India’s Spiritual Tourism Boom and the Abuse Hidden Inside
India’s spiritual tourism economy sells something deeper than a holiday. It sells relief. A way through grief. A cure for fear. A ritual for illness, infertility, loneliness, addiction, family conflict, bad luck, or shame. That promise now sits inside a market often valued at nearly $35 billion, powered by ashrams, retreats, pilgrimage circuits, healing circles, yoga centres, wellness resorts, temple towns, and self-styled gurus who speak the language of surrender.
For many people, that world is sincere. Millions travel to pray, recover, reflect, and reconnect. India’s religious traditions are vast, living, and often profoundly humane. Faith is not the problem.
The problem is what grows in the blind spots around faith.
In March 2026, Nashik police arrested Ashok Kharat, a former Merchant Navy officer who had become a self-styled godman. Police said they recovered hidden-camera footage of 58 women. Twelve separate cases followed. The Enforcement Directorate opened a money-laundering probe. A petition reached the Bombay High Court demanding that Maharashtra enforce its anti-superstition law with the seriousness it deserves.
That case did not appear from nowhere. It belongs to a darker record of godman exploitation in India, including Asaram Bapu, sentenced to life for raping a teenager in his ashram under the pretext of exorcising evil spirits, and Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh, convicted of raping two followers. Other figures, including Nithyananda and Falahari Baba, have faced serious allegations or cases over the years.
The pattern is familiar enough to be named. Claimed divine power. Private ritual space. Vulnerable person. Absolute trust. Isolation. Silence.
What remains missing is the system that should stand between belief and abuse.
The spiritual economy has grown faster than its safeguards
India’s spiritual tourism boom is not a fringe story. It sits at the centre of domestic travel, heritage planning, temple infrastructure, yoga diplomacy, and the global wellness market. Pilgrimage towns draw crowds year-round. Retreat centres market silence, detox, meditation, rebirth, and ancient healing to urban Indians and international travellers. Smaller spiritual operators now reach audiences through phones, payment apps, short videos, and private messaging groups.
The sector is broad. It includes:
Temple tourism and organised pilgrimage packages
Ashrams and residential retreats
Yoga, meditation, and breathwork centres
Occult, tantric, and “energy healing” services
Faith-based counselling and family rituals
Wellness stays that blend spirituality with health claims
Much of this is legal, voluntary, and culturally rooted. A family visiting Shirdi, Varanasi, Tirupati, Amritsar, Ajmer, Bodh Gaya, or Rishikesh is not engaging in anything unusual. A traveller attending a meditation programme may return with real calm. A grieving person may find comfort in ritual when medicine, therapy, or family cannot offer easy answers.
But money changes the stakes.
When spiritual authority becomes a paid service, the relationship shifts. A guru, healer, astrologer, tantric practitioner, or retreat leader may begin to exercise influence similar to that of a therapist, doctor, financial adviser, or hostel operator. They may ask intimate questions. They may recommend isolation from family. They may prescribe rituals involving touch, nudity, fasting, sleep deprivation, costly offerings, or secrecy. They may tell someone that doubt itself is a sign of spiritual impurity.
In most sectors, this level of access would trigger safeguards. A doctor needs a licence. A therapist must follow professional ethics. A hotel must meet certain safety rules. A school, hostel, or childcare institution faces at least some oversight.
A spiritual healer can operate with far fewer formal checks.
This is the core gap. India has a large, emotional, revenue-generating spiritual marketplace, but no consistent national framework for people who sell spiritual cures, divine intervention, or occult remedies. There is no single licensing regime for spiritual healers. No uniform disclosure rule for ashrams that host residents. No standard grievance channel for devotees or travellers. No mandatory safeguarding rules for private sessions between gurus and followers.
That absence creates a dangerous contradiction. The more intimate the service, the thinner the oversight.
The phrase India spiritual tourism, godman exploitation, tantric fraud India, ashram sexual abuse, spiritual tourism regulation may sound like a list of search terms. In reality, it describes one connected crisis. Tourism, faith, crime, and governance now overlap in ways India has not yet fully confronted.
