Submitted by: Anonymous Investigator
Category: Haunted Places – Real Encounters | CurseIndia.site
They say every cursed place warns you before it harms you. The trouble is—we usually ignore the warning.
I never intended to investigate Bhangarh. It wasn’t on my map, my radar, or my list. It found me. Or rather, something inside it did. And it followed me home.
This is my full report. What happened in Rajasthan’s infamous Bhangarh Fort in the winter of 2019 was more than an adventure. It was a direct brush with something ancient, intelligent, and utterly malevolent.
I was part of a four-member group—Ravi (me), Rajat, Neeraj, and Ankit. We were recent graduates, road-tripping across Rajasthan: Jaipur, Jaisalmer, Pushkar, and then, thanks to a random Instagram reel, Bhangarh.
What could go wrong?
The Fort No One Lives To Remember
We reached Bhangarh around 2 PM. The dusty Aravallis stood like exhausted sentinels. The last village, Gola ka Bas, was silent. Locals refused to speak much once they heard where we were headed. We thought they were just superstitious.
As we neared the gate, the infamous Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) sign came into view:
"Entering the fort after sunset is strictly prohibited."
No other monument in India has this legal warning. That alone should've made us reconsider.
Inside, the ruins seemed frozen in time. Roofless buildings, skeletal temples, decayed havelis—all under the open sky, watched by monkeys but no birds. There was a heaviness to the air, as if sound didn’t travel far.
We took a brief guided tour. The local guide repeated the infamous legend: A tantric tried to bewitch the beautiful Princess Ratnavati with cursed oil. She outwitted him. The oil struck a boulder, crushing the sorcerer to death. But with his last breath, he cursed the entire town. The city crumbled. The fort died.
We smirked. “Classic story,” Rajat said. But the guide’s face turned serious.
“I’m not telling you this to scare you,” he said. “I’m telling you so you leave on time.”
We didn’t listen.
The Haveli Off the Trail
After the guide left, we discovered a side path hidden behind overgrowth. It led to a smaller two-story haveli, nearly swallowed by the earth. We felt drawn to it.
“This wasn’t in the guide’s tour,” Neeraj said.
“Probably the tantric’s own quarters,” joked Rajat.
We stepped in.
The air changed instantly—musty, thick, and unnaturally cold. The inside smelled like scorched metal and decaying fabric. Symbols were carved into the walls, old and unsettling. My phone’s flashlight flickered for the first time ever.
Ankit said, “Feels like this place is breathing.”
Then the footsteps started.
From the lower level.
Heavy. Rhythmic. Not one person—multiple.
We froze.
The footsteps stopped, replaced by humming. Not music. A chant. Ancient and deep, vibrating in our chests.
Rajat peeked down the staircase.
His face turned white. He screamed and fell back, grabbing his throat as if choking. We dragged him out. His neck had fresh bruises—five finger marks.
We didn’t look back.
Something Follows
The hotel that night felt cursed.
Rajat had night terrors. Said a burning-eyed shadow sat on his chest, repeating mantras.
Ankit vomited blood once.
Neeraj’s phone gallery showed seven photos of the haveli—we had only taken one. In all of them, a woman in traditional attire appeared faintly behind us. Her eyes were locked on Rajat.
I woke up sleepwalking at 3:15 AM for the next four nights straight. Each time, I was whispering something unintelligible near the mirror.
We saw a priest. He said something had attached itself. That Bhangarh wasn’t just haunted—it was hungry. It remembers names. Sometimes, it chooses.
We buried the photos. Deleted videos. We thought that would end it.
Then Rajat died.
Found in his apartment, lifeless. No signs of struggle—except bruises around his throat.
The Guard Who Remembered
Six months later, I drove past Bhangarh again. Just to see. A closure trip.
At the gate, the same security guard was present. A face I’d never forget.
He saw me and froze.
“You came back?” he said.
I nodded, unsure.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
“Ravi.”
He paled.
“The fort remembers you.”
I left. This time, I listened to the warning.
If you ever visit Bhangarh, do it in daylight. And if you find yourself near the ruined haveli behind the palace—don’t enter. Some stories aren’t meant to be discovered.
Some curses are still active.
Published on: CurseIndia.site – Haunted Places
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