THERE IS NO MAGIC IN THE HEALER’S HANDS
- Madhukar Dama
- 2 days ago
- 9 min read
A Real, Scientific, and Socratic Essay in Simple Language for Everyone
INTRODUCTION: THE HAND THAT HEALS OR THE MIND THAT BELIEVES?
In many parts of India, people whisper,
"His hands have magic."
"The moment he touched me, I felt better."
"Only she can remove this pain, not even the doctors."
From old village women to city office workers, this belief is deep: a special healer can cure anything with a touch, a glance, or a chant.
But is it really magic in the hands?
Or is it something else — something more real, more powerful, and closer to you than you think?
Let’s explore this, step by step.
Let’s ask questions like a child would.
Let’s answer them like a friend would.
1. WHAT DOES “MAGIC IN THE HANDS” MEAN?
It means people believe some people have special powers.
Just by touching or pressing or waving their hands, they can remove pain, illness, or bad luck.
Sometimes it’s a village elder.
Sometimes a temple priest.
Sometimes a mother-in-law.
Sometimes even a stranger in white clothes.
But here’s the first important truth:
There is no special power in anyone’s hands.
The hand is just flesh, bone, blood, skin — like yours.
Then how do they heal?
2. IS IT JUST A TRICK?
No, not always.
Sometimes healers use real knowledge of massage, pressure points, breathing, or oils.
Sometimes they understand the body better than doctors.
But even then, it is not magic.
It is experience + trust + care.
And sometimes, it is just a clever trick to make you feel like something happened.
That is called placebo — when your mind believes something helped, and so your body feels better, even if nothing real happened.
So yes, it may feel like magic.
But it’s not.
3. THEN WHY DO PEOPLE FEEL BETTER?
Because the body is not a machine.
It has many layers —
Mind
Beliefs
Emotions
Sleep
Breath
Gut
Spine
And a strange thing called hope.
When someone listens to you gently…
When someone touches you with calm hands…
When someone gives you warm oil and a kind word…
Your body relaxes.
That relaxation is the beginning of healing.
4. IF RELAXATION HEALS, WHY NOT CALL THAT MAGIC?
Because then we become lazy thinkers.
If we say “magic,” we stop asking questions.
We stop understanding the real causes.
And when a healer can’t help — we blame ghosts, fate, or sins.
Not the real reason.
Healing is not magic.
It is the result of daily discipline, clean food, rest, tears, trust, breath, and time.
It is what your body does every day on its own, if you stop disturbing it.
5. WHO REALLY HAS “MAGIC HANDS”?
Let us think.
The gardener’s hands that touch the soil and bring back health to a dead plant.
The mother’s hands that hold a crying baby without needing a word.
The midwife’s hands that bring babies into this world without shouting or fear.
The grandmother’s hands that press your aching back in silence.
Is that magic?
No.
It is love, patience, rhythm, experience, and care.
That’s all.
6. BUT I HAVE SEEN PEOPLE GET CURED IN FRONT OF ME!
Yes, healing happens.
But healing is not always because of the healer.
It’s because of the environment they create.
They offer:
Silence
A listening ear
A safe space
Confidence
A belief in nature
These things reduce stress.
And when stress reduces, digestion improves.
When digestion improves, the gut repairs.
When gut repairs, immunity comes back.
And your body heals.
That’s science, not sorcery.
7. WHAT IF THE HEALER TOUCHES WITHOUT ASKING?
Now we ask a brave question.
What if someone says:
“Let me heal you,” but touches without consent?
Or says:
“Don’t question me. Just believe.”
Then it is not healing.
It is control.
And control is never medicine.
No true healer will touch you without your permission.
No true healer will say “You can’t ask questions.”
They will explain.
They will invite.
They will give you tools to heal yourself.
Because the real healer wants you to leave stronger, not become dependent.
8. WHAT ABOUT FAITH?
Faith is powerful.
It calms the nervous system.
But blind faith is dangerous.
When we stop eating properly, sleeping, resting, moving, and just run to someone else’s hands —
we are not healing.
We are hiding.
9. SO WHO IS THE REAL HEALER?
Let’s look again:
The person who makes you drink water slowly = healer.
The person who says, “Let the sun touch your skin every morning” = healer.
The person who teaches you how to walk barefoot, breathe deep, and eat slowly = healer.
The person who says, “Your body can heal itself — I’m just reminding you” = true healer.
