Her hair is long and black.
Her nails sharp.
She thirsts for blood.
Once, vibrant, alive, and pregnant—she’s none of those things anymore.
The pontianak are Southeast Asia’s infamous
vampiric mothers.
A staple of Malay folklore thriving even today, they share their name with a city
in Indonesia—in fact the city was actually named after the monster.
There are a lot of female monsters who use
femininity as a weapon.
But this one is the first I’ve seen whose monstrous nature is directly associated with
pregnancy and childbirth.
But why does this gruesomely powerful, vampiric, spectre of maternity gone awry haunt the jungle?
What is her story, and why is there a need for this sort of monster?
[Monstrum intro.]
The ghost of a woman who died tragically while pregnant or during childbirth, the pontianak
seeks revenge against those who were involved in her death.
Known alternatively as the kuntilanak, this type of vengeful maternal spectre haunts
a vast region, including modern-day Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Brunei, all the way
down to the southern regions of the Philippines and Thailand.
Which means A LOT of people share the stories of this monster!
Both “pontianak” and “kuntilanak”
end in the Malay word [“anak” ] meaning “child” emphasizing they are literally
named and defined by their connection to children and childbirth
Nourished by human blood and organs, especially from children, the pontianak live in trees
and if you dare go out walking alone at night, you might see them stalking prey from the
branches above.
The favorite habitat of the pontianak is also part of its name.
It is said that the ‘Ponti’ in pontianak originates from the Malay phrase for ‘tall
tree’ or ‘tall trees.’
Although these monsters manifest as vampiric
ghosts, the pontianak can disguise herself in the physical form of a beautiful young
woman who seems fragile and delicate, a façade she uses to lure her victims in.
In both human and ghost form, the long, flowing black hair of the creature creates a stark
contrast against its white robes.
When in their spectral form they are vicious and gruesome.
You can hear them “swooshing” or making a rustling sound “like leaves crackling”
as they glide through the sky, followed by a loud shrieking sound right before attacking
and drinking the blood of the victim.
They may use long fingernails or fangs to create a wound from which they suck the blood
of their prey.
Some say these ghosts’ hair covers a hole in the back of their necks.
The last thing you will see as you succumb to an attack is the scars of a snarling, scowling
face as she goes in for the kill.
The pontianak is a tortured female body in
part because it is trapped between the warring influences of Islam and traditional Malay
cultural and religious practices.
Islam arrived in Southeast Asia as early as the ninth century through Arabic traders,
but the religion did not have a dramatic influence in this part of the world until the 12th century
CE.
Muslim settlements arose as the trade routes were solidified, and eventually led to the
conversion of various Malaysian monarchies to Islam and the first sultans of the region.
Of course, anytime you introduce a religion and new rulers, you get tension with existing
beliefs, often manifesting in conflict between perceived modernity and indigenous culture.
The pontianak is one such example.
In Islamic ideals, the female body is heteropatriarchal, in deep contrast with the more egalitarian
Malay indigenous gender traditions.
But the very thing that defines the identity of a woman in both cultures, motherhood, is
what enables the supernatural existence of these ghosts.
The pontianak is both seductive and repulsive, a creature to desire and fear—she is monstrously
feminine.
Not all women who die during childbirth or while pregnant become a pontianak—only those
who suffer at the hands of men.
That is one of the defining aspects of this monster: The “unhappy death” in pontianak
stories is a defining aspect of the monster, and is brought on by sexual or, physical violence
during pregnancy, or outright murder.
So this tormented ghost woman embodies two of the most defining fears in much of women’s
history: patriarchal violence and the dangers of childbirth.
In their ghostly form, pontianak are strong,
scale tall trees, and fly.
A nail or stake driven into the back of the neck, subdues the monster, forcing it into
its human form and making it the slave of the assailant—often with a transformation
into a dutiful, quiet mother and wife.
Removing the nail allows her to turn back into her ghost form, but she cannot do this
herself.
