Beware of the Shakchunni: A Folktale from Bengal

In this folktale, we delve into the supernatural territory! Ghosts have been a core part of Bengal's folktales over centuries, and here we read about the much-dreaded Shakhchunni, the ghost of a married woman who lives atop a tree, craving to meet a partner as she possesses young brides!

Spirits of Shakchunni. Illustrated by Gowri Suresh, Visual Storyteller at ThisDay

Thakumar Jhuli eibar khulbe

Shono shono thakuma golpo bolbe

Thakumar jhuli khulbe

Mojar golpo bolbe!

Thakuma, a wizened, wrinkly grandmother is an integral part of an entire generation of Bengalis who would curl up on sofas with Sunday breakfast to hear a notun golpo, a new story, from Thakuma. Thakuma’s Jhuli (“Thakuma’s bag of tales”) is a beloved television series with its never-ending supply of one delightful story after the other, but the ones in high demand were ghost stories, which are at the heart of Bengali folklore. Bengali literature is extremely indebted to ghosts, who are featured in folklore and anecdotes passed between communities, taking shape through the societal structure and cultural experiences in Bengal.

Which other region can boast of an organogram of bhoots, ghosts lurking across the landscape organised according to gender, caste, terrain, and even preferred palette! Bengali bhoots live a full life, just like their corporeal counterparts, performing daily chores like humans, raising families, and socialising over dance and music. Take the gecho bhoot, for example — they live in trees, hence the name gechho, which comes from the Bengali word for trees — gachh. These are not as malevolent as the aleya, or the spirits of the marsh, who are said to tempt people with their light and drown them in marshy waters. In the areas around the Sundarbans, begho bhoot does not refer to the spirit of a tiger, but rather to ghosts of people killed or eaten by tigers. Apparently, these spirits try to scare away villagers from the jungle, and sometimes even make them face tigers. The kanabhulo is another such ghost that tries to lure lonely passers-by to alleys and dead-ends and harasses the person by making him go round and round the same route.

But what makes Bengali ghosts perhaps most like flesh-and-blood humans is their soft spot for food. In fact, Bengali folklore and literature is strewn with references to the culinary preferences of ghosts, ghouls, and monsters, some of them innocuous and some downright macabre. In Chandimangal, an important work of medieval Bengali literature, 16th-century poet Mukundaram Chakravarty renders grisly descriptions of a bazaar where ghouls, ghosts, and demons buy and sell meat cakes and blood wine, ghee made with human brains and wheel-shaped bread of human paste. But in Dakshinaranjan Mitra Majumdar’s Thakurmar Jhuli, terror is served without culinary theatricality. In his iconic collection of fairy tales, armies of shapeshifting trolls — rakkhosh and rakkhoshi — polish off stables full of horses and elephants, devour humans whole, and chomp on peas made of iron. Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar can be named as the originator of Bangla ghost stories in literature as he freely translated a Sanskrit collection from the 11th century titled Betaal Panchabingsati. After him, from Rabindranath Tagore and Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay to Sunil Gangopadhyay, Satyajit Ray, Syed Mustafa Siraj, Humayun Ahmed, and Muhammad Zafar Iqbal, ghost stories have been penned by classic and popular writers alike.

Today, we will focus on the the Bengali staple machher jhol or fish and rice. And, of course, there are bhoots that haunt even this aspect of Bengali life. For instance, mecho bhoots, or fish ghosts, will beg fishermen or lone travellers for the fish they’re carrying, saying in a nasal tone “Machh diye ja” (“Give me the fish”). They will steal fish from boats and even head into local villages to search kitchens for their favourite food. Fish was once forbidden in the kitchens of Bengali widows — many of whom were widowed in their childhood — and it is this deprivation that gets represented through the petni bhootni, the unhappy ghost of an unmarried or widowed woman. There are numerous stories of how the dreaded petni follows gullible men carrying fresh fish home from the bazaar. At first she entreats them to give her a portion of the fish, but if not heeded, her requests turn to sinister threats. The petni’s fanatical hankering for fish is perhaps a metaphor for life’s unfulfilled desires, rooted in the region’s gendered culture.

Today’s folktale from Bengal is an ode to such a metaphor, such a bhootni — the dreaded shakchunni, the female demon who lives in a tree. Shakchunnis are the ghosts of married women. Their name comes from the fact that even after death, they continue wearing bangles made of conch shells (a typical ornament worn by Bengali Hindu women after marriage). The shakchunnis are quick to take offence. They like to possess married women so they can relive their own married days.

Once, it so happened that there was a shakchunni that watched a newly married couple closely, the nayi dulhan or bou walking through the forest in resplendent red and gold just behind her adoring husband, a young and handsome brahmin. The bride giggled mischievously as she walked. Suddenly, she almost tripped, but she was caught expertly by the strong arms of her husband, after which she thanked him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The shakchunni was burning in jealousy as she too wanted to enjoy those moments. But, unfortunately, her beautiful human body had died in a terrible accident as she was being carried to her husband’s home. She never even got to see him. Seeing this young couple was a cruel punishment to her because. in her understanding, her beautiful human form continued with her even after death. Little did she know that as a shakchunni , she had a fire-spitting mouth, long, extended arms and neck, and green skin.

