Long before the Spanish set foot in Mexico, the Aztec people spoke in hushed tones about Cihuacóatl, the Snake Woman, a powerful protector of women who died in childbirth. Her presence was said to be both a warning and a reminder of the delicate balance between life, death, and destiny. According to ancient chronicles like the Florentine Codex, roughly ten years before the conquest, the streets of Tenochtitlan would echo at night with the mournful cries of a woman dressed entirely in white, her long hair flowing freely, wandering as she wailed, "Oh, my children! We are about to lose everything!" or "My children, where should I take you to save you?"
In Aztec belief, these cries were not those of a vengeful ghost, but a prophetic voice of destiny. She served as a messenger of what was to come: the Spanish invasion that would destroy the Aztec empire and claim the lives of millions of indigenous people. Her lamentations along the rivers and canals symbolized the consequences of human arrogance and wrongdoing, a reminder of the pain and purification that accompanies the disruption of nature and society.
After the arrival of the Spanish, the story evolved, blending moral lessons with tragic folklore. The legend became the tale of a wronged indigenous woman, betrayed by a wealthy lover. In a moment of rage and despair, she drowned her own children in the river to exact revenge. Immediately realizing the horror of her actions, she cast herself into the waters, ending her mortal life. Her spirit, denied entry to heaven, was cursed to wander riverbanks forever, crying and searching for the children she had lost, becoming the figure known today as La Llorona.
The story of La Llorona carries powerful lessons of morality and caution. Parents told the tale to warn children not to wander alone at night or near dangerous waterways. It is a story about responsibility and the irreversible consequences of impulsive actions, showing how anger and grief can leave permanent scars. Beyond fright, she represents collective sorrow, embodying both the suffering of women and the profound loss experienced by the indigenous people of Mexico.
Folk wisdom adds a final chilling note: if you hear her cries sounding close, she is far away; if her wailing seems distant, she may be standing right behind you, a haunting reminder that sorrow and guilt transcend time and space.