In India, the fall of a godman is never quiet. It is noisy, chaotic, and often violent — because when a spiritual empire collapses, it takes faith, politics and patriarchy down with it. For decades, the country has produced a steady stream of charismatic male gurus who built vast followings across caste, class and even national boundaries. They preached celibacy, discipline, devotion and purity. They blessed babies, cured illnesses, delivered sermons on morality. Many ran sprawling ashrams that functioned like parallel societies — complete with schools, dormitories, private security and devoted inner circles. And then, one by one, some of these spiritual icons were accused — and in several cases convicted — of raping women and children who had trusted them as divine guides.
Few cases shook the country as violently as that of Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh, head of the powerful Dera Sacha Sauda sect. In 2017, he was convicted of raping two female followers. When the verdict was announced, thousands of his supporters rioted across parts of northern India. More than 30 people died in the unrest. The spectacle was chilling: followers willing to burn cities in defense of a man a court had found guilty of sexual violence. It forced India to confront a disturbing truth — devotion can override justice.
The conviction of Asaram Bapu the following year deepened that reckoning. Asaram, once a household name with millions of devotees and political connections, was sentenced to life imprisonment for raping a 16-year-old girl at his ashram. The assault, prosecutors said, was cloaked in the language of spiritual healing. For years, allegations against him had been dismissed as conspiracies or attacks on Hinduism itself. But the court’s decision signaled that even powerful religious figures could be held criminally accountable.
Long before these headlines, India had seen a precursor in Swami Premananda, a Tamil-born guru convicted in the 1990s of multiple rapes and murder within his ashram. His case exposed how young girls living inside closed spiritual communities could be isolated, silenced and manipulated. The pattern would repeat in later scandals: a charismatic leader, a tightly controlled environment, and followers taught that obedience was sacred.
More recently, figures such as Falahari Baba and Chaitanyananda Saraswati have faced conviction or arrest over allegations of rape and molestation. Each case reignited the same national debate. How do these men continue to command loyalty even after accusations surface? Why do families send daughters to ashrams without question? And why are survivors often treated as traitors rather than victims?
At the heart of the debate lies a uniquely Indian intersection of faith and hierarchy. Gurus are not merely teachers; they are often seen as living conduits to the divine. The Sanskrit word “guru” itself implies one who dispels darkness. Challenging such a figure can feel, to devotees, like blasphemy. Add to this India’s deeply rooted patriarchy — where women and girls are conditioned to respect male authority — and the power imbalance becomes stark.
In many of these cases, survivors described being told that sexual acts were part of “tantric initiation,” “purification rituals,” or divine commands. The language of spirituality blurred boundaries and made resistance feel sinful. Inside ashrams, where leaders control housing, food, education and social networks, dissent can mean exile. For women from conservative families, speaking out carries the risk of stigma that can last a lifetime.
Yet the prosecutions also reflect change. India’s Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act strengthened legal mechanisms for prosecuting abuse. Courts have shown increasing willingness to sentence influential religious figures. Investigative journalists and whistleblowers have become more assertive. Social media has amplified survivor voices, making it harder for allegations to disappear quietly.
The public conversation has shifted too. The term “godman” is now frequently used with skepticism, even irony. Television debates question the commercialization of spirituality — the multi-million-dollar empires built around miracle cures and mass rallies. Feminist groups have highlighted how blind faith intersects with misogyny. Some scholars argue that these scandals are not aberrations but symptoms of unchecked authority in any institution — religious or otherwise. Still, the reckoning remains uneven. Many controversial spiritual leaders retain political patronage. Devotees often frame convictions as persecution. In a country where religion is deeply entwined with identity, criticism of a guru can quickly morph into accusations of attacking a faith community itself.
What makes these cases particularly painful is not only the abuse but the betrayal. Women and children sought guidance, healing or refuge. Instead, they encountered exploitation wrapped in sanctity. Survivors who testify against powerful gurus often endure threats, social ostracism and years of litigation. Their courage challenges not just individual perpetrators but entire systems of reverence.
India’s struggle with abusive spiritual leaders mirrors a global pattern seen in churches, monasteries and cults worldwide. But in India, where religious authority can command millions and influence elections, the stakes feel especially high. Each conviction chips away at the aura of untouchability surrounding charismatic godmen. Each survivor who speaks out widens the space for questioning.
The debate continues in living rooms, courtrooms and television studios. Is the problem faith itself — or the absence of accountability? Should religious institutions face greater state oversight, or would that threaten freedom of worship? How can devotees distinguish genuine spiritual guidance from manipulation? There are no simple answers. India’s spiritual traditions are vast, complex and deeply woven into daily life. Millions find comfort, community and meaning through them. But the exposure of sexual abuse within ashrams has forced a hard truth into the open: holiness does not guarantee morality, and charisma is not character.
In the end, perhaps the most significant change is psychological. Where once accusations against a guru might have been dismissed outright, today they are debated, investigated and — sometimes — prosecuted. That shift does not erase the trauma endured by victims. But it suggests that in a country long accustomed to bowing before holy men, more people are beginning to ask difficult questions before they kneel.
Spicy Auntie has lived in Asia long enough to know that charisma is a dangerous perfume. It smells like wisdom. It looks like serenity. It sounds like certainty. And if you’re not careful, it can intoxicate an entire nation.
Every time another “godman” falls in India, people act surprised. Shocked. Betrayed. As if patriarchy wrapped in saffron robes suddenly sprouted claws overnight. My darlings, it didn’t. It always had them.
Let me say something unfashionable: the problem is not faith. Faith can be tender, healing, revolutionary. The problem is unchecked male authority blessed with divine immunity. When a man is treated as God’s personal WhatsApp channel, who is going to question him? Certainly not the young woman told her obedience is sacred. Certainly not the child taught that silence is virtue.
We have seen this script before. The holy man who speaks of purity while violating it. The ashram that promises refuge but enforces isolation. The followers who defend their guru more fiercely than they defend their daughters. And when survivors speak, what do they hear? “Liar.” “Conspiracy.” “Attack on religion.” Patriarchy always hires religion as its best lawyer.
And yet — something is shifting.
The fact that powerful gurus are being arrested, prosecuted, even sentenced to life imprisonment? That matters. It tells every survivor watching from a small town, from a conservative family, from inside a closed spiritual community: you are not crazy. You are not alone. You are not committing blasphemy by telling the truth.
But here’s the uncomfortable part: these men did not rise alone. They were lifted. By politicians seeking vote banks. By families seeking miracles. By women told that surrender is virtue. By a culture that trains girls to respect, obey, and never accuse.
Spiritual spaces can be beautiful. They can also be perfect ecosystems for abuse — hierarchy, secrecy, reverence, and silence. Add a charismatic man at the top and a society that worships him, and you have a structure where exploitation can flourish for years.
So what now?
Maybe we teach our daughters that holiness does not cancel consent. Maybe we teach our sons that power does not equal entitlement. Maybe we learn to bow — if we must — without switching off our brains.
Because enlightenment, my loves, should never require submission to harm.