The following description of birth-taboos in Pahang, taken from Mr. H. Clifford’s Studies in Brown Humanity, will give a good general idea of this part of the subject:—
“When Umat has placed the sîrih leaves he has done all he can for Sĕlĕma, and he resigns himself to endure the anxiety of the next few months with the patience of which he has so much command. The pantang bĕr-ânak, or birth-taboos, hem a husband in almost as rigidly as they do his wife, and Umat, who is as superstitious as are all the Malays of the lower classes, is filled with fear lest he should unwittingly transgress any law, the breach of which might cost Sĕlĕma her life. He no longer shaves his head periodically, as he loves to do, for a naked scalp is very cool and comfortable; he does not even cut his hair, and a thick black shock stands five inches high upon his head, and tumbles raggedly about his neck and ears. Sĕlĕma is his first wife, and never before has she borne children, wherefore no hair of her husband’s must be trimmed until her days are accomplished. Umat will not kill the fowls for the cook now, nor even drive a stray dog from the compound with violence, lest he should chance to maim it, for he must shed no blood, and must do no hurt to any living thing during all this time. One day he is sent on an errand up-river and is absent until the third day. On inquiry it appears that he passed the night in a friend’s house, and on the morrow found that the wife of his host was shortly expecting to become a mother. Therefore he had to remain at least two nights in the village. Why? Because if he failed to do so, Sĕlĕma would die. Why would she die? God alone knows, but such is the teaching of the men of old, the wise ones of ancient days. But Umat’s chief privation is that he is forbidden to sit in the doorway of his house. To understand what this means to a Malay, you must realise that the seat in the doorway, at the head of the stair-ladder that reaches to the ground, is to him much what the fireside is to the English peasant. It is here that he sits and looks out patiently at life, as the European gazes into the heart of the fire. It is here that his neighbours come to gossip with him, and it is in the doorway of his own or his friend’s house that the echo of the world is borne to his ears. But, while Sĕlĕma is ill, Umat may not block the doorway, or dreadful consequences will ensue, and though he appreciates this and makes the sacrifice readily for his wife’s sake, it takes much of the comfort out of his life.
“Sĕlĕma, meanwhile, has to be equally circumspect. She bridles her woman’s tongue resolutely, and no word in disparagement of man or beast passes her lips during all these months, for she has no desire to see the qualities she dislikes reproduced in the child. She is often tired to death and faint and ill before her hour draws nigh, but none the less she will not lie upon her mat during the daytime lest her heavy eyes should close in sleep, since her child would surely fall a prey to evil spirits were she to do so. Therefore she fights on to the dusk, and Umat does all he can to comfort her and to lighten her sufferings by constant tenderness and care.”[33]
The medicine (sambaran bara), used by the mother after her confinement, consists of the ashes of a burnt cocoa-nut shell pounded and mixed with a pinch of black pepper (lada hitam sa-jimput), a root of garlic (bawang puteh sa-labuh), and enough vinegar to make the mixture liquid. This potion is drunk for three consecutive mornings. A bandage is swathed about her waist, and she is treated with a cosmetic (bĕdak) manufactured from tĕmu kuning, which is pounded small (and mixed as before with garlic, black pepper, and vinegar), and applied every morning and evening for the first three days. During the next three days a new cosmetic (bĕdak kunyit t’rus) is applied, the ingredients being kunyit t’rus pounded and mixed in the same way as the cosmetic just described.
At the same time the patient is given a potion made from the ash of burnt durian skins (abu kulit durian), mixed as before with vinegar; the fruit-stalk, or “spire,” of a cocoa-nut palm (manggar niyor) being substituted if the durian skin is not obtainable.
A poultice (ubat pupok) is also applied to the patient’s forehead, after the early bathing, during the “forty-four days” of her retirement; it consists of leaves of the tahi babi, jintan hitam, and garlic, pounded and mixed as usual with vinegar.
After three days an extraordinary mixture, called in Selangor the “Hundred Herbs” (rĕmpah ’ratus), but in Malacca merely “Pot-herbs” (rĕmpah p’riok), is concocted from all kinds of herbs, roots, and spices. The ingredients are put into a large vessel of water and left to soak, a portion of the liquor being strained off and given to the patient as a potion every morning for about ten days. Similar ingredients boiled in a large pot, which is kept hot by being hermetically sealed (di-gĕtang), and by having live embers placed underneath it from time to time, furnish the regular beverage of the patient up to the time of her purification. After the first fortnight, however, the lees are extracted from the vessel and used to compose a poultice which is applied to the patient’s waist, a set of fresh ingredients replacing the old ones.[34] It is sold for fifty cents a jar.
On the forty-fourth day the raised platform or roasting-place (saleian) is taken down and the ceremony called Floor-washing (basoh lantei) takes place, the whole house being thoroughly washed and cleaned. The floor having been smeared with rice-cosmetic (bĕdak) (such as the Malays use for the bathing ceremony), it is well scratched by the claws of a fowl, which is caught (and washed) for the purpose, and then held over the floor and forced to do the scratching required of it. The cosmetic is then removed (di-langir) by means of lime-juice (again as in the bathing ceremony) and the hearth-fire is changed. The Bidan now receives her pay, usually getting in cash for the eldest child $4.40 (in some places $5.40), for the second, $3.40, the third, $2.40, and for the fourth, and all subsequent children, $1.40; unless she is hastily summoned (bidan tarek) and no engagement (mĕnĕmpah) has been made, in which case she may demand half a bhara ($11). Besides this somewhat meagre remuneration, however, she receives from the well-to-do (at the floor-washing ceremony) such presents as cast-off clothes (kain bĕkas tuboh), a bowl of saffron rice, a bowl of the rice-cosmetic and limes (bĕdak limau), and a platter of betel-leaf, with accessories (chĕrana sirih). Though the remuneration may appear small, it was, nevertheless, sure; as in former days an unwritten law allowed her to take the child and “cry it for sale” (di-jaja) round the country, should her fee remain unpaid.
Before concluding the present subject it will be necessary to describe certain specific injunctions and taboos which form an important part of the vast body of Malay customs which centre specially round the birth of children.
Before the child is born the father has to be more than usually circumspect with regard to what he does, as any untoward act on his part would assuredly have a prejudicial effect on the child, and cause a birth-mark or even actual deformity, any such affection being called kĕnan. In a case which came to my notice the son was born with only a thumb, forefinger, and little finger on the left hand, and a great toe on the left foot, the rest of the fingers and toes on the left side being wanting. This, I was told, was due to the fact that the father violated this taboo by going to the fishing-stakes one day and killing a crab by chopping at it with a cutlass.