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.

Stories, not content; because the world doesn’t need more obscene digital landfill

Why we refuse to degrade our stories to ‘content’ and how good stories are the antidote to this epidemic of meaninglessness

Every time we get a commission inquiry for ‘content creation,’ I have to swallow the nauseating feeling before patiently explaining why we don’t do that. Because what they probably mean by ‘content’ is, in fact, much more than that.

Let’s be clear—content wasn’t always this despicable. The term emerged innocently enough during the early days of the internet, used to describe anything published online: text, images, videos. But as digital spaces evolved, and businesses began hiring marketers to fill endless feeds, the word ‘content’ became a catchall. Its meaning flattened. And with that flattening, came a normalisation of meaninglessness.

‘Content’ now refers to the endless digital detritus churned out to satisfy algorithms, not audiences. It’s a word that makes no distinction between a lazy meme, a heartfelt documentary, a research-based article, or an empty carousel of brand clichés. ‘Content’ strips intention from information. It assumes that everything we put online is just there to fill space.

And that is obscene.

Because silence is not a gap to be filled. It’s a necessary part of life. Infants find solace in it. Animals retreat into it. The idea that businesses must constantly post for the sake of filling the silence—adding to the noise of the world—is a symptom of our deeper discomfort with stillness.

And it’s not harmless. Everything we post has an ecological cost. Yes, your post about the cupcake you ate does cost the planet. This is the reality of our digital excess. It’s not just overwhelming. It’s wasteful.

The antidote to this is not more content; it’s meaningful stories.

A story is not something made to fill a calendar. A story has reason to be. Stories deliver new insight, a sensory experience, transformation, discovery, amusement, inspiration, leadership, compassion, caring, understanding, empathy, or to liberate the audience or solve a problem for them. A story engages your intellect and emotions, and we don’t mean this through the terminology of engaging equalling commenting, liking, or sharing on social media. To engage is to think about and allow space in your mind, regardless of whether you hit that like button. A story considers its audience, their state of mind, their mental space, their world and its current situation.

The term ‘content’ became more mainstream as businesses cut budgets and turned to marketers to produce creative work. But that’s also when the trouble started. As social media platforms pushed more advertising space into our lives, the volume of content exploded. The result was what some called “content shock”—a tipping point when there was simply too much stuff and too little attention.

Many who weren’t truly equipped for the creative work of story-making still stepped into these hybrid creator-marketer roles, underestimating just how much it takes. It seemed easy—just post something, anything. And so, meaningless filler became the norm. But authentic story-making isn’t easy. It demands craft, insight, originality, and emotional intelligence.

Marketing and story-making are never the same thing; too often, they require two very different kinds of thinking and creativity. That’s why we don’t substitute our work for a marketer’s—or vice versa. We always partner with exceptional marketers and don’t pretend to be them. And when clients come to us without in-house marketing, we collaborate with experts from our carefully chosen circle of affiliates. Because meaningful connection doesn’t come from either side pretending to be both.

And now, as audiences begin to retreat from the noisy public squares of social media—into private, quiet, curated digital spaces like DMs and group chats—there’s, hopefully, less room for meaningless noise. People are becoming extremely intentional about what they give their attention to. We think that’s a good thing because it’s an obvious preference for stories over ‘content’. 

So, no. We don’t do content. We do better than that. We do stories—good stories that exist for a reason other than the inability to sit with silence.

How Constraints Guide Creativity

Recently I spent an afternoon at a beachside restaurant; people-watching and scribbling ideas in my sketchbook. I was there to listen to a new playlist I had prepared for a client. Since they shared a space with another business they needed music that matched the vibe of both establishments while also synced to the time of day. So I made morning, afternoon, and sunset playlists. I set the criteria for each playlist according to the persona of each business and curated the music to play in sync with the different crowd vibes throughout the day.

Can you match my vibe?

Constraints help to identify what is appropriate; they also help us create things more efficiently. Take for instance the self-imposed constraints that made the iconic Penguin book covers so successful. By setting a framework to format each book using a designed template; they were able to maintain a fixed production price with the same quality. Templates are particularly useful for businesses with many stories. A well-designed template will offer just the right amount of rules to lower production costs, with enough flexibility to make each edition remarkable.

Freedom is an illusion; that is, until you learn to define your boundaries. - My Wife

Once you’ve determined the rules or what’s important, it is easier to identify what isn’t going to be appropriate and less meaningful. Part of the success of a storyteller is determined by how well they craft a desired emotion. I find it difficult to do this without the constraints of a framework. Particularly when it comes to making decisions. My artistic eye can easily find colours to work with but selecting the most appropriate one is another task. It requires criteria to make the final decision. Where will the colour live, who will see it, what is the desired mood, are there any preferred colours, etc.? Frameworks allow me to consider and recognize emotional states and perspectives beyond my own biases.

I cannot understand you. ‘Tis because you lean over my meaning’s edge and feel a dizziness of the things I have not said. - Trumbull Stickney

The complexity and difficulty of understanding what others will comprehend from an idea or feeling is difficult. We are limited by language. Full comprehension can be elusive and misunderstandings can arise from the gaps between what is said, what is felt, and what is intended. The meaning of an idea can be highly subjective and often depends on the individual's perspective, experiences, and context. The multifaceted nature of ideas emphasizes the importance of identifying a framework.

Food for thought.

Create a framework; use it as a tool. We’ve written about this before; read our brand articulation framework article for more information on using this for your business.