Entry 06: Hungry Ghost (Ma Đói)

Origin From Greed And Endless Thirst

Imagine a soul belonging nowhere, suspended between the shadow realm and the living world, forever tormented by a hunger that never subsides. That is the Hungry Ghost, also known as Ngạ Quỷ in Buddhist scriptures, a concept that has seeped deep into Vietnamese folk consciousness through countless centuries. According to legend, they are born from lives filled with greed and selfishness, those who in life were miserly and refused to share food, starved others, or hoarded wealth while forgetting compassion.

That karmic burden transforms them into emaciated phantoms, with bellies swollen like village drums but throats narrow as sewing needles, mouths gaping yet unable to swallow even a grain of rice. Water they drink turns to fire burning their guts, food brought to their mouths instantly turns to ash and flies away, leaving pain multiplied manifold. During the seventh lunar month, when Yama opens the Ghost Gate from the second day until month’s end, cold air from hell surges upward, bringing hordes of Ngạ Quỷ dragging themselves back to the mortal realm.

They are not malicious spirits seeking to harm people, but rather lonely wandering souls, once grandparents, parents, siblings, and relatives, now drifting in darkness, yearning for wisps of incense smoke from ancestral altars. Folklore tells that if in a past life you once starved someone, then during dreams in the seventh month, you may hear distant wailing sounds, like children crying for milk, but upon waking, only the acrid smell of burnt rice lingers in the air.

Chilling Signs In The Deep Night

You will recognize the presence of Hungry Ghosts through signs that make your skin crawl. In the deep night of the seventh month, when autumn winds blow across desolate fields, suddenly there echoes a sucking sound as if someone is swallowing air, mixed with gurgling from empty bellies crying out. A strange odor spreads, not the aroma of good food but something putrid like ash mixed with stale incense, making you suddenly crave food yet unable to swallow no matter how hard you try.

If foolish enough to peer outside the window, you might glimpse shadowy figures gathering beyond the courtyard threshold, faces charred with sunken eye sockets, hands reaching out trembling as if begging for a handful of rice and salt. In ancient villages, people still whisper about stories that sound like jokes but are true. There was a farmer who, due to poverty, forgot to make offerings to wandering souls, and that night dreamed of a horde of ghosts arriving, not attacking but sitting around his bed, mouths gaping wide crying for food, necks convulsing as if pierced by needles.

The next morning, he ran a high fever, mouth so parched that even water poured in would slip right out, requiring a shaman’s help to escape. Then there are full moon nights when children cry inexplicably, grandmothers saying it is Ngạ Quỷ luring them, for they crave the warmth of life so desperately they willingly whisper sweet words into your ears, drawing you into their eternal hunger.

Advice From Compassion And Ancient Rituals

Though that fear makes your heart pound, folklore teaches that the best way to deal with Hungry Ghosts is not to flee, but to open your heart with compassion. On the fifteenth of the seventh month, no matter how destitute your household, you must prepare a simple feast in the courtyard: thin white porridge, handfuls of rice and salt, some ripe bananas and a few sweets. Light incense and pray, calling out to wandering souls of all kinds, without distinction of rich or poor, so they may be somewhat sated amid their tormenting thirst.

The Vu Lan Festival, also called Xá Tội Vong Nhân, is precisely the occasion for descendants to show filial piety, releasing those souls, helping them temporarily forget their harsh punishment. Remember, when walking the road that night, do not look back if you hear calls from the bushes, do not let greed make you ignore an offering table by the roadside. For Hungry Ghosts were once people like us, fallen into the cycle of reincarnation because of a moment of selfishness, now wandering forever without escape.

If you are grateful for your full life today, then that small act of charity will not only dispel darkness, but also plant seeds of blessing for your own soul in the future. But if not, who knows, that hunger may one day follow you home, whispering in your ear during endless long sleeps.