By — Hansin Kapoor

Abstract

India’s police are fighting a battle not only against crime but also against fear, faith and folklore. From the burning of homes in Bihar to daring rescues in Meghalaya, police often find themselves in villages ruled by superstition rather than law. Witch-hunting and black magic killings unveils how belief can turn violent when education and healthcare are absent. Despite scattered state laws and determined police action, justice often gives way to silence and stigma. My article explores how law enforcers chase the shadows of the occult, caught between community belief and constitutional duty, and why ending this darkness will take awareness, empathy and courage more than just a law.

Introduction 

In July 2025, Bihar police faced a scene of horror. In a remote village of Purnia district, about 50 villagers set fire to the home of Sita Devi, accusing the 45‑year‑old of practising witchcraft. By dawn five family members, including three women, lay dead, their house reduced to ashes. Police later filed a murder case against 23 named suspects, but the appalling brutality drew national shock. A state human rights commission even took suo motu notice of the killing. This wasn’t an isolated incident but part of a grim pattern, superstition and fear still run deep where education and healthcare lag. Purnea’s Deputy Inspector General Pramod Kumar Mandal told reporters, “We have arrested three accused so far,” and set up a special task force to track down the rest. In each case, tribal and poor communities are often branded as witches and assaulted or killed.

Investigations and Interventions

Police responses have been mixed but increasingly proactive for instance in Bihar’s Purnea, local SP Sweety Sahrawat said her force quickly formed a “dedicated team to investigate the murders” and within days her officers had arrested several suspects and vowed to pursue everyone involved. But officers often hit hurdles, as many villagers stay silent or even protect perpetrators which depicts the community resistance investigators face.

In more remote hill districts, police have even rescued would-be victims from angry mobs. In November 2025, Meghalaya’s East Khasi Hills saw a spectacular showdown, the Superintendent of Police Vivek Syiem described how hundreds of villagers gathered to attack a family they accused of practicing the “Thlen” cult (loosely translated as witchcraft). State police rushed to the spot with backup units and managed to rescue 21 people, including children, from the mob. Nine assailants were promptly arrested. SP Syiem sternly reminded the public that accusing someone of black magic is itself a crime under state law. Local authorities continue to urge citizens to report rumors to police and remain vigilant against superstition-driven violence.

Similarly in Odisha and other states, senior officers have organized training and awareness drives. In 2016, for instance, Odisha’s crime branch held state-level workshops to sensitize police about the new Odisha Prevention of Witch-Hunting Act (2013). Crime Branch chief B.K. Sharma explained that officers were being instructed to remain alert and strengthen their intelligence network in districts where witchcraft violence is most prevalent. He even proposed cash rewards for villagers who report witch-hunting incidents, to encourage early intervention. “We are now focusing on preventive measures, registration of cases, investigation and creating awareness,” Sharma told The Telegraph, noting that pamphlets will be distributed at local fairs and village schools. The police also vowed to crack down on local “witch doctors” and black‑magic quacks who stir up panic in tribal areas.

Laws and Lacunas  

Special state laws against witch-hunting and occult-inspired crimes did not emerge in India out of neat legislative planning, they were born in the heat of public outrage and the slow burn of grassroots resistance. When the law failed to “call a spade a spade,” civil society forced its hand. These Acts arose because general criminal provisions were proving too blunt an instrument to cut through deeply rooted superstition, caste hierarchies and gendered violence. Activists, women’s collectives, rationalist movements and survivor testimonies pushed lawmakers into a corner where “business as usual” would no longer pass muster. In Bihar, brutal killings of women branded as “daain” sparked sustained mobilisations that drove the Prevention of Witch (Daain) Practices Act in 1999. Jharkhand followed in 2001, Chhattisgarh in 2005, and Odisha in 2013, each shaped by local histories of tribal marginalisation and feeble policing. Maharashtra’s 2013 law against human sacrifice and black magic crystallised only after the daylight assassination of rationalist Narendra Dabholkar, proving that sometimes, reform is written not in ink but in blood. Rajasthan and Assam adopted anti-witch-hunting statutes around 2015, while Karnataka approved its anti-black magic law in 2017 and brought into force in 2020, all products of sustained campaigns where silence was no longer golden but criminal. In short, these special Acts exist because ordinary law was whistling in the dark, and society finally demanded a torch, to put a name to a hidden crime and send a message that the age-old practice of “branding and burning” would no longer be swept under the carpet.

