‘How so?’ I asked, surprised.
‘See, I was born in Tirupati town, right?’ he began to explain.
‘Right,’ I said.
‘So Lord Balaji’s second wife, Bibi Nanchari, is Muslim like me. She also lives in Tirupati,’ he clarified, pointing down the hill to the town we had left behind an hour ago.
‘She lives there? The Hindu god’s wife is Muslim?!’ I found it hard to hide my astonishment.
‘Yes. She is the daughter of a sultan. She saw the Lord Balaji’s idol and fell in love with him. She was dedicated to Balaji, even though she had never seen him in person. The sultan was angry, but then Balaji appeared in the sultan’s dream and told him he would marry his daughter. The sultan agreed.’16
Bibi Nanchari’s story reminded me of any contemporary fangirl tale. ‘Okay. So why does she live down there, then?’
‘At his feet,’ he replied. ‘The lord’s first wife, Padmavati, lives in his heart in Tirumala temple, and his second wife, Bibi Nanchari, lives at his feet down the hill in Tirupati.’
‘Indeed,’ I said.
At Tirumala, I was greeted by the exuberant guesthouse manager, former army subedar Surender Reddy. He wore a beaming smile, besides a loose white shirt and dull grey trousers on his short, portly body.
‘The gods have brought you to us, maa,’ he said, welcoming me.
Surender Reddy, aided by Irfan, would be my guide at the temple. That evening, we walked around the temple city of Tirumala—barefoot, as per the rules—so that I could understand the various structures and facilities.
One of the most striking aspects of Tirumala is its self-sufficiency. Transportation is free of cost to pilgrims as the publicly run electric buses have been gifted by donors. Electricity is provided by wind turbines set up on their own premises. Food is cooked using solar power generated by panels on the campus, and the meal ingredients are either homegrown or sent by donors as well.
The temple city premises and its facilities, including hospitals and schools, as well as more complex processes such as budgets, donor relations, pilgrim accommodation are overseen by the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams, popularly known by the abbreviation TTD. They have taken religion online with all seriousness, offering ‘e-seva’, ‘e-hundi’, online auction of hair, and even a virtual queue system.
‘TTD employees do not suffer from blood pressure, ulcers or other workplace stress ailments because employees are volunteers on rotation. We are here because we love working here. Moreover, everything is getting digitized,’ said Madhu, an employee at TTD’s donation cell, almost reading the questions on my mind.
Religion—in ancient and modern India—receives the largest chunk of philanthropic funds,17 and Tirumala’s wealth is at stratospheric levels. One of the wealthiest holy places in the world, Tirumala’s budget for the financial year 2015–16, approved by TTD, was a massive Rs 2530.10 crore, or approximately $392 million.18 In comparison, even the Vatican’s total annual budget was far less, at about $274 million for the same period!19
Madhu handed me the donor brochure, a handbook providing guidelines for pilgrims about donation amounts and the corresponding privileges. It read as follows:
Privileges for donations of Rupees 1 crore and above
Donor and family (not exceeding five members) will be provided free accommodation for three days in a year in VIP suit of value of Rupees 2500. Donor and family will be admitted for Break Darshan and Suprabhat Darshan for 3 days each in a year free of cost. On any one day in a year chosen by donor, Veda Ashirvachanam will be given by Veda Pandits at the temple. Ten big laddus will be issued to the donor. One dupatta and blouse piece will be presented to the donor. One gold dollar of 5 grams in addition to one gold plated silver medallion will be given at the time of the donor’s first visit only. Ten mahaprasadam packets will be issued to the donor once a year during donor’s visit. Sarvakamaprada Lakshmi Srinivasa Maha Yagnam will be performed at Srinivasa Dangapuram as desired by donor on any one occasion. These privileges are for lifetime of the donor in case of individuals, and for 20 years in case of companies.
Surender Reddy announced to me proudly that just a few days ago, the chief minister of India’s newest state, Telangana, had donated gold ornaments worth Rs 5.6 crore to Lord Balaji at the Tirumala temple. The chief minister was fulfilling a vow he had made earlier that he would present gold ornaments to various deities if a separate state of Telangana was indeed formed.20
The Lord Venkateshwara temple’s annual budget showed that in 2015 alone, donations amounted to Rs 905 crore, and in 2016 they increased further to Rs 1010 crore!21 These numbers did not include contributions from pilgrims through tonsure and the sale of thousands of kilos of their hair each year, entry tickets, the enormous amounts of cash collected in the hundi from visitors donating inside the temple, or the sale of the laddu prasadam—famed and so coveted that the temple has patented its laddu under the Registration and Protection Act.22
In a country that today accounts for the largest number of malnourished children and people living below the poverty line in the world (in 2013)23—adding up to almost 800 million poverty-stricken people—crores of rupees are donated every day at this temple. Was this not a failure of India’s wealth distribution?
‘We do not send financial statements to donors about their money,’ Madhu told me. ‘The donor tells us which aspect of the temple facilities they want their money to go to, and we do that. We do not reveal money details to anyone.’
‘Why not?’ I asked. TTD’s donor cell is open for pilgrims to visit 24/7—clearly the staff could use some of their time for transparency and reporting.
‘God is watching us. We don’t need security cameras or managers or donors overseeing us,’ Madhu explained.
Glancing over my shoulder at the queue of pilgrim donors waiting to be attended to, Madhu smiled at me impatiently.
I stepped outside the TTD donor cell office, slightly cold in the winter
