The Inquest Analysis
April 10, 2025 : In the quiet town of Damoh, Madhya Pradesh, a chilling tale of deception has unfolded—one that has left families shattered, a hospital in disgrace, and authorities scrambling for answers. At the center of this storm is Narendra Vikramaditya Yadav, a man who cloaked himself in the guise of a renowned cardiologist, Dr. N. John Kem, only to be exposed as a fraud linked to the deaths of at least seven patients. As the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) descends on Damoh and police dig deeper into his shadowy past, *The Inquest* uncovers the layers of this deadly masquerade, revealing a saga of ambition, forgery, and systemic failure.
Narendra Yadav’s story begins not in the hallowed halls of a medical institution but in the murky waters of deceit. Hailing from Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh—not Dehradun, as he once claimed—Yadav presented himself as a London-trained heart specialist, complete with an impressive resume and a foreign-sounding alias: N. John Kem. The name, it turns out, was a calculated nod to Professor John Camm, a legitimate British cardiologist at St George’s University of London. Armed with this stolen identity, Yadav infiltrated Mission Hospital in Damoh in late 2024, reportedly hired through a Bhopal-based agency for a staggering Rs 8 lakh per month.
His credentials dazzled the hospital administration: an MBBS from Andhra Pradesh, a cardiology degree from Puducherry, an MD from Kolkata, and training in the UK. But beneath the sheen of his CV lay a house of cards. Police investigations have since revealed that while his MBBS degree from Andhra Pradesh Medical College might be genuine—registered in 2013 under number 153427—his advanced qualifications were fabricated. His mobile phone, seized after his arrest, contained eight apps capable of forging certificates, a digital toolkit for his elaborate ruse.
Yadav’s audacity didn’t stop at paperwork. Between December 2024 and February 2025, he performed 15 heart surgeries at Mission Hospital, including complex angioplasties and angiographies. Seven patients didn’t survive. Families who trusted him with their loved ones’ lives were left with nothing but grief and questions. “We thought he was a godsend,” said Nabi Qureshi, whose mother Rahisa died post-surgery. “They told us it was a heart attack, but now we know it was a lie.”
The horror of Damoh is not an isolated chapter in Yadav’s story. Allegations have surfaced that his hands, wielding scalpels under false pretenses, have claimed lives elsewhere. In Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh, at Apollo Hospital in 2006, Yadav is accused of botching surgeries that led to 7-8 deaths, including that of Rajendra Prasad Shukla, the state’s first Assembly Speaker. Pradeep Shukla, the late speaker’s son, told reporters, “My father died after an angiography by Yadav. Later, we learned his degree was fake.” The Indian Medical Association reportedly flagged him then, forcing his exit from Apollo, yet no decisive action pinned him down.
Yadav’s past also includes a stint in Hyderabad in 2018-19, where, as chairman of the fictitious Braunwald Hospitals UK, he contracted with Poulomi Hospitals. Operations collapsed within months amid unpaid salaries and a kidnapping case filed against him. Arrested and remanded in Telangana, he slipped through the cracks again, only to resurface in Damoh years later. How did a man with such a checkered history keep finding his way back into operating theaters?
Yadav’s run came to an end on April 7, 2025, in Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh, where Damoh police tracked him down—not through high-tech surveillance, but his own appetite. According to media reports, a craving for chicken delicacies led cops to a restaurant where his phone, briefly switched on, pinged their radar. Hours earlier, he had brazenly filed a Rs 50 million defamation notice against his accusers, a final act of bravado before his capture.
Brought before a Damoh court on April 8, Yadav faced an angry mob attempting to assault him. The court granted five days of police custody, during which he confessed to forging his identity. “Yes, I am Narendra Yadav,” he admitted, per police sources. “I took the name N. John Kem for prestige.” His grilling revealed a 2015 ban from medical practice in India after a forgery case in Noida—a ban he dodged by reinventing himself as a foreign-trained specialist.
Mission Hospital, once a beacon of hope in Damoh, now stands eerily silent. Patients have fled, wards lie vacant, and the name “Dr. N. John Kem” has vanished from its staff list. Nurse Lijo Joy Bahadur said, “He worked alone in his chamber, kept only female staff, and hired a bouncer when disputes with patients grew.” The hospital’s management, led by Pushpa Khare, has gone mute, while staff scramble to organize records ahead of an NHRC probe launched on April 7.
The NHRC’s two-member team, arriving in Damoh on April 7, aims to unravel the extent of the tragedy. Officially, five deaths are acknowledged by Chief Medical Health Officer (CMHO) Dr. Mukesh Jain, but families and the Child Welfare Committee insist the toll is higher. A February 20 complaint sparked the initial inquiry, yet it took until April 1 for a notice to reach the hospital—a delay that has fueled public outrage.
Yadav’s reign of terror exposes gaping holes in India’s healthcare oversight. Mission Hospital failed to verify his credentials with the Madhya Pradesh Medical Council, a legal requirement. The Andhra Pradesh Medical Council’s registration number he provided doesn’t exist in current databases, and his UK claims crumbled under scrutiny. Even more damning, a fake degree bore the forged signature of former Vice President Hamid Ansari—a detail uncovered by CMHO Jain.
This isn’t a lone case. In September 2024, a fake doctor in Khargone, Madhya Pradesh, was nabbed after 15 years of practice. Experts point to lax verification and a shortage of specialists as breeding grounds for such frauds. “The system is broken,” said Dr. G. Srinivas of the Telangana State Medical Council. “Quackery thrives where oversight fails.”
As Yadav sits in custody, the investigation widens. Police are probing his claim of 15,000 surgeries over three decades—a boast as dubious as his degrees. The NHRC will question hospital staff and families, while Bilaspur’s CMHO has issued a show-cause notice to Apollo Hospital. Madhya Pradesh Chief Minister Mohan Yadav has vowed “strict action,” but for the bereaved, justice feels distant.
Narendra Yadav’s tale is a grim reminder of trust betrayed. From Bilaspur to Damoh, his path is littered with lives lost to ambition and arrogance. As *The Inquest* continues to follow this story, one question lingers: How many more N. John Kems are out there, hiding behind stethoscopes and fake diplomas, waiting to strike?
