Of doctors, demons, and best friend therapies

Note: this is the first of a series on the state of rural health in India.

In the small farming village of Malajpur, two teenagers – Savi Dhurve, 17, and Asha Korku, 16, (names changed) — have formed an unlikely friendship. They met earlier this year at the temple fair here, where both families had brought them to undergo a local exorcism ritual. Both teenagers and their families believe they are under the spell of a demon.

“I used to get thrown around the room and have fainting fits. I would be contorted in pain and wake up not remembering anything,” Savi says by way of explanation. “Same,” chimes in Asha before Savi can end her sentence. “I wouldn’t remember anything either.”

They look at each other and laugh – at nothing, at everything. It is the familiar best friend-chaos-energy that teenagers tend to have. The two girls have been living inside the temple premises for nearly a month. Over that time, they have become inseparable – sitting shoulder to shoulder during aarti, whispering jokes during parikramas around the deity inside the sanctum, speaking in a jumble, for and over each other.

Savi looks at Asha fondly and says, “she gets affected easi…”

“– I can’t explain it –”

“– you’ll see during the aarti –”

“– but I’m much better now – " Asha concludes, implying that the month at the temple has helped her condition.

The Malajpur Ghost Fair – locally known as Bhooton ka Mela – is a centuries-old annual event. It begins on Magha Purnima (a full moon day during January-February) and ends on Basant Panchami (the arrival of spring). The fair, held in Betul district’s Chicholi Block, is centred around the samadhi of a saint called Gurusahab Baba or Deoji Maharaj. He was believed to have had mystical powers to cure people ‘possessed’ by spirits. Villagers here believe that the demonic spirits become trapped in the leaves of banyan trees inside the temple compound. The event draws thousands of pilgrims and believers from around Madhya Pradesh as well as from neighbouring Chhattisgarh and Rajasthan.

As if on cue, during aarti, a little after sunset, Asha falls in a trance. Her mother steps back as Savi steps in to care for her friend during the possession. Asha’s eyes are unfocused, her shoulders twitch sharply and at sudden bursts, her face is contorted. When her mother calls her name, she doesn’t respond. Savi grips her hair firmly, with practised hands, holding the “demon” but also making sure Asha doesn’t hurt herself during the episode. For the next few minutes, Savi walks with her possessed friend around the sanctum, murmuring assurances. Their mothers walk behind them, faces tightened with concern. When it ends, Asha falls to the floor, and the women form a circle around her. Someone passes a glass of holy water, and Savi tips a few drops on her lips, softly saying, “drink.... it’s over.”

The mothers – Sunita and Pappi – brought their daughters here because there was nowhere else to go. No psychiatrists. No mental health experts. No counsellors. They live in a clinical desert where this temple has become an oasis, a place for families like theirs to find mental health care as well as support groups.

Some come for blessings. Some, to be freed from what they called buri atma – evil spirits. Everyone has an account of miracles which brought them here. A woman in the neighbouring village who was cured of cancer. Another who had a child after decades. Someone who was cured of snake bite and brought back to life. The devotees offer jaggery to “GuruMaharaj” when their wishes come true.

Madhya Pradesh, one of the largest states in India, is steeped in superstition and a mental health crisis. Over 70 per cent of its population lives in rural areas. “What you saw at the temple is the tip of the iceberg,” Dr Sanjay Khaterkar, the psychiatrist at Betul district hospital, tells us. “There are vacancies at hospitals that haven’t been filled. We try to hold camps and do on-site visits and refer patients to Bhopal when we find someone needing in-patient care. But this is a huge crisis that cannot be solved with a few visits.”

According to a 2021 study published in Psychiatry Journal, only 13.7 percent of the state is covered under the District Mental Health Program launched in 1996. Only 11.8 percent of hospitals provide mental health services. And the availability of psychiatrists in the state is at 0.05 per lakh population, falling abysmally short of the World Health Organization’s (WHO) minimum recommended threshold of 3 per 100,000.

In Betul, Civil Surgeon Dr Jagdish Ghore points out that the district hospital has infrastructure but lacks staff. “If we have the facility for endoscopy or echo cardiogram, we do not have technicians to run the machine. We have new buildings and nice infrastructure but only 11 of the 30 posts for specialists are filled at this hospital.”

Overall, the data paint a grim picture of a state where the vast majority of people with mental illness go untreated. The lack of facilities has resulted in low care-seeking among families, and a rising vulnerability among teenagers like Savi and Asha. “The treatment gap in context to mental health services,” the 2021 study concluded, “was observed to be present among 91% of people with mental illness, and these patients do not have any sort of health-seeking for proper treatment. The number of suicides in the state was 1.19 per million population with the rate being highest among the 18-45 years age group.”

A more recent study, from October 2025, found that psychiatrists in MP are heavily concentrated in a few urban centres – primarily Indore, Bhopal, and Gwalior. Meanwhile, nearly half the state’s 54 districts are left without a single mental health specialist.

“The exorcism rites at Malajpur, mostly done on women, would be diagnosed as epilepsy, psychosis, anxiety or other conditions, if we have enough doctors,” says Dr Khaterkar.

Instead, in a clinical desert like this, the mental suffering of teenagers like Savi and Asha are read through the sacred and the supernatural: demons and angels, saints and relics, visions and visitations, echoing the logic of medieval worlds in the middle of the 21st century. For youngsters like Savi and Asha, “possession” provides them with a means through which to express the chaos inherent in their daily lives.

“For bodily problems you have to go to the hospital. For spiritual problems, we have to come here,” said Sunita, Savi’s mother, adding that someone had placed a curse on her daughter and such things could only be solved at this temple.

“When I first came here, I used to cry a lot. I wanted to go back home, then I met Asha… now this place feels nice. I have friends here…,” Savi tells me as the month-long ghost fair wraps up on Basant Panchami. “I’ll go back to my village tomorrow, without Savi. I don’t know what I will do,” Asha says, almost talking to herself.

While their mothers continue to frame the girls’ recovery as spiritual healing, Savi and Asha, survivors of the same storm, found therapeutic value in something simpler: their friendship. By the end of the month, the two are already making plans to meet at the temple next year. “... and the next…” says Savi.

“... And the next year after that...” they both tell me at the same time, and burst out laughing.

Maybe something magical did happen here after all.

This story is published under the PARI Senior Fellowship 2025.