Today, the pilgrim’s progress to many of India’s great temples winds through a tortuous landscape of corruption, pollution, and careless callousness. The latest in this long chain of misdemeanours includes the Sabarimala gold theft scandal and the abominable adulteration of the sacred Tirupati laddoo—a sweet that has been an unbroken article of faith for centuries. Across the country, from Kerala and Tamil Nadu’s ancient shrines to Odisha and Uttarakhand’s billion-rupee institutions, idols go missing, treasuries are compromised, and governance failures erode trust in custodianship of the divine. And yet, faith itself remains immovable. It is written most visibly on the faces of the countless devotees now making their annual journey to Sabarimala—undeterred, unshaken, and unwavering. In the shadow of wrongdoing, their devotion endures, proving that even when systems falter, belief does not.
The management of the shrine is now at the centre of a widening Goldgate that has exposed deep fissures in its governance. What is praised as a logistical marvel—an annual movement of millions of devotees through dense forests to a remote hill shrine—has begun to look increasingly like a system held together by ad-hoc practices, opaque procedures, and politically influenced decision-making. At the heart of the storm lies the alleged misappropriation of temple gold, a controversy that has triggered judicial censure, criminal investigations and a wave of public anger across Kerala.
The crisis erupted when investigators found major discrepancies in how the Travancore Devaswom Board (TDB) had recorded and managed the temple’s gold-plated structures. Panels covering the sanctum’s doors, pillars, and dwarapalaka idols—originally plated during a 1998-99 renovation—were dismantled for repairs in 2019. But what should have been carefully logged as gold-clad components were officially recorded as mere “copper plates” in the 2019 mahazar, a misclassification the Kerala High Court later described as deeply suspicious. This reclassification raised immediate red flags: vigilance reports revealed that around 475-475.9 grams of extracted gold from the plating work had never been returned to the temple. The vigilance probe also showed that the plates were transported out of TDB premises for electroplating at a private facility, Smart Creations in Chennai, despite rules mandating that such high-value work be carried out only within temple premises under strict supervision.
The situation worsened when a 420-page file detailing the original gold-plating specifications—long missing from TDB offices—surfaced only after a court-monitored inspection. The document, which includes engineering drawings and gold-use records, had inexplicably been “overlooked” until the High Court demanded the files be produced. In a stern assessment, the court remarked that TDB had “failed in its duty” to safeguard temple assets and noted the absence of basic documentation in meeting minutes on when the valuable panels were dismantled. An email cited by investigators added to the unease: Unnikrishnan Potti, the sponsor who oversaw parts of the 2019 repair, had asked whether leftover gold from the restoration could be used “for a marriage”—a request the court called “deeply disturbing.”
As the SIT widened its probe, several senior TDB officials, including former board members, an administrative officer and engineers, were named as accused. On October 18, 2025, the High Court publicly criticised the TDB’s archaic, largely manual record-keeping. Registers that should track the weights, descriptions, and donor details of jewellery and ornaments were found to be missing, incomplete, or improperly maintained. As expected, dirty politics has crossed the threshold. Opposition parties have demanded a complete revamp—or dissolution—of the TDB. The TDB, in its defence, has dismissed the allegations as politically motivated. The SIT has already arrested Potti—remanding him to custody—and the High Court has directed investigators to consider offences under the Prevention of Corruption Act and relevant sections of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) relating to forgery and criminal breach of trust.
The implications extend far beyond the Sabarimala affair. Audits of other Devaswom-managed temples in Kerala—such as the Guruvayur Devaswom Board, where the 2019-20 Kerala Audit report highlighted unverified inventories and unaccounted valuables—suggest that Sabarimala may be merely the most visible symptom of a wider institutional problem. Vivekanandh, partner at SMV Chambers and head of its Chennai branch, who leads the firm’s corporate advisory and litigation vertical and has extensive experience in temple-related legal disputes, notes: “Temples under state administration are legally treated as public institutions and therefore bound by tender transparency laws. Meticulous documentation, vendor vetting, laboratory-tested supplies and updated registers are legal obligations.”
