By Suresh Unnithan
The Sabarimala gold theft scandal has ignited a firestorm of outrage that transcends religious boundaries, striking at the heart of devotion across communities in Kerala and beyond. Lord Ayyappa, the deity enshrined at this ancient hilltop temple, commands a unique interfaith reverence: even non-Hindus flock to his shrine, drawn by legends of harmony and brotherhood. Central to this is Vavar, the revered Muslim companion of Ayyappa, whose tomb at Erumeli draws lakhs of pilgrims annually as a mandatory stop on the sacred route. This syncretic spirit extends further—celebrities from diverse faiths, such as the legendary Malayalam singer K.J. Yesudas, a devout Ayyappa bhakta who has rendered soul-stirring kirtans in the god’s praise, embodies the temple’s universal appeal. Yesudas, a practicing Christian, has publicly shared his 41-day vows and barefoot treks, underscoring how Sabarimala unites believers in a shared spiritual quest. Yet, this very sanctity now feels desecrated, as revelations emerge of sacred gold—devotee offerings meticulously gilded over decades—being pilfered under the stewardship of a government-appointed board. The betrayal has snowballed into an emotive crisis, not just religious but cultural and political, with whispers of “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa” now laced with cries of injustice echoing from forest trails to urban drawing rooms.
Every year, from mid-November to mid-January, the Sabarimala pilgrimage swells into one of the world’s largest religious gatherings, drawing 40–50 million devotees in a single season, according to Travancore Devaswom Board (TDB) records. These pilgrims hail from every nook of Kerala, neighboring states like Tamil Nadu (contributing over 30% of footfall), Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Telangana, and even distant regions such as Maharashtra, Gujarat, and West Bengal. In recent years, international participation has surged, with thousands arriving via flights from the Gulf countries (UAE and Saudi Arabia alone accounting for 15,000–20,000 visas annually), Singapore, Malaysia, the UK, and the US—facilitated by dedicated charter flights and diaspora networks. For these millions—predominantly traditional Hindu voters who endure the rigorous 41-day vratham (austere fast), don the sacred mala (rosary), and navigate the 18-km forested trek barefoot through leech-infested paths—the temple is far more than a shrine. It is the pulsating emotional and spiritual epicenter of their existence, a rite of passage that binds families, communities, and generations. Official data from the Kerala Tourism Department pegs the economic footprint at ₹7,000–8,000 crore annually, underscoring its role as a socio-economic lifeline for the region.
The unmasking of systematic theft from this revered sanctum—gold offerings stripped away during a so-called “renovation” under the watch of an LDF-nominated TDB—has landed like a thunderbolt of personal betrayal. In the digital age, fury spreads virally: WhatsApp groups of Ayyappa bhaktas buzz with grainy videos of stripped idols; mala-removal ceremonies in hometowns like Chengannur and Palakkad dissolve into heated debates; and post-pilgrimage feasts across South India—from Chennai’s Marina Beach gatherings to Hyderabad’s community halls—resound with a singular lament: “They robbed Swamy himself.” This raw anger is crystallizing into a potent political clarion call: punish the LDF in the December 2025 local body elections and, crucially, in the 2026 assembly polls. In the pivotal central Travancore belt—encompassing Pathanamthitta (Ayyappa’s epicenter, with 40% devotee voters), Kottayam, Idukki, and segments of Alappuzha and Ernakulam—bhaktas comprise 25–40% of the electorate in key constituencies, per Election Commission voter demographics. Political analysts, including those from the Centre for Development Studies in Thiruvananthapuram, and even LDF insiders in private briefings, admit the scandal could erode 4–8% of the Left’s vote share—a razor-thin margin that doomed them in the 2019 Lok Sabha polls, where they lost six seats by under 5%. The Congress-led UDF is mounting a fierce comeback as the “guardian of traditions,” targeting its eroded Hindu base post the 2018 women’s entry row, while the BJP eyes a Nair-Ezhava consolidation, leveraging RSS shakhas in the hills. Should this devotional wrath endure through the two-month mandala season—already underway with queues snaking 5–10 km long—the December 13 local body results may herald Kerala’s first electoral tremor born of gilded greed.
It is against this volatile tapestry of faith, fury, and franchise that the timeline of the heist unfolds, each revelation deepening the wound.
The saga traces back to a gesture of apparent piety. In 1998–99, amid the Asian financial crisis, fugitive industrialist Vijay Mallya—then at the zenith of his Kingfisher empire—donated a staggering 30.291 kg of 24-carat gold to embellish Sabarimala’s treasures: the towering Dwarapalaka (gatekeeper) idols, the sreekovil’s ornate door frames, intricate side panels, majestic pillars, and the iconic 18 holy steps’ ceremonial arches. Valued at over ₹10 crore even then (adjusted for inflation, equivalent to ₹50 crore today), this bounty was ritually affixed in a grand ceremony under the UDF government, witnessed by temple tantries (high priests) and Devaswom officials, symbolizing corporate atonement fused with ancient ritual.
