After losing someone very precious at the tender age of eight, a deep, subconscious fear of losing loved ones became ingrained in my mind. While I still struggle with the ever-looming specter of death, I have come to understand that the manner of one’s passing—its grace or its agony—lessens or worsens the grief. Perhaps only one’s last moments can tell us how a life was lived. Was it a life full of sins or a life lived in goodness? Death, I have realized, is not just an end but a mirror, reflecting the truth of the life that preceded it.
At 44, as I grapple with self-reflection and strive to rectify past wrongs that I committed in this mortal world, a visit to Singapore’s Hell’s Museum offered a jarring reminder of childhood moral lessons—do no wrong if you don’t want to go to hell. It echoed with eerie clarity: the path to redemption is steep, and the warnings we once shrugged off still linger, vivid and unforgiving.
Standing within the sprawling Haw Par Villa complex, Hell’s Museum, which opened in 2021, has sculptures depicting the afterlife. Carefully curated, this unique museum explores death and dying across global and Singaporean communities, offering insight—perhaps even answers—about destiny in this chaotic world.
Ten Courts of Hell
The most striking feature of the museum is the Ten Courts of Hell from Chinese folklore. The dioramas of the Ten Courts vividly portray brutal punishments for sins such as corruption, theft, robbery, drug abuse, food waste, misuse of books, and possession of pornographic material—each crime met with an eerie and exaggerated form of divine justice, both grotesque and deeply symbolic in its message.
While I’ve never committed any of these crimes, my sister who was accompanying me reminded me in half jest: there was also a punishment for disobedience to older siblings. With a mix of dread and curiosity, I wandered through the chambers until the Fourth Court of Hell—ruled by King Wuguan—caught my eye. I would have been ground by a large stone if I had committed that crime. I shivered, then smiled grimly. How fortunate, I mused, to have been born in gentler times.
For Singaporeans raised on Chinese folklore, the Ten Courts of Hell may evoke familiarity more than fear—as opposed to those like me, who were not acquainted with it.
Is the museum a gruesome reminder not to commit crime?
Singaporeans may also find a connection to the modern-day Singapore—an elected democracy ruled by one party for six decades, often labelled as “authoritarian” and “competitive authoritarian”—which mandates corporal punishment in the form of caning, imprisonment, and the death penalty for a range of about 30 offenses including chewing gum.
Whenever I have visited Singapore, I have been conscious of Singapore’s strict penalties related to carrying chewing gum—where the fines could be up to US$ 15,209 (S$ 20,000) and the jail time up to two years—or jaywalking—which could lead to a fine of anything between US$ 380-1,520 (S$ 500 – S$ 2,000) and imprisonment of up to three to six months.
Of course, Singaporeans are far more conscious of many more strict laws in place for littering, smoking in public places, and spitting. The worst—death penalty—is reserved for crimes including terrorism, violence, theft, kidnapping, brutality, money laundering, and drug trafficking.
Among these offenses, the most controversial has been the death penalty for drug trafficking; Singapore carried out nine executions, including eight of individuals convicted of drug trafficking, between October 1, 2024 and February 7, 2025.
In the Third Court of Hell, however—the reign of King Songdi—the offender had to be tied to a red-hot copper pillar and grilled.
Message of hope?
After one has finished looking at bodies lying on pitchforks, dismembered heads crying tears of blood, and wild-eyed demons feasting on internal organs, there is a message of hope.
It tells us that there is also an opportunity for forgiveness. In the Tenth Court of Hell, there is a wheel of reincarnation—or Samsara—and a pavilion of forgetfulness. After receiving the due punishment, offenders were supposed to go through the wheel of reincarnation.
Depending upon the prisoner’s past life, some would be reborn into a life of ease and comfort, others into a life of pain or suffering.
But those who lived virtuously in their life were guided across the ‘golden bridge’ to enter paradise, while those whose good deeds outweighed their wrongdoings were directed to the ‘silver bridge’ to reach paradise. They never had to receive any punishment.
Here, self-reflection peeps in again. Have I done enough to rectify the past wrongs? Do past mistakes ever get rectified with one good deed here and there? What punishments are reserved for me in this life if hell exists only in Chinese folklore and not in reality?
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