urban legends and ghost folklore
Within Pakistan’s cultural landscape, myths, legends and contemporary folk tales run like a common thread through everyday life. While the roots of folklore reach deep into a mythic past, as discussed in the previous article, this blog turns its attention to the urban legends and ghost stories that are still told today. Some of these tales are centuries old, others more recent in origin, yet all share the same mystical foundations.
The ghost bride: forever on the road
One of the most well-known modern Pakistani urban legends is that of the ghost bride. The story follows a familiar pattern, with minor regional variations. A traveller, often a man driving alone, makes his way along a remote road late at night. By the roadside, he notices a young woman dressed in a red bridal gown. She asks for a lift. Quiet and seemingly grateful, she gets into the car. Yet when the driver turns to speak to her or glances back, she has vanished.
This legend is particularly common in areas such as Islamabad, Rawalpindi, Murree and Nathiagali, where misty roads and dense forests heighten the sense of unease. In many versions, the bride is said to have died on her wedding day, sometimes in a tragic accident, sometimes as a result of honour-based violence or suicide.
Symbolically, the narrative aligns with rites of passage as described by Arnold van Gennep in Les Rites de Passage (1909): the transition from girl to woman, from life to death, from social belonging to eternal, aimless wandering. The bride, embodying a broken promise, becomes an archetype of the lost soul. This folklore weaves together grief, honour and female identity with the supernatural.
Churails, daayans and Pichal Peri: women as figures of fear
Pakistani folk narratives include an entire category of malevolent female entities, known by names such as churail, daayan or Pichal Peri, each with subtle regional and cultural distinctions. The churail, described for instance in The Folktales of Pakistan by Sikandar A. Wali (1975), is often portrayed as a woman who was cruelly treated in life, betrayed, abused or cast out. After death, she returns as a vengeful spirit. She may appear beautiful at first glance, but closer inspection reveals disturbing details: feet turned backwards, blackened eyes or a distorted face.
The Pichal Peri (literally: the one with backward feet) is most commonly associated with northern regions and abandoned mountain roads. She lures travellers with her beauty and voice, but her true nature is revealed through her reversed feet. Those who follow her are said to become lost, possessed or disappear altogether.
Such figures often function as moral warnings. Feminist folklore analyses, including those by Ruth B. Bottigheimer in Fairy Godfather (2007), suggest that these entities embody societal anxieties surrounding female autonomy, sexuality and revenge.
Jinn and bhootas: between fire and forgetting
The jinn, discussed extensively in Legends of the Indus by Amina Yaqin (1999), form an integral part of both Islamic and pre-Islamic belief systems. Created from smokeless fire, jinn possess free will and like humans, may be benevolent or malevolent. In Pakistani stories, they are often described as invisible inhabitants of abandoned houses, ancient trees or forgotten ruins.
By contrast, bhootas (a term primarily found in Hindko and Panjabi) are believed to be the souls of those who were denied proper funeral rites or who died under unnatural circumstances. Richard F. Burton, writing in Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley (1851), describes these spirits as restless and disruptive, yet relatively easy to appease if the correct rituals are observed.
Pakistani folk narratives also describe various methods of protection against such entities. Iron, garlic, Qur’anic verses and specific herbs, such as rukh sindoor (sacred ash), are commonly used to safeguard both home and body. Ritual exorcisms, such as ruqya, combine Qur’anic recitation with local folk practices.
Shadows as mirrors
Pakistani urban legends and ghost stories are more than mere tales of fear; they act as mirrors reflecting social beliefs, moral anxieties and unspoken desires. They speak of honour, rites of transition, femininity, abandonment and the fragile boundary between the visible and the invisible. In a world that appears increasingly rational, these stories continue to circulate, whispered at family gatherings, shared on social media or told in classrooms as dare-stories. In doing so, they remain a living heritage, where past and present converge.