Two decades on, in July 2019—under Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan’s first LDF term—a routine “renovation” edict was issued for these venerated artifacts. Flouting ageless agama shastras (temple canons) that decree sacred relics must never exit the premises, the TDB entrusted the lot to Unnikrishnan Potti, a shadowy Bengaluru contractor and ex-assistant melshanti (chief priest) who positioned himself as a lavish patron. From 2019 to 2021, amid the COVID-19 lockdowns that halved pilgrim numbers to 15 million, the items shuttled covertly to ateliers in Chennai’s industrial suburbs, Bengaluru’s goldsmith lanes, and Hyderabad’s artisan hubs. Forensic probes now paint a chilling tableau: the original gold sheeting—layered by devotees’ hundi offerings spanning centuries—was surgically peeled, liquefied in clandestine furnaces, and supplanted with flimsy gold electroplating or base copper sheets doused in aerosol gilt, slashing costs from crores to lakhs.
The ruse unraveled in September 2025, when the Kerala High Court-appointed Sabarimala Special Commissioner, during a mandated inventory audit, flagged anomalies: artifacts clocking 42.8 kg pre-“upgrade” resurfaced at a emaciated 38.258 kg, per certified weighbridge logs. High-res scans and devotee-submitted photos—circulated on social media since 2022—revealed the telltale dull patina on once-resplendent surfaces. A lightning vigilance inquiry ensued, culminating in Unnikrishnan Potti’s arrest on October 17, 2025, in a Kochi hideout. The SIT’s excavations swiftly exposed a web of complicity: doctored ledgers, phantom invoices, and hawala trails pointing to insider graft.
Kerala’s arrest spree unfolded with seismic speed, riveting a state of 35 million. First fell Murari Babu, the ex-administrative officer who greenlit the illicit transport; then Sudheesh Kumar, the executive engineer who rubber-stamped subpar substitutes. The hammer dropped hardest on November 20, 2025, with the custody of A. Padmakumar—CPI(M) central committee heavyweight, ex-MLA from Palai, and TDB president (2016–2020)—charged with masterminding the handover, bullying subordinates to reclassify gold relics as “copper plates” in records, and doling out undue favors to Potti, like prime VIP darshan slots at Sannidhanam amid pandemic restrictions. Earlier, N. Vasu, another CPI(M)-aligned ex-TDB chief, was jailed for orchestrating ledger fabrications. As of November 22, six suspects languish in judicial remand, while the Enforcement Directorate (ED) probes ₹50 crore in parallel money laundering via benami firms. SIT sleuths dissect 2,500+ call logs and 1,200 bank transfers, inching toward whispers of cabinet-level nods—fuelling opposition demands for Vijayan’s resignation.
The pilfered haul tallies conservatively at 4.75 kg (roughly 59 sovereigns) of devotional gold, fetching ₹3.6–3.8 crore on November 2025 spot prices (₹76,000 per sovereign, per India Bullion Association). Yet, this calculus pales against the ineffable loss: antique cladding, woven from the life savings of generations—from toddy tappers in Kasaragod to NRIs in Dubai—imbued with mantras and miracles. Its ritual desecration risks tainting pujas for years, per tantric edicts.
As the 2025 season peaks—with 1.2 million already logged in the first week, per TDB dashboards, and TV screens ablaze with bhaktas glued to arrest footage mid-queue—the LDF confronts its gravest peril since the 2018 Supreme Court verdict’s backlash, which cratered their Hindu support by 12%.
The Golden Mask Slips: Protectors Exposed as Plunderers
The Sabarimala gold theft is no isolated scandal—it is a glaring revelation that has torn away the pious façade of those who have long coveted the lucrative chairs in Kerala’s cash-rich temple boards, especially the Travancore Devaswom Board that controls Sabarimala. What we are witnessing is not mere administrative failure but the unmasking of a calculated grab for power over institutions that sit atop rivers of untallied wealth: crores in cash, kilograms of gold, precious gems, and antique jewellery poured daily into hundis and bhandarams by millions of trusting devotees.
The real intention now stands exposed: these coveted positions are not sought to protect faith but to plunder it. More skeletons will inevitably tumble out once a no-holds-barred, independent probe is ordered into the opaque flow of yellow metal, gems, jewellery, and hard cash that disappears into temple vaults with little public accountability. The question that donors, devotees, and the general public have repeatedly asked—“Is there any proper, transparent accounting of this immense wealth?”—can no longer be brushed aside with vague assurances or partisan whitewashes.
A thorough investigation will lay bare the masquerade of those who wrapped themselves in the saffron of devotion while treating sacred offerings as private loot. The protectors of faith have been caught with their hands in the Lord’s own treasury. For the lakhs chanting “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa” on the sacred eighteen steps, the message is clear: the time has come to cleanse not just the sreekovil, but the very system that dares to rob Swamy himself. Kerala’s verdict in the coming elections will decide whether the guardians of tomorrow are genuine bhaktas—or wolves in mala and irumudikettu.
