The last garland makers

Serving as caretakers of sacred spaces, Kazhakam staff face the stark reality of long hours, low pay and persistent neglect

For 43-year-old Krishnakumar KV, a Kazhakam staff member at a temple under the Cochin Devaswom Board (CDB), finding a bride has been an elusive dream. “Who would prefer a Kazhakam staff for their daughter? They have little appeal in matrimonial columns. No one wants to marry a temple servant,” he says, his voice tinged with resignation.

He recalls how a young colleague who worked distributing prasadam landed a low-level peon job through a departmental test—and promptly found a spouse.

Krishnakumar’s words reflect more than personal heartache—in a society where even temple priests now seek side careers in IT or online marketing to enhance their prospects, Kazhakam workers find themselves at the bottom of an unforgiving hierarchy.

Kazhakam staff perform duties essential to temple function—crafting floral garlands, sweeping the nalambalam (inner courtyard), cleaning puja utensils and brass lamps and ensuring the space remains spiritually pristine long after chants fade and devotees depart. Yet, they are officially categorized merely as temple servants, not even Class IV employees, and thus excluded from the most basic benefits enjoyed by even the lowest-ranking govt staff.

“They work longer hours than priests or drummers,” says Satheesh N, whose family has traditionally held Kazhakam rights in a CDB temple. “But they have no holidays, no service rules, and no statutory benefits. It takes 22 years of service to reach the pay of an entry-level peon.”

Many new recruits view the job as a temporary stopover—a holding pattern until they secure something better. “Even a peon’s job is a step up,” Krishnakumar admits.

The hardships extend beyond meagre pay. When pula (ritual impurity from a death in the family) prevents them from working, Kazhakam staff must hire substitutes. While the devaswom board provides just Rs 350 a day, substitutes demand nearly Rs 1,000. “We cover the rest from our pockets,” says Krishnakumar. “And after such leave, we lose half our salary.”

The term Kazhakam rarely enters public discourse, but it recently gained attention when a traditional ambalavasi family—castes historically linked to temple service—challenged the devaswom board’s decision to appoint an outsider to the Koodalmanikyam Temple in Thrissur.

The protest, widely perceived as caste-based resistance, sparked debates, with the case now awaiting resolution in the high court. Yet, beyond the legal and social wrangling lies a more fundamental truth: The job itself is far from the revered position many assume.

Satheesh minces no words: “There is nothing glorious about a Kazhakam job.” While priests and musicians conclude their duties with the temple’s closing, the essential task of cleaning the temple premises falls to the Kazhakam staff, often extending their work far beyond. Despite this crucial role, they are denied the holidays and statutory benefits provided to other public servants, he says.

“Many join without understanding the physical demands or the skills needed—like garland-making,” says Satheesh. “They leave as soon as they find something better.”

According to a senior devaswom officer, staffing these roles is becoming increasingly difficult. “For priests and drummers, we conduct skill tests. But how do you assess a Kazhakam worker’s dedication?” he asks. “Often, we rely on retired workers because new recruits don’t last.”

There are around 350 Kazhakam staff under the CDB. Most are appointed via rank lists rather than traditional lineage. Traditional families—including the Nambeeshan, Warier, and Pisharody castes—once the mainstay of temple service—are stepping away in droves.

“Ninety-nine percent of traditional families have already relinquished their rights,” Satheesh says. “The few who remain do it out of devotion, not for survival.”

For all the talk of reform, Kazhakam staff say real progress must start with fair wages and recognition. “The board talks about caste-neutral appointments, but what about dignity?” asks Satheesh. “We keep the temple running—shouldn’t that count for something?”

The devaswom boards face a dilemma. While trying to modernize recruitment and democratize access, they’ve failed to address the foundational issues of fair compensation and support. For now, workers like Krishnakumar remain in the shadows—essential yet invisible, devoted yet disregarded. “We serve the Gods,” he says softly, “but who serves our needs?”