'Cost of a Promised Afterlife': When blind devotion becomes a trap

The Cost of a Promised Afterlife is a haunting narrative about the staggering emotional price the vulnerable pay for blind faith in a godman. It chronicles how unquestioned loyalty is extracted in the name of devotion, how questioning becomes forbidden, miracles are promised, and salvation is projected. This deeply compelling memoir reveals layers of suppressed defiance woven into remarkable devotion and quiet suffering.

Despite the shadow of financial hardship, a small family with two children tried to create moments of joy. Born to disabled parents, the children found happiness in the little things — simple joys of early childhood and the comfort of shared laughter. But beneath that fragile calm ran a current of misplaced trust, one that would slowly erode the family’s world.

This moving memoir is an unflinching account of how blind faith almost always triumphs over science. It narrates how, in the absence of credible resources and structural support, a family is pulled into the makeshift universe of a self-proclaimed godman. From an impressionable childhood to a troubled adulthood, Priyamvada Mehra bears witness to the heavy cosmic price her family paid for defying Rampal — the self-styled guru who demanded total surrender.

It became a daily struggle to define oneself, to find a purpose that felt real. Over time, the endless chanting of mantras and the repetition of rituals dulled into monotony, draining both energy and hope. Seventeen years under the godman’s shadow shrank their world. Life turned into a long deception — marked by fear, illness, and the absence of accountability. No one was answerable, and that absence of justice became the hardest truth to accept.

The Cost of a Promised Afterlife is, at its heart, a consequence of misplaced trust in a man who prized obedience over well-being. As the book rightly observes, “In a country where cults preside over the cultural, social, and political lives of millions, the writer makes a brave beginning in studying this new religious movement.”

Told through the eyes of the youngest member of the family, this account is both tender and terrifying. It is impossible to turn away from such an intimate portrait of vulnerability — a family trapped in the whirlpool of organised religiosity, desperately seeking meaning amid manipulation. The story is charged with tension, empathy, and deep compassion, exposing the sinister modern phenomenon of the spiritual business.

When the family faced the death of its matriarch, they were too fragile and too paralysed to trust science. The medically dormant tumour was instead declared a “divine sign,” a sacred proof of spiritual redemption. Rampal’s chilling promise echoed: “All your sorrows will be eliminated hereafter.” The house became a sanctum of fear dressed as faith.

Cults rarely demand instant perfection — they demand unwavering commitment. Rampal was no different. What began as gentle guidance soon hardened into blind loyalty.

The clichés of devotion took over daily life. The lines between faith and duty blurred until nothing was normal. Cracks began to appear in their beliefs, in their bonds, in their once-lovely family. At just 13, the writer was used as a human shield during a violent clash between Rampal’s followers and a rival sect. Life’s beauty was stolen too soon. With Rampal now serving a life sentence, the family struggles to rebuild, to rediscover a sense of normalcy that feels foreign. For the writer, the pain lingers quietly. She sits by the window for hours, the trees outside her only confidants — silent witnesses to years of suffering. Despite years of sacrifice — falling at the guru’s feet, isolating themselves, obeying his diktats — there was nothing good left to salvage.

Through this raw, personal account, Mehra raises an urgent question that echoes far beyond her own life: why, even in an era of reason and information, do human societies continue to fall prey to such deceit? The roots of this malaise lie deep. When the natural world was once unknown, myth replaced understanding. Saints and godmen became symbols of moral and metaphysical authority. Blind faith, born of ignorance, ossified into social tradition, and then migrated seamlessly into culture and politics.

Should we continue to live with it, to normalise this cycle of exploitation as part of our cultural fabric? The Cost of a Promised Afterlife is a brave, unguarded, and essential story; a call for awareness and accountability. It confronts the impunity of self-proclaimed godmen and the systems that enable them. It is hard to look away from this testimony of pain, faith, and awakening.