The abuse pattern is not random
The most disturbing part of the record is how repetitive it is.
Different names. Different states. Different costumes, rituals, slogans, and followings. Yet the alleged or proven method often follows the same route: build spiritual authority, identify vulnerability, create dependence, demand secrecy, then use faith as both weapon and shield.
Self-styled godmen rarely begin with open coercion. They begin with certainty. They claim access to powers ordinary people do not have. They can remove curses. Cure illness. Fix infertility. Heal trauma. Protect families. Interpret dreams. Cleanse spirits. Change destiny.
For someone in distress, certainty is powerful. It offers shape to pain. If a person has suffered years of illness, a failed marriage, a missing child, depression, infertility, debt, or social rejection, a confident spiritual figure can feel like rescue.
Then the private ritual begins.
The survivor may be told that the cure requires secrecy. That normal morality does not apply inside the ritual. That the guru must touch them to remove negative energy. That sexual abuse is a sacred act. That obedience will bring healing. That refusal will invite divine punishment. That speaking out will destroy the family.
This is psychological control dressed as guidance.
A victim may not recognise the abuse immediately because the framework around it has been built in advance. If the godman is considered holy, doubt can feel sinful. If the family believes in his power, disclosure can feel impossible. If the ashram controls access, movement, phones, food, and social contact, escape becomes harder. If the person is a minor, widowed, unwell, financially dependent, or socially isolated, the risk multiplies.
The Ashok Kharat case, as described by police, reflects the digital age of this pattern. Hidden cameras take an old abuse of spiritual power and add a new layer of blackmail, surveillance, and humiliation. The alleged victims were not only violated in private, they were allegedly recorded.
Asaram Bapu’s conviction showed how a major following does not prevent criminality. Gurmeet Ram Rahim’s conviction showed how institutional control, political proximity, and mass devotion can delay accountability for years. Cases involving other spiritual figures have shown how followers may attack accusers, discredit journalists, or frame prosecution as an assault on faith.
This is why treating each case as an isolated scandal is not enough. The names change, but the machinery repeats.
The four conditions that make exploitation easier
Abuse becomes more likely when four forces meet.
A claim of special power
The perpetrator presents himself as chosen, enlightened, divinely guided, tantric, or beyond ordinary law. Followers are taught that questioning him blocks their healing.
A person in distress
The target is often seeking relief from grief, illness, infertility, family pressure, caste or gender stigma, mental distress, or loneliness. Vulnerability does not mean weakness. It means the person has come looking for help.
A closed setting
The abuse happens in a private room, late-night ritual, residential retreat, “healing” chamber, cave, farm, guest house, or inner ashram area where normal witnesses disappear.
A culture of silence
Victims fear disbelief, scandal, family shame, community backlash, or spiritual punishment. Some fear videos, photographs, or threats. Others fear that police will not take them seriously.
These conditions are not unique to India. Spiritual abuse has appeared in churches, cults, monasteries, yoga schools, therapy groups, and wellness retreats across the world. But India’s scale, religious diversity, and booming pilgrimage economy make the regulatory failure especially urgent.
The law often arrives after the harm
India does have criminal laws against rape, sexual assault, voyeurism, cheating, trafficking, intimidation, extortion, and criminal conspiracy. Those laws matter. Survivors and investigators have used them in major cases.
The issue is that criminal law usually enters after damage has already been done.
A regulatory floor works differently. It tries to make abuse harder before it happens. It creates records, systems, duties, and inspection points. It tells institutions that trust comes with obligations.
In spiritual tourism, that floor is patchy.
Maharashtra’s anti-superstition law, formally aimed at black magic, inhuman practices, and exploitative rituals, was born from a long struggle led by rationalist activists. Karnataka has also passed a law against inhuman evil practices and black magic. These laws matter because they name a specific type of harm: exploitation carried out through fear, superstition, and claims of supernatural power.
But such protections are not uniform across India. Enforcement can be weak. Police training varies. Victims may not know which law applies. Cases can become politically sensitive if the accused has a large following. Local authorities may hesitate, especially when ashrams bring money, land value, votes, or tourist traffic.
