“If I Can’t Have You, No One Can”: A Shocking Shooting at the Railway Gate Exposes the Dark Reality of Obsession and Violence Against Women in Haryana

It was a Friday like any other in the quiet village of Kalwa in Haryana’s Jind district. Two sisters, Sunu (27) and Ritu (21), set out for a simple shopping trip, laughing and chatting as they planned to buy clothes and shoes in the city. But by evening, their lives would be changed forever—shattered by bullets, blood, and a brutal lesson in how far obsession can drive a man blinded by toxic masculinity.

This is not just a story of a shooting. It is a chilling reflection of a society where women’s choices are routinely trampled, where rejection is met not with acceptance but with violence, and where fragile egos can turn deadly. The events that unfolded at a railway crossing near Pillukheda are as shocking as any crime thriller, but for Sunu and Ritu, the horror was all too real.

The Build-Up: Obsession, Rejection, and Threats

For months, Sunil—a man from the same extended family, the devar (younger brother-in-law) of Sunu’s elder sister Asha—had been obsessed with marrying Sunu. He had harassed her relentlessly, making threats, sending messages, and even pressuring Asha to convince her younger sister to accept his proposal.

But Sunu, recently divorced and trying to rebuild her life, wanted nothing to do with Sunil. She saw through his facade: a man with no job, no ambitions, and a reputation for being a troublemaker. Her family, too, rejected his advances, warning Asha of the dangers of getting entangled with someone who had nothing to offer but threats and empty promises.

Despite repeated rejections, Sunil’s obsession only grew. He began quoting dramatic film dialogues, telling Sunu, “If anyone comes between us, consider them dead. I will lay down corpses for you.” What sounded like a line from a Bollywood movie soon became a chilling prophecy.

The Day of the Attack: A Scene Straight Out of a Movie

On that fateful Friday, Sunu and Ritu finished their shopping and headed home, unaware that Sunil was stalking them. As they waited at a railway gate for a train to pass, Sunil arrived on his motorcycle, parking it in front of them in classic “filmy” style.

He blocked their path, his eyes wild with anger and desperation. Without warning, he pulled out a loaded .32 bore pistol. “If you won’t be mine, you won’t be anyone’s,” he shouted.

In a split second, he fired at Sunu, the bullet tearing into her abdomen and chest. Ritu, horrified, rushed to protect her sister—but Sunil turned the gun on her as well, shooting her in the jaw.

The two sisters collapsed, blood pooling on the ground as Sunil sped away, leaving behind a scene of chaos and terror.

Aftermath: Race Against Death

Bystanders rushed to help, calling for an ambulance as the sisters fought for their lives. They were taken first to a local hospital and then referred to PGI Rohtak, where doctors raced to save them. Both underwent emergency surgery; Sunu’s wounds were life-threatening, and Ritu’s face was shattered.

Their mother, Sunita, arrived at the hospital in tears, unable to comprehend how an ordinary day had turned into a nightmare. “He kept pressuring us for marriage,” she sobbed. “We refused. Is this what we get for saying no?”

The village was in shock. How could such violence erupt in broad daylight, at a public place, over a matter as personal as marriage? The answer, it seemed, lay in a deep-rooted culture of entitlement and toxic masculinity.

The Investigation: A Familiar Pattern of Abuse

Police quickly identified Sunil as the shooter, based on Sunu’s statement before she slipped into unconsciousness. The case was registered as attempted murder, and a manhunt began.

But as investigators dug deeper, a disturbing pattern emerged. This was not Sunil’s first act of aggression. Months earlier, he had tried to attack Sunu outside her house, covering his face with a cloth and attempting to grab her. Back then, he had been caught and let off with a warning. No one imagined he would escalate to attempted murder.

Sunil’s family ties complicated matters. As Asha’s devar, he was part of the extended household, and his proximity allowed him to keep tabs on Sunu’s movements. Even after her divorce, Sunu could not escape his unwanted attention.

A Society Complicit: When “No” Means Nothing

What happened at the railway gate is not an isolated incident. Across Haryana—and indeed, much of India—stories abound of women being stalked, harassed, and attacked for daring to say no. The idea that a woman’s refusal is merely a challenge to be overcome, not a boundary to be respected, is deeply ingrained.

In the days following the shooting, villagers whispered about Sunil’s “manliness,” some even admiring his “courage” for acting on his feelings. But what kind of courage does it take to shoot two unarmed women? What kind of society glorifies such violence?

The answer is uncomfortable. Too often, men who are rejected are encouraged to persist, to “win over” women at any cost. When persistence fails, violence becomes the final, desperate tool. And when that happens, it is the women—independent, strong, and unwilling to settle—who pay the price.

Not the First, Not the Last: A Grim Precedent

The Jind shooting is eerily similar to another recent tragedy in Jhajjar’s Dhauligang village. There, two sisters—Komal and Nidhi—were attacked by their own relative, who set their charpoy alight in a fit of rage after being spurned. Both sisters died, their dreams and futures reduced to ashes.

In both cases, the perpetrators were men who could not accept rejection. In both cases, the victims were women trying to live on their own terms. And in both cases, society’s response was muted, the outrage short-lived.

The Real Cost: Lives Lost, Dreams Destroyed

For Sunu and Ritu, the physical wounds may heal, but the psychological scars will remain forever. Their sense of safety has been shattered, their trust in the world broken.

Their family, once hopeful that Sunu’s divorce would be a new beginning, now grapples with trauma and fear. “We just wanted her to be happy,” Sunita says. “We never imagined it would end like this.”

Sunil, meanwhile, is on the run—hiding from police, his ego bruised but his sense of entitlement undiminished. Will he be caught? Will he be punished? Or will he, like so many before him, slip through the cracks of a system that rarely delivers justice for women?

Social Commentary: The Rot Runs Deep

The Jind shooting is a symptom of a deeper malaise. In a society where women’s independence is still viewed with suspicion, where divorce is stigmatized, and where men are taught that they are entitled to women’s bodies and affections, violence is never far away.

The media, too, plays its part—glorifying obsessive love, romanticizing stalking, and portraying “winning” a woman as a test of manhood. Bollywood dialogues like “If I can’t have you, no one can” are repeated not just on screen, but in real life, with devastating consequences.

What will it take for things to change? Stricter laws? Faster police action? Or a fundamental shift in how we raise our sons and daughters, teaching them that love cannot be forced, and that “no” always means no?

The Call for Justice: Will This Be a Turning Point?

As Sunu and Ritu recover in hospital, their community is at a crossroads. Will this brutal attack be a wake-up call, prompting real change? Or will it be just another statistic, soon forgotten as the news cycle moves on?

For now, the family waits for justice. “He should be hanged,” Sunita says, her voice trembling with anger and grief. “If he isn’t punished, others will think they can do the same.”

The police have promised swift action, but the wheels of justice turn slowly. Too often, cases like these are bogged down by bureaucracy, influence, and the reluctance of witnesses to come forward.

A Society on Trial

The shooting at the railway gate is more than a crime—it is an indictment of a society that fails its women at every turn. It is a story of obsession, entitlement, and cowardice masquerading as love. It is a reminder that until we confront the toxic attitudes that enable such violence, no woman is truly safe.

As Sunu and Ritu fight for their lives, let us not forget their courage. Let us not allow their suffering to be in vain. Let us demand justice—not just for them, but for every woman who has ever been told that her choices do not matter.

Because in the end, the real test of a society is not how it treats its men, but how it protects its women. And by that measure, we still have a long way to go.

What do you think? Why do such crimes keep happening? What can we do to ensure women’s safety and autonomy? Share your thoughts below—because silence, too, is a form of complicity.