Category Archives: Myths

Sacred narratives

The Sage of Room 108

Age: 50

Text (The Story): TT (my mother) told me a story from her college days in India about a particular dorm room, Room 108, which students treated almost like a sacred site.

Years before she arrived on campus, an older student, known simply as “the Sage of 108”, had lived in that very room. No​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ one was able to recall his original name. It was said that he was a very quiet, withdrawn, and even reclusive a philosophy scholar, who was so much absorbed in his meditation that he almost never spoke, hardly ate, and didn’t seem very attracted to the usual college life.

According to one version of the myth, he arrived at jivanmukti which is the freedom of the spirit during life. Another one suggested that he was able to foresee things way before time: a professor’s sudden resignation, a student’s family emergency, or even an exam question weeks before it was written. 

It was whispered that he could be none other than the very Dattatreya, the Hindu god who is the wandering teacher. Dattatreya is a character who is said to go about the world very quietly, and be there when you least expect it, in different guises, to help people. Stories on the campus, however, say that the person living in Room 108 and carrying the same vibe as Dattatreya. He was detached, loving, and very much aware without being told. 

During the last days of his final year, the Sage just went off the campus without informing anyone of his intention. He left hauling with him a single cloth sack one morning and walked out through the college gate. When someone came to his room a few hours later, they found it empty with the exception of a piece of cloth neatly folded on the ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌desk.

After that, strange things were reported. Students claimed the room smelled faintly of incense even when no one entered. One girl told TT that she stepped inside room 108 and felt a pressure, a kind of overwhelming stillness that made her leave immediately.

The administration eventually sealed Room 108. They gave practical explanations such as “structural damage” and “student safety”, but none of the students believed that. Everyone knew the real reason: the room was too spiritually charged. Too many people reported intense emotions inside it. Too many believed the Sage had left something behind.

When TT attended college, students had already begun a tradition:

Before any major exam, they would slip into the hallway, fold their hands, and offer a quick prayer outside the locked door of Room 108.

Some just tapped the door frame.

Some left flowers or pens on the ground.

Some whispered the Sage’s name, though no one could agree on what it was.

TT herself admitted that before her final board exams, she walked there with a group of friends in the early morning. They didn’t really know what they were praying for, whether it was luck, calmness, clarity, or perhaps the presence of someone who achieved spiritual awakening.

She​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ mentioned that the corridor outside 108 had this weirdly quiet vibe all the time, like the sounds were muffled. When she and her schoolmates meet for reunions, there is always a person who talks about “the Sage of 108,” and all the others acknowledge it by a nod as if it were a shared ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌secret.

Context: TT told me this story while reminiscing about her college years in India. This memorate is typically shared among alumni, usually during nostalgic conversations about exams, early adulthood, or campus myths.

The setting, an Indian university, makes belief in holy men, gurus, reincarnation, and spiritual presence feel normal rather than supernatural. Indian campuses often blend secular life with sacred spaces, and Room 108 became one such hybrid: part dorm room, part shrine, part student ritual.

This story also fits a larger South Asian cultural context where certain numbers (such as 108, a sacred number in Hinduism and Buddhism) carry deep spiritual significance.

The Teller’s Thoughts: TT treats the story with a mix of nostalgia and respect. She doesn’t necessarily claim the Sage was literally an incarnation of Dattatreya, but she believes he had a spiritual depth that left an imprint on the campus. She describes Room 108 as a place students approached with sincerity, not fear and something in between superstition and faith.

She said, “We all felt calmer after praying there. Maybe that’s all that mattered.”

My Thoughts (Analysis): This memorate blends campus legend, reincarnation belief, and folk religion into a single story.

This story functions as a sacred space on a secular campus, a rite of passage before exams, and a blending of Hindu spiritual motifs with student life. The association with Dattatreya deepens the story’s symbolic power. Dattatreya is the wandering divine teacher who appears in humble forms, and the idea that a spiritually advanced figure might quietly live in a college dorm room fits this motif perfectly.

The closure of Room 108, the lingering incense scent, and the informal prayer ritual all add to the all add to the mysterious atmosphere that made Room 108 feel like more than just a dorm room.. The story also shows how students use legend to navigate stress and this transforms anxiety about exams into a communal ritual that is rooted in cultural spirituality.

Personally, I think the story beautifully captures how folklore forms in modern environments. A single individual, remembered only in fragments, becomes a symbol of calm, wisdom, and hope for generations of students who never met him.

