The Cursed Necklace of Rabindra Sarobar, Kolkata

 

Kolkata is a city of layers — colonial shadows and cultural renaissance, midnight trams and sacred ghats. But hidden within its historic heart lies a quieter, darker tale that rarely finds its way into the headlines.

Rabindra Sarobar, a man-made lake in South Kolkata, is often called the city’s “lungs” — serene, green, and deeply loved by morning walkers and poets. But ask locals who frequent the area after dusk, and a different story unfolds:

One about a necklace.

A curse.

And a presence that never left.

A Place of Beauty — and Silence

By day, Rabindra Sarobar is a refuge — joggers circle the water’s edge, birds cut across its calm surface, and lovers carve initials into tree trunks. But as twilight slips in, the lake takes on an eerie stillness. The air grows inexplicably heavy. The trees seem to hunch inward.

Over the years, unexplained suicides — particularly near a specific banyan tree by the eastern bank — have quietly built a pattern. No official link ties them together. No public records speak of a curse. Yet, the stories persist.

The Folklore: A Betrayed Bride, A Stolen Heirloom

The most enduring legend tells of a young bride from colonial-era Bengal, abandoned at the altar by a zamindar’s son. In despair, she wandered into the nearby woods wearing her bridal necklace — a family heirloom passed down for generations. She was never seen alive again. Her body, some say, was found near the edge of what is now the Sarobar — her necklace missing.

Soon after, those who came into possession of the necklace — servants, smugglers, even a police officer — reportedly faced strange misfortunes. Illnesses. Fires. Sudden deaths. One man was found floating in the lake, clutching a fragment of gold.

The necklace, they say, always finds its way back to the cursed tree.

Strange Encounters at the Lake

Witness accounts are fragmented and whispered, never formal:

• A man claimed to see a woman in red weeping silently beneath the banyan before disappearing into the fog.

• An elderly artist saw shimmering gold glinting on a tree branch at sunrise — gone before he could reach it.

• A young cyclist found deep scratches on his arms after sleeping near the tree, though there were no animals in sight.

The most unsettling detail across stories? A faint tinkling sound, like bangles… or jewelry… heard in the wind.

The Rational Perspective

Skeptics point to the lake’s documented suicide cases and suggest:

• Psychological patterning: When an area gains a reputation, vulnerable individuals may be drawn to it.

• Natural explanations: Dense foliage, fog, and reflections can play tricks on perception.

• Urban myth-building: Every historic city carries folklore, shaped by collective memory and the human need for meaning.

There is no proof of a necklace. No photos. No names.

Just the stories. And the quiet.

Closing Thoughts: Between History and Haunting

Whether truth, tragedy, or urban myth, the legend of the Cursed Necklace of Rabindra Sarobar lingers like the mist that rolls across its waters. Kolkata is a city where past and present often coexist uneasily — and sometimes, it seems, the past refuses to let go.

So next time you walk near the banyan tree at twilight, and the breeze grows inexplicably cold —

listen closely.

You may just hear the soft chime of a necklace that never found its rightful home.

Some spirits haunt places. Others haunt memories. In Rabindra Sarobar, perhaps they do both.