And you know what?
That healer can be you.
10. FINAL TRUTH: YOUR BODY IS THE MAGICIAN.
Yes.
The blood that clots itself after a cut? That’s magic.
The skin that grows back? That’s magic.
The gut that repairs itself after food poisoning? That’s magic.
The bones that rejoin after a fracture? Magic.
The tears that flow when you’re overwhelmed? Also magic.
But it’s not in someone else’s hands.
It is in your breath.
Your choices.
Your awareness.
Your daily rhythm.
Your nature.
CONCLUSION: DON’T WORSHIP THE HAND. UNDERSTAND THE BODY.
So next time someone says:
"He has magic in his hands."
Smile gently and ask:
"Or is it that I finally believed in my body again?"
Healing is not a show. It’s a process.
And you are the stage, the actor, the director, and the audience.
You don’t need someone’s hands.
You need your own ears to listen to your body.
Your own hands to grow food.
Your own feet to walk in the sun.
Your own eyes to rest from the screen.
And your own soul to say:
"I am ready to heal. Slowly. Naturally. Fully."
That’s not magic.
That’s real.
---
---
HEALING DIALOGUE
“NO MORE MAGIC, JUST ME”
A family reclaims their power after generations of chasing the healer’s hands
Setting:
Madhukar’s off-grid tiny home, 2 km into the forest near Yelmadagi.
A cool morning. The birds have just begun their day.
Madhukar (43), a former vet and scientist turned natural living guide, sits on the red-mud verandah with Savitri, his wife.
Adhya (11) and Anju (8), their daughters, water plants nearby.
A family of five arrives:
Raghav (66) – grandfather, retired government clerk, who still carries lemon threads and ashes in his shirt pocket
Meenakshi (63) – grandmother, deeply devout, keeps a box of temple turmeric and prays to “remove nazar” every day
Giri (40) – their son, a bank manager, bald early, has back pain
Rekha (38) – his wife, homemaker, anxious and breathless, always wearing a copper bracelet for “balance”
Tanu (14) – their daughter, with chronic stomach aches and low energy, always wearing a black thread on her ankle
Madhukar (smiling gently):
Welcome. You’ve come far. What brings you today?
Raghav (clears throat):
We’ve been going to healers for everything. For generations.
For fevers, body pain, sadness, job loss, ghosts, infertility, exams, even fights.
But... something’s broken now.
Meenakshi (softly):
Earlier, a lemon under the pillow would solve things. Now, no matter what we tie, chant, or apply — pain stays.
Even our grandson was named after a baba, but he stays sick.
Giri (rubbing his lower back):
We tried the oil massage guy, the neem stick guy, even the tantrik.
They all said we’ll be fine.
But I still pop painkillers daily.
Rekha (looking down):
Every morning I do three rituals. I wear my ring. I burn camphor. I chant 108 times.
But still, I get dizzy, anxious.
I thought I wasn’t doing it properly.
But maybe… maybe the method itself is hollow.
Tanu (quietly):
Even my friends say I’m cursed.
Why do I feel tired even after doing everything the elders say?
Madhukar (leans forward):
So you’ve done everything.
Now… shall we try doing nothing?
Raghav (blinks):
Nothing?
Madhukar:
Nothing artificial.
Nothing outsourced.
Just return to your body. Your breath. Your walk. Your food.
No magic. Just nature.
Meenakshi:
But… our whole family survived with healers’ help!
Madhukar:
Survived, yes.
But healed? No.
If the same issue keeps coming back, that’s not healing. That’s dependence.
Giri:
So you're saying… healers didn't work?
Madhukar:
I’m saying the healer outside you can only work when the healer inside you is awake.
And you’ve been outsourcing that for too long.
Rekha (almost in tears):
But we believed. So deeply.
Madhukar:
That belief was not useless. It kept you going.
But now it’s time to move from blind belief to brave awareness.
Tanu:
Then… what should I do?
Adhya (interrupting from behind a tulsi plant):
I had stomach aches too. Amma made me walk barefoot on wet grass every morning.
And we stopped eating biscuits. It went away.
Anju (grinning):
And she made her own ajwain water!
Madhukar:
That’s it, Tanu.
You don’t need a thread. You need sunshine.
You don’t need a chant. You need sleep.
You don’t need a baba. You need bowel movement.
Raghav:
But habits are hard to change at this age.
Madhukar:
Then start one. Just one.
