The Burari Case: Blind Faith Or Shared Psychosis?

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The ongoing construction on the main road of Sant Nagar, Burari, brought traffic to a standstill. Pedestrians walked through the thick layer of dust that filled the air. On this busy afternoon in July, children were returning from school. Shops were filled with customers. At the centre of this seemingly regular middle-class neighbourhood stood a tall pale-blue wall with 11 holes carved out, which told onlookers another story that even the hustle and bustle could not mask.

The wall belonged to the first house of a narrow gali. The brown door at the entrance of the house had 11 vertical iron bars, with a dramatic knob in the shape of a ship’s wheel that had to be aggressively spun to enter the house. But on July 1, 2018, a neighbour, Gurcharan Singh, was able to open the door with just a gentle push. As he climbed up the stairs, he did not expect the sight that greeted him.

Leaked footage of the site of the incident showed nine of his neighbours hanging from the iron grill on the ceiling. Some of them had their backs turned to him with their hands tied; others who faced him had their eyes and mouths covered with cloth. Lalit Bhatia’s head was tilted back, which may have unravelled the cloth to reveal his face. His hands were loosely bound. His elder brother, Bhuvnesh Bhatia, appeared to have attempted to free himself. Opposite the two brothers hung Pratibha, their older sister. Their mother, Narayani Devi, was found in the other room, lying in front of the bed.

It’s been seven years. A family has moved into the same house where the Bhatias lived. A young, veiled woman looks out the balcony, finally responding to the calls. When asked if she’d be willing to comment on the house she is living in, she declines, saying her husband has gone for namaz. The shop next to the house, which continues to be owned by the Bhatia family, is managed by the oldest brother, Dinesh, who has reportedly always lived in Rajasthan. He is one of the two surviving members of the family, along with their sister, Sujata, who also did not live in Burari.

Krishna, who has been running their store for the last five years, had known the family for 12-13 years, and her kids were tutored by one of the third-generation sisters, presumably Priyanka Bhatia, going by the shopkeeper’s description. When asked if people still talk about the incident, she says: “Every single day. People still ask, ‘Is this the same house where 11 people...?’ when they pass by. Many people come from far away to see the house, and they take pictures. But people are quite scared, especially children.”

The psychological autopsy conducted by the Central Forensic Science Laboratory (CFSL) of the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) ruled that the deaths were motivated by shared psychosis—a psychiatric disorder where delusions are shared between closely connected individuals, often within a relationship marked by a power imbalance, such as in a family or similar close-knit unit. Yet the case continues to be viewed through the lens of ‘bizarre’.

“I think mentally they were all fine, but there was blind faith, because one or two things that Lalit said came true, like what his father said in the dream about his voice returning. That’s when the whole family started believing in him more deeply—his elderly mother, sister and all the children. We found out later what was going on internally. On the surface, everything looked normal. Lalit always behaved well and spoke nicely, and we did witness that miracle,” says Ram Murti Pathak, a retired police officer and a long-term neighbour of the Bhatias.

Lalit seemed to have spoken about the attack on him that happened on March 26, 2004. He was forcibly locked in the plywood store where he worked, and the shop was set on fire over a dispute between him and his employers. In the aftermath of the incident, Lalit stopped talking completely, and according to Pathak, only spoke through gestures. In 2006, the Bhatia family lost their patriarch, Lalit’s father, Bhopal Singh, and a year later, Lalit regained his voice.

Even neighbours who knew the family well, like Rita Sharma, who still lives in the opposite house, didn’t question his voice returning so suddenly. “We didn’t feel the need to get into the details. If we had known something was wrong, we would have said something or asked to take them somewhere to get help. We never imagined such a big tragedy would happen,” she says.

When Lalit lost his voice, psychological intervention was required. But this did not happen. During certain events, like his near-death experience, a person’s mind dissociates itself from their thoughts and feelings to protect them from thinking this is happening.

“Lalit was dealing with trauma—it’s quite obvious. His losing his voice was a post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) response. There were medical investigations that took place, where it was suggested that he should see a psychotherapist. But in our society, mental health is still stigmatised and local idioms such as ‘psychology matlab paagal hai’ are often resorted to,” says Rachana Johri, a psychologist, who was also part of the Netflix docuseries, House of Secrets: The Burari Deaths (2021).

It was speculated that Neetu Bhatia, one of the deceased, had told her neighbours that her uncle, Lalit, would sometimes be possessed by their grandfather’s spirit, who would then guide the family. Another acquaintance, reportedly investigated in the case, also said he had witnessed Lalit being possessed by Singh’s spirit.

Reflecting on this, Johri says: “When Lalit found his voice again, he spoke in his father’s voice. This was not some act of pretence, at least I don’t think so. That was his way of recovering from trauma — by taking upon himself, or finding in himself, the power of the father.”

Following Lalit’s succession as the family patriarch, the next decade was marked by the regular issuing of orders as he claimed to channel guidance from the spirit of the deceased Singh. During the investigation, the authorities discovered 11 diaries spanning from 2007 to 2018. The entries documented several instructions and warnings—many of which featured in the docuseries.

