It was raining heavily. I was sitting comfortably, enjoying a hot cup of tea, savoring the rare quietness interrupted only by the distant rumble of thunder.
Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door.
I was surprised—I wasn’t expecting anyone, especially at this hour.
The knock came again, louder this time, almost like someone was pounding on the door.
I cautiously peeked through the peephole.
A tall man stood there, completely soaked, holding something wrapped in thick plastic that looked like a large photo frame.
His eyes were gentle, but they carried a strange intensity.
“Sorry to bother you. Can I come inside for a few minutes until the rain stops? My bike broke down, and I’m worried about this portrait—it shouldn’t get damaged. I need to check on it immediately,” he said.
Something about him made me uneasy, but the rain was merciless, and the warmth of hospitality tugged at me.
I nodded and let him in.
He dried himself off with the towel I gave him and smiled politely.
“Thank you for bothering yourself at this hour, but I had no other option,” he said.
He looked at me, almost as if asking for permission to sit. I nodded and gestured toward the chair. He sat down gracefully, moving with careful control—as though he were hiding something.
I offered him a cup of tea, which he accepted gratefully.
While sipping, he began asking questions—oddly specific ones about my daily routine, habits, and beliefs.
Suddenly, he asked, “Do you believe in mysteries?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied firmly.
“But sometimes you have to believe,” he said, beginning to unwrap the plastic from the frame he was carrying.
“Let me tell you about this portrait,” he said.
He revealed a striking portrait of a beautiful woman.
“There’s a long story behind this portrait of Princess Chandralekha.
There was once a village called Rangarajapuram, near Rajahmundry. About 500 years ago, it was ruled by King Vijaya Varma. He had only one son, Shiva Varma.
One day, Shiva Varma went hunting. After three days, he returned with a woman named Chandralekha. He said he’d fallen in love and had married her at a temple.
The king accepted the marriage and arranged a grand celebration.
For a few days, all was well. But soon, strange misfortunes began affecting the kingdom.
The king began to suspect that these events were connected to the arrival of Chandralekha.
He asked her about her background. She said she didn’t know her birth details or her real parents. She was raised by her adoptive father, Vishnugupta.
The king sent his spies to investigate.
A few days later, they returned with startling facts.
A five-year-old girl had been found near a temple in Thanjavur by a businessman named Vishnugupta.
He was childless and had hoped to adopt her.
After inquiring around, he discovered that the girl had been taken in by the temple priest, who had found her as an infant at the temple gates.
No one had come to claim her, so the priest and his wife raised her.
Later, when the priest’s wife died, he found it difficult to raise her alone and gave her to Vishnugupta.
But after adopting Chandralekha, Vishnugupta’s fortunes turned. His ships sank at sea, he lost wealth, his wife died, and he couldn’t pay taxes.
The kingdom seized his property.
As Chandralekha grew into a stunning young woman, the eyes of a corrupt tax officer named Anantha Swamy fell upon her.
He asked for her hand in marriage, but Vishnugupta refused.
Furious, Anantha Swamy killed Vishnugupta and tried to take Chandralekha by force.
But a raging bull appeared from nowhere and gored him to death with its horns.
Terrified and with nowhere to go, Chandralekha met Shiva Varma.
He immediately fell in love, married her in a temple, and brought her home.
King Vijaya Varma realized that her horoscope was cursed—wherever she went, misfortune followed.
He wanted to get rid of her. But Shiva Varma was deeply attached to her and would not leave her side.
So, the king resorted to a plan. He spiked their drinks with sleeping powder one night. Once they were unconscious, he had Chandralekha placed in a chariot with four guards and ordered them to leave her in a far-off kingdom.
While passing through a forest, Chandralekha woke up and questioned the soldiers.
They refused to answer, so she grabbed one of their swords and threatened them.
A struggle ensued. In the chaos, the sword struck the charioteer in the chest.
The horses panicked. The chariot veered out of control and plunged into a river. All aboard were killed.
When Shiva Varma learned of her fate, he was devastated.
He stopped eating, locked himself in his room, and stared endlessly at a painting he had made of her—he was a gifted artist.
Eventually, he died of grief.
After his death, the king had the portrait removed from the palace.
But whoever tried to move it met with a mysterious death—illness or accidents.
Strangely, the portrait always found its way back to Shiva Varma’s room.
Terrified, the king abandoned the fort and built a new one.
Years later, when the British arrived, one officer tried to take the painting to England.
He died suddenly, and the portrait was found hanging back in the original room.
The fort was converted into a museum, and the portrait was left untouched.
Once, a thief tried to steal it. He fell from a height and died instantly. The portrait remained unmoved.
Since then, no one dared claim ownership.
He paused and looked at me.
“So... do you believe the story now?” he asked.
I looked again at the portrait—it was indeed breathtaking.
“I don’t believe in that nonsense,” I replied. “If the story were true, how could you steal the painting and still be alive?”
He smiled.
“I don’t believe it either. I stole it from the museum. There’s a private collector offering a huge sum for it.
The rain was heavy, and I didn’t want the painting to get damaged—that’s why I came here.”
The rain had stopped. He carefully wrapped the portrait, thanked me, and left.
I heard his motorcycle start and drive away.
I shut the door and went to bed, still thinking about the mysterious tale of Princess Chandralekha.
The next morning, while out for a walk, my neighbor stopped me.
“Did you hear? A man on a bike died in a terrible accident nearby last night. He collided with a truck and died on the spot.
The police said there was a beautiful painting lying beside him, but after some time it was not to be seen"
I was stunned.
Was the story of Princess Chandralekha’s portrait true after all?
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