Bhargav Haveli Ka Shraap (The Curse of Bhargav Mansion)
It began with a simple road trip. Arjun, a 24-year-old freelance photographer from Delhi, was known for his obsession with abandoned places. His Instagram was filled with photos of forgotten temples, rusted railway stations, and crumbling ruins from the British era. When his childhood friend, Neeraj, sent him an old newspaper clipping about a haunted haveli in Rajasthan called Bhargav Haveli, Arjun’s curiosity was instantly piqued.
The article was dated 1994. It mentioned strange deaths, missing villagers, and unexplained rituals. The haveli had been abandoned for over 70 years, ever since the last Thakur of the Bhargav family died under mysterious circumstances. Locals refused to go near it, even in daylight.
Arjun couldn't resist. He packed his camera, tripod, a flashlight, and a journal. He invited Neeraj to join, but Neeraj declined. "Kuch jagah chhor deni chahiye, bhai," he warned. But Arjun, headstrong and thrill-seeking, drove alone into the desert.
The road to Bhargav Haveli wasn’t even on Google Maps. He had to ask for directions from a tea-seller in a sleepy village called Durganpur. The old man’s eyes widened when Arjun mentioned the haveli.
"Beta, wahan mat jao. Haveli zinda hai. Raat ko to bilkul bhi nahi."
But Arjun, half-smiling, thanked him and continued driving. The sun was beginning to set, turning the sand into burning gold. An hour later, after passing twisted neem trees and stretches of cracked land, he reached it.
Bhargav Haveli.
It stood like a dead monument — three stories tall, made of red sandstone, with intricately carved windows sealed shut with thick iron bars. The main gates were rusted but unlocked. As he stepped in, a gust of wind blew from inside, not outside. The air felt heavier.
He began exploring with his flashlight. The haveli had multiple courtyards, faded murals on the walls, and broken chandeliers. But what caught his attention was the prayer room. It was untouched. The lamps were still arranged. An idol of Maa Kali stood at the center — smeared in dried vermilion.
He clicked pictures, wrote some notes in his journal, and explored further. In the eastern wing, he found a spiral staircase that led down. The walls were damp. At the base, he discovered a door reinforced with chains. A trishul was nailed across it. And on the wall, painted in blood-red letters, was a warning:
"Yahan se aage Mrityu ka Ghar hai. Laut jao."
Arjun was rattled but continued. He clicked a photo of the door and turned around to leave. That’s when he heard the anklets.
Faint. Rhythmic. Coming from the staircase.
He froze. There was no one there. But he could hear her — the sound of a woman walking slowly, rhythmically, around him. The air dropped in temperature. He bolted upstairs.
He decided to spend the night in his jeep outside the haveli. He locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and pulled a blanket over himself. But sleep didn’t come. All night, he kept hearing soft giggles and anklets circling the jeep. At 3:12 a.m., his jeep’s engine started on its own. The headlights flickered. He threw open the door and ran. But something stopped him.
In the reflection of the jeep’s rearview mirror — a woman. Dressed in a red bridal saree. Her eyes were pitch black. And her smile… curved unnaturally wide.
Morning came. Somehow. Arjun sat in silence, too shaken to move. But he wasn’t ready to leave yet. He needed answers. He drove back to Durganpur and approached the same tea-seller.
This time, he listened.
The old man told him the story. In 1925, the Thakur of Bhargav Haveli — Mahesh Bhargav — was obsessed with immortality. He had traveled across India, learning black tantra. He returned with a woman — Devi — who was rumored to be a churel (witch). The villagers believed she wasn’t human.
She performed rituals inside the sealed basement. One night, screams erupted. The villagers found the haveli burning. Thakur’s family had been butchered. Devi vanished. All that remained was her bloodied bridal saree.
Since then, anyone who stayed overnight either died or lost their minds. The basement was sealed by local priests, but no one dared to break the trishul seal.
Arjun felt a strange pull. That night, he returned. Against all logic.
Inside the haveli, things were different. The walls bled. The corridors seemed longer. He made his way back to the basement. This time, he brought bolt cutters. It took him 20 minutes to cut through the chains. The air turned metallic. He opened the door.
Darkness.
He stepped in. The room had strange symbols carved on the ground. Bones. Blood-stained fabrics. Candles still burning — despite no one being there for decades. At the center lay a mirror. Tall, black, and cracked.
He looked into it.
And saw himself. But older. Worn down. And behind his reflection — HER.
She whispered in a language he didn’t know. And then, all lights went out.
When he woke up, it was morning. He was outside the haveli, lying in the sand. His journal was missing. His camera — destroyed. He drove back home, changed.
Weeks passed. Arjun grew silent. Reserved. At night, he would wake up screaming. He started drawing strange symbols on the walls. When Neeraj visited him, he found Arjun speaking in a language he couldn’t recognize.
On the 30th day after the visit — Arjun vanished.
All that remained was a note scrawled on his wall:
"Woh laut aayi hai. Bhargav Haveli ab khaali nahi hai."
Today, the haveli still stands. Locals say they now hear a man crying at night. And a woman laughing.
They say Bhargav Haveli has a new resident. And Devi is no longer alone...
— The End.
Post a Comment