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The following podcast may not be
for all listeners. 

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Listener discretion is advised. 
In the winding canals of old 

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Bangkok, where ancient banyan 
trees cast long shadows across 

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murky waters, mothers still 
whisper a story to their 

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children. 
It is a tale of love so powerful

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that it defied death itself. 
This legend is so deeply woven 

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into Thailand's culture that 
even today people leave 

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offerings at a shrine hoping to 
appease the spirit of a woman 

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who refused to leave the world. 
This is the story of a woman who

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loved her husband so much she 
couldn't let him go even in 

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death. 
Unlike the sugar coated ghost 

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stories you've heard before, 
this one breathes terror into 

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every telling. 
In this episode we explore one 

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of Thailand's most infamous 
ghost stories. 

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So follow me into the 
unexplained realms, where the 

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eternal love may na bleeds 
through the veil between life 

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and death. 
In the late 1800s, in a small 

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village along the Frock Nong 
Canal, a young woman named May 

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Na was deeply in love with her 
husband, Tiedma. 

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The loving couple became 
pregnant and would prepare to 

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welcome their first child into 
the world. 

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During the pregnancy, Tiedma was
called away to war. 

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He was terrified to leave his 
wife an unborn child, but Mae 

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Nah promised him she and the 
baby would be just fine and 

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waiting for him when he came 
home. 

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While away at war tied, Ma's 
worst nightmare came to life. 

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Mae Nah went into labor and died
during childbirth. 

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The death, it seems, was merely 
an inconvenience for her. 

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When Tied Ma returned, he went 
to his house but was stopped by 

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a neighbor. 
He was not aware his wife and 

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child had died. 
The neighbor pleaded with Tied 

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not to go into the house and 
explained that unspeakable 

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things were occurring there. 
Tied Ma did not believe the 

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neighbor and pushed past him. 
When he entered his home, his 

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wife and newborn baby awaited 
him. 

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Everything seemed perfect, too 
perfect. 

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MENA watched her husband's smile
grow wider as she served his 

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favorite soup, her ghostly hand 
steady on the clay bowl she 

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treasured. 
Tiedma's joy at seeing their 

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baby sleeping peacefully 
begrieved his warm touch, which 

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she could no longer truly feel. 
Only in the darkest hours, when 

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the temple bells toll and her 
husband is asleep, does she 

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allow herself to remember the 
truth that she and their child 

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slipped away during childbirth, 
leaving only these pale 

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imitations behind, bound to 
earth by a love too strong to 

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die, The villagers whispered 
behind cupped hands, their dark 

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eyes with worry. 
They saw how Tied Ma's wife 

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cradled their infant in the 
candlelight and hummed lullabies

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in the dead of night. 
They knew Tied Ma refused to 

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see. 
His beloved wife and child had 

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died months ago, and the ones 
who were in his home were 

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nothing more than shadows, 
wearing familiar faces and their

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feet never quite touching the 
ground. 

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One day, Maina was lost in her 
love of cooking for her beloved 

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Tidma. 
She was preparing a dish that 

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required lime juice. 
While working with the lime, it 

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fell and rolled across their 
wooden floor. 

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It landed in the gap between the
floorboards. 

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She reached down without 
thinking. 

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Her arms elongated like water 
flowing downward, stretching 

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impossibly through the 
floorboards. 

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Her ghostly fingers went through
the wooden floor. 

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It was only when she heard TI 
Ma's sharp intake of breath 

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behind her that she realized her
mistake. 

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In that moment, as natural as 
breathing had once been, she had

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shattered the fragile illusion 
they both desperately clung to. 

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May Na turn to face her husband,
the lime still clutched in her 

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ghostly hand, and saw in his 
horror stricken eyes that the 

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whisper to truths he denied for 
so long had finally taken root. 

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Her love, the force that kept 
her tethered to this world, was 

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terrified of her. 
The night was a shroud of 

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shadows as Tied Ma ran away from
the house, his heart pounding 

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louder than his footsteps on the
dirt path. 

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He dared not look back, but he 
could feel May Not's presence 

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like a chill in the air, 
relentless and sorrowful. 

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She was pursuing him. 
Once sweet and comforting, her 

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voice now echoed through the 
darkened village, yelling to 

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him. 
You promised always to love me. 

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When tied, Ma finally gathered 
the courage to look back. 

