Bombay, the city of dreams, had just turned into a migration hub for people from different social strata of society in the late 1990s90s. Budding with hope and hard work, the city saw a sharp spike in the census. From the towering skyscrapers of Nariman Point to the teeming slums of Dharavi, Bombay represented a tapestry of contradictions—ambition and desperation, glitz and grime, wealth and poverty. But hidden within its labyrinthine alleys and train platforms was a danger no one expected: a predator lurking in the shadows. Not a thief. Not a gangster. A serial killer.
He was called many names—Raman Raghav, Sindhi Dalwai, Veluswami, Anna—but the media immortalized him as "Psycho Raman," India’s own Jack the Ripper. His killing spree spanned nearly three years, unleashing unspeakable horror on the fringes of Bombay. The first wave hit in 1965-66, with nineteen dead. Then again, in 1968, almost a dozen more. Altogether, over 41 people fell prey to his wrath. His victims were the voiceless—homeless street dwellers who barely registered on the social radar.
Raman Raghav’s weapon was simple: a hard, blunt object. His timing? Always at night. His method? Brutal but quiet. Many died in their sleep, never seeing their killer. Initially, the murders baffled the authorities. But as the pattern emerged, so did a suspect—one with a past stained by crime and madness.
He had already served five years for robbery and was known to law enforcement. When the killings resumed in 1968, Deputy Commissioner Ramakant Kulkarni launched a full-scale manhunt. The breakthrough came when Sub-Inspector Alex Fialho recognized Raghav from records and eyewitness descriptions. He was detained with the help of two locals. Bloodstained clothes. Mud-caked shoes. Fingerprints matched. The monster had a name again: Raman Raghav.
But capturing him was only the beginning. What followed was a trial that tested the limits of law, morality, and the complex terrain of mental illness.
At first, Raghav refused to speak. But after being served his favorite dish—chicken—he confessed. He detailed 41 murders. He even led police on a citywide tour, pointing out crime scenes and recovering the weapon he used. But the chilling part wasn’t just his confession—it was his rationale.
He claimed he was not a mere man, but a force. A divine lawgiver. A representative of 'Kanoon.' He believed he was endowed with a special power—' Shakti.' He said people were trying to change his sex and push him into homosexuality to weaken him. He believed he was 101 percent male. He believed in three governments: Akbar, British, and Congress. He thought he was chosen.
Was he insane? Or was he clever enough to act it?
The defense argued the unsoundness of mind. A psychiatrist from Nair Hospital testified that Raghav was suffering from chronic paranoid schizophrenia and didn’t know his actions were illegal. He believed Jesus would forgive him for everything. He sought redemption in churches.
But the police surgeon who examined him for almost a month didn’t agree. He called Raghav mentally fit, of average intelligence, and capable of understanding the nature of his acts. A special medical board interviewed him five times. They noted his delusions but concluded that he wasn’t certifiably insane. He refused to shake hands with them, saying, “I am Kanoon. I won’t touch this wicked world.”
The court sentenced him to death. He didn’t appeal. But before execution, the High Court ordered another mental evaluation. Eventually, the death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. He died in police custody in 1995 due to kidney failure.
So, was he mad? Or was he manipulative?
This question haunts many such trials.
The Power Tool Called Insanity
Mental illness in the courtroom is a double-edged sword. It can be a genuine lens to view a broken mind—or a smokescreen for manipulative brilliance.
Insanity is a legal concept, not a medical one. Courts must decide whether an individual was capable of understanding right from wrong at the time of committing the crime. In many cases, like Raghav’s, this line is blurred. The law provides that if an individual cannot comprehend their actions or if their actions are illegal, they may not be held responsible. But that’s a powerful loophole, one that can be twisted.
Over the decades, courts across the world have seen numerous instances where defendants tried to escape punishment under the guise of mental illness. Some genuinely suffered from conditions that clouded their judgment. Others, however, used mental illness as a legal shield.
Think about the implications: A person commits a heinous crime and then claims to be mentally unwell. If accepted, they avoid jail or even the death penalty and are instead sent to a mental facility, often with less stringent supervision. And if they are later declared "recovered," they may even walk free.