Faith Fractured
At Tirumala, the laddoo is more than prasadam. It is a symbol of divine grace, carried home with reverence by millions each year. Which is why the revelation that adulterated ghee had entered the laddoo supply chain sent shockwaves through the devotional landscape. The first hints came when routine checks raised questions about the purity of ghee consignments. A court-appointed SIT—comprising the CBI, AP Police, and FSSAI—was assigned to untangle the truth. At the centre of the scheme stood Bhole Baba Organic Dairy Ltd., a dairy that Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD) had blacklisted in 2022. Yet Bhole Baba had never really left. Investigators found that it had quietly slipped back into the tender process through proxy companies—notably Vyshnavi Dairy and AR Dairy—whose paperwork Bhole Baba allegedly prepared and manipulated. Forged GST invoices were created, fake food-safety certificates issued, and entire sets of lab reports fabricated.
Records showed that Bhole Baba had never procured milk or butter at all. Laboratory tests revealed the presence of foreign fats—palm oil, fish oil, even beef tallow and lard—chemicals utterly incompatible with the sanctity expected of prasadam. And yet, between 2019 and 2024, 68 lakh kg of this adulterated product had flowed seamlessly into Tirumala’s kitchens.
In July 2024, four tankers of ghee were rejected after the National Dairy Development Board reports flagged the presence of animal fat. Standard procedure required their destruction. Instead, the tankers were quietly diverted to a stone-crushing unit near Vyshnavi Dairy. There, according to the SIT, the contents were “cleaned up,” relabelled, and, within weeks, funnelled back to the TTD through a different vendor channel. By August, the very same rejected ghee was being poured into the iconic laddoo mixture once again. A close aide of a former TTD chairman allegedly received hawala payments to keep the procurement doors open for the proxy firms.
As the SIT dug deeper, the scandal grew murkier. Fake purchase records were created to show massive milk procurement that never happened. Tankers were rerouted through shell firms to camouflage origin. Entire batches of invoices were printed with the same serial numbers. Even testing reports were manipulated to hide the presence of industrial additives like monoglycerides and acetic acid esters—chemicals that have no place in ghee, let alone sacred offerings.
The fallout was immediate and devastating. Devotees were enraged. In response, TTD rushed to set up a state-of-the-art food-quality testing lab at Tirumala, staffed by specially trained analysts. According to Dr Vinusha Reddy, BJP spokesperson, Andhra Pradesh, “Large temples can protect both scale and sanctity only through uncompromising transparency—traceable ingredients, surprise lab tests, monitored kitchens, and independent ethical oversight—backed by swift public communication whenever concerns arise. When devotees regard prasadam as sacred, even the slightest perception of compromise must be met with openness, accountability and rigorous systems that prove tradition and scale can coexist without eroding trust.”
For devotees, the shock was not limited to the contamination. It was the idea that a ritual so sacred could be touched by greed. Pagudakula Balaswamy, Prachar pramukh, Viswa Hindu Parishad, Telangana, says, “We revere our temples, yet their administration remains trapped in outdated systems and deep political control. This blend of politics and bureaucracy blurs accountability, erodes trust, and leaves devotees confused. India urgently needs transparent, autonomous temple governance so that ancient institutions can be managed with dignity, independence, and faithfulness to their traditions.”
Sanctity Strained
The pattern of temple frauds has been disturbingly consistent. For example, Tamil Nadu has seen a long trail of missing idols and looted temple objects. From the Brihadeeswarar Temple, Sripuranthan, where priceless Chola bronzes were stolen in January 2006 and trafficked abroad, to the Vedapuriswarar Temple, Thiruvedhikudi, whose Nataraja idol was taken sometime after 1959 and later surfaced in a New York museum, some of the state’s most treasured heritage has vanished through organised smuggling networks. Even smaller shrines have not been spared—at the Kaakathamman Temple near Tiruttani, thieves broke open the sanctum and fled with a panchaloha idol in August 2025. At the Balathandayudhapani Temple near Thanjavur, Murugan, Valli and Deivanai idols along with a temple finial were removed in the dead of night on September 8-9, 2025. In Chennai’s Vinaitheerthan Vinayagar Temple, five panchaloha murtis were stolen on or around January 6, 2025.
But the deeper rot indicates a nexus between corrupt police officials and some dodgy temple authorities in what happened afterwards. Over the years, police files linked to these and other idol-theft cases have mysteriously disappeared. The Supreme Court, acting on a public interest petition, has questioned how 41 investigation files from 38 different police stations could vanish without explanation. The court has even asked whether these files were destroyed by design, and why reconstruction of old case diaries and fresh FIRs has suddenly begun. Reports presented before the court describe a possible “idol mafia” operating with alleged political or administrative protection.
