattas (polyester passed as pure silk) causing ₹54 crore in losses over a decade, now under Anti-Corruption Bureau investigation. In Karnataka’s Dharmasthala, a 2025 SIT probe into mass burials alleged over 100 bodies of assaulted women and children were hidden, linked to temple leadership suppressing crimes since the 1980s. These incidents, from gold smuggling to sexual exploitation, illustrate how corruption festers in unchecked religious institutions, fleecing the faithful while shielding perpetrators.
At the core of this exploitation lies psychological manipulation in religion, a calculated playbook that preys on vulnerability to extract wealth and obedience. Religious leaders exploit innate human fears—divine retribution, eternal suffering, or loss of blessings—to coerce donations. In temples, devotees are bombarded with narratives that equate financial giving with spiritual merit: “Offer gold to appease the gods, or face misfortune.” This guilt induction is amplified through scriptural distortion, where verses on charity are cherry-picked and twisted to demand exorbitant poojas or offerings, ignoring teachings on humility and equity. Isolation tactics further entrench control; questioning temple practices brands one as “faithless,” leading to social ostracism in tight-knit communities. Gaslighting is rampant—victims of scandals are told to “trust the divine plan” or that exposures are “tests of devotion.” Love-bombing draws in the poor with promises of community and miracles, only to escalate demands once hooked. Studies on cult dynamics mirror this: cognitive dissonance keeps followers rationalizing abuses, fearing spiritual ruin if they withdraw. For the economically disadvantaged, lacking education or alternatives, this manipulation is devastating—they pour life savings into hundis, believing it secures prosperity, while leaders amass fortunes. In India, where 80% of pilgrims are from low-income groups, this creates a cycle of impoverishment masked as piety.
Mega religious events, ostensibly celebrations of faith, often mask blatant business motives, channeling billions from the public into opaque systems with minimal returns. Take Attukal Pongala in Thiruvananthapuram, dubbed the “women’s Sabarimala,” where millions of women offer sweet rice porridge in earthen pots across 135 sq km. In 2025, the Thiruvananthapuram Corporation spent ₹5.16 crore on preparations, including road maintenance (₹5.16 crore) and Kerala State Electricity Board works (₹70 lakh), with total government and civic outlay reaching ₹8.4 crore. Past editions saw ₹12 crore sanctioned for infrastructure. While portrayed as a divine ritual, Pongala drives a commercial boom: vendors sell pots, ingredients, and firewood; transport firms hike fares; and hotels overflow. Yet, devotees bear costs—travel, offerings—receiving no tangible benefits beyond fleeting spiritual highs. Waste management alone costs ₹20 lakh annually, with temporary staff deployed, turning faith into a revenue stream for contractors and officials. Similarly, Thrissur Pooram, Kerala’s grandest temple festival, features elephant parades and fireworks, attracting lakhs and boosting tourism. Organized by a coordination committee of eight temples, it generates economic impact through employment (vendors, artisans) and visitor spending, estimated at crores. But motives veer commercial: sponsorships, ticketed events, and media rights monetize the spectacle, with elephants rented at high costs amid animal welfare controversies. UNESCO-recognized, Pooram sustains a “temple economy” but funnels public funds into pageantry, not welfare. These events exemplify how faith is commodified—billions spent on logistics and hype, while devotees, often poor, get symbolic “blessings” amid environmental strain and exploitation.
India’s temple wealth runs into lakhs of crores, yet it offers scant benefit to the public, often looted or mismanaged. Tirupati alone holds ₹3 lakh crore in assets, earning ₹1,400 crore yearly from offerings. Padmanabhaswamy boasts ₹1.2 lakh crore; Guruvayur ₹1,737 crore in deposits plus land and gems. The national temple economy—donations, rituals, merchandise—contributes ₹3.02 lakh crore (2.32% of GDP), or $40 billion. Public spending on poojas and offerings hits billions: Tirupati receives ₹3,023 crore annually; Vaishno Devi ₹2,000 crore; overall religious tourism market reached USD 202.85 billion in FY2024, projected to USD 441.19 billion by FY2032. Devotees pour in—1,433 million domestic pilgrims in 2022—yet returns are intangible: no healthcare, education, or poverty alleviation from these funds. Instead, scandals abound: Tamil Nadu temples had $1 billion unaccounted; Ram Mandir collected ₹5,450 crore in 2021, rivaling defense budgets. Governments control many temples, siphoning revenues, while the poor remain fleeced.
When will wisdom dawn on the common man, ensnared in this faith-fueled frenzy? Education must instill skepticism, demanding transparency in temple finances—audits, public disclosures. Redirect wealth to societal good: imagine ₹500 crore from trusts funding hospitals or schools. True spirituality empowers; it doesn’t exploit. The Sabarimala theft is a wake-up call—heed it, or remain perpetual victims in divinity’s name.