Not just a representation of women’s status
in the Malay and Islamic cultures out of which it arose, pontianak play a part in the history
of the very civilizations of the people who share its story.
The city of Pontianak in what is now Indonesia founded in 1771 is said to have been the direct
result of a sultan expelling the monsters that gave the place its name.
According to the legend, the first inhabitants of the land were the pontianak.
A nobleman of Arab descent [Syarif Abdurrahman] traveled to the area in the late 18th century
to settle the land after receiving it as a gift, making him its first sultan.
The native pontianak did not appreciate this intrusion to homeland, and harassed the group
of settlers in an effort to scare them off.
The sultan retaliated by firing a cannon and the loud noise drove away the ghosts.
To make sure they would not return, the sultan cut down the tall trees the pontianak called
home, and used the wood to build a mosque and his palace.
To some people this story as an allegory of the trials settlers faced attempting to tame
the dense jungle and its animal inhabitants, but it seems a truer parallel comes from another
source of traditional folklore: pirates.
What would become the city of Pontianak was located at a delta of the Kapuas River, a
crucial point of trade for the island of Borneo.
The establishment of a settlement there to deter pirates was the official narrative given
for the sultan’s appearance---the gang of unruly ghosts was an added bonus deterrent.
This founding myth of Pontianak emphasizes the continuing tension between the spiritual
practices of the peoples of Southeast Asia, like Buddhism, Hinduism, and animism, before
Islam became the dominant faith.
Animism undoubtedly played a role in the formation of the pontianak legend.
Animism is essentially the belief that all things, living and not living, have a spirit,
and that the material and spiritual worlds are not distinct.
That idea is so ingrained in Malay culture that even now, regardless of religion, the
Pontianak is not just a monster story but for some people it is an actual monster.
The influence of interactions between humans and non-human beings continues to hold deep
cultural sway—which helps explain why the pontianak has existed for so long.
Not only does she have staying power as a
cultural and historical figure, the symbolism of the pontianak and the importance of storytelling
in Malaysian culture meant that the monster’s transition from oral folklore to film was
inevitable.
The horror genre has been an important facet
of the Malaysian film industry since the 1950s.
Films that feature spirits in the horror genre are called hantu films—and the pontianak
made an early appearance in these movies.
However, when Singapore separated from Malaysia
in 1965, urbanization and modern advancement made the older traditions, like belief in
the pontianak, seem antiquated and out of touch.
Then government censorship policies in the late 1960s banned the horror genre in its
entirety, and pontianak films became scarce.
They emerged again in the 1990s, but largely as direct- to- video films.
And then in 2004 came the release of the Pontianak of the Tuber Rose [Pontianak Harum Sundal
Malam].
The film marked not just the return of the pontianak to the big screen—but the return
of the Malaysian blockbuster horror film itself, after the relaxation of the “horror film”
restrictions.
Mirroring many of the previous legends of
the monster, the film alternates between 1949 and the present day, showing the pontianak
in both colonial and modern periods.
As in all pontianak lore, the titular character, Meriam, is pregnant when her scorned lover
arranges for her to be attacked, robbed, and murdered.
Justice personified, the dead mother returns to exact revenge on him and his family.
While brutal, the film is also poignant; even in the 21st century we see how women's power
is often confined and constrained to the very specific and limited spheres of motherhood,
victimhood, sexuality, male relationships, and vengeance.
As more and more horror films and novels featuring
the pontianak are made and distributed globally, elements of Malaysian culture are becoming
more broadly recognized.
Malaysian culture was, and in many ways still is, structured around oral tradition and narrative
storytelling.
Tales of the pontianak embody an entire, deeply and uniquely female journey from loving, pregnant
mother to victim of horrific violence to vengeful wraith back to enslaved and submissive wife.
Which is quite frankly, a terrible cycle.
This monster truly embodies so many of the divergent and conflicting elements of women’s
existence throughout history.