Welcome, ghosts and goblins, witches and restless souls! As the veil between worlds thins, it’s time to journey into the eerie roots of Halloween and its ancient Celtic twin, Samhain (pronounced “sow-win”). Whether you’re donning costumes for candy or conjuring spirits under the midnight moon, this holiday is steeped in history, magic and a healthy dose of fright.
Long before Halloween became a sweet-toothed celebration, the Celts of ancient Ireland, Scotland and Wales marked Samhain, the festival that signified the end of harvest and the beginning of the dark half of the year. On October 31, it was believed that the veil between the living and the dead grew thin, allowing spirits—kind and cruel alike—to roam the earth. To appease these wandering souls, people left offerings of food and drink outside their homes—an early version of trick-or-treating, centuries before the candy aisle existed.
But Samhain was not just about restless ghosts. It was a sacred time to honour ancestors. Families would set an extra place at the table for departed loved ones, inviting their spirits to join the feast. If Aunt Bethy happened to return from beyond the grave, you can bet she was served with the family’s finest silverware.
Samhain was the most important of the four Celtic fire festivals, symbolising the halfway point between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. During this time, families would let the hearth fires in their homes burn out, then gather for a communal ceremony led by Druid priests. Together, they lit a great bonfire using a spinning sun-wheel, a symbol of the sun’s power, to spark the flames through friction. Prayers were said, and cattle were sacrificed to ensure protection through the harsh winter ahead. Each household then carried a flame from the sacred fire back to their home to rekindle their hearth, a gesture of unity and renewal.
Attendance at Samhain was mandatory. Ancient texts describe it as a three-day, three-night festival where absences could invite divine punishment: illness or even death. The celebration had a military edge too, with thrones prepared for commanders and strict prohibitions against violence. Anyone who drew a weapon during the festival risked execution.
Despite its strict codes, Samhain was filled with feasting and revelry — mead and beer flowed freely over six days of celebration. And because the night was believed to thin the boundary between realms, people left offerings of food in fields and doorways to please fairies (Sídh) and wandering spirits.
To avoid being abducted by fairies or tricked by spirits, Celts dressed up as animals or monsters, the first costumes in Halloween’s long lineage. The festival’s folklore teemed with creatures both fearsome and fascinating:
Púca, a mischievous shape-shifter, received the last offerings of the harvest.
Lady Gwyn, a headless woman in white, chased travellers at night, accompanied by a black pig.
The Dullahan, a terrifying headless horseman with flaming-eyed steeds, heralded death.
The Sluagh, phantom hunters flying from the west, were believed to snatch souls into the Otherworld.
Samhain also served as the backdrop for Celtic legends. In The Second Battle of Mag Tuired, the divine Tuatha Dé Danann fought the demonic Fomorians during Samhain. In The Adventures of Nera, a hero journeyed between worlds, encountering corpses and fairies alike. Even the legendary warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill had his Samhain battles, facing Aillen, a fire-breathing creature that burned down Tara each year, and venturing into the mystical Land Beneath the Wave for magical encounters.
As the Middle Ages dawned, Samhain evolved. The grand bonfires turned into smaller family hearths called Samghnagans, lit near farms to protect against witches and malevolent fairies. These flames symbolised both protection and communion with the unseen.
It was also during this period that the jack-o’-lantern was born. Originally, people carved turnips and placed burning coals inside to ward off spirits. When Irish immigrants carried the tradition to America centuries later, they swapped the hard turnip for the softer, more carveable pumpkin, giving birth to Halloween’s glowing orange icon.
Different regions had their own eerie customs. In Wales, men hurled burning logs at each other in wild games, while Northern England’s revellers paraded with noisemakers to drive away spirits. Families also observed the “dumb supper”—a silent meal held to invite ancestors. Guests ate only after offering food to their departed kin. Doors and windows were left open for spirits to come and go freely, and cakes were placed as offerings. Children played games for the spirits’ amusement, while adults quietly shared memories and reflected on the past year.
As Christianity spread, Church leaders sought to reframe Samhain’s pagan practices. In the 5th century, Pope Boniface moved the festival to May 13, dedicating it to saints and martyrs, but Celtic communities ignored the decree, keeping their autumn fires burning.
