Gohel is a 'doctor', and a widely revered one on at that in the villages of Rapar taluka in Kutch and Adesar, the small town where he practices. "Rural people want to be cured overnight. They need to go back to the fields the next morning to earn their livelihood. They come to me because I can guarantee them that cure," says Ghanshyam. "I tell my poor patients, if you are cured tomorrow, come back and give me the money, and most of them do return."

Quacks have a flourishing business both in rural and urban areas in the state. For all its ambitious plans to upgrade and modernise, public health faces stiff resistance from thousands of unregistered, often dangerous 'medical' practitioners who have a roaring undercover business.

"Mostly, my patients come from remote villages and travel at least 30 kilometres to see me," says Ghanshyam. "They would not be coming if the government health facilities inspired faith in them."

Jagabai Kumbhar, who has brought her eight-month-old son from Lodhrani village, says, "Government doctors have fixed timings in public health centres, so we prefer going to private doctors. Mostly, doctors in PHCs refer us to hospitals in the cities due to lack of medicines or facilities while private doctors assure us of effective treatment."

Most of them operate under fake names. Ghanshyam, for instance, has a small board with "Dr. Harish Jain, Vaidya" written on it. "Jain owns the place, I run it," says Ghanshyam.

A registered doctor practising in Adesar, says, "The rule of thumb for quacks is to prescribe high doses of drugs, which provide temporary relief. The high dose makes the patient resistant to medicines. Not just this, the condition of many patients has worsened after coming to quacks."

Bacchubhai Ahir has sworn never to go to Ghanshyam again. "Five years ago, the dubious 'doctor' injected my eight-year-old daughter in the leg. Her right side was paralysed for over a week and she still hasn't gained full control over her right leg, which causes her to limp," says Ahir.