Mohini

Intro In a quiet village near the edge of the Aravalli forests, there once lived a young woman named Reva. Beautiful, soft-spoken, and deeply devoted to her family, she was married off at seventeen to the zamindar’s only son. Her dowry was modest, but her beauty made tongues wag and men stare. Jealousy brewed. On her wedding night, she wore a black saree with silver embroidery, as was custom in her family. Her eyes sparkled with hope—but behind closed doors, betrayal waited. The zamindar's son, greedy for dowry and power, accused her of witchcraft when she refused his cruel demands. That very night, he and his family locked her in the bridal room, poured oil around the threshold, and set it aflame. Her screams echoed through the haveli, her bangles shattering against the burning door. No one came to help. Her charred soul never found peace. Days later, strange things began to happen. The bridal room remained untouched by ash—spotless, cold, and always scented with jasmine. Those who entered began to speak of a woman in a black saree, her face half-burned, her eyes weeping blood, humming a haunting lullaby. One night, the zamindar’s son was found dead—his neck twisted backward, his eyes wide with terror, and his feet reversed. From then on, Reva became the chudail of the haveli. They say she appears when the moon is dark, wearing the same black saree and black bra, her long hair floating in the still air, her silver bangles echoing in silence. She doesn’t scream anymore. She whispers. If you hear her hum, never follow the sound. If you see her reflection, never turn around. And if she offers you her veil… it means you’re already dead.