In the misty hills of Paonta Sahib, a small town nestled in Himachal Pradesh’s Sirmaur district, Raghav Nirula was born in 1994 to a modest family. From a young age, he dreamed of healing the sick, inspired by watching his parents struggle with basic healthcare access in their remote community. “One day, I’ll be the doctor who changes lives,” young Raghav would tell his friends during school breaks, his eyes sparkling with determination. Little did he know, his path would weave through moments of heroism and heartbreak.

Raghav pursued medicine with relentless passion, earning his MBBS and specializing in pulmonary medicine—a field close to his heart, given the respiratory challenges faced by many in the high-altitude regions of Himachal. By his late 20s, he had joined the ranks at Nahan Medical College, where his dedication quickly shone through. In October 2023, during a particularly harsh monsoon season, a 22-year-old asthma patient from a poor family in Sirmaur arrived in critical condition. The young woman, gasping for air, needed urgent transfer to the advanced facilities at PGI Chandigarh, over 100 kilometers away.

Standard protocol would have meant handing her off to ambulance staff, but Raghav couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her fate to chance. “I’m coming with you,” he told the terrified patient as she was loaded into the vehicle. “We’ll get through this together—hold on to my hand if you need to.” En route, he monitored her vitals, administered oxygen, and even sang a soothing Himachali folk tune to calm her nerves. “Doctor sahab, why are you doing this? No one ever cares like this,” she whispered between breaths. “Because you’re not just a patient; you’re someone’s daughter, like my sister,” he replied. His selfless act saved her life, and the story went viral. Media outlets hailed him as a “hero doctor,” with headlines praising his compassion in an overburdened system. 10 Social media buzzed with admiration, and for a brief moment, Raghav became a symbol of hope in Indian healthcare.

Emboldened by the recognition, Raghav moved to Indira Gandhi Medical College (IGMC) in Shimla as a senior resident on contract. At 31, he was known among colleagues for his rigorous work ethic—treating thousands of patients over eight years without major complaints. He hit the gym daily, avoided sugar and vices, and poured his energy into pulmonary cases, from tuberculosis to high-altitude pulmonary edema. “Medicine isn’t just a job; it’s a calling,” he’d often say to junior residents during late-night shifts. But the pressures of a government hospital—overcrowded wards, endless hours, and frustrated patients—began to test even his resolve.

Then came December 2025, a day that shattered his reputation. It started routinely in the endoscopy ward. Arjun Panwar, a teacher from Jubbal village, had come for a procedure and was advised to rest before an X-ray. Lying on a bed in an empty room, Panwar claimed the doctor entered and spoke rudely. “Get up, what are you doing here?” Raghav allegedly snapped. Offended, Panwar retorted, “Do you talk to your family like this at home?” According to Panwar, this sparked fury: “How dare you get personal!” The doctor then allegedly assaulted him, punching him while he was still on the bed, causing a nosebleed and breathing issues. “I was helpless, just lying there,” Panwar later told reporters, his family adding that there had been prior complaints about the doctor’s behavior. 10

But Raghav’s account painted a different picture, one of self-defense amid escalating aggression. He insisted the patient initiated with verbal abuse, hurling explicit insults at his mother and family. “Calm down, please—let’s not make this personal,” Raghav reportedly pleaded multiple times. Tensions boiled over when Panwar allegedly grabbed an IV stand as a weapon and shoved him violently. “You think you can talk to me like that? Do you know who I am?” Panwar shouted, according to Raghav. The push fractured Raghav’s hand and injured his back, leaving him bedridden. In the chaos, a video captured Raghav wrestling the rod away and striking back, but he maintained it was to protect himself. Moments later, Panwar called in 200–250 supporters, who stormed the ward, vandalizing property and creating terror. “This isn’t how we treat healers!” one protester yelled outside Raghav’s room, as police intervened to prevent further violence. 11

The video exploded online, turning public opinion against him overnight. Protests erupted at IGMC, with demands for justice. Chief Minister Sukhvinder Singh Sukhu condemned the act, and within days, Raghav’s contract was terminated. 1 A high-level inquiry found both parties at fault, but the damage was done—Raghav, once a hero, was now labeled a villain. 5 Supporters on forums argued for doctor protection laws, decrying media bias: “He saved lives before; now he’s crucified for defending himself?” 11 Panwar’s family pushed for attempt-to-murder charges, while Raghav, from his hospital bed, reflected, “I never wanted to hurt anyone—I just wanted to help.”

Today, as Himachal grapples with the fallout, Raghav’s story serves as a stark reminder of the thin line between savior and scapegoat in India’s strained healthcare system. What began with a boy’s dream in the hills ended in controversy, leaving questions about empathy, anger, and accountability lingering in the crisp mountain air.