In the 8th century, Pope Gregory III tried again, moving All Saints’ Day to November 1, aligning it with Samhain’s timing. The night before became known as All Hallows’ Eve, which over time transformed into Halloween. Later, All Souls’ Day on November 2 was added to honour the dead. Yet despite these efforts, many pagan customs persisted—the bonfires, feasts, and belief in the returning spirits of the departed.
From cauldrons to broomsticks, witches have long enchanted—and terrified—the human imagination. But the true story of witchcraft is one of fear, persecution, and hysteria.
Between the 15th and 17th centuries, witchcraft trials surged across Europe amid social and religious turmoil. Misfortunes such as plague or crop failure were often blamed on witches—scapegoats believed to consort with the Devil. The 1486 publication of the infamous “Malleus Maleficarum” (The Hammer of Witches) by inquisitor Heinrich Kramer fanned these fears, claiming that women were more susceptible to demonic temptation. This reinforced the belief that witchcraft was a female crime.
Those accused faced unspeakable torture:
The Strappado, which dislocated shoulders by suspending victims from their bound arms.
The Witch’s Bridle, a metal gag to prevent “spells.”
Thumbscrews and the Rack, designed to crush bones and extract confessions.
Confessions rarely saved anyone. Most accused witches were executed by burning at the stake, a fire intended to “purify the soul.” In England, witches were often hanged, though their corpses might still be burned afterwards.
The Trier Witch Trials (1581–1593) in Germany claimed 368 lives, including nobles and clergy. The Würzburg and Bamberg trials (1626–1631) took over 900 lives across German towns. In England’s Pendle Witch Trials (1612), ten of twelve accused were hanged.
Scotland’s witch hunts were among the deadliest—nearly 4,000 executions between the 16th and 18th centuries. Even minor “devil’s marks” like moles were considered proof of a pact with Satan.
Across the Atlantic, the Salem Witch Trials (1692) in Massachusetts echoed Europe’s hysteria. What began with strange behaviour among young girls spiralled into paranoia and 19 executions, with others dying in prison, many condemned by “spectral evidence,” or ghostly visions claimed by witnesses.
The majority of those accused were women—often poor, widowed or nonconforming. Those who lived alone, practised herbal medicine, or defied patriarchal norms were branded as witches. The persecution reflected society’s fear of women’s autonomy and wisdom. Midwives, healers and herbalists—once pillars of their communities—were now demonised.
In an exclusive interview with Outlook Traveller, Wiccan Priestess Ipsita Roy Chakraverti spoke about her travels around the world and how they shaped her understanding of wicca.
Following are the excerpts:
Witches, dakinis, wise women, or cunning women— howsoever we may refer to them, and whichever part of the world it may be, they carry the same air of mystery and a little bit of fear associated with them. In Western countries, such as the British Isles, France, Germany, or the Slavic lands, among others, the witch of old is a figure of mystery, a halfway house between something divine and something mortal. Unlike eastern traditions, where such a role is fulfilled by a ‘divine middleman’ in the form of a human agency, the ‘original’ witch in these parts of the world embodied the true semi-divine nature in herself. She was a goddess, and yet mortal. She was a living woman, and yet with powers of the divine in her. Further afar, in countries such as the United States, which were once inhabited mostly by the Native Americans, the witch of old was enmeshed in the fabric of native lore and beliefs. She was associated in a large part with Nature and the elements. She drew her powers from them. She was a magical being. In these parts of the world, the witch fulfilled the needs of the community. So, in times of pestilence, she was the healer and herbalist, in times of drought and natural calamity, she was the one who could appease the fury of Nature, and in times of war, she was the one who could lead, defeat the enemy and protect the helpless. The witch became too useful to the community to completely dismiss her.
In the eastern part of the world, the power of the witch remained, but she became associated (even more than in the West) with freedom and emancipation. In countries like Tibet, China, Japan, she was called the ‘sky dancer’, or ‘sky dweller’, sometimes the dakini, often the dakiniten, and in India, the yogini. But once the patriarchal system, especially in countries like India, realised her rise in society and her powers, the idea of the strong woman, who was free and independent, became anathema to them.