In 2025, at the Mahakaleshwar Temple in Ujjain, police cracked down on multiple fake websites that were duping devotees with fraudulent online accommodation bookings—an episode that highlighted both the intense demand for temple-linked services and the ease with which that demand can be exploited. Shady infrastructure contracts were exposed. Part of a decorative POP ceiling installed during a Smart City-linked expansion collapsed in mid-2025, prompting officials to re-examine contractor work. The incident underscored the risks that come with large contracts and hurried development in and around the shrine. As one temple official, who requested anonymity, remarked, “When everything from queue management to basic amenities involves layers of unofficial intermediaries, irregularities become almost invisible, unless someone is determined to trace them.”
In Varanasi, the Kashi Vishwanath Temple has collected its own shadows. Pilgrims often recount experiences of being overcharged by unauthorised intermediaries claiming to provide official entry or expedited darshan. In June 2025, Varanasi police arrested 21 people described as “fake priests” who were allegedly extorting devotees. Fraud has also gone online. Several fake websites posing as official booking portals have been used to sell bogus sugam darshan and aarti bookings, prompting police warnings.
Meanwhile, the modernised Kashi Vishwanath Dham corridor has generated debate over demolition of old buildings, displacement, and compensation for shop-owners and residents, with court hearings and local protests during its planning and execution. At the same time, legal challenges have been filed over systems like sugam darshan on the grounds that they amount to monetising access to the shrine. “Temples are vast ecosystems—priests, staff, administrators, volunteers, and thousands of devotees daily. When concerns appear in the public domain, it does not mean every part of the system is compromised. As priests, we believe transparency strengthens faith. It is good when authorities conduct regular audits and reviews; it helps maintain discipline and ensures that sacred responsibilities are carried out properly,” says Prayagraj-based pandit, Ashutosh Tiwari.
Far in the north, Badrinath grapples with a different set of complications. The shrine’s vast land holdings have long been entangled in disputes, with allegations of encroachment and challenges to rightful ownership. Within the priesthood itself, rival groups have occasionally clashed over hereditary claims, accusing each other of misrepresentation to secure influential positions inside the temple’s intricate structure. Seasonal surges, combined with the high demand for food and accommodation, create fertile ground for exploitation by contractors and operators. A priest at the temple says, “Infrastructure has improved, no doubt, but transparency hasn’t kept pace with modernisation, leaving the same old loopholes wide open.”
Kedarnath, too, faced intense scrutiny in the years following the catastrophic 2013 floods. A CAG performance audit later confirmed that the enormous inflow of reconstruction funds and the urgency of rebuilding had opened the door to diverted allocations, inflated contracts and opaque tendering, with several works awarded without proper competitive processes and no robust, centralised quality-monitoring system in place. Large sanctioned projects—such as the Kedarpuri township for tirth purohits and key flood-protection structures—either stalled or progressed unevenly, even as only about 59 per cent of the approved Medium and Long Term Reconstructions budget was actually utilised. Years later, transparency concerns extend beyond construction to donations: in 2023, the Badrinath-Kedarnath Temple Committee filed a police complaint after unauthorised QR-code boards soliciting fake digital donations were discovered around the shrine. Even today, as pilgrim numbers surge year after year, donation management and transaction practices remain under pressure, prompting renewed calls for more stringent monitoring.
Legacy of Secrecy
In 2018, at the Jagannath Temple in Puri, reports emerged that the keys to the Ratna Bhandar had gone missing. The gravity of the situation prompted the Odisha government to establish a judicial commission to investigate how such a breach could have occurred. Despite the commission’s mandate, key details remained obscured in procedural delays. The issue found its way into courtrooms, fuelling public distrust in the temple’s administration. The root of the problem, as several insiders argue, is opacity. For decades, the temple’s most precious assets were managed not through comprehensive documentation, but through tradition, institutional memory, and custodial practices. As one former Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) official put it bluntly: “When systems rely on tradition instead of documentation, gaps become openings for malpractice.”
