Temple’s disputed treasure ‘belongs to the gods’
A storm is brewing above a temple in Kerala, India, amid rumours of a gold bathtub and angry gods, writes Mark Magnier.
FOR MORE than 1000 years, worshippers at the honeycombed Padmanabhaswamy Temple came and went freely, all but oblivious to the unguarded vaults beneath their bare feet. These days, hundreds of police, commandos and rapid-response officers wearing crisp uniforms and armed with submachine guns swarm the grounds around the clock. The few visitors allowed into the inner sanctum are subject to searches more meticulous than those at any airport.
Nothing inspires passions and paranoia like a disputed fortune, and this one not only belongs to a god, but also is worth an estimated NZ$26 billion – more than India’s annual education budget.
The battle over the treasure inside Padmanabhaswamy Temple in Trivandrum pits the dynasty that long ruled this part of southern Kerala state against one of the royal family’s former advisers. It has the courts, media and millions of Indians buzzing about alleged embezzlement, betrayal, tradition, even the will of the gods.
In India, most Hindu temples accrue significant wealth. Some of it is spent on salaries for priests, food for pilgrims, clothing and gems for the idols, and building repairs. But most of the riches stay within the temple. Accumulating a treasure is often seen as a blessed act that bolsters the temple god’s glory.
Although a NZ$26B hoard in a country where more than 400 million people live on less than NZ$1.50 a day might seem excessive, some Hindus say the bounty belongs to the god Vishnu, and any distribution would betray the wishes of donors and wind up in the pockets of corrupt officials.
‘‘If the government got its hands on this, it would disappear within two weeks,’’ said Sheeban Chacko, 24, a hospital worker.
Over the centuries, the state of Kerala grew rich selling pepper – coveted by Europeans to mask rotting food – fine fabrics, rope for ships, rubber and rice.
Much of that wealth ended up in the temple at Trivandrum, through donations from worshippers or taxes levied on tenant farmers who worked the temple’s landholdings, which at their peak were bigger than the state of Maryland.
More gems piled up after 1729, when the Travancore dynasty, the area’s hereditary rulers, ‘‘gave’’ the kingdom to Lord Vishnu and the temple, ruling thereafter ‘‘on the lord’s behalf’’. Royals who missed daily temple visits had to pay fines in gold, and one rather eccentric ruler did so every time he lost his temper.
Once a lifetime, each monarch donated his weight in gold.
‘‘And most of our monarchs were fat,’’ said historian MG Sasi Bhooshan.
The present dispute involves an adviser to the last king, Maharaja Balarama Varma, who reigned from 1931 until 1949, when Kerala was incorporated into a newly independent India and royals were stripped of their power.
After Balarama’s death in 1991, the adviser, T P Sunda Rarajan, is said to have grown unhappy that his counsel wasn’t as appreciated by the king’s younger brother, Marthanda Varma, when he assumed control of the temple trust.
In 2009, Sunda Rarajan joined a lawsuit alleging that Marthanda was mismanaging affairs and embezzling treasure.
Kerala’s government sealed the vaults and called for an inventory.
Although Travancore rulers have conducted periodic inventories of the temple’s treasures over the centuries, the palace bridled at state intrusion, appealing to the Indian Supreme Court. In August, it lost and the inventory continued.
THE TRAVANCORE dynasty enjoys popular support and a reputation for humility and acts of charity. In 1989, it gave up its main 100-room palace to be used as a hospital, and Marthanda Varma now lives in a 10-room outer palace.
The literacy rate, status of women and public health indicators in Kerala, among India’s best, are often attributed to enlightened Travancore policies, including the introduction of women’s education in the early 1800s.
Many Kerala residents appear to regret the Pandora’s box opened by the Sunda Rarajan family and believe the (now smaller) palace, not the state, should have final say over temple affairs.
‘‘The plaintiff’s just making trouble to gain attention,’’ said V Divakaran, 75, a retired businessman.
Others warn of divine retribution. After 70-year-old Sunda Rarajan’s death of a heart attack in July, a 10-member astrologer team hired by the temple trust linked it to unhappy spirits. (Sunda Rarajan’s nephew has since taken over the case.)
Rumours of a curse were fanned when a prosecutor challenging the trust died last month. ‘‘There are a lot of spirits around,’’ said Bhuwanachandran, head of the ultranationalist Shiv Sena party in Trivandrum. ‘‘I can see them and know they’re unhappy. It’s definitely the gods’ wrath.’’
Superstition hasn’t cut much weight with the court, which has ordered a full inventory of the six vaults labelled A through F.
EXAMINING the holdings at a rate of 20 items a day, four experts are expected to take a year to finish their accounting of diamonds, emeralds, jewellery, rare antique silver and brass platters and golden idols.
Astrologers particularly oppose opening Vault B, believed to hold some of the greatest wealth, citing temple practices and a serpent depicted near its entry to ward off intruders. Disturbing the treasure
‘The treasure belongs to the gods. But if it was mine, I’m thinking posh life, houses, cars, a trip to LA, wine, women and song.’ SHEEBAN CHACKO HOSPITAL WORKER
erodes the temple’s energy, they say, undermining its ability to answer devotees’ prayers. Reports suggest the hoard includes a gold bathtub once used by kings and a gold broom to clean the main idol.
A recent interview with Marthanda Varma, 55th in the royal line and the first not to rule, was delayed while he conferred with his astrologer. Sharp, amusing and self-deprecating at 89, he excused the delay by quoting a Reader’s Digest article about the two most commonly used words: ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
In a palace anteroom decorated with a chandelier using energysaving bulbs, Marthanda declined to speak about the dispute, as it’s still before the court. But he took pains to suggest that he does not live an extravagant lifestyle. ‘‘You see, no ornaments,’’ he said, showing his unadorned fingers.
Still undecided is whether the central government, Kerala state, the Travancore family or a reformed temple trust will oversee the fortune, a matter of immense interest in a country where religious and political lines often blur. In the past, the court has occasionally decided delicate temple property disputes by siding with the gods, raising legal eyebrows.
Meanwhile, the sheer scale of the riches in the temple continues to inspire wonder and fantasy.
‘‘The treasure belongs to the gods,’’ said Chacko, the hospital worker, relaxing in a park with friends. ‘‘But if it was mine, I’m thinking posh life, houses, cars, a trip to LA, wine, women and song.’’