Further east, in lands such as Japan and China, aspects of the witch were even concealed in coded form within their goddesses, such as Amaterasu Omikami, Benzaiten and others. These features encompassed iconography such as the wish-fulfilling gem, the white fox and more. However, in these parts of the land, the effort was strong to bring the untamed witch with her ‘wild’ powers within the ambit of the orthodox religious fold. If there were magic wielders, they must be under the control of whichever male powers there be.
What do these perceptions reveal about the societies themselves? That, when it came to how they viewed witches, Western society was driven more by need, and the East, by fear.
While patriarchy remained an anchoring reason for the resistance to witches, east and west, Western society’s drive to persecute witches was also a drive to acquire all the knowledge and secrets they possessed. In the east, the drive to persecute witches was driven by fear of the woman who knew too much.
The power of the witch was believed to be connected with the forces of nature around her. That is why old trees, rivers, menhirs, dolmens, and mountains were of such importance for the witch. These were places brimming with ancient earth energy, and these were places where she could replenish and draw her own inner strength from.
About a century ago, Alfred Watkins mapped ley lines, believing they were an invisible grid of energy lines along which, at certain points, special monuments, usually places of worship, had been erected by ancient communities. Witches are known to be sensitive to earth energy lines such as these and have an inner awareness of them.
Even today, places like Stonehenge in England, the Grand Canyon in the US, Mont St Michael in France and Hirapur in Orissa, are supposed to be centres of great power which come alive at certain times of year.
One of my favourite sites is a rather unusual one, you might say – for a witch that is. It is the church of St Mary le Strand in London. It is a small church, situated between King’s College London and the Indian High Commission. At one time, the tallest maypole in the region stood not very far from the church. It was said to extend to a hundred and thirty feet and stood there for many years until it was blown over by strong gusty winds. Maypoles have an old pagan history and date far back in the land of the Celts. At times of year, like Beltaine, which is one of Wicca’s major festivals, in May, the tall wooden pole would be decorated with flowers, leaves and ribbons, and long floral ribbons would extend from the pole. Young women, witches, would gather and dance around the pole, singing songs with words and tunes which had been handed down from one generation to the next. It was a time of pagan celebration, of raising the earth’s energy and an ancient fertility rite to bring plenty to the land and the people. Even today, that church on the Strand carries its old atmosphere, of celebration, gaiety and hope. I myself have bowed at its altar and felt the old power.
When I was visiting the district of Purulia in Bengal, a few years ago, I spent time with a group of tribal women who were known to have ‘special powers’. On my last evening there, they wanted to show me one of their ‘magical rites’. They had taken me as one of their own because I was willing to listen to the injustice they often faced. It was a dark night, brightened by a full moon. We sat around on the clean earth cross-legged, and they hummed a strange but lovely tune. In the middle of our circle was an old, wooden coconut. The oldest amongst them picked it up, detached the top of the coconut, which had a small square space fitted with a top. She lifted the lid, so to speak, and whispered something into the hollow coconut. Then she held the open end to the skies and put the lid on again. The coconut went around the circle to each woman. The strange part was that after each wish was spoken into the coconut, it was set on the earth in the middle of the circle and before my eyes, it either moved round in a complete circle or it stayed still. There was no gimmickry here. True, the woman concerned would hold one finger lightly over the coconut, but that was all. A heavy wooden coconut could not move through that. After each wish, the lid was removed and the words set free to the sky. The theory was that if the coconut made a complete circle on the earth, the elements had heard and the wish would be granted. If there was no movement in the coconut, the woman would have to wait for whatever she had whispered to the coconut. I still have the wooden coconut they gifted me. It seems to have a life of its own. Would one call this superstition? I think not. Nature speaks to us in many ways. Perhaps we do not have the sensitivity to hear. Or could it be that we are too scared?