The justice system must tread carefully. Too much compassion can be dangerous; too little can be inhumane.
Other Cases That Stirred the Debate
Consider the case of Andrea Yates in the United States, who drowned her five children in 2001. She had a documented history of postpartum psychosis. Initially found guilty, her conviction was overturned after it was proven she was suffering from a severe mental breakdown. She was found not guilty because of insanity and sent to a mental hospital.
Contrast this with Carly Gregg, a teenager who killed her mother and attempted to kill her stepfather. She claimed to hear voices, but the psychiatrist called her actions “diabolical,” ruling out insanity. She was convicted.
Then there’s Hans Schmidt, a priest who murdered his mistress in the early 20th century. His defense argued insanity due to his sexual orientation and religious delusions. Yet, he was found sane and executed.
Kelsey Patterson, suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, was executed in Texas in 2004, despite appeals citing mental illness. The debate? Whether executing mentally ill individuals is morally justifiable.
In India, the Supreme Court commuted the death sentences of 15 convicts in 2014, citing mental illness and delays as grounds. It emphasized that mental instability must be seen through a human rights lens.
These cases aren’t just legal precedents; they are ethical dilemmas.
The Fine Line
A genuine mental illness does not show up overnight. It festers, often seen in childhood behaviors, academic struggles, social withdrawal, hallucinations, or delusions. But a well-briefed manipulator can mimic symptoms. They can study behaviors and act them out convincingly enough to fool even trained professionals. This is where forensic psychiatry plays a critical role.
Mental health professionals must distinguish between genuine psychosis and malingering—faking illness. Tools like the MMPI (Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory), forensic interviews, and neuroimaging help, but nothing replaces experience and observation.
The intersection of mental health and law is fraught with challenges. On one hand, there's a need to protect individuals who genuinely cannot comprehend their actions. On the other hand, there's the risk of the insanity defense being misused as a legal strategy.
The case of Devinder Pal Singh Bhullar illustrates this dilemma. Convicted for a 1993 bombing in Delhi, his death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment in 2014 due to his mental illness and the inordinate delay in deciding his mercy petition. While some viewed this as a humane decision, others saw it as a loophole exploited to evade capital punishment.
In Raghav’s case, his long-term delusions and consistent behavior may point to real mental illness. But the timing of his confession, the chicken bribe, and his clear memory of crimes raise doubts. He may have been both mad and calculating.
The Legal Labyrinth: Insanity as a Defense
The Indian Penal Code's Section 84 provides that an act is not an offense if committed by a person incapable of understanding its nature due to unsoundness of mind. However, the application of this provision is complex. Courts require clear evidence that the accused was of unsound mind at the time of the offense, a determination that's often challenging.
In Raghav's case, his detailed confessions and ability to recall his crimes raised questions about the authenticity of his insanity plea. Was he genuinely delusional, or was he manipulating the system to avoid the gallows?
What the System Needs
- Better Forensic Training – Police and lawyers must understand the basics of psychology.
- More Psychiatrists – Especially in jails and courts. India has a severe shortage.
- Clearer Laws – The Insanity Plea must have stricter guidelines.
- Regular Evaluations – Mental state should be checked periodically.
- Public Awareness – Understanding that mental illness is not an excuse, but a condition that needs treatment and boundaries.
A study by the National Law University revealed that over 62% of death row inmates in India suffer from mental illnesses. This statistic underscores the urgent need for mental health considerations within the criminal justice system. However, the challenge lies in distinguishing between genuine mental disorders and feigned conditions aimed at manipulating legal outcomes.
The Monster and the Mind
Raman Raghav’s story is not just one of murder. It is a chilling reflection of how fragile our systems are. How mental illness can be a curse—or a cover. How justice and mercy often walk a tightrope.
As a psychologist, one is trained to see the human behind the horror. As a journalist, one is trained to report the horror to protect human rights. In cases like Raghav’s, both truths must coexist.
Mental illness must never be trivialized. But neither should it be weaponized. The law must evolve with compassion, but not blind compassion. Because sometimes, monsters wear the mask of madness. And sometimes, madness is just another form of monstrosity.