I’ll never forget the look in her eyes.

It was a hot, still afternoon when I stepped into Rajni’s home. The moment I crossed the threshold, time seemed to slow down. The walls were painted deep red, almost crimson—like a wound that never quite healed. A single fan hung from the ceiling overhead. A plastic table stood between us, its surface worn and stained by time. On one side, a floral carpet stretched across the floor like a faded prayer, and on the other, Rajni sat—head lowered, wrapped in a light pink scarf.

Vikram, Rajni & Manju (Widow's Hope coordinator)

The silence was loud.

Her husband died in 1998. Life had been cruel, but it wasn’t finished with her. In 2005, her three children—her whole world—left for school one morning and never came back.

Gone. Vanished.

She searched frantically. Days turned to weeks. Then came the unthinkable—someone told her the children had been taken. By her own in-laws.

She went to them, desperate, hopeful. “Give me back my children,” she pleaded.

They slammed the door in her face.

When she turned to the police, they shrugged. Family matter, they said. Nothing we can do.

She went home hollowed out by grief. Alone. Mad with pain. On the rooftop, she cried out to her goddess, Kali, begging for justice, for mercy, for even a whisper of her children’s whereabouts. Years passed. Silence.

And then the shadows began to move.

“I could feel something watching me,” she said, eyes darting toward the window. “Everywhere I went, I felt it. A darkness. Heavy. Breathing down my neck.”

Her voice trembled. “It followed me.”

She had stopped eating. Could barely sleep. Life had drained from her body.

And then one day, a Christian woman knocked on her door.

At first, Rajni resisted. But the woman came again. And again. Just to listen. Until one day, she invited Rajni to a prayer meeting. “Just come,” she said.

Rajni didn’t know why she agreed. Maybe she had nothing left to lose.

That night, everything changed.

As the pastor prayed, a presence filled the room—something fierce and holy. Rajni’s body began to convulse. She collapsed, screaming, writhing. Chairs crashed to the ground. The room turned cold. A battle was raging—and it wasn’t just physical.

People prayed with tears in their eyes, voices raised to heaven. And then suddenly—it stopped.

Peace.

The darkness was gone.

Rajni opened her eyes, and for the first time in years, they were clear.

She went home that night, walked to her rooftop, picked up the Kali idol she had prayed to for years… and smashed it. She put the broken pieces in a sack and threw them into the river.

That was the night she was born again.

Since then, she’s been hosting prayer meetings at home. Her Bible—which she listens to on her phone, whether she’s doing chores or lying in bed—has become her sword. Her shield.

But the battles didn’t end.

To survive, she opened a tiny store beside her home. A dusty little corner of hope facing the street. But the business struggled. She borrowed ₹10,000. Then another ₹20,000. Then more. Now she’s neck-deep in ₹1.5 lakh of debt. ($1800)

The darkness she escaped is trying to return—not through spirits, but through poverty, loneliness, and unrelenting need.

That’s where we come in.

I believe God sent us to her for this very reason. Because of the generous hearts behind the Trinity100 Campaign, Rajni is no longer alone. You are part of her story now.

Our plan is simple:

1. Help her clear the crushing debt.

2. Support her to revive or reshape her business.

3. And pray—fervently, constantly—that somehow, someday, she’s reunited with her children.

   
   

I looked into her eyes as I left. There was still pain there. But also something else.

Hope.

Thank you for being part of Widow’s Hope. If you haven’t joined us yet, would you consider giving regularly?

Your generosity doesn’t just pay off debts—it breaks chains.

One widow. One life. One miracle. At a time.

Thanks,

Vikram

Rajni Devi