Black Magic in Mumbai

Got a property dispute in Mumbai? Or maybe you just don't like somebody? Don't worry, help is at hand. You can easily call on the services of the local mafia to have matters turned to your advantage or - better still - engage a competent black magician!

These days most foreign visitors to Mumbai are amazed at the contrasts they encounter. Visually the city exudes an overall aura of neglect, filth and decay, and yet business is booming like never before.

Though the middle and upper classes of the city's 14 million strong population are enjoying unprecedented prosperity, the number of slum dwellers grows by the minute. As a result, posh residential areas are increasingly dotted with slum settlements, occupying every unclaimed inch of Mumbai's expensive earth.

But the contradictions run even deeper. In a city which prides itself on its "modernity", black magicians and exorcists still do a roaring trade.

Just ask Sunita Mehta, who found out the hard way. Sunita runs a small furniture shop in a busy street in Central Mumbai, located in her own, spacious, if crumbling building. Given Mumbai's spiralling property prices - the third highest in the world after Tokyo and Hong Kong - the building is worth several million US Dollars. A square foot of office space in Mumbai can cost up to US$1,200. Mumbai's various mafia gangs are highly active in the property business, often 'persuading' landlords to part from their properties for a song.

H.J. Hoffman / CPA

"Possessed" praying for deliverance, Sayed Ali Datar Dargah

The hard-pressed landlords may in turn call on the services of a rival gang to get rid of the thugs. Reports of suspected mafia men found dead in some dark alley are all too common. While in many property disputes the mafia are called in, sometimes a more subtle approach may be used, involving-black magic.

Sunita's troubles began shortly after she had inherited the building from an aunt. A family of relatives, who were also living in the building and who felt unjustly left out in the aunt's will, started pressuring her to sign away the property. "They would come to me with a prepared statement and a pen in hand, and bully me to sign", recounts Sunita. This went on for several months. When it became obvious that Sunita wouldn't budge, the family called in a Hindu tantrik, or magician.

In the beginning, Sunita didn't realise what had happened to her. Suddenly she would lapse into a violent, shaking fit and faint, or occasionally speak in a man's voice. "This happened mostly on the days of the full and new moon, as these are the days, when spells are most effective", says Sunita, still shuddering at the memories. "Very often, I had horrendous nightmares, in which a voice tried to force me to sign the paper."

Things seemed to get out of hand when Sunita's body suddenly started to ooze a greenish liquid during the fits. Everything else might be dismissed as the workings of an overactive mind, but this? By now, even Sunita's parents felt that some strange, evil force was at work. Initially her father, a microbiologist, had sought a more 'rational' explanation. That magic was involved became obvious when Sunita discovered a tiny pack of yellow rice and nails (items commonly used in India as part of magic rituals) under her mattress.

To break the spell Sunita called on the services of a tantrik who advertised in a local paper. "But", says Sunita, "when he realised that I was really desperate he tried to fleece me. He asked for 30,000 rupees (almost US$1,000) for some spell-breaking rituals". Sunita declined.

H.J. Hoffman / CPA

Pilgrim at a Muslim shrine, Bombay.

Next, by 'word of mouth', she found somebody less mercenary, yet very efficient. "A simple, ordinary looking man, who gets up every morning at four to pray, then attends his 'office' with all those weird things around - skulls and stuff", Sunita elaborates. The tantrik, who shies away from publicity, and even more so from interviews, works purely on personal recommendation. "Genuine magicians don't advertise", Sunita explains.

After a few exorcism sessions, Sunita began to feel much better. The fits and nightmares became less intense. In one memorable session the tantrik prepared some small bags full of supposedly magical items - chicken bones, nails and limes amongst other things - and proceeded to work on Sunita's spell. Then, all of a sudden, Sunita went into a violent shaking fit. Her mouth opened and "some limes with nails stuck in them came out. On one of the limes the Marathi word for 'ill health' was neatly spelled out with nails. [Marathi is Mumbai's local language]. On another, the nails formed an X-like sign, a magical symbol of destruction".

But there was worse to come. "After the limes had appeared", Sunita continues, "suddenly, a goblin-like little figure, about 5-6 cms high, pushed its way out through my mouth. It was very difficult to get out. Finally, the figure kind of jumped out of my mouth and hopped across the room." The figure then disappeared into one of the tantrik's magical bags, only to be destroyed there. All in all, three identical looking goblins came out, "ugly little creatures, each with round, permanently rotating eyes, a goatee-like beard and one very long, curved tooth."

