A Bhangarh Experience

The trip to Rajasthan had been a success. Six of us college friends had enjoyed a relaxing weekend away and were preparing for our drive home when one of the boys suggested we visit Bhangarh Fort on our way back. Everyone said yes immediately, the thrill of anticipation rising in us all - maybe we would have a brush with the supernatural!

Bhangarh Fort is said to be one of the most haunted places in India. Built in the 17th century by Raja Madho Singh, brother of Mughal general Man Singh of Amber, the fort once held within it a thriving marketplace, several temples and a palace. But in 1720, the population of the town suddenly and mysteriously diminished. It is here that the line between history and myth begins to blur, for the Bhangarh fort has been uninhabited ever since. 

Stories of a curse began to spread - some say it came from a saint, others claim its source to be a jilted lover - but the rumours stuck; in the centuries that followed, the fort was left in ruins, and multiple reports of strange sounds and supernatural appearances began to emerge. These stories only multiplied with time, and now, if one were to visit the fort, one would find a notice from the government of India stating that walking on the fort grounds is forbidden before sunrise or after sunset. 

When our group arrived at the fort, I gazed upon the old, crumbling ruins, and felt not so much the (somewhat juvenile) excitement at the possibility of ghosts roaming about, but a profound sense of sadness. What was now a derelict ruin was once a thriving habitation - people would have been thronging at the marketplace and praying at temples, and perhaps the royals who lived in the palace would make occasional public appearances. All that remained now was an empty shell, the ghost of what once was. 

The rest of my group seemed to feel the same effect, and we proceeded in silence, held in thrall by the fort’s grave beauty, shrouded in silence. But before we knew it, we were being ushered out of the premises by the watchman. The sun was setting, it was time to go. Dark clouds had gathered, obscuring the last rays of an orange sun receding over the horizon. 

All of a sudden, it began to rain. Before we had a chance to make it to our obscurely parked car, we were drenched in a downpour that rendered movement near impossible. We struggled back to the watchman, seeking shelter to wait out the storm. The guard himself was stationed in a small shack hardly big enough for two people. He pointed to the temple, telling us it was now too late, and if we wanted to survive the night we would have to wait it out within the temple walls. 

“Do not leave the temple,” he warned. “I cannot help you if you do.” 

Some among our group began to look uneasy. Truth be told, I was never a believer in the supernatural, but I do love a good story. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but still, the prospect of spending the night in the ruins of a temple was worrying. What if there were wild animals? Or worse, wild men? 

The watchman did not seem bothered by my concerns. “No one will come here in the night,” he promised. “Just don’t leave the temple.” 

We settled ourselves on the cracked stone floor of the temple as best we could, and waited. 

After two hours, the rain began to ease. A little while later, it stopped altogether. By now the sun had set and we were plunged into darkness. We could see a small light in the distance, most likely from the watchman’s shack, but everything else was pitch black. 

Feeling decidedly uneasy now, I decided it was time for us to leave. The group was divided; our two most superstitious members were petrified, rooted to the spot in fear of the spirits that were surely roaming just out of reach, waiting to pounce. The rest of us were more afraid of the possibility of living threats, being completely exposed and vulnerable in this ruined temple. It was time to get back to the car and drive home. 

Slowly, using our phone flashlights to guide us, we crept out of the temple, moving toward the only light source we could see, a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling of the watchman’s shack. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the shack. The watchman was not there. We pushed forward, stumbling on uneven ground, trying not to think about the strange, unearthly sounds that were beginning to emerge from the darkness around us. 

We made it to the car, scrambled in, and drove off into the night, waiting tensely for the comforting lights of the highway that would take us home. 

Then I saw the car. A bulky, black off-roading vehicle, something akin to a Pajero was following us. Its windows were tinted so I couldn’t make out who was driving. Even more strangely, its headlights were off. No one else in the car seemed bothered by this vehicle that I was now convinced was stalking us. After all, we were no longer in the Bhangarh fort. 

The road was still pitch black, illuminated only by the headlights of our car. In the distance, we could make out a dim light, most likely from a panwaadi stand. One of the boys suggested we stop there, and if the car stopped too, then we would know we were being followed. He still seemed to think this was a joke, or my imagination acting up. 

We stopped at the panwaadi, and got out. The stand was occupied by a single, middle-aged man, busy counting the day’s wages. We surveyed the array of items available - cigarettes, lighters, assorted candies and snacks, the usual. Hardly a minute later, we heard a sound that made everyone in the group freeze. 

The soft hum of a car engine was creeping up behind us. My usual triumph when proved right was swallowed whole by a gaping abyss of fear that had opened in my gut. Terrified, we all stood rooted to the spot, staring at the car. 

The car pulled up behind ours, and its engine quietened. No one got out. Whoever was inside seemed to be waiting for something. I couldn’t move. A cold sweat had broken out on my brow, small droplets beading along my hairline. Panic was making my head spin and my muscles tense. All I wanted to do was make a mad dash for the safety of our car, but who knew what would happen if I moved? 

If the panwaadi noticed our fear, he did not show it. In fact, he never even looked up from counting his coins. Did he not see the car that was following us or was he willingly ignoring it?

Slowly, our group began to move. In an attempt to look natural that fooled no one, we slowly made our way back to the car. The other car did not move. We climbed in and turned on the engine. The car turned on its engine. We peeled onto the main road and began to accelerate. The car followed. 

By now, I was close to tears. “Drive!” I screamed, breaking the terrified silence. My friend who was  driving jumped at my voice, deafeningly loud after so much quiet, and rammed his foot down on the accelerator. We were too scared to look back. 

We drove and drove, and finally found ourselves turning onto the brightly lit highway. Only then did I chance a glance behind us. 

The car had vanished. 

Where had it gone? Who was driving it? I never found out. To be honest, I did not care. I was just glad I was safe. We had made it out.