Satyam and his father Raghuvir Bharti from Uttar Pradesh perform daring stunts such as inserting needles and pouring molten wax on their skin, walking on sharp glass, and balancing on fire — death-defying acts rooted in their family legacy.
Call him the human pin cushion. A young entertainer named Satyam Bharti from Rajlu Mau village in Uttar Pradesh’s Kannauj district inserts 52 thin needles into his bare torso, hands, and legs. He doesn’t wince a bit.
Then comes more torture: pouring molten wax from candles onto the very spots where the needles had punctured his dark, glistening skin. The pain is enormous and unbearable. Yet, 18-year-old Satyam doesn’t flinch. His face betrays no sign of a grimace as he stands with perhaps more wax on his body than a Madame Tussaud figure.
Satyam has been captivating audiences with his extraordinary performances. Alongside his 45-year-old father Raghuvir Bharti, they travel from village to village, performing stunts that push the limits of physical endurance and courage.
The next act involves balancing a bed made of wood on his head while riding a bicycle with its seat removed. Satyam has made a name for himself with this signature routine, which gives the duo their band name — Satyam Cycle Programme.
For Satyam, these daring feats — which they call “items” — are not just about entertaining the crowd; they are a way of life, passed down through generations.
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“I have done these items in thousands of places,” said Raghuvir, a seasoned performer who passed the baton to his son two years ago after a quarter of a century in the itinerant street circus. “The real pain starts after the performance has ended.”
At the heart of their performances is a tradition that Satyam learned from his father. “My teacher is no more, but he had told me that the bicycle would give you more strength to bear the pain and flourish in life,” said Raghuvir, whose calm demeanour contrasts sharply with the intensity of their acts.
Next, it’s time for Raghuvir to get into the act. He walks to the wooden bed with a fire burning around it, flames leaping from the ground. Shards of broken tube lights are placed on the bed. He jumps on the glass and, like one kneading dough, stomps the glass with his bare feet.
He lifts a bloodied foot and shows it to the audience. The crowd grimaces; he smiles. He hides his pain.
“We dance on the broken glass; eat them too,” Satyam said. “Sometimes, it cuts our stomach, and we have to rush to the hospital. Otherwise, no problem. The glass comes out with the next bowel movement.”
His father chipped in: “We have practiced this for years. We are used to the pain from cuts and punctures. Have you ever touched fire?” That’s Raghuvir’s way of signalling his next act.
The stuntman, wearing a yellow-and-blue hi-vis vest with a yellow scarf wrapped around his waist, heats iron rods and shovels until they turn red. Then he licks them with his tongue. He holds red-hot iron chains in his bare hand.
This follows another nail-biting performance: inserting nails into their cheeks and using these as hooks to lift a bucket full of water. “This item is the most painful as it tears the cheek muscles,” Satyam said.
For his succeeding act, Satyam wraps a long, thick rope around his neck like a boa constrictor strangling its prey. The two ends of the rope are tied to two motorbikes a distance away, with their riders revving the engines to build tension in the air.
The riders change gears, release the clutch, and turn the throttle to max, moving in different directions and unleashing the raw power of two combustion engines tugging at a teenager. Satyam crouches to anchor his feet tightly to the ground; his neck holds the taut noose.
“I am a fraction of a second away from death when I do this item. My life is actually hanging by a thread,” he said, giving himself a good neck shake to prepare for his next demonstration.
He lies supine on the dirt while a tractor’s engine comes alive with a howl. Satyam takes the full weight of the tractor as it runs over him; a motorcycle follows suit. As if to make sure. Satyam gets up, dusts his clothes with his hands, and gives a thumbs-up to the crew.
“Yes, it hurts. To take the full load of a tractor on your body is not magic,” he said.
It is impossible to decide which act is more dangerous, but like Wolverine from X-Men, they seem to heal in no time for their next showstopper — such as being buried alive.
“We dig our own graves about seven feet deep. And much like the dead, we are buried alive for one night and taken out the next morning,” Satyam said, emphasising that while the acts are difficult, they have become second nature to the family.
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The Bhartis’ performances go beyond physical skill. They see their acts as a form of art that requires dedication, practice, and respect for the traditions they uphold. “This is how we survive,” said Satyam. Despite the risks, the Bhartis take pride in their work, driven by the applause and support of their audience. The villagers, who have long appreciated the entertainment and daring spirit the Bharti family brings, pay them based on the level of danger in their performances.
“There has been no intervention by any government to help us or formalise our art and skills,” said Raghuvir, who hopes that one day their unique art form will receive more recognition.
For now, Satyam and his father continue to perform, sharing their legacy of strength, courage, and endurance with every village they visit. “This is how I have lived my life,” Raghuvir said with a quiet smile. “And this is how my son will survive too.”
The lead image on top depicts the Bharti family’s performance set-up being inaugurated in a small village. (Photo courtesy Satyam Bharti)
Kumar Gaurav is a multilingual audio-visual journalist from Bihar.