The Igbo Creation Story

Story:

Me: Could you tell me about the Igbo beliefs on the creation of the world?

PA: Ah, my child, in our Igbo way, we know that the world was made by Chukwu, the supreme god. Chukwu is the source of all things before anything existed, there was Chukwu. He created the heavens, the earth, the seas, the sky… everything you see and even what you cannot see.

Me: So Chukwu created not just the world but also the people?

PA: Yes, yes. He made the land and placed people on it to live, to care for it. But he did not leave the world empty, he also created the Alusi, the gods, to oversee different parts of life. Each one has their own role.

Me: Can you tell me more about these gods?

PA: There is Igwe, the god of the sky and the sun. Ala, the earth goddess, she is the one who gives life and watches over fertility. Then Amadioha, the god of thunder and justice. These are just a few. They serve Chukwu’s will, making sure the world stays in order.

Me: Was Chukwu worshiped directly?

PA: Hmm, not in the way people worship today. Chukwu is beyond us, too great, too vast for human understanding. He is in the sun, in the earth, in the breath we take. The people honored him by respecting the balance of the world, by making offerings to the gods he placed in charge. That was our way, before the white man came with his own beliefs.

Me: So before colonization, these beliefs were very strong?

PA: Oh yes. People knew that to live well, you must respect the forces that Chukwu put in place. There were shrines, prayers, sacrifices. Not for fear, but to keep harmony. It was how we lived, how we understood the world. Chukwu made all things, and so all things belong to him. That is what we believed.

Context:

This belief system was shared with me by a local elder from the Igbo community, who recalled the creation story passed down through generations. The elder explained that this creation story was part of the pre-colonial Igbo worldview, before the introduction of European influences and Christianity, which altered many indigenous beliefs. The informant shared that, in their youth, this story was commonly told in family settings, especially during ceremonies and celebrations, to help young members understand the origins of life and their place in the universe.

The informant described this creation story is integral to the Igbo community’s understanding of spirituality, nature, and morality. They emphasized that Chukwu’s creation of the world was seen as a model of harmony and balance. The elders in their community used this creation story to teach values such as respect for nature, harmony with other deities, and the importance of maintaining balance in one’s life.

My Interpretation:

The myth of Chukwu and the creation of the world is central to the Igbo worldview. It explains the origins of existence and highlights Chukwu as the supreme creator who maintains balance and order. This story not only describes the beginning of humanity but also reinforces the Igbo people’s deep spiritual connection to the earth and the cosmos. It reflects their belief that the physical and spiritual worlds are closely linked, with humans, ancestors, and spirits influencing one another.

Chukwu represents divinity in all aspects of life including creation, fertility, and governance. The emergence of other deities from Chukwu shows a structured spiritual system. Though Christianity and colonization changed many religious practices, the core ideas in this myth which are respect for a supreme god and the connection between the natural and spiritual worlds, still shape Igbo spirituality today.

Obanje Child

Story:

PA: “Ah, my child, in the old days, people feared the Ogbanje. These were children who came from the spirit world, but they were never meant to stay. A mother would give birth, love the child, care for them, and just when she thought they would grow strong, eh, just like that, the child would fall sick and die. But it wouldn’t end there, no. That same mother would take in again, and when she gave birth, the baby would look the same, act the same, even carry the same stubborn ways.

People knew what was happening. It was the same child coming back to torment the family, to bring sorrow again and again. That is why they would go to the dibia, the healer, to find a way to stop it. Sometimes, they would cut a mark on the child’s body small, small scars, so that if they died and returned, they would see the mark and know they had been caught. Other times, the dibia would search for the child’s Iyi-uwa, a secret thing the Ogbanje hides in the earth, tying them to the spirit world. If they found it and destroyed it, ah, the child could stay. They would become like any other child, no more running away.”

Context:

The informant is an Igbo elder who grew up hearing about Ogbanje children from their own elders and witnessed how deeply people believed in them. They first heard about it as a child from older relatives and saw families who lost children seek out traditional healers for help.

My Interpretation:

The Ogbanje story is a really interesting way that Igbo people explained something as painful as losing a child. Instead of seeing it as just bad luck or illness, they believed some children were spirits that came and went, causing grief for their families. The idea of marking the child or finding their Iyi-uwa was a way to stop the cycle and make sure the child stayed.