This article is informational and not legal advice. People facing abuse or threats should contact qualified legal support, local authorities, or survivor support organisations.
The gap becomes clear when we compare what exists with what is missing.
What exists in many cases | What is still missing |
Criminal law after a complaint | Preventive rules before exploitation |
Police action after public scandal | Routine inspection of high-risk residential spaces |
State-level anti-superstition laws in limited jurisdictions | A national framework for spiritual services that involve payment, residence, or healing claims |
Charity, trust, land, and tax records in some institutions | Plain public disclosure of who runs a retreat, how complaints are handled, and what safeguards exist |
Media exposure after survivors speak | Confidential, safe reporting routes for devotees and travellers |
The most painful truth is this: many survivors must first break through disbelief before the state even begins to move.
A complaint against a famous godman is rarely treated like a complaint against an unknown offender. It becomes a battle against reputation, devotees, money, lawyers, and fear. Survivors may be asked why they went there, why they stayed, why they waited, why they believed. These questions often punish the very psychology that made the abuse possible.
Coercive control does not always look like chains. Sometimes it looks like reverence.
A regulatory floor can protect faith rather than attack it
The strongest argument for regulation is not anti-religious. It is pro-faith.
Spiritual spaces that genuinely serve people should not fear basic safeguards. Temples, mosques, churches, gurdwaras, monasteries, ashrams, yoga schools, retreat centres, and healing communities all depend on trust. When predators hide behind sacred language, they damage that trust for everyone.
Regulation should not decide theology. The state should not certify enlightenment or police prayer. It should not tell people what to believe.
It can, and should, regulate conduct when money, accommodation, bodily access, medical claims, minors, vulnerable adults, or private counselling are involved.
A serious framework could begin with a few clear principles.
Paid healing services should disclose who is responsible
Any centre offering paid spiritual healing, occult remedies, tantric rituals, or residential retreats should publicly disclose its legal entity, organisers, address, emergency contacts, and complaint process. Devotees and travellers should know who is accountable before they enter.
Residential spaces should follow safeguarding rules
Ashrams and retreats that house people overnight should adopt basic safety standards. These should include separate secure accommodation, consent rules for private meetings, visitor registers, staff identity records, CCTV only in public areas, and strict bans on recording in private spaces.
Private spiritual sessions involving touch, disrobing, isolation, intoxication, or secrecy should trigger special scrutiny. No ritual should override consent.
Health and cure claims should face limits
Many people approach spiritual figures after medical systems fail them emotionally or financially. That makes false cure claims especially dangerous. A healer who claims to cure cancer, infertility, mental illness, disability, addiction, or sexual trauma through divine or occult methods can delay real care and extract money.
The state does not need to ban prayer for healing. It should act against paid false claims, coercive rituals, and instructions to abandon medical treatment.
Complaint channels must be independent
A grievance box inside an ashram controlled by the accused is not protection. People need independent reporting routes, including helplines, district-level officers, women’s commissions, child protection bodies, and tourism departments trained to respond to spiritual abuse.
Foreign travellers need clear information too. Embassies, travel advisories, tourism websites, and booking platforms can help by listing emergency contacts and warning signs.
Financial transparency should follow spiritual authority
Many godman empires are not only spiritual networks. They can include land, donations, trusts, schools, media arms, wellness products, political influence, and cash offerings. When allegations arise, investigators often have to follow the money as well as the abuse.
Financial disclosure cannot solve sexual violence by itself. But opaque wealth helps abusive institutions survive. Transparency makes impunity harder.
Travellers and families need better warning signs, not more fear
The answer is not to tell people to stop seeking spiritual comfort. That would be both unrealistic and unfair. Faith, ritual, and retreat can help people endure what ordinary language cannot hold.
The answer is to make spiritual seeking safer.
Families often send loved ones to gurus when doctors, counsellors, or relatives have not helped. Urban professionals attend retreats when burnout becomes unbearable. International travellers may arrive with romantic ideas of India as a place of ancient wisdom and personal transformation. In each case, the person deserves both openness and protection.
