A personal story about mystical demonstrations, broken threads, and the expensive education that followed. Many year ago...
The Unexpected Visitor
It was an ordinary day when Ramaraju, a tribal astrologer, arrived at our doorstep. He came with the quiet confidence of someone who had done this many times before, in many homes just like ours. What happened next would cost my family 2000 rupees—but the real lesson? That was priceless.
The Impossible Demonstration
Ramaraju sat about six feet away from me and handed me a simple piece of thread—our own household thread, nothing special about it. His instructions were clear: break it into as many pieces as possible.
I did as asked, tearing the thread into tiny fragments. Then he told me to roll all the broken pieces together in my palm, which I did. He remained at his distance—never approaching, never touching me or the thread pieces.
What came next still puzzles me to this day.
He began praying, invoking Mother Kali's name with devotion and intensity. Then he asked me to pull the thread. I opened my palm, grasped what I thought were the broken pieces, and pulled.
The thread was whole. Completely intact. Unbroken.
My mother and sister witnessed the same thing. Three of us, all watching carefully, all seeing the impossible happen. The broken fragments had somehow rejoined into a single, continuous thread.
Later, I sat in the same spot and tried to replicate it with the same thread. Nothing. The pieces remained stubbornly separate, refusing to perform any miracles for me.
The Real Purpose Reveals Itself
Here's where the story takes its predictable turn.
Ramaraju explained that this miracle proved Mother Kali was pleased with our family. She had blessed us with her presence and power. But—and there's always a "but"—to maintain these blessings and ensure continued divine favor, we needed to perform a ritual.
The price? 2000 rupees for breaking 50 coconuts as an offering to Mother Kali.
Still dazzled by what we'd witnessed, still processing the impossible, we paid.
Ramaraju took our money, performed some ritual (or perhaps didn't—who knows?), and left. We never saw him again.
The Evening's Second Act
The universe, it seems, has a sense of humor.
That very same evening, another spiritual practitioner arrived—this time a woman, accompanied by several followers. Word travels fast in neighborhoods, and soon several neighbors had gathered.
She offered to help us win an upcoming court case through her mystical powers. The cost? 10,000 rupees.
Something had shifted in us during those few hours. Maybe it was the way she arrived so conveniently after Ramaraju. Maybe it was the calculated crowd of followers creating social pressure. Maybe we'd simply learned our lesson faster than most.
We smiled politely, said "thank you," and walked out of the room.
Someone else probably paid her. There's always someone who will.
What I Learned About "Mystic Powers"
Here's my conclusion after reflection: whether Ramaraju's thread demonstration was genuine mystical power or masterful sleight of hand (and we can debate that endlessly), the outcome was identical.
The "miracle" served exactly one purpose: to separate us from our money.
If mystical powers exist, this one was utterly useless except as a sales pitch. It healed no one, solved no problems, and provided no genuine benefit. It was a supernatural parlor trick with a 2000-rupee price tag.
The Pattern of Spiritual Exploitation
Looking back, I can see the formula clearly:
Step 1: The Demonstration
Perform something impressive that seems impossible. Get witnesses if possible—family members lend credibility.
Step 2: The Religious Framing
Connect the demonstration to divine favor, blessings, or spiritual power. Make it about the gods, not about the practitioner.
Step 3: Create Urgency
Explain that maintaining these blessings, solving a problem, or avoiding misfortune requires immediate action.
Step 4: Demand Payment
Request a substantial sum for a ritual, ceremony, or spiritual service.
Step 5: Disappear
Take the money and move on to the next village, the next neighborhood, the next vulnerable family.
These traveling mystics work in circuits. They know which areas to visit, when people are most receptive, and how to create social pressure through crowds and followers.
Once Bitten, Twice Shy
That 2000 rupees bought me an education. I learned to ask better questions:
- If someone has genuine spiritual power, why do they need my money?
- Why do divine blessings always seem to cost exactly what people can afford (or slightly more)?
- Why do these practitioners travel constantly rather than building lasting relationships in communities?
- If the demonstration is real, why can't I replicate it?
- Why does "spiritual help" for court cases, health problems, or financial troubles always require cash upfront?
My Path to Self-Reliance
These days, I practice Tarot reading. Not because I believe the cards are supernatural (though we could debate their nature too), but because they serve as tools for reflection, meditation, and exploring different perspectives on life's challenges.
The key difference? I'm doing it myself. No one's demanding thousands of rupees. No traveling mystic is threatening that my blessings will disappear without payment. The practice serves me, not someone else's bank account.
I've learned to be my own spiritual guide rather than outsourcing my faith to convenient strangers with impressive demonstrations and open palms.
A Word of Caution
If you're reading this and thinking "That would never happen to me," consider: my mother, sister, and I are educated, reasonable people. We're not gullible or foolish. Yet we paid 2000 rupees for broken coconuts based on an impressive demonstration.
These scams work because they're sophisticated. They exploit:
- Our desire for help during difficult times
- Cultural respect for spiritual traditions
- Social pressure from crowds and witnesses
- The very real human experience of witnessing something unexplainable
- Our hope that maybe, just maybe, this person has real answers
The Real Miracle
The real miracle that day wasn't the thread joining together. It was that we learned our lesson quickly enough to refuse the 10,000-rupee scam just hours later.
Some people pay much more than 2000 rupees before they figure it out. Some never do.
Final Thoughts
I still don't know exactly how Ramaraju rejoined that thread. Maybe it was supernatural. Maybe it was an technique so skillful that three witnesses couldn't catch it. Maybe there's an explanation I haven't considered.
But I know this with certainty: whatever power he demonstrated, it wasn't worth 2000 rupees, and it wasn't meant to help us. It was meant to convince us he could.
And in a strange way, it worked perfectly—just not the way he intended. Instead of creating a loyal follower, it created a skeptic. Instead of opening my wallet permanently, it taught me to guard it carefully.
Thank you, Ramaraju, for the expensive lesson. I've saved far more than 2000 rupees in the years since by remembering it.
Have you experienced similar encounters with traveling mystics or spiritual practitioners? How did you handle it? Share your stories in the comments—your experience might help someone else recognize a scam before they pay for it.
Remember: Real spiritual growth rarely requires large cash payments to strangers. Real help comes from genuine connection, not impressive demonstrations. And real wisdom often costs exactly as much as you paid for it—which sometimes means learning the hard way.
