Traditional healing remains a quiet, trusted thread in many tribal communities, a way of caring that blends ritual, faith, and locally held knowledge. In places where formal health services are distant and cultural meanings shape how people seek care; healers are not only practitioners but custodians of meaning, comfort and continuity. Their work often goes unrecorded, yet it stabilizes family life, marks life transitions, and holds community belief together.
Saita’s calling to become Gurmaaini
About eighteen years ago, Saita Muduli Ji of Maalishai in Lamtaput noticed something strange and steady: her hair began to twist into a natural jata that did not fall apart even after washing. Her neighbours read the change as more than a hairstyle; it felt like a call from their Kuldevi. Soon after, Saita started receiving dreams that delivered healing methods, rituals, and remedies. Guided by those visions, she began helping people, and what started as intuition grew into a practiced, trusted role. Today the village knows her simply as Gurmaaini.
Maalishai’s local context that shaped the practice
Maalishai is a close-knit tribal village where spiritual life and daily survival are deeply entwined. In such a place, the boundary between medicine and ritual is porous: haldi baths, diya pujan and prayers are as likely to be sought as herbal remedies. Limited access to health facilities and the strength of local belief systems mean that families often turn first to familiar, trusted figures. A healer who is perceived as a medium of the goddess carries cultural legitimacy that modern services sometimes lack, and that legitimacy shapes how, when and why people seek help.
Faith, Not a Summons
Gurmaaini’s never summons people; she waits for them to come, saying plainly: “If you believe in the devi and in my work, then come. Healing requires faith.” Her treatments blend ritual and practical care, turmeric baths, diya pujan, prayers, and hands-on support for children with fevers or women navigating puberty and fertility concerns. Families who feel helped offer goats, hens or small tokens in gratitude, gestures that reinforce reciprocal bonds rather than commercial exchange. Importantly, Gurmaaini keeps her household duties at the centre of her life; she balances being the elder of her family with the responsibility of being a healer, and she insists that humility be part of the work.
Villagers estimate that she has helped around eighty people, treating problems that range from childhood fevers to infertility. Recently, two women she supported conceived events that deepened trust and joy across families. Children do not fear her power; instead, they respect her
kindness. People come willingly, never under pressure, and the practice functions as a chosen form of care that supports transitions (puberty rites, childbirth hopes) and everyday ailments alike.
Changing many lives, quietly but tangibly
Gurmaaini’s story shows how women in tribal communities’ act as custodians of health and culture. Her work does more than treat symptoms: it holds meaning, provides emotional comfort, and sustains community rituals that give people a sense of continuity. For programmes and practitioners working in such areas, recognising and respectfully engaging with local healers without undermining public health norms can open paths for collaboration. Documenting these practices, creating respectful referral links, and listening to custodians like Gurmaaini helps ensure that cultural wisdom remains a partner, not an obstacle, to improved health outcomes.
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