Across India’s tribal villages, women continue to be hunted and killed as witches, while families watch in silence, fear or grief.
Poonam Masih, TwoCircles.net
Asansol (West Bengal): The night had long fallen over the tribal village of Dakshinkhand, West Bengal, when the pounding on the door began. Draped in her cotton saree, Sukhi Kisku still remembers the fury in their eyes. The crowd, nearly a hundred people, included many familiar faces from her own village. They allegedly dragged her into the open under the night sky, stripped her, beat her with sticks and rods, scratched her chest and shaved her head.
“Around 100 people came to my house. They dragged me out, tore my clothes, beat me with sticks and rods, scratched my chest, choked me, shaved my head and forced me to drink human feces and urine. They beat me so badly that my leg broke. I still cannot walk properly. Doctors say I need surgery to insert a metal plate,” Sukhi recalled the, sitting in the courtyard of her home.
She was targeted after being accused of practicing witchcraft. The incident did not occur in some remote corner of the country. It happened just 180 kilometres from Kolkata and barely 20 kilometres from the steel city of Durgapur. In one of India’s most literate states, a woman was branded a “daain” – a witch.
Across states like Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, Odisha, Madhya Pradesh, Assam, Bihar, West Bengal and beyond, such accusations are tragically common. Women are labelled witches for reasons as arbitrary as a neighbour’s illness, a family member’s death or disputes over land. Some are elderly. Others are widowed. Most are poor.
In July, five members of a family in Bihar’s Purnea district were beaten and burned alive after being accused of witchcraft. They were Sita Devi, Manjeet Oraon, Rani Devi and two men – including Babulal Oraon. The family had been blamed for the death of a village child.
“They physically assaulted them with sticks and then burned them alive. Their bodies were stuffed into sacks and dumped,” said Purnea’s DIG Pramod Kumar Mandal.
Grief-stricken Arjun Oraon, deceased Babulal’s brother, said, “I could not save them. I was not even allowed to leave my house. They told me if I came out, they would beat me. I could not even make a phone call.”
Arjun lives with his family in a separate house. His voice trembled as he recalled the horror.
“About 150 to 200 people came to my brother’s house with sticks, rods, iron bars and sharp weapons. They beat them severely, broke their legs and hands and then dragged them outside the village and set them on fire,” he alleged.
Khumlal Oraon, another brother of the victim, said, “We were helpless. We could not make sense of what was happening. The villagers came with their decision and started attacking them. We were just a few family members, unable to stop them.”
The local administration responded swiftly. Purnea District Magistrate Anshul Kumar told the media that an FIR had been registered against 13 named and around 150-200 unidentified persons. Three of the main accused were arrested, including a minor.
But justice, in many cases, is slow. And the fear remains.
Back in Dakshinkhand, Sukhi’s wounds, physical and emotional, have not healed so far. “I have four daughters and one son. All my daughters were married before the incident. Only my son was with me, but even he was not allowed to step outside the house,” she said.
The abuse came not only from strangers, but from people she knew. “Women in the crowd were telling the men, ‘Beat her and throw her into the pond.’ They beat me mercilessly. At that moment, I thought it was my last day on earth,” she recalled.
She was eventually rescued. “My son somehow saved me and took me to my relatives’ house. I stayed there for a week, but my condition worsened. Then my son-in-law admitted me to a private hospital and lodged a complaint at Ladouha police station. The police took action and arrested some of those involved,” she said.
Returning home was not easy. “After the treatment, the police commissioner and other officers came to my village with full force and ensured I was safely resettled in my home,” she said.
But her life has never returned to normal. “We are socially boycotted. No one visits or speaks to us because I am called a ‘daain’. My son and I live alone,” she added.
When asked why she was branded a witch, Sukhi raised her voice, “Before this incident, my husband died. Soon after, my gotni (sister-in-law) also passed away due to illness. We were blamed for both deaths, and I was branded a witch.”
These crimes reflect deep rooted superstition. They expose deeper roots of poverty, patriarchy and power.
According to Tanzil Asif, editor of Mai Media, a YouTube channel that covers Bihar’s Seemanchal region (which includes Purnea, Araria, Kishanganj and Katihar), while villagers expressed sorrow over the killings, many still believe in witchcraft.
“There is anger and unanswered questions in their eyes. Why were five people buried like this? Some villagers said that before doing something so extreme, they should have consulted a local healer to confirm whether any witchcraft was involved. But they did not. And now, the village has lost five of its own,” he said.
“People regret the deaths, but many still believe in witchcraft,” he added.
According to the latest available data of the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), over 2,500 deaths were linked to witch-hunting between 2000 and 2016. In Jharkhand alone, 593 women were killed between 2001 and 2021. Another 89 people were murdered between 2018 and 2022. Odisha’s Mayurbhanj and Keonjhar districts reported 2,553 deaths during 2000-2022. Chhattisgarh recorded 89 such murders between 2018 and 2022. Similar killings continue in Madhya Pradesh, Assam, Bihar, Maharashtra, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh.
She said that many recent cases involve horrific torture, and the consequences are lifelong. “I visit many villages to educate people. Branding women as witches should never be part of our culture. But even after years of effort, women still come to me with their pain,” she said.
She continues to support survivours, often at personal risk. “Whenever a woman approaches me with a complaint, I help her file a police report. Over the years, I have learned that women face physical assault, social boycott, stigma and humiliation because of lack of education and superstition that has seeped in the society over the years,” she said.
Dipta Bhog, a Delhi-based social activist, told Frontline, “The only time witch-hunting becomes visible is when it results in death. But women do not just die, they live in isolation, stigmatized and stripped of dignity.”
Researcher Tanvi Yadav adds that accusations are often driven by property disputes, sexual coercion and caste-based violence. “Dalit women are frequently targeted. Upper-caste communities often blame them for misfortunes, accusing them of witchcraft,” she said.
Some states have passed laws to curb the crime. Bihar’s Prevention of Witch (Daain) Practices Act, 1999 mandates seven years to life imprisonment and fines up to Rs 5 lakh. Jharkhand’s Anti-Witchcraft Act, passed in 2001, prescribes six months’ jail or a Rs 2,000 fine for branding someone a witch.
But laws alone have never stopped the violence.
From the smouldering ashes of Tetgama to the silent home in Dakshinkhand, the pattern remains same – suspicion, mob violence, isolation and silence.
Sukhi now lives surrounded by memories and mistrust. Her leg still does not bend the right way. Her neighbours still whisper. And the night they came for her, just as they came for the five in Purnea, still echoes in her voice.
“My son and I live alone. No one comes to meet us because I am a ‘daain’.”