From the memoir: A woman writes about growing up with fanatical devotion for a so-called godman

Rampal’s imprisonment should have created some distance. Maybe the fervour would have faded. But it didn’t. If anything, our devotion intensified, taking on an even more fanatical tone.

The pilgrimage to his prison soon became our new ritual. Instead of visiting the ashram, we now drove three to four hours each way just to catch a fleeting glimpse of our imprisoned guru.

Life continued – school for me, college for Anant and work for my parents – but the real excitement in our home revolved around Rampal’s court dates. The moment we received word of his next hearing, the planning would begin. We’d pore over the calendar, checking if I needed to take leave from school or if my parents had to miss work. The idea of skipping a hearing was never even considered.

Rampal was held in a district jail in Rohtak, Haryana. On those mornings, we’d set out early, determined to arrive on time. The four of us squeezed into the car, heading out as if to a family celebration. But these were no ordinary trips.

As we neared the prison, the streets swelled with hundreds of other followers, all gathered for the same reason: to see him, even if it was for a hot second.

Outside the...

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