Social Challenges and Superstitions

Experts say witch-hunts often mask deeper social issues such as land disputes, personal grudges and gender bias and their targets are usually the most vulnerable like widows, elderly or disabled women, tribal minorities and social outcasts.Prof. Kanchan Mathur (IDS–India) explains that women who are “widowed, infertile, possess ‘ugly’ features…poor or socially ostracized are easy targets”. In many rural communities with scarce healthcare, illnesses or crop failures are blamed on witchcraft by unscrupulous“ojhas” (sorcerers) charging fees for exorcisms or curses. Reporters have documented cases where a single local “witch‑doctor” could ignite a frenzy by declaring a villager guilty of black magic after every mishap.

The legacy of superstition is exacerbated by gender inequality. Women’s rights groups argue that “witch” labels are often a cover for domestic violence, rape or property-grab attempts. Journalist Rahul Kumar, who has covered Jharkhand’s tribal villages, points out victims rarely seek police help because “they have to live in the same village…amidst their tormentors”. Once accused, women are frequently subjected to dehumanizing public torture, forced naked, paraded, beaten, even raped, before being lynched or exiled. Not surprisingly, many never report the abuse.

On the Record: Police and Activists Speak

a)     Law Enforcement Perspectives

Police voices across states paint a picture of a fight fought on uneven ground, where proximity blurs guilt and fear corrodes evidence. SP Syiem (Meghalaya) 2025 public cautions cut to the bone of the problem that villagers, he warned, must not take the law into their own hands, stressing that “branding or accusing anyone…of [black magic] is a criminal offence and can lead to tragic loss of innocent lives and property”. In Odisha,DGP Sharma adopted a more institutional tone, directing officers to treat witch-hunting as a priority offence and to “remain alert,” equating fake miracle-mongering with other forms of violent crime. On the ground, Amit Jain, Additional DGP in Bihar, described how police have shifted towards preventive policing by distributing pamphlets at melas and activating “weaker section” cells to spread awareness of superstition laws. Meghalaya’s response after the 2025 incident, including helplines and police training modules, reflects this slow pivot from reactive policing to anticipatory control. Yet even within police ranks, the mood is cautious rather than triumphant as resources are thin, and without dedicated campaigns, rumor and rage continue to travel faster than the badge.

b)     Civil Society Perspectives

If the police speak the language of procedure, the activists speak the language of roots and rot.

Anuradha Mohanty insists that “strict law alone cannot stop such crimes, we need to educate [people]”, arguing that punishment without pedagogy is like treating fever without curing the infection. Moreover, social worker Santosh Sharma’s field findings are more damning as of 81 village mukhiyas interviewed in Bihar, 61 had never even heard of the state’s anti-witchcraft law. For her, this ignorance is not accidental but structural, and she presses for the training of local leaders and women’s self-help groups as first responders, turning the village itself into a shield rather than a hunting ground.Human rights lawyers go further, exposing a shadow practice that rarely appears in official records, in many cases, police simply encourage the parties involved to settle matters privately, without any formal legal action, a compromise that reads like peace but functions as erasure. Civil society critiques converge on a single point that without sustained, village-level education and state-funded outreach, the law risks becoming a paper tiger, roaring in statutes while whispering in the fields.

Breaking the Spell

The collision of modern policing and ancient beliefs poses hard questions as these cases show how criminal justice must engage with cultural contexts. Experts suggest improving rural health and education to reduce superstition’s appeal, training police to handle occult cases sensitively and by the book and strengthening the special laws with clear procedures and victim support services. Truly confronting witch‑hunting will require addressing the social inequalities at its root, but until then, India’s police continue to walk a tightrope between upholding the law and contending with the age-old shadows of witchcraft.

About the Author

Hansin Kapoor is a third year student pursuing B.A. (Hons.) Criminology & Criminal Justice who chases the thin line between law and lore, turning courtroom dust and village whispers into sharp insights on justice, power, and human dignity.

Image Source: https://www.mid-day.com/sunday-mid-day/article/knights-in-lucky-armour-23305750