I still remember the day this story first reached me.
It was supposed to be just another summer afternoon in Gujarat — hot, quiet, and uneventful. But what started as a small village rumor turned into one of the most disturbing cases I’ve ever come across — a case that still feels heavy in my chest whenever I think about it.
Chandrika Patel.
Just 18 years old. Bright, ambitious, the kind of girl everyone said would “make it big.” She had dreams of becoming a doctor and had recently scored 478 marks in her NEET exams — a big leap from her previous attempt. Her parents were proud… or at least that’s what everyone thought.
Then, suddenly, she was gone.
They said she died of a heart attack.
At first, no one questioned it. After all, these days you hear of young people collapsing unexpectedly. Her father, Sendha Bhai, quietly performed her last rites in their village, Dantia. The ceremony was simple — too simple for someone so young. No postmortem. No questions. Just tears and whispers.
But then — forty-two days later — something surfaced that changed everything.
Back in February 2025, Chandrika had met a man named Haresh Chaudhary in Palanpur. She was waiting for a bus after her NEET classes when he offered her a ride. He seemed genuine, respectful. They talked, exchanged numbers, and over time, their friendship turned into love. Haresh admitted he was married but separated — something that didn’t stop Chandrika from caring deeply for him.
They travelled together — Mount Abu, Mehsana — like any young couple chasing moments of freedom. But their relationship didn’t stay hidden for long. Her family found out, and what followed was something dark and relentless.
Her father and relatives were furious.
They wanted her to marry someone of their choice, a relative’s son. Chandrika resisted — said she wanted to finish her studies and be with Haresh. That defiance was enough to turn her home into a prison.
Eventually, she and Haresh ran away. They moved from city to city, finally registering a live-in relationship in Balasar, Rajasthan. For a while, it seemed like they were safe.
But then, her brother found them — and brought the police along.
No warrant. No permission. The police just stormed in, seized their phones, and took Chandrika away. Haresh was thrown in jail on false charges, even though Chandrika told them again and again she wanted to be with him.
When he was finally released, his phone had been wiped clean — illegally reset. But through Instagram, Haresh discovered the messages Chandrika had sent him before her death.
Those messages… they were chilling.
She wrote that her family was forcing her into marriage. That they were threatening to kill her if she refused.
On June 24th, 2025 — just days after those messages — Chandrika was drugged by her own family. Her father, Sendha Bhai, along with her uncle Shivram and cousin Naran, gave her milk laced with sedatives.
When she fell asleep, they strangled her to death.
Then, they staged it as a natural death. Claimed it was a heart attack. Burned her body before anyone could ask questions. Even got a fake death certificate.
By the time anyone realized what had happened, it was too late.
Haresh went to court, demanded an inquiry — and that’s when the truth started to leak out. Under interrogation, Chandrika’s uncle and cousin confessed. Her father ran away.
But here’s what still haunts me — the police knew.
They had seen the live-in documents. They had heard Chandrika’s statements saying she wanted to stay with Haresh. And yet, they handed her back to the same people who ended up killing her.
Sometimes I still think about her.
About how she must have felt that last night — helpless, scared, betrayed by everyone she ever trusted. She was just a girl who wanted to live her own life, to love freely, to build a future.
But in the end, her voice was silenced by those who claimed to love her the most.
And the police, instead of protecting her, helped bury the truth.
Maybe that’s why this story hits me so hard — because it didn’t happen in some faraway place. It happened here, around me. In the same towns we pass every day, among people who look like us, speak like us, and still believe that honor is worth more than a life.
Every time I think of Chandrika Patel, I’m reminded of one thing — sometimes, the real horror isn’t in ghost stories or dark alleys… it’s in the silence of those who know the truth and choose to hide it.