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His blood turned to ice. 
Where his beautiful Mae Gnaw had

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stood was something else 
entirely, a grotesque apparition

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of rage and betrayal. 
Her once gentle face had twisted

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into a mask of fury, and her 
flowing black hair writhed in a 

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wind that touched nothing else. 
Those eyes that had once looked 

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at him with such tenderness now 
blazed with supernatural hatred,

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glowing with an unholy fire that
pierced the darkness. 

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This was no longer his beloved 
wife, who had cooked his 

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favorite meals and sung their 
baby to sleep. 

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This was MENA, the vengeful 
spirit, raw with the pain of 

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abandonment, her love corrupted 
into something ancient and 

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terrible. 
At that moment, Tiedma 

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understood why the villagers had
trembled when they spoke of her.

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Tiedma's breath came in ragged 
gasps as he sprinted through the

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night, his only hope lying in 
the myths he'd heard whispered. 

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He stumbled into a Grove of 
bloomia. 

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There are leaves brushing 
against his skin like a 

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protective cloak. 
Teeth Ma crouched beneath them, 

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praying the tails were true, 
that these humble leaves could 

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ward off spirits. 
Mena's pursuit faltered as she 

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approached the Grove, her form 
wavering at its edge, her love 

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tethered to Teeth. 
Ma. 

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Yet the leaves held her at Bay, 
a barrier she could not cross. 

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Tiedma's heart ached, knowing 
she was tormented, but survival 

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drove him onward. 
He fled through the night, the 

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temple of Wat Mahabu looming 
like a beacon of salvation. 

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With the last of his strength, 
Tiedma crossed its threshold, 

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the sacred ground offering 
refuge from the spectral grasp 

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of his once beloved wife. 
MENA lingered at the temple's 

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edge. 
In the flickering candlelight of

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the temple, Tied Ma fell at the 
monk's feet, his words tumbling 

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out between ragged breaths. 
The monk, wisened and serene 

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despite the chaos unfolding 
beyond the temple walls, 

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listened as tied Ma spoke of his
ghostly wife, of love turned to 

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terror, of a spirit's rage that 
threatened to consume him whole.

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The holy man's eyes grew grave 
as he understood the magnitude 

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of what haunted his temple's 
doorstep. 

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Drawing upon ancient knowledge 
passed down through generations 

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of Buddhist masters, he began 
his sacred work. 

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Incense smoke wound through the 
air like ethereal ropes. 

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Meyna's furious screams echoed 
through the temple grounds as 

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the monk's power was stronger. 
Her spectral form writhed and 

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twisted, fighting against powers
older than death itself, until 

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her spirit was trapped in a jar.
And so may Na's char found its 

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way to the royal family, pass 
from one generation to another 

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to ensure its safekeeping. 
Even now, they say, on nights 

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when the moon hangs full and 
low, the jar trembles, a 

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reminder that love, even in 
death, refuses to be forgotten. 

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Today, incense smoke curls 
through the air at Mena's shrine

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in FRA Canung, where gifts of 
flowers pile up like colorful 

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offerings to a bittersweet love 
story. 

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Locals whisper she's still 
there, watching from behind the 

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veil. 
Between worlds, young mothers 

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come to lay bright flowers and 
cradle tiny dolls in their arms,

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gifts for the ghost who loved 
too deeply to leave. 

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Couples kneel to light candles, 
perhaps seeing in Mayna's tale a

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dark mirror of their own 
devotion. 

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The shrine keepers tend to these
offerings with careful 

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reverence, knowing that each 
gift helps maintain the delicate

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peace between our world and 
hers. 

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Modern Bangkok rises around the 
shrine like a concrete forest, 

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But Mayna's story remains 
unchanged. 

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Within these sacred walls, each 
offering is a promise, and each 

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prayer is a gentle reassurance. 
We remember your love, honor 

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your pain, and please rest in 
peace. 

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Even in Thailand, some of the 
most terrifying spirits were 

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once simply human hearts that 
loved too much to let go. 

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The tale of May not echoes 
through centuries. 

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It's a reminder that death and 
love dance and eternal waltz in 

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the shadows. 
She experienced a love that was 

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too enduring to die, but bound 
by the laws of the afterlife. 

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Some say the veil between our 
world and hers grows thinner 

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each year. 
Perhaps Mayna's vengeful spirit 

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still searches for her beloved 
Teed Ma. 

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Or perhaps she watches us, 
waiting for another chance to 

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find what death so cruelly stole
from her. 

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Sleep well, dear listeners, but 
if you hear a woman screams in 

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the dark or catch the scent of 
rotting flesh masked by sweet 

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Jasmine, don't look. 
Some love stories are better 

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left in the shadows where they 
belong.