These included threats such as: “Dhanteras has already been celebrated. You are far from achieving something due to someone’s mistakes. There is a possibility that you might not see the next Diwali. Don’t ignore the warnings” and “Nobody will disobey what is written here.” The diaries also issued commands like: “Stay away from the people that you have been forbidden to talk to,” and warned individuals of consequences: “Every time you default, Lalit, Tina, and Shivam have to pay the price. But you always forget that.” Personal behaviour was monitored too: “Savita has not been able to come to terms with her role in the kitchen. She must put an end to her temper tantrums” and “Be mindful of your mother’s age and needs.” Others urged familial peace and harmony: “Savita and Tina must improve their relationship with Pratibha. Make her feel loved,” and warned of moral decay: “Bhuvnesh, be careful! Doom will enter the house in the guise of alcohol.” Even interpersonal rifts were flagged as dangerous: “The lack of harmony between Priyanka and Neetu creates obstructions at various levels.”

What was even more unsettling was that Priyanka and Neetu were reportedly the ones who maintained most of the notes across the years. These were two women in their prime, the former 33 years old, engaged to be married, and the latter a 25-year-old girl. This brings us to another power dynamic within the family, patriarchy, because it must account for something that among the deceased were seven women and only four men, of whom there were two minors.

Sanjana Prasad, a counselling psychologist who specialises in gender relations within family and relationship structures, shared: “People find each other at the same level of differentiation. In simpler terms, a family, whether people were born into it or married into it, finds each other at that same level of emotional maturity. The women who were married into this family must have come from similar value systems.” Introspecting further, she stated: “So, if you’re steeped in patriarchy, do you even need to be convinced to take on certain roles or responsibilities?” This brings us to the bigger picture, one that society has often ignored by simply labelling the Burari deaths as ‘bizarre’. But calling it an exception overlooks the deeper truth: mental health issues like PTSD or shared psychosis don’t exist in isolation. They are shaped and sustained by the very societal structures around us—like patriarchy or geographical location.

Burari is still a ‘developing’ area compared to New Delhi. The Sant Nagar neighbourhood borders Haryana. It is not entirely rural nor is it fully urban, making it a vulnerable locality where established communities don’t exist and people don’t live among their kin.

Om Prakash LT, associate professor at CHRIST (Deemed to be University), who teaches social psychology, shared: “In rural India, communities are closely connected to spirits, deities and the cosmos through rituals, which serve as an expressive medium. In contrast, urban spaces often lack this connection, either suppressing it or limiting it to specific sections of society. So, when Lalit moved to Delhi, he may have lost access to that expressive ritual space. However, his belief in the supernatural, inherited from his rural background, persisted. Without an outlet, it is possible he turned inward, making his family his primary sacred space for ritual expression.”

This incident also holds up a mirror to systemic failures on an institutional level. Schools and places of education should not merely be where children acquire literacy, but they should also be a safe space where they can openly discuss issues, if any, since their agency within the Indian family structure is already at a very weak position.

“There were two 15-year-olds who were reading science, history—did they ever wonder, ‘Is everything happening in my family okay?’ They didn’t seem to even have a place where they could go and say something,” said Johri. “Would a school in Burari ever talk about family, gender relations, sexuality? These are the spaces where people’s eyes open. But these issues are not the focus in most schools even now,” she added.

The deaths of the 11 family members show us the need for discussing mental health issues, but more importantly, they reveal the interconnected dynamic of such issues, where many factors of society play a part. The Bhatia family was “normal” on paper. They were reasonably social and maintained friendly relations. They were doing well financially, and the oldest daughter was about to get married. Yet, what brewed within the family started with failing to recognise one person’s traumatic experience and the difficulty in dealing with it. Many people still want to believe only the blind faith and occult practices narratives, stating that Lalit did not want to lose control over the family. One of the members was about to get married and break away from the system established by him. Hence, he orchestrated the ritual.

But as Prasad rightly stated: “There’s a temptation to believe he knew exactly what he was doing while the others unconsciously followed. But maybe that level of consciousness wasn’t there at all—not even in Lalit. Perhaps he made that choice unconsciously. And if any of them truly understood the consequences, they may never have gone along with it.”

The last diary entry before the accident supports this, indicating that the family was unaware that the ritual would lead to their demise. It stated: “Everyone will tie their own hands, and when the kriya is done, then everyone will help each other untie their hands.” They also believed that the deceased Bhopal Singh would visit them at the end of the ‘kriya’, with the diary instructing them to “place a tumbler full of water nearby. Just as the colour of the water changes, I (Bhopal Singh) will come back.”

Rani Jana is Assistant Editor, Outlook

In its August 21 issue Every Day I Pray For Love, Outlook collaborated with The Banyan India to take a hard look at the community and care provided to those with mental health disorders in India. From the inmates in mental health facilities across India—Ranchi to Lucknow—to the mental health impact of conflict journalism, to the chronic stress caused by the caste system, our reporters and columnists shed light on and questioned the stigma weighing down the vulnerable communities where mental health disorders are prevalent. This copy appeared in print as 'The Dark House'.