‘How Ordinary People Cross the Final Line’..
The most terrifying question is not how someone becomes a killer. It is how an ordinary human being can convince themselves that killing another human being is justified.
A murder usually begins long before the weapon appears.
It can begin with fear.
A sick child.
A failed marriage.
A business collapsing.
A death that nobody understands.
A desperate search for money.
A belief that someone has cursed the family.
A self-styled spiritual practitioner who claims to know the reason.
And then, slowly, the language changes.
A person is no longer a neighbour.
She becomes a witch.
A stranger is no longer a human being.
He becomes an “offering.”
A victim is no longer a mother, daughter, wife or son.
They become an ingredient in a ritual.
That transformation—the transformation of a human being into an object—is where ritual murder begins.
And India’s recent cases reveal just how devastating that transformation can become.
It rarely starts with murder
The first stage is often explanation.
Something terrible has happened.
Someone is sick.
Someone has died.
Money has disappeared.
A relationship has collapsed.
A family is suffering.
Human beings hate unexplained suffering.
We search for causes.
Sometimes the cause is medical.
Sometimes psychological.
Sometimes economic.
Sometimes accidental.
But sometimes someone offers another explanation:
“There is a supernatural force behind this.”
And suddenly, the chaos has a name.
Black magic.
Witchcraft.
A curse.
An evil spirit.
Vashikaran.
A ritual.
Once the explanation is accepted, the next question becomes inevitable:
Who caused it?
And that is where an innocent person can become a target.
Kerala: the promise of prosperity
In 2022, Kerala witnessed one of India’s most disturbing alleged human-sacrifice cases.
Two women who sold lottery tickets disappeared months apart.
Police alleged that they had been lured to a house in Elanthoor, Pathanamthitta, as part of a suspected ritual intended to bring financial prosperity to a couple.
Investigators alleged that the women were murdered and buried.
The National Human Rights Commission subsequently took suo motu cognisance of the case, describing the reported killings as a grave violation of the victims’ right to life.
The case is horrifying precisely because it did not begin with a declared intention to murder.
It allegedly began with a desire.
Prosperity.
Someone wanted a better life.
Someone believed—or was allegedly persuaded to believe—that an extraordinary ritual could produce extraordinary wealth.
And two women allegedly paid the ultimate price for that belief.
The lesson is devastating:
Greed does not always look like greed.
Sometimes it looks like hope.
Jharkhand: when a child becomes an “offering”
In March 2026, a 13-year-old girl in Hazaribagh, Jharkhand, was allegedly killed in what police described as a ritual sacrifice.
Police arrested the girl’s mother, an alleged occult practitioner and another man.
According to investigators, the mother had consulted the practitioner about her son’s health and domestic problems. Police alleged that the practitioner convinced her that sacrificing a virgin girl was necessary to cure him.
The girl disappeared during Ram Navami celebrations.
Her body was found the following day.
Investigators said forensic examination ruled out an initial allegation of sexual assault and redirected the investigation toward the alleged ritual killing. The accused were arrested and remanded to judicial custody; the Jharkhand High Court later took suo motu cognisance, while the National Commission for Women constituted an inquiry committee.
Read the sequence again.
A sick child.
A frightened mother.
A person claiming to possess an answer.
A supernatural explanation.
A ritual.
And finally—
a dead child.
At some point, the person standing before the victim must have stopped seeing her as a child.
She had become an object within a belief system.
That psychological transformation may be one of the darkest mechanisms behind ritual violence.
Delhi: when money becomes the offering
In February 2026, three people were found dead inside a car near Peeragarhi in Delhi.
Police traced the investigation to a self-styled occult practitioner, Kamruddin.
According to the Delhi Police investigation and subsequent chargesheet reported by The Indian Express, the victims had allegedly been promised that ₹2 lakh could be multiplied into ₹2 crore through a ritual called “Dhanvarsha.”
Police alleged that poisoned sweets were given to the victims after they had travelled for the supposed ritual.
A 527-page chargesheet was subsequently filed in the case. Police alleged that the same accused was connected to other deaths and described him as a serial poisoner; those allegations remain matters for the criminal justice process.
This case exposes another pathway into ritual violence.
Not illness.
Not revenge.
Money.
The promise was absurdly large.
₹2 lakh becoming ₹2 crore.
But desperation can make extraordinary promises sound like extraordinary opportunities.
And once money enters the equation, the ritual can become a mechanism of deception.
The victims are no longer participants in a spiritual ceremony.
They are potential targets.
The disturbing part: the victims often trust the killer
This is one of the most psychologically disturbing features of alleged ritual crimes.