Wake with the sun.
Don’t sleep with worry.
Trust the soil, not slogans.
Meenakshi:
What about all the sacred things we did?
Madhukar:
Keep the sacredness.
Throw away the show.
When you touch your own feet in a morning stretch — that is sacred.
When you chew food slowly and thank the seed — that is sacred.
When you hug your granddaughter without fear — that is sacred.
Giri:
So… no more healer visits?
Madhukar:
Visit the healer in the mirror each morning.
Look into your eyes.
Ask: “What will I do today to honour this body, this breath?”
Rekha:
I feel something already shifted. Just by saying this out loud.
Madhukar (smiling):
That’s because you stopped lying to yourself.
And truth is always the first medicine.
🌿 ONE MONTH LATER
The family writes back.
Raghav has begun walking every morning. No thread. No fear.
Meenakshi has started growing tulsi and hibiscus. She talks to them.
Giri stopped oil massages and focused on posture and sleep. No back pain.
Rekha learned to breathe slow. She now sleeps peacefully.
Tanu plays in the mud daily. No stomach pain. No black thread.
FINAL NOTE FROM MADHUKAR:
"You never needed a healer’s magic.
You only needed your own body’s permission to be trusted again."
---
---
NO MAGIC IN THE HEALER’S HANDS
they said
“there is magic in his hands.”
and everyone knelt.
bent like broken spoons in dirty drawers.
villagers, city men, pregnant women,
bank managers with balding heads,
children with strings on ankles,
and mothers with gods on their tongues—
all knelt.
because someone told them
pain can be pulled out
like a thorn,
if the hand is holy enough.
you tied lemons to the door
to keep the ghost out.
you burned camphor
to keep the luck in.
you rubbed mustard oil,
smeared ash,
sipped metallic waters,
and still—
your back broke.
your gut groaned.
your daughter didn’t smile.
you whispered
he has a gift.
healer. baba. master.
but all he had
was confidence, incense, and
an ancient trick:
hope on rent.
you called it cure.
but it was control.
you didn’t heal.
you paused your panic
long enough to think maybe
this time, it’s gone.
but the fever came back.
and the fear came faster.
no one told you
that healing is ugly.
it doesn’t smell like sandalwood.
it stinks like sweat,
sounds like crying,
feels like empty evenings
with no chants, no bracelets,
just your body
and your breath
and your food
asking you:
are you ready now?
you don’t need a healer.
you need hunger.
you need to eat when the sun is up
and sleep when it goes down.
you need to chew.
you need to shit well.
you need to feel your spine again
before you lose it forever.
no chant can align a crooked neck
better than an hour in the fields.
no thread on the wrist
will fix your kidneys
if you drink tea like it’s water
and never see the sun.
and those who call it magic—
they are cowards
running from their own body’s
honest demands.
they want shortcuts
from sadness
from swelling
from swelling sadness.
so one day, a family came.
three generations of believers
with temple turmeric,
blessed rings,
and confusion stuck in their throats
like old cough.
they asked,
“do you have magic?”
i said,
“i have sunlight, silence, and a sickle.”
they didn’t get it.
but they stayed.
and slowly, the girl stopped wearing the thread.
the mother stopped fainting in kitchens.
the father’s back forgot to scream.
the grandmother touched tulsi instead of tying it.
and the grandfather walked,
without looking over his shoulder
for ghosts that never existed.
healing happened
not because i waved my hand—
but because they finally put their own
on their chest
and said:
“I am ready to listen.”
listen—
you can rub all the cow dung in the world
on your forehead.
but if you don’t drink enough water,
your kidney will still shrivel
like a guilty raisin.
you can dip in holy rivers
from Kashi to Kanyakumari—
but if your breath is shallow
and your knees are frozen
and you hate your own home,
then you’re not washed.
you’re just wet.
so burn the incense,
if it reminds you to breathe.
tie the thread,
if it helps you remember your hand.
but don’t say it’s the thread.
don’t say it’s the healer.
don’t say it’s the mantra.
say it was you—
finally—
deciding not to live
like a fragile, frightened animal
in your own skin.
because
your hands,
when dipped in soil,
when folded in forgiveness,
when used to cook,
when used to rest,
are more healing
than any baba’s blessings.
no magic in the hands,
my friend.
just
sleep.
sunlight.
shit.
silence.
salt.
and
self-respect.
[end.]