The shakchunni desired to be loved and adored and seethed with jealousy on seeing bamuner bou (the brahmin's wife) get all the love from her husband, while she, the mighty sakhchunni sits in her tree unappreciated by bamun. And so she hatches a plan. One day, when the young bride is out late in the evening in the jungle, trying to escape boring household duties given to her by her scary mother-in-law, the demoness disguises herself as an old lady and approaches her.

“Bamuner bou, kemonacche?” How are you, dear bride? Her performance was so convincing that the silly bride was convinced that this was an old friend of her grumpy and despotic mother-in-law. Dutifully, she answered, “Bhalo, bhalo acchi, mashima.” The shakchunni persisted with more pleasantries and then couldn’t resist finding out about her own reputation as the dreaded demoness. So she asked, “Child, why are you out in the jungle in the dark? Aren’t you scared of the shakchunni who desires your life?” At first, the brainless fool looked confused and stuttered, “Shak- who?” The demoness frothed at the mouth and responded, “Shakchunni the dreaded bhootni, the demoness,” to which the dunce of a girl had the gall to laugh loudly and say, “Oh, you mean the ugly old ghost? Why should I be scared of her indeed?” The ghost was livid and couldn't hide her true form. Even when she came back to her ugly, fire-spitting form, this idiot couldn't stop laughing and eating the wild berries from the demoness’s own tree. “Enough!” she thought, and in a split second, entered the girl’s body.

It was not very comfortable for a ghost to possess someone, as it is trapped in an unknown body. The demoness almost immediately regretted her decision as now, she would have to do everything the human way. Being made love to may have been her goal, but how would it be to not be able to fly, walk through walls and doors, and use other such wonderful ghostly privileges? However, the next minute, she felt the young brahmin’s arms around the body of the girl, and oh, what a feeling that was indeed!

The demoness enjoyed the possession, after all. To wear all the bridal finery, to watch the girl’s face instead of her own in the mirror, to tie that long lustrous hair or leave it open, and to entice her husband to not leave for work just with one swish of her hips. Even the monstrous mother-in-law, who the demoness thought was someone more powerful than her, was impressed with her increased efficiency and this new dutiful avatar of her daughter-in-law, who did all of the household chores and earned praise for it as a bhalo bouma (good wife). The grumpy old mother-in-law was happy and showing her daughter-in-law off to her fellow cronies when they noticed something shocking. So absorbed was the shakchunni in domestic bliss that she had started slipping up in her act. Without knowing that she was being observed by her mother-in-law and other old women, she extended her arms several metres to reach for utensils and to sweep the floors. As this stunned audience continued to observe, when it was time to cook dinner, instead of using fuel to cook, the demoness simply thrust her foot in the fire. The old women, seeing all this, realised that they were in the presence of the shakchunni and that she had indeed possessed the poor new bride. At this point, even the hard-hearted mother-in-law felt scared and sad for her possessed daughter-in-law even if she preferred the smarter, more efficient, and more respectful shakchunni version of her.

When the brahmin came home, his mother sent him to get an ojha (sorcerer) to rid them of the evil demon. The shakchunni expectantly comes out of her room to meet with her adoring husband, who only looked terrified and cowered behind his mother, And there he was, the evil ojha known to all bhoots in the vicinity for his dreaded anti-bhoot powers.

“Ami shakchunni, bhebechilam bamuner bou sheje shukhe ghor korbo,” the demoness confessed, spitting fire, that she was indeed the shakchunni, but she was also the brahmin’s bride and that she was keeping him happy and taking care of his home.

“Shukhe ghor korachi toke! Holud fora shorshe marbo jhata jorshe!” Cursing her and blaming her for taking away the happiness of the brahmin’s family, the ojha engulfed the demoness in a ring of fire with his spells. He kept hurting her until the now-wounded shakchunni relented and relinquished the house after returning their bouma to them. The brahmin and his bride, who did not recall a thing, were happy and united once again. The brahmin’s mother, however, was unhappy and back to her bickering self, having lost the efficient demoness and getting her lazy and irreverent daughter-in-law back again.

A thought comes to mind — the scarier ghost narratives always tend to feature the disturbed spirits of women. It's easy to feel scared in the dark or when one is alone as the picture of a restless dayan or chudail following us to our washrooms at 3 AM comes to mind. Male ghosts are generally more feeble and can almost be seen sulking in a corner for not being taken seriously, making the world of Bengali bhoots gendered and even misogynistic.

This brings us to the end of this episode on the shakchunni demoness. But, beware, there are thousands of Bengali bhoots that lurk in the shadowy recesses in the land… and perhaps, that is why the elders in Bengal warn:

“Thik dupur byala bhootey maarey thyala.”

(At the strike of noon, ghosts will push you over.)

So, resist climbing up to terraces and high places even in the afternoon if you are alone, lest there is a ghost residing on the terrace that hates its siesta being broken by noisy human activity, and in its malevolence, does not wait to push you over…