Monsoon ghost stories

Some ghost tales stem from moods and changes triggered by the monsoons. Shaped from the peculiarities of the rainy season, these horror stories take the form of urban legends and myths shared through verbal storytelling between friends, drinking circles, family and strangers who want to share a rush of adrenaline with warning. Here are two such monsoon ghost stories still in circulation as urban myths in Sri Lanka.

One life every monsoon: the story of Samudradevi’s spirit haunting Diyawanna 

The Diyawanna, where the parliament sits on serene waters, is a lake surrounded by a protected wetland and some little-known ruins of the Kotte kingdom. An urban legend tells the story of a haunting that takes place around Diyawanna every year when the monsoons flood the waterways, raising the water levels. The story says the ghost of Samudradevi, a Kotte-era princess who drowned in the Diyawanna, haunts its boundaries during the rainy season.

Samudradevi was the Kotte king’s daughter. She was married to the nobleman and hotheaded royal commander Veediyabandara. It was a troubling time for the Kotte kingdom, with the Portuguese invaders inching ever closer to the kingdom’s centre of power, making the seasoned warrior Veediyabandara one of the most important assets to the king. So much so that when Veediyabandara heard about a rumoured affair between his wife, Samudradevi and the Portuguese court officer Deigo de Silva, he didn’t hesitate to murder her. Historical lore says that enraged Veediyabandara took Samudradevi to the edge of Diyawanna Lake and pushed her in where the currents were known to be unforgiving. Veediyabandara evaded punishment and was eventually forgiven by the king for his services to the kingdom.

This is where historical details get woven into an urban myth. With no justice for her murder, Samudradevi’s spirit is said to wait along the borders of Diyawanna. When the monsoons flood the surrounding wetlands, expanding the borders of Diyawanna, her spirit can roam further with the waters, searching for a sacrificial soul. In Sri Lankan ghost lore, there is a shared concept of a recurring 'claim' of a living soul demanded by a restless spirit to appease itself for a time; a grim negotiation between the living and the dead when a haunting becomes cyclical, revisiting the same place year after year. Each 'claim' buys a temporary peace, holding the haunting at bay until the debt comes due again. The story goes that the claim sought by Samudradevi’s spirit was due every monsoon, and anywhere along the borders of Diyawanna was game. The urban myth claims that her favoured hunting spots are near the current Waters Edge lake border and the wetland west of the Diyawanna bridge, where Samudradevi is said to have drowned. It appears to be a story that was fed by the works of Diyawanna’s deceptive currents and whirlpools that strengthen during the monsoons, as well as crocodiles that hunt along the lake border and the surrounding wetlands. Before the area was tamed with public parks and markets, there would be a drowning or a disappearance now and then, resurfacing the story of Samudradevi’s haunting of the Diyawanna.

Monsoon Mohini: a warning to not let the monsoon in

There’s an urban legend connected to the spirit ‘Mohini’, the succubus ghost of desire and deception. Mohini legends drift through much of South Asia, taking different forms. The most common Mohini stories involve a beautiful woman appearing at three-way junctions late at night, to strike up conversations with lonely travellers and lure them to doom. Another version involves a beautiful woman in a white saree, carrying an infant; she would ask men travelling alone to hold her baby so she could fasten her loosening saree. If a man agrees to take the baby, Mohini would start walking away, forcing the startled man to attempt to return the child and follow her into the shadows. The monsoon Mohini story is another version; its warning is less apparent and is more entertaining than cautionary.

This urban legend warns men to never leave their doors open during monsoon thunderstorms. Mohini would visit, a beauty with her silhouette half-veiled, half-revealed in rain-drenched clothes, leaving just enough to tantalize the male imagination. She would ask for temporary shelter, till the rain lasts, not too long. According to the story, once let in, she’ll leave your senses undone and you’ll fade slowly in the fever of your own desire, consumed by a longing that drains both body and will. Like in most Mohini stories, the only escape here is also cunning; those who meet Mohini with calm intelligence, turning her tricks upon herself, might see another sunrise. But she is a creature of paradox and cunning, and to play her game is to wager your soul. So, the warning remains; don’t let the monsoon in.

These monsoon ghost stories often unfold around ponds, wells, and lonely stretches of road, or unguarded households where actual dangers could lurk or unfold from negligence. These stories served as cautionary tales that used fear as a useful, entertaining and effective way to warn of dangers.