The last full inventory of Ratna Bhandar’s contents dated back to 1978. Such a long lapse in formal, recorded accounting meant there was little reliable data on what lay in the treasure vault. Reformers and auditors repeatedly pointed out that this lack of updated inventory left the system wide open to risk. Many transgressions have been corrected over the years. On July 14, 2024, the temple authorities reopened the Ratna Bhandar for the first time in over 40 years. This time, officials video-documented the process, and plans were announced to carry out a photographed, documented, and digitised inventory of the treasures. In preparation for this inventory, the ASI carried out structural repairs of the treasury vault. Authorities recognised that a physical audit alone would not suffice; they needed technical expertise to value and catalogue the items precisely. Accordingly, the Odisha government reached out to the Reserve Bank of India (RBI), nominating RBI officers to assist with valuation and documentation. The use of external experts—including gemologists, goldsmiths, and valuers—represented a significant shift.
Even before the 2024 reopening, periodic audit reports had repeatedly identified serious vulnerabilities. Reports submitted during litigation (notably in the Mrinalini Padhi vs Union of India case) included assessments from the Accountant General and Local Fund Audit. These audits highlighted weak fund management, poor estate oversight, and the risk of unchecked asset diversion. To critics, the pattern is consistent: the absence of rigorous, institutional checks and balances has created structural blind spots. Assets move in and out without robust tracking, cash flows tied to temple offerings lack sufficient transparency, and systems for succession or custodial accountability remain underdeveloped.
In 2025, the Odisha Police caught a person allegedly using a hidden camera inside the temple—a blatant breach of sacred space. The temple’s administration has also grappled with unauthorised drone activity, forcing authorities to adopt anti-drone measures. These incidents underline just how fragile the security apparatus around Ratna Bhandar remains. Without stronger perimeter defences, surveillance, and tighter access protocols, the treasures—and the temple’s reputation—remain exposed.
At its core, the controversy is not a question of faith. It’s a question about governance. “Hindu temples are not monolithic—each has its own lineage, rituals, and ways of maintaining records, just as they differ in offerings, mantras, and worship traditions. Preserving these age-old systems doesn’t conflict with modern tools; digitised inventories or CCTVs can simply complement traditional methods. Ultimately, safeguarding temple spaces is a shared responsibility: communities contribute skills, vigilance, and coordination with authorities, while priests and acharyas take care of both the tangible and intangible heritage by teaching, documenting, and engaging devotees,” says Yudhistir Govinda Das, Monk, Trustee, and Country Director of Communications for ISKCON India.
The Jagannath Temple’s saga reflects a broader tension between centuries-old religious custodial practices and the imperatives of modern financial and security accountability. The repeated audit warnings, combined with the dramatic reopening and activist pressure, suggest that change may be slowly coming. Digitised inventories, external experts, and documented audits promise a more transparent future—but only if they are backed by sustained political will and institutional reforms. Giresh Vasudev Kulkarni, founder of Temple Connect & ITCX International Temples Convention & EXPO, says, “Digitisation must democratise, not centralise. Our goal is shared stewardship—where priests, staff, suppliers and devotees own and review their own data, rather than depend on external operators. As puja and temple-service companies expand, we need systems that ensure accountability: pujas must be conducted authentically, temples must benefit when their name or deity’s image is used, and the goodwill of the shrine should not be monetised without its participation. Only when temples are recognised as equal stakeholders can technology transform the ecosystem instead of replicating old hierarchies.”
Across the temples which have been touched by scandal, the threads of the problem are strikingly similar. Outdated administrative structures continue to depend on manual records; governance bodies often reflect political appointments rather than expertise; cash-heavy systems leave ample room for pilferage; and contractor-driven models create a breeding ground for opaque dealings and informal kickbacks. Experts argue that modernising these institutions—through digital audits, transparent procurement, CCTV-based monitoring, cashless donations, and independent oversight—need not undermine tradition but can instead protect it.
However, the fraud perpetrated in many of India’s temples does not diminish the spiritual significance of these institutions. They simply expose how a massive, unregulated economy built on devotion can be exploited by human greed. For a nation where temples serve as cultural anchors, social safety nets and symbols of collective belief, demanding transparency is not sacrilege—it is stewardship. Only when faith is supported by systems, not sentiment alone, can temples truly serve the millions who place their trust in them.