Chhorii 2021

Sakshi and her husband Hemant flee to a remote village after a debt collector threatens Hemant’s life. The driver, Kajla, offers them shelter in his sparsely‑populated home, but from the moment they arrive Sakshi senses something wrong about Kajla’s wife, Bhanno Devi.

Bhanno tells her a grim legend: years ago her sister‑in‑law Sunaini practiced black magic, was burned alive while pregnant, and her spirit has haunted their family ever since. Sunaini’s curse forces every wife of their son Rajbir to lose her unborn child, and the three younger boys were said to have been possessed by the vengeful ghost.

As the days pass, Sakshi experiences terrifying visions that reveal the true story. Sunaini’s husband killed her after a violent clash; the family then tossed her newborn daughter and Sunaini herself into a well. The three boys jumped in to save them, but both mother and child died. The trauma bound Sunaini’s soul to the earth, and she has been exacting revenge on any pregnant woman who enters the house.

When Sakshi, now eight months pregnant, begs Sunaini for mercy, the ghost finally relents—on the condition that the family responsible for Sunaini’s death be punished. In a shocking turn, Sakshi discovers that Hemant is actually Rajbir, the very son who has been murdering his own wives’ unborn children. He and his parents have been manipulating her from the start.

Sakshi confronts them, exposing their crimes. Rajbir lunges at her, intent on silencing her forever, but Rani, one of his previous wives who has survived by keeping silent, intervenes. She attacks Rajbir, and he succumbs to his injuries. With the murderer dead, Sakhi and Rani flee the village, vowing never to return. The final image leaves Sakshi free of the curse—though the trauma of what she witnessed will linger forever.

In a stark landscape where the endless rows of sugarcane sway like silent sentinels, Sakshi finds herself on the run with her husband, Hemant, barely eight months into her pregnancy. Pressed by threats that make the city feel unsafe, the pair abandons the urban bustle for a remote house nestled deep within the fields, hoping the isolation will offer a brief refuge. The setting itself feels heavy with unspoken history; the very air hums with a weight that suggests the land remembers more than it lets on.

The house they enter is a character in its own right—its cracked walls and dim corridors echo with a melancholy that seeps into every corner. From the moment they step inside, an unsettling atmosphere curls around them, amplified by a haunting lullaby that drifts on the wind like a forgotten prayer. As night deepens, Sakshi begins to catch fleeting images: shadowy children playing at the edge of vision and the vague outline of a charred figure that seems both distant and intimately close. These visions blur the line between reality and imagination, pulling at her resolve and testing the fragile peace she is desperate to maintain for her unborn child.

The film balances dread with a relentless, almost tactile sense of yearning. Against the backdrop of rustling stalks and oppressive silence, the story explores how fear can amplify the most primal instinct to protect. Sakshi’s inner turmoil becomes a mirror for the unseen forces that linger in the fields, hinting at a deeper, echoing sorrow that refuses to stay buried. The tone is one of quiet terror interwoven with maternal determination, leaving the audience to wonder whether the house’s secrets will remain hidden or awaken to claim another life.