Even today, some people still believe in Ogbanje, or at least know someone who does. It shows how strong traditional beliefs can be, even when times change. Whether or not someone believes in spirits, this story makes it clear how much families struggled with repeated child loss and how they tried to find ways to protect their children.

黄仙” (Huáng Xiān) Beijing weasel

AGE: 55
Date_of_performance: May 1, 2025
Language: Mandarin Chinese
Nationality: Canadian
Occupation: Editor
Primary Language: English
Residence: Toronto, Canada (formerly lived in Beijing, China for 20 years)

Folklore Explanation:
“When we were living in Beijing, we started hearing stories about something called ‘黄仙’—the weasel spirit. It wasn’t something you’d see in tourist guides or museums. It came up more when you talked to older locals or cab drivers, or if you spent time in the older hutongs. Apparently, weasels—especially yellow ones—were believed to have spiritual power. People said they could turn into humans or possess people, especially if you disturbed them or disrespected their territory.

There was this kind of unspoken rule about not messing with weasels. If one came into your house, you were supposed to leave it alone, maybe even light incense. It wasn’t fear, exactly—more like respect. A lot of people referred to them as one of the ‘Five Immortals,’ and they’d warn you that strange things might happen if you upset them. It was never presented as superstition so much as something you just knew not to challenge. Like, don’t risk it. It made the city feel layered—modern on the surface, but still holding onto these old beliefs right underneath.”

Analysis:
The legend of 黄仙 (Huáng Xiān), or the Yellow Weasel Spirit, is part of a broader category of animistic and transformation folklore rooted in Daoist cosmology and folk religious beliefs. In Northern China—especially in and around Beijing—黄仙 is one of the “Five Immortals” (五大仙), a group of animal spirits (fox, weasel, hedgehog, snake, and rat) believed to possess supernatural powers, often associated with both protection and trickery.

These spirits occupy a liminal role in Chinese folklore: part deity, part ghost, part moral enforcer. The belief in Huáng Xiān is a form of vernacular belief folklore, transmitted primarily through oral storytelling, neighborhood custom, and superstitious behavior rather than written texts or organized religion. It reflects a blend of animism, moral caution, and the uncanny, often surfacing in everyday life situations—someone’s illness, odd behavior, or even unexplained luck—providing a framework for interpreting the unknown. Though not officially recognized in modern state narratives, it continues to persist in urban folklore, especially in areas with a strong connection to traditional community life.

The Wendigo (Anishinaabe/Algonquian Legend)

Title: The Wendigo (Anishinaabe/Algonquian Legend)

AGE: 18
Date_of_performance: May 1, 2025
Language: English
Nationality: Canadian
Occupation: Student
Primary Language: English
Residence: Toronto, Canada

Folklore Explanation:
“We learned about the Wendigo in high school—it came up in our Canadian literature and history classes. The story really stuck with me. It’s this creature from Anishinaabe and other Algonquian Indigenous traditions, and it represents hunger and greed taken to an extreme. The Wendigo is said to be a spirit that possesses people during harsh winters, especially when they’re starving. It turns them into monsters—cannibals, basically. Some versions say it used to be human and was cursed, others say it’s always been a spirit.

The teachers were careful about how they presented it—not just as a scary myth, but as something sacred that comes from a specific worldview. It was treated with respect. What really got to me was how it wasn’t just a horror story—it was also a warning. A moral. It shows what happens when you let desperation or selfishness take over. Some of the other kids thought it was just creepy, but I thought it was way deeper than that.”

Analysis:
The Wendigo is a powerful example of Indigenous spiritual and moral folklore, primarily found in Anishinaabe, Cree, and other Algonquian-speaking nations. It functions as both a mythological being and a cautionary symbol, representing excess, greed, and the breakdown of social and natural order. Stories of the Wendigo are traditionally transmitted orally, as part of sacred storytelling practices that blend spiritual knowledge, survival ethics, and moral education.

It is classified as narrative folklore, but also carries characteristics of belief folklore, particularly in the way it intersects with historical experiences of famine, colonial disruption, and environmental change. In contemporary Canadian society, Wendigo stories have also entered literary and pop culture, sometimes problematically removed from their original context. However, within Indigenous communities, the figure remains a respected and often feared presence—not merely a monster, but a reflection of imbalance between humans, nature, and spirit. Its continued telling reinforces cultural identity, ethical restraint, and intergenerational knowledge.