Sunita's experiences could very well be dismissed as symptoms of schizophrenic hallucination - had not her parents also been present at the session. "I even helped pull one of these horrible figures out of her mouth after it had got stuck", says Sunita's mother, a middle-aged, down-to-earth business woman, still shuddering at the memory.

But the ordeal was not yet over. The tantrik cautioned that the spell was only partly broken. He asked Sunita to visit a particular dargah, the tomb of a Muslim saint, reputed miraculously to drive out demons and break spells. The word dargah is originally Persian, meaning 'royal court', 'threshold', or 'portal'. It is also used for the shrines built around the tombs of Muslim saints credited with supernatural powers. Famous dargah can be found in many parts of the Muslim world attracting pilgrims from far and wide.

This particular dargah, Hazrat Pir Syed Ali Datar Dargah, is situated near the Mumbai docks, in the run-down suburb of Mazgaon. For miles slum settlements and filthy, pot-holed streets dominate the landscape.

After Sunita and her mother reached the dargah, Sunita had only to go through a very simple ritual. She put both hands on the saint's tomb, lowered her head and prayed with all her will - no more. Then she left the dargah. On the way home in a taxi, Sunita's final healing occurred. "All of a sudden my body started convulsing and shaking. Then I felt a black and very dense shadow, some kind of entity, slowly leave by body. It was as though it was being sucked out of me by some higher force. All the while I was shaking and screaming. In the end, when the 'thing' had left me, I was so exhausted that I collapsed in the taxi." The proceedings even got the better of the poor taxi driver, who was so frightened he could hardly steer straight. No doubt in future he will think twice before picking up strange people outside the dargah!

Since that day Sunita has been living virtually untroubled. "My relatives continue casting their spells, as they cannot neglect the spirits they have summoned. Otherwise they would be destroyed themselves", explains Sunita. But now, she insists, such spells have no more effect on her.

Judging by the number of people visiting the dargah, Sunita's case is just one of many. On any day, dozens of supposedly bewitched or possessed men and women can be seen praying for deliverance. Some rock and sway rhythmically, as if gripped by the spirit of some second-class Elvis Presley impersonator. Others go berserk, roll across the floor and scream obscenities as if transported to the local fish market.

Occasionally somebody will run from the dargah to the nearby seashore for a wild wallow and splash. The water at this particular spot - filthy as it may be - is supposed to have a healing effect on the bewitched. The spot lies right next to a breaker�s yard in which a couple of giant freighters are being dismantled.

It is noteworthy, though, that some of the 'possessed' seem to go into fits when somebody with a camera, especially a wide-eyed foreigner, shows up. Turn your back on them and they become as normal and sober as your average Jehovah's Witness. These folks might well be employed by the dargah to enhance its "reputation". Anyhow, there's never a dull moment.

The dargah itself is surprisingly inconspicuous. Its main feature is the tomb of the Arabian pir [saint] Syed Ali Datar, which also contains the remains of his mother. Another tomb next to it holds the body of Syed Ali's maternal uncle. A simple building has been built around the tombs, decorated only with a few garlands. Photography inside the structure is prohibited.

How the dargah became known as a place conducive to exorcism, nobody seems to know or care. Nor does anyone seem interested in how, when or why the saint came to India - though the title Syed implies that he was a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad. Everybody is quite certain, however, that his spirit watches over the dargah and helps worshippers to overcome spells and demons. And that is all that counts.

There are a good many case histories to be found at the dargah. Ram Singh, 27, was living in his native Rajasthan, when suddenly he took to violent fits. Large boils appeared all over his body, oozing with a strange, slimy liquid. As no doctor could cure him, Ram became convinced that some enemy had put a spell on him. He made his way to the dargah and, after a few weeks of prayer, he was healed. Ever since then, Ram has remained at the dargah, working as an attendant. Many people at the dargah still recount the case of an Arab, who for five years had been haunted by an evil spirit. After praying at the tomb and drinking the 'holy' water from the nearby sea shore, he was cured - and supposedly left a very substantial donation.

Sunita, too, has buried the demons of the past. She is currently writing a novel around the subject of black magic, based largely on her own experiences. If she manages to record only half of them credibly on paper, Stephen King may soon have some new competition.

This article was originally published in the The Nation (Thailand).

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