Deep in the rural heartland of Maharashtra, away from Bombay's dazzling speed, was the sleepy town of Manvat—354 kilometers from the state capital and shrouded in agricultural calm, social stratification, and religious mysticism. In the 1970s, Manvat was the site of a dark and all-but-forgotten episode of Indian history: a series of twelve ritual killings, committed over four years, under the canopy of occult practices and caste exploitation. Between November 14, 1972, and January 4, 1976, women and little girls—poor, lower-caste, and off the radar of society—vanished into the darkness, never again to be seen. Their bodies, if discovered at all, had markings of ritual sacrifice on them: blood drawn genitally, steel bowls, and sacred trees at the scene.
What transpired in Manvat was bigger than a criminal case. It was a reflection of our worst social failures—gendered violence, caste indifference, and the lingering shadows of colonial caste criminalization. It exposed the way belief systems can be used by sorrow and the way society permits certain lives to be lost without demur. It also pushed open the dark crevices of Indian law enforcement and justice, which could not protect those already marginalized.
The Victims Who Were Forgotten
Gaya Bai Gachchave, Shakila Allauddin, Sugandha Mang, Nasima Sayyed, Kalavati Bombale, Parvati Barahate, Arifabi, Halima, Haribai Borvane, Kamala Borvane, Taramati Borvane, Kondiba Rile
Every name recounts a forgotten tale. Kalavati Bombale, only ten years old, had just learned to write her name. Parvati Barahate, perhaps, was saving for her dowry; Halima, perhaps, was caring for her younger siblings. These were not just names but lives prematurely ended by a mix of mysticism, gendered trauma, and caste brutality. The fact that they were largely Dalits and tribals meant their vanishings did not generate a serious response. The silence that descended after they met their end was not accidental; it was crafted by centuries of institutional disregard.
Blood, Belief, and the Spirit of Munjya
At the religious heart of this terror is Munjya—a people's deity both dreaded and revered throughout regions of Maharashtra. The spirit of a Brahmin boy who died prematurely before his thread ceremony, Munjya, is said to haunt peepal trees and must be appeased with blood ceremonies. In Manvat, this myth became fatally real.
The superstition was taken advantage of by Ganpat Salve, a so-called shaman who persuaded Rukhminibai, a village woman eager to bear a child, that barrenness could be overcome by providing Munjya with blood from a prepubescent female. But not only any blood—it must be drawn from the genitals and poured into a German steel bowl beneath a holy peepal or banyan tree. The ghastly and very particular rite was performed twelve times. Occult practices in rural India usually arise with the lack of healthcare, education, and rational discussion. Where modern medicine is suspect and state institutions are inaccessible, belief in shamans and gods takes over. But when that belief crosses with bereavement and societal despair, it can prove lethal. In Manvat, occultism was not just a faith—it was a tool of killing.
The Tragedy of Rukhminibai and the Criminal Tribe Label
Rukhminibai, the prime accused, was a member of the Pardhi tribe—one of the numerous nomadic groups designated "criminal tribes" during British rule through the Criminal Tribes Act of 1871. This colonial policy in effect branded entire groups as born criminals, subjecting them to perpetual surveillance, forced labor, and widespread discrimination. Although post-independence, the Act was repealed, the stigma persisted.
To be Pardhi in post-colonial India meant to be already guilty. Barred from formal employment, excluded from mainstream society, and monitored by local police, Pardhis were squeezed into precarity. Women belonging to the community bore a double burden—first that of casteist exclusion, and second that of gendered societal expectations.
Rukhminibai, who was infertile, was a burden and an outcast even in her outcast society. Her desperation was such that she held onto the occult promises of Ganpat Salve. Her tale is not one of innate evil, but of methodical vulnerability. Her suffering was genuine—manipulated into something hideous by a man who professed godly knowledge and by a society where she was given no other choices.
Caste, Gender, and the Politics of Indifference
The Manvat murders were more than just occult crimes; they were caste atrocities. All the victims were members of the Dalit and tribal underclass, and all of the perpetrators were privileged—either by caste or by gender—that protected them from questioning for far too long.
The upper-caste men who dominated the local police did not act much once the disappearances had been reported. The parents were dismissed. Investigations were stalled. Bodies were received with bureaucratic insensitivity when they were discovered. This was not mere negligence—it was disregard from a caste point of view.
The structural violence was aggravated by colonial criminalization. Pardhis and other tribes, even now, a long shadow of the British laws still cast over them, were excluded from justice. They were a criminal class in the eyes of the state—even when they were victims, even when they were desperate.
The Long Road to Justice
It took a tip-off to the Bombay Crime Branch for the case to be seriously investigated. Ramakant Kulkarni, a veteran officer with a keen mind for investigation, took up the case. His systematic investigation unwrapped the eerie ritualistic structure of the killings. Through forensic evidence and local testimonies, Rukhminibai, Ganpat Salve, and some male cohorts were apprehended.
At first, the sessions court sentenced to death most of the accused. But justice remained out of reach. The Bombay High Court, presenting insufficient evidence and absence of direct witnesses, acquitted a number of the convicts, including Rukhminibai. Ultimately, four individuals were put to death. The others slipped into oblivion—as did public memory of the case.
Why We Don't Remember
Unlike Nirbhaya or other celebrity crimes, Manvat murders never made it to a family dinner conversation. No TV documentaries were produced during that time. No mass candlelight vigils took place. Why? Because the victims were poor, lower caste, and women. Their lives were not deemed worth remembering.
The political and cultural silence was absolute. The media covered the trial only marginally. Politicians did not make any public comments. The state did not compensate the families. The case lay in dusty records for decades, forgotten and unsolved.
Return to Manvat in Popular Culture
In recent times, a web series about the Manvat murders has again put the case in the spotlight. Viewers, who otherwise had no idea about the incident, were shocked at the brutality and the silence that had followed. Popular culture, though, can give one such conversation to talk about, but it cannot do away with justice.
What is required now is acknowledgment. Memorials to the dead. Public awareness campaigns against superstition. Abrogation of the residual social institutions that enabled such crimes to occur under the radar. Official apologies from state agencies that defaulted on their responsibility. Otherwise, the atrocity of Manvat threatens to recede into the past as just a tale, when it should be a lesson.
A Wound Still Open
The Manvat killings lay bare the thin line between faith and ferocity, between sorrow and deception, between indifference and homicide. They remind us that if society betrays its weakest, the price is unutterable. And they show how readily lives may be erased when they are not considered significant by caste, gender, or class.
Until we remember these victims, face up to the systemic failures that made their deaths possible, and vow to safeguard those who remain vulnerable today, the ghost of Munjya will not rest. Nor should ours.
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References:
- Chopra, A. (2023, March 7). Human sacrifice, blood offerings, greed for gold: Why the 1970s Manwat murders continue to shock. Retrieved from https://scroll.in/reel
- Loksatta. (2024, October 3). Manavat Murders: What is the Manvat Case which Shocked Maharashtra 50 Years Ago. Retrieved from https://www.loksatta.com
- News9Live. (2024, September 26). DYK Manvat Murders is based on a real story? Know about 1970s horrific Manwath murder case. Retrieved from https://www.news9live.com