Another place and atmosphere which impressed me very much was Bhangarh in the village of Alwar in Rajasthan, India. It is supposed to be one of the most haunted places in the world, at one time ruled by Princess Ratnavati, a sorceress. The Fort was built in 1573 by Raja Bhagwant Das for his second son, Madho Singh, who was the younger brother of the Mughal emperor Akbar’s General Maan Singh I. The sprawling land was a green oasis in the desert, and he was drawn to build this massive fort and adjoining buildings there. It has been said that it was Akbar’s own interest in the occult which drew him there. A place he often visited, being related to Bhagwant Das, he found it to be a place of magic and often sat there with yogis and Tibetan monks, in search of the route to immortality. One is not sure when the reign of Ratnavati began, but one would assume that it was during the reign of Aurangzeb when Bhangarh was attached to his personal property by Jai Singh II, a believer in Destiny and Magic. It is assumed that he placed Ratnavati to rule Bhangarh because of her mastery of the subject. Unfortunately, what followed was a conflict between her and the Tantric prince, Singhia of the neighbouring kingdom Ajabgarh. He hated her because he had failed to seduce the beautiful princess, and she knew of her powers in witchcraft. Finally, in a magical duel, she caused a huge boulder to roll down a neighbouring hilltop. It killed Singhia, but even as he lay dying, he cursed Ratnavati and Bhangarh. It may have been a coincidence, but there followed a war between Bhangarh and Ajabgarh the following year, and Ratnavati was killed. After that, the beautiful fortress town began to crumble. There was a great famine there in 1783. After that, Bhangarh became a ghost town and was haunted by the spirit of Ratnavati, who is sometimes glimpsed by locals. However, because of its tumultuous ending, darkness, they say, has overtaken Bhangarh.
I have visited Bhangarh twice, and I am genuinely drawn to the place. I could sit on the still green grounds for hours or inside the fort with its dark rooms. There is ‘witchery’ there; the true knowledge of darkness lingers. Ratnavati’s secrets whisper. I have taken pictures there, and mystical orbs have appeared. I have walked the dark corridors where Singhia’s influence may still try to intrude, and I have had pictures taken, where dark figures have appeared, and I have felt bony fingers on my arms. Bhangarh is a fascinating place where the power of the Dark and the Light still abounds. As a person familiar with mystical secrets, perhaps I shall take another trip to Bhangarh. But as the planet changes and its frequencies, the time must be right.
Today, I think that old patriarchal fear has extended beyond gender. The word ‘witch’ is often weaponised against women who are feared by society at large– not just men. These are women who are strong, independent, and cannot be ‘bought’ by lobbies and refuse to compromise their values and their beliefs. They are the ones feared by society – men, women and institutions.
Witchcraft fits in as an individual’s way of life.
As Wiccan Priestess Ipsita Roy Chakraverti writes in Way of the Witch, “The first divinity we worshipped, the Mother Goddess, was a witch.” The word witch stems from the Old English wicce or wicca, meaning “wise.” Wicca, she explains, was not a religion but a path, a way of life rooted in ancient matriarchal societies and universal paganism. In Rome, the goddess Diana—independent and powerful—was revered by early Wiccans. Interestingly, Chakraverti notes that the Indian word dayan (used negatively today) traces its roots to the same goddess once honoured and respected.
So the next time you see a pointed hat, a carved pumpkin or hear a witch’s cackle in the dark, remember: these are echoes of ancient rituals and centuries of transformation. The witches, once hunted and burnt, have left their mark on history—their wisdom and mystery now live on in every glowing jack-o’-lantern, every whispered spell, and every Halloween night when the veil grows thin once again.
What is Samhain and how is it connected to Halloween?
Samhain is an ancient Celtic festival marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of the “dark half” of the year. Many of its customs — bonfires, spirits wandering, costumes — laid the groundwork for what eventually became Halloween.
When was Samhain traditionally celebrated?
The festival was typically held from sunset on October 31 to November 1, aligning roughly halfway between the autumn equinox and winter solstice.
What were some common rituals during Samhain?
Key rituals included lighting communal bonfires, taking flame from the bonfire back to home hearths, leaving offerings of food and drink for ancestors or spirits, disguising oneself to ward off harm from supernatural forces, and fortune-telling practices.
How did Samhain transform into modern Halloween traditions like jack-o’-lanterns and trick-or-treating?
Over centuries, Samhain customs merged with Christian observances such as All Saints’ Day (Nov 1) and All Souls Day (Nov 2). Meanwhile, traditions of carving turnips or gourds (later pumpkins) and leaving treats or offerings evolved into jack-o’-lanterns and trick-or-treating.
Why was Samhain considered a time when the boundary between the living and the dead was thin?
In Celtic belief, the festival marked a liminal period—the transition into winter—when the usual order of the universe was suspended and the world of the spirits overlapped with the living. Thus, extra precautions, rituals and offerings were made.