These past few weeks, I have not aired my laundry in public. Literally. This is not the result of some domestic crisis, but due to my recent induction to Ghost Month etiquette. That also means we have stayed away from walking near bodies of water, kept a safe distance from walls and provided a snack table for wandering spirits.
It is always interesting to learn how history, the environment and geography shape traditions and belief systems of cultures. Something that is always noticeable across geographies is how female ghosts play center stage in that realm. It is probably one of those rare arenas which is not a sole male bastion and where they are not edged off the playing field for being women. It is quite the opposite: They have managed to scare the hell out of people and keep society at large in line. Or is that really the case?
The “monstrous female” as per some theorists of cultural anthropology, is how horror and folklore is created around a female figure. They carry serious emotional baggage. Where male ghosts thrive on power, greed and lust, their female counterparts are dealing with much of what their human versions battle with: heartbreak, disenfranchisement and grief.
I am only beginning to learn about the haunting, but beautiful ladies in local folklore. I have heard of the Guniang (姑娘), the unwed female ghost; the Yingling (嬰靈), spirits of aborted or miscarried fetuses; and the Na Tao Ji (林投姊, or “screw pine tree sister”), a widow who was tricked by her Chinese lover. The woman in red or little girl in red are often mentioned in urban legends. These common themes extend to many other cultures.
The Onryo, from the Japanese spirit world, is a bitter, vengeful spirit in the aftermath of a tragic, unrequited love. The Yurei wreaks havoc due to a bad past and being jilted by a lover.
In Korean folklore, Cheonyeo gwisin or malmyeong are young unmarried women who died without playing their dutiful roles in society.
In Malaysia, the Pontianik is the vengeful spirit of a woman that died during childbirth.
And of course, the woman in white, weeping for her children or husband, is present in almost all cultures with different names — La Llorona from Mexico might be more familiar due to the Conjuring franchise.
The list of woes seemingly traverses the whole life cycle of a woman, from birth, to adolescence, love, marriage, childbirth or the lack of it, or grieving a family or a life that could have been, but was not.
India, with its diverse 4,635 social, ethnic and tribal groups, 121 spoken languages and more than 19,500 raw spoken dialects, has its fair share of female ghosts representing various social milieus and their realities.
The Churail is a woman who died during childbirth or due to family neglect. She lives in a tree, usually a Banyan or Peepal tree, and has feet turned the other way.
There are many seductresses on the prowl as well. Mohini, Yakshini or Dayan are on the lookout for men to entice and kill.
The male ghosts have rather elementary goals and are satiated by chopping off heads (Skandakata), hunting for fish (Mechho bhoot) or the pursuit of wealth (Jakha/Yaksha)
This might sound like an oversimplification of centuries of evolution that have shaped what we know of the spiritual world, but something to consider is that it was shaped by its participants, society, the men and women living in it.
Broadly speaking, the spectral world can be divided between ghosts that are meant to be an instrument of control or to keep society in check — about morals or for protection (do not swim on a moonless night, do not walk alone or listen to your elders) — and those that, as sociologist Avery Gordon put it, return because they were repressed. If this is true, then the quantum of female spirits just shows that they have more of an axe to grind.
For centuries, society has been conditioned into believing that loud women, bold women and women who choose love over duty, pleasure over sacrifice or freedom over family meet a horrible fate, in this life and the next.
Folklorists use the term “Deviant femme,” but Gordon said that “Feminist hauntology is a social phenomenon where the repressed, violent histories of a society refuse to stay buried.” And they find a voice through stories, lores, legends and superstitions.
What I love about Ghost month is that, at least to a third dispassionate eye, it seems to be neither about male or female ghosts: It is about honoring and respecting those, known and unknown, from another realm who are visiting and passing by. It makes it feel like an aunt dropping by, something familiar and generous, as opposed to something to be scared of.
In India, as part of the lunar calendar, much like the ghost month, we have a month of shraadh or pitru paksha which literally means “fortnight of the ancestors,” during which we, too, worship and honor those who are no longer with us.
This is another thing that turns out to be common between my homeland and the land that has embraced me and made me feel like I am home. And this visit is more than pleasant.
Richa S Mukherjee is a former journalist and author based in Taiwan.
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