The victim may not initially perceive the perpetrator as an enemy.
The person may be introduced as:
A healer.
A godman.
A tantrik.
A spiritual guide.
A person with special knowledge.
Someone who can solve the problem that doctors, relatives or ordinary people cannot solve.
That creates an enormous imbalance of authority.
One person believes:
“You know something I don’t.”
The other person knows:
“You are desperate for an answer.”
That is a dangerous relationship.
Because once authority is accepted, instructions that would normally appear absurd can begin to appear meaningful.
The ritual creates distance from the crime
There is another disturbing psychological mechanism.
Language can make violence easier to commit.
A murderer may have to confront the reality:
“I am killing a human being.”
But a ritual framework can replace that sentence with:
“I am performing a sacrifice.”
The victim becomes an offering.
The killing becomes a ceremony.
The perpetrator becomes an instrument.
The supernatural explanation becomes a shield against personal responsibility.
This does not make the crime less criminal.
It can make the crime psychologically easier for the perpetrator to rationalise.
That distinction matters enormously.
Bihar: when an entire community becomes the weapon
Ritual violence does not always involve a single occult practitioner.
Sometimes an entire community can become trapped in the same belief.
In July 2025, the NHRC took suo motu cognisance of the reported killing and burning of five members of a family in Purnia, Bihar, after they were accused of practising witchcraft.
According to the NHRC’s account of the media report, a mob allegedly attacked the family after blaming them for illness and death in the village.
The NHRC sought a detailed report from the Bihar government and directed that the surviving 16-year-old boy, reportedly an eyewitness and the sole survivor of the family, receive counselling and protection.
There was no single mastermind required to create the violence.
Fear travelled from person to person.
Suspicion became accusation.
Accusation became certainty.
Certainty became mob action.
And suddenly, ordinary people were allegedly participating in extraordinary brutality.
This is one of the most terrifying aspects of collective superstition:
the individual conscience can disappear inside the crowd.
Jharkhand: the accusation becomes hereditary
In January 2026, a six-year-old boy was allegedly beaten to death in Jharkhand’s Khunti district.
According to the complaint reported by The Indian Express, the boy’s mother had previously been branded a witch after another child in the area died.
The family allegedly received threats.
Then the child was allegedly taken into a forest and killed.
Two people were arrested, and police registered murder and offences under the Jharkhand Witchcraft Prohibition Act.
Notice what happened.
The accusation was directed at the mother.
But the violence allegedly reached her child.
That is how superstition can mutate into collective punishment.
One person’s suffering becomes another person’s suspicion.
The suspicion becomes a label.
The label becomes an accusation.
The accusation becomes permission.
And eventually, someone dies.
The ordinary person inside the extraordinary crime
This is the question at the centre of everything:
Who commits ritual murder?
It is tempting to imagine a monster.
A person with no conscience.
A person fundamentally different from everyone else.
But history repeatedly demonstrates something more frightening.
People who commit terrible acts can still be ordinary human beings.
They have families.
They eat meals.
They go to work.
They talk to neighbours.
They laugh.
They sleep.
And yet, under particular combinations of fear, ideology, authority, desperation and group pressure, some people can cross boundaries they previously believed were impossible to cross.
The frightening question is therefore not:
“How could a monster do this?”
It is:
“What would have to happen for an ordinary person to stop seeing another human being as human?”
The staircase to violence
Ritual murder does not necessarily appear as one enormous decision.
It can develop through smaller psychological steps.
First: Something goes wrong.
A child becomes ill.
Someone dies.
Money disappears.
A relationship collapses.
Then: Someone offers an explanation.
“It is black magic.”
“She is a witch.”
“There is an evil force.”
“You have been cursed.”
Then: Someone identifies a target.
A neighbour.
A relative.
A vulnerable woman.
A stranger.
A child.
Then: The target is dehumanised.
“Witch.”
“Offering.”
“Obstacle.”
“Source of evil.”
Then: Authority provides justification.
A ritual practitioner says it is necessary.
A group agrees.
A family accepts it.
Fear silences doubt.
Finally: violence becomes permissible.
And that is the final line.
Once another human being is no longer perceived as a human being, almost anything can be rationalised.
But belief alone does not explain murder
This distinction is crucial.
Millions of Indians hold supernatural or religious beliefs.
The overwhelming majority will never harm another person because of them.
Therefore, simply blaming “belief” is intellectually inadequate.
Ritual murder requires something more.
There may be manipulation.
There may be financial desperation.
There may be mental-health vulnerabilities.
There may be social isolation.
There may be an authoritarian figure.
There may be interpersonal conflict.