Warning signs should be discussed without shame.
Be cautious when a spiritual leader or centre:
Promises guaranteed cures for illness, infertility, trauma, or addiction
Demands secrecy from family, doctors, or friends
Insists on private late-night rituals
Uses fear of curses, spirits, karma, or divine punishment to force obedience
Requires nudity, sexual contact, or intimate touch as part of healing
Discourages police, medical care, therapy, or legal help
Controls phones, money, movement, food, sleep, or communication
Pressures followers to donate beyond their means
Attacks all critics as evil, impure, jealous, or anti-faith
Has no visible complaint system or accountable management
None of these signs alone proves a crime. Together, they create risk.
For global wellness travellers, the same caution applies to yoga schools, tantra retreats, meditation centres, and “energy work” spaces marketed online. A polished website does not equal safety. Testimonials do not replace accountability. A foreign passport does not protect someone inside a closed room with a charismatic authority figure.
Before entering a residential retreat, a person should be able to answer basic questions.
Who runs the place? Is it registered? What is the daily schedule? Are private sessions optional? Can participants leave at any time? Are phones allowed? Who handles complaints? Are women staff present? Are minors ever hosted? What happens in an emergency? Are health claims being made? Are fees and donations transparent?
If a centre treats these questions as disrespect, that is itself an answer.
Media must stop treating each arrest as a spectacle
Every major godman case produces the same news cycle. Shock. Details. Crowds outside court. Old videos. Political photographs. Devotees crying conspiracy. Survivors reduced to initials. Then attention fades until the next arrest.
Investigative journalism can do better.
The real story is not only the accused man. It is the support structure around him. Who promoted him? Who gave land, licences, police protection, political access, charitable status, or media time? How were complaints handled before the scandal broke? Did local authorities receive warnings? Were women, minors, or vulnerable adults living on site? Did doctors, lawyers, trustees, or public officials ignore obvious risks?
Coverage should also avoid two lazy extremes.
One extreme mocks all believers as foolish. That helps predators, because it makes survivors feel ashamed for trusting. The other extreme shields religious figures from scrutiny in the name of sentiment. That helps predators too.
Good reporting can respect faith while questioning power. It can name coercive control without ridiculing devotion. It can ask why enforcement failed before the raid, not only what police found after it.
There is also a language problem. Terms like “sex scandal” trivialise sexual assault. Phrases like “godman in controversy” soften criminal allegations. If hidden-camera footage, rape, threats, fraud, or confinement are involved, the words should match the harm.
Survivors do not owe the public a perfect story. Trauma affects memory, timing, tone, and confidence. Journalism should test facts rigorously, but it should not confuse delay with dishonesty or devotion with consent.
The next reform must come before the next headline
India does not need less spirituality. It needs less impunity.
A country can honour saints, temples, mystics, poets, fakirs, monks, gurus, and healers while still drawing a hard line around abuse. The line is simple. No claim of divinity cancels consent. No ritual excuses assault. No ashram stands above the law. No market, however profitable, should grow without protection for the people it invites in.
Spiritual tourism is likely to expand further in the coming decade. New corridors, trains, airports, wellness resorts, temple renovations, and pilgrimage packages will bring more people into sacred spaces. That growth can support local economies and preserve heritage. It can also create fresh hunting grounds for predators if regulation remains reactive.
The state has a choice. It can keep waiting for survivors, journalists, and police raids to expose each case one by one. Or it can build a preventive system that treats spiritual abuse as a known risk, not an occasional surprise.
That system does not have to be hostile to belief. It can be built around dignity.
Register the institutions that house and charge people. Train police to understand coercive spiritual control. Enforce anti-superstition laws where they exist. Expand protection where they do not. Regulate false cure claims. Build independent complaint channels. Protect whistle-blowers. Audit closed residential spaces. Make tourism platforms share safety information. Ask every retreat that profits from surrender to show how it protects the person who surrenders.
The sacred should be a place where people can bring pain without becoming prey.
Faith is powerful because it asks people to trust what they cannot see. Law exists, in part, to protect them from those who exploit that trust in the dark.
