Beneath the modern cityscape of Islamabad, where cafés glow with warm lights and young people stroll in denim and sneakers, rise the dark, brooding Margalla Hills. They are ancient, silent sentinels that have watched centuries of history unfold—from Mughal marches to colonial secrets. But among these wooded slopes and winding trails hides something far older, far darker: the tale of the Churail, a vengeful spirit known across South Asia, but with whispers here more chilling than most.
She walks after midnight, they say. Her feet face backward, her beauty unnatural, her voice a siren's call. Those who follow her trail don't always return the same. If they return at all.
This is not a myth to the locals—it is a warning.
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The Disappearing Hiker
The case that reignited the legend in recent times began simply enough: a missing hiker named Usman Khalid, 22, a university student who vanished in 2019 after heading into the Margalla trails alone during twilight hours. CCTV caught him entering the park. He was never seen alive again.
When his body was found a week later, his eyes were open wide in horror, his limbs twisted as if he'd fought something invisible. Strangely, the body had no wounds. No animal attack. No fall. His phone, still clutched in his hand, had recorded a voice memo just minutes before his death.
The voice of a woman, laughing softly.
And then him—screaming.
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Origins of the Churail
The legend of the Churail predates Pakistan itself. She is often described as the spirit of a woman wronged—betrayed in love, murdered during childbirth, or tortured by her in-laws. Her soul, unable to rest, becomes corrupted by rage. She haunts forests, graveyards, and hills—especially places where violence against women went unpunished.
In the Margalla version of the legend, the Churail is believed to be Begum Saira, the wife of a Mughal officer who lived centuries ago. She was accused of witchcraft after her husband mysteriously died. Some say he beat her to death. Others claim the real witch was his mother, who blamed Saira for every family misfortune.
When Saira was executed—buried alive on the hill—her cries were ignored. But her soul didn't die. It remained. Twisted. Vengeful. And now she waits for men who remind her of the ones who betrayed her.
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Signs of the Churail
Hikers in Margalla often report the same signs: a sudden drop in temperature, the scent of roses mixed with decay, and the eerie sound of bangles clinking. Some speak of seeing a beautiful woman in bridal red, sitting on a rock or standing by a banyan tree.
If you see her, it's already too late.
She will lure you in—sometimes begging for help, sometimes smiling seductively. But once she turns around, revealing her backward feet, her eyes black as obsidian, the illusion breaks. That's when she feeds.
Some victims are found drained of life, their faces aged by decades. Others are never found at all.
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My Visit to Trail 5
I went to Islamabad under the guise of travel, but I was chasing ghosts. Trail 5 is one of the most popular hiking routes through the Margalla Hills, scenic and supposedly safe. I brought a friend along—Zoya, a local journalist who'd heard of my project documenting urban legends.
"Trail 5 is fine," she said, though her tone wasn't confident. "But don't stray left near the banyan grove. That's where the old women say she lives."
We hiked for an hour before we came across it—a twisted, ancient tree with roots like claws gripping the earth. Hanging from its branches were scraps of red cloth, faded bangles, and even a child's shoe.
I didn't want to believe it, but the air felt wrong there. Still. Heavy. A crow sat silently above us, watching.
We heard the laughter soon after.
Soft, musical. Feminine.
We didn't wait. We ran.
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An Interview with a Survivor
Back in the city, I met Colonel Bashir, a retired army officer whose platoon trained in the Margalla area during the 1980s. He was in his sixties now, skeptical of superstition—but he told me something that still chills me.
"Three of my men went missing in '84," he said. "We found two. One was screaming about a woman with no eyes. The other had his tongue torn out, but no one touched him. We chalked it up to desertion or nerves, but... the third man, Asad, we never found. All he left behind was his belt—wrapped around that same banyan tree."
He looked me dead in the eyes.
"Whatever is up there—it's not human. And it hates men."
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The Curse Today
Despite warnings, the legend grows with every generation. TikTokers and thrill-seekers go hunting for her, armed with flashlights and cameras. Some even dress in red to provoke her. Most return laughing.
A few don't.
A month ago, a popular local vlogger disappeared while filming a night trek. His last footage shows his team running, breathless, after hearing anklet bells in the dark.
Only his phone was found. Covered in claw marks.
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Don't Look Back
They say if you're walking through Margalla Hills at night and you hear someone call your name—don't turn around.
If you see a beautiful woman alone, don't approach.
And if you smell roses mixed with death—run.
Because the Churail doesn't forget.
She doesn't forgive.
And she's still hungry.
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