There may be greed.
There may be criminal intent.
There may be group pressure.
And there may be a system in which questioning the ritual becomes dangerous.
The belief can provide the language.
But humans make the decisions.
The occult practitioner is not always the killer
One of the most disturbing possibilities is that the practitioner does not always need to perform the final act.
They can create the belief.
Someone else can carry out the violence.
That separation can create psychological distance.
The practitioner says:
“It must be done.”
Someone else does it.
The practitioner claims spiritual authority.
Someone else carries the physical responsibility.
And the victim is left with no protection.
This is why investigations must examine the entire network—not merely the person physically responsible for the death.
Who introduced the victim?
Who created the belief?
Who demanded money?
Who arranged the meeting?
Who supplied the instructions?
Who benefited?
Who knew?
Who remained silent?
Those questions can reveal the architecture of a crime.
The role of desperation
The most vulnerable person is not necessarily the least intelligent.
It is often the person with the most to lose.
The parent terrified by a child’s illness.
The family drowning in debt.
The person devastated by bereavement.
The couple desperate for a child.
The individual who believes someone has destroyed their life.
Desperation changes risk tolerance.
A person who would normally reject an impossible claim may think:
“What do I have to lose?”
That sentence has preceded countless forms of exploitation.
And sometimes, tragically, violence.
The final line is crossed in the mind first
Before a body is attacked, something else often happens.
The victim’s humanity is reduced.
The perpetrator constructs a story in which violence becomes necessary.
Perhaps the victim is blamed for illness.
Perhaps they are portrayed as the source of misfortune.
Perhaps their death is described as a sacrifice.
Perhaps killing them is presented as a cure.
Perhaps the perpetrator convinces themselves that the victim’s death will save someone else.
That is the psychological doorway.
Once murder becomes framed as necessary, the conscience has already been forced to fight a losing battle.
And sometimes the ritual turns on its creator
In January 2026, police in Amethi arrested four people after an occult practitioner was allegedly murdered by a client who had sought his help for a medical condition.
According to police, the practitioner had allegedly promised to treat the man’s condition through occult practices, charging ₹3,000 per session. The client’s health allegedly worsened, and resentment grew over the failed treatment and continued financial demands. Police said this anger contributed to a conspiracy to kill the practitioner.
It is a chilling reversal.
The person who claimed to possess supernatural power became the victim.
The client who believed in the ritual allegedly became the killer.
And the promise of a cure ended in murder.
This case exposes another truth:
When belief fails, desperation can become rage.
The illusion of certainty
Perhaps the most dangerous ingredient in ritual murder is not superstition.
It is certainty.
Uncertainty leaves room for questions.
Certainty closes them.
“I think she is a witch” still leaves doubt.
“She is a witch” eliminates it.
“I think the ritual might help” leaves room for caution.
“The ritual must be done” removes it.
And once certainty becomes absolute, evidence becomes irrelevant.
That is when a dangerous belief can become an instruction.
What investigators see after the ritual
After the smoke disappears, the investigation becomes brutally ordinary.
There are bodies.
Post-mortems.
Phone records.
CCTV.
Bank transfers.
Digital messages.
Witness statements.
Forensic evidence.
Location data.
Recovered objects.
And questions.
The supernatural explanation may dominate the headlines.
But investigators have to reconstruct human actions.
Who was where?
Who contacted whom?
What happened first?
What happened next?
Who lied?
Who benefited?
What evidence contradicts the story?
That is how the mythology is stripped away.
And what remains is usually much more human.
The final transformation
The tragedy of ritual murder is not merely that someone dies.
It is that, somewhere along the way, people stop seeing the victim as a person.
The woman becomes a witch.
The child becomes an offering.
The stranger becomes a source of prosperity.
The sick person becomes a vessel for a cure.
The human being becomes an object.
And once that transformation occurs, the distance between belief and violence becomes frighteningly short.
The last question
Perhaps we should stop asking only:
“What ritual was performed?”
And begin asking:
“What happened to the human conscience?”
Who convinced them?
Who created the fear?
Who benefited?
Who remained silent?
Who believed without questioning?
Who transformed another human being into an object?
Because the deepest horror of ritual murder is not the ritual.
It is the moment when an ordinary person looks at another human being—
and no longer sees a human being.
That is the final line.
And once crossed, no mantra can bring the victim back.
No ritual can undo the crime.
No explanation can restore a life.
Only accountability can remain.
And perhaps that is the most devastating truth of all:
The darkest force in these cases may not be supernatural at all.
It may be the human capacity to turn fear into certainty, certainty into obedience, and obedience into violence.
About the Author
