The Midnight Visitor

The postpartum Malay woman is fraught with pantang larang (taboos). Modernisation notwithstanding, many new Malay mothers still adhere to age-old beliefs, resonating with their own mothers and generations of mothers before them.

Thus we find TLC-deprived husbands heroically putting up with the 44-day abstinence, among others, for Malay culture dictates that a new mother needs ample time to recover after the imperilment of childbirth.

When I delivered my eldest child Naj in London, halfway through the winter of 1975, I wasn't too concerned with some of the pantangs. I couldn't afford to, actually.

I certainly couldn't remain housebound for 44 days at a stretch because I had a job to go back to and my leave didn't cover that long.

Furthermore, I needed to fill the larder regularly as well as buy baby things; his father was all over Britain and the Continent most times to care about the nitty gritty.

Being far away from home, my sphere of worry was very basic and mundane - how to cope with this helpless bundle of joy swathed in layers of blankets to ward off the cold.

The darker, evil side of things didn't even cross my mind. Thankfully enough, they didn't cross my path either at that point in time.

In reality, however, the new mother, in her exhausted state of body and mind, offers a window of opportunity to evil manifestations to try and take advantage of her vulnerability.

The role of the traditional bidan (midwife) is of prime importance in this aspect for, not only is she required to help with the physical healing of the weakened woman, but also to act as a pengadang (barrier) in warding off such malevolent spirits.

The late Mak Cik Besah, the family's resident midwife, masseur and traditional healer, was a no-nonsense woman with manly strength in massaging and pummelling one's aches and pains away.

When I had my second child, Joe, in Kuantan in 1977, my mother-in-law decided to dispatch rotund Mak Cik Besah as my live-in midwife for the entire 44-day confinement period.

Her main function was to look after the well-being of both mother and child. If I may add, she also took it unto herself to lord it over the maid as well!

Mak Cik Besah arrived a couple of days after I returned home from the clinic. Along with her came batu tungku (heating stone), daun gelenggang (a kind of leaves to rest the heated stones on), herbal pastes and that extremely bitter medicinal paste, maajun, and numerous other tools of her trade.

She immediately swung into action, putting me through the usual postpartum paces of bertungku (placement of heated stone on the belly, purportedly to help shrink the uterus), bertangas (standing with legs apart over medicinal leaves left to sizzle underneath batu tungku), berbegkung (wearing of the traditional girdle) et al.

I looked like a pagan priest, with some yellowish potion streaked across my forehead. I also smelled like an advertisement for minyak urut (special massage oil), the fragrance spreading all over the house and beyond.

And all I was allowed to eat was soft rice with grounded black pepper. Eggs, vegetables, dairy products were absolute no-nos. After the indulgences of London, I meekly surrendered to my fate.

A few days after settling in, she muttered darkly: "Ada benda dok hurung rumah ni nak cuba masuk." (There's something circling this house waiting for an opportunity to enter).

Her words chilled me to the bone. I was afraid more for the well-being of the child than for myself. Not one to take chances, Mak Cik Besah warned me to remain indoors and never to answer any call to my name.

One evening as azan Maghrib (muezzin's call to dusk prayer) filled the air, I heard a woman's voice at the front door gently calling; "Kama! Ooooo Kama!" Without thinking I answered: "Yaa!"

Almost immediately baby Joe started crying. As his wail increased, Mak Cik Besah emerged from her room and admonished me roughly for responding. I apologised profusely, telling her it was reflex action on my part.

That night she made us both (baby and I) sleep in the living room. She 'fenced' off our sleeping parameter with Quranic verses to keep evil spirits at bay. She also placed a small pair of scissors underneath baby Joe's mattress.

If it was a terrible night for me, it was an absolutely horrendous one for Mak Cik Besah for, in the wee hours of the morning, she received a 'visitor' at her bedroom window.

I was blinking away in the dim living room light, sleepless and restless, and reciting Quranic verses to calm my nerves, when I heard Mak Cik Besah's raised voice. It was loud.

Because her bedroom door was closed, I couldn't make out her words. But she sounded angry. Eventually the quarrelsome voice abated and all was quiet again. I managed to find sleep soon after.

In the morning she told us that something knocked on her window pane and demanded to be let in. She said she berated 'it' and tried to shoo 'it' away before 'it' finally left. She added that the being told her 'it' came invited by me; I had responded to its greeting!

She had earlier refused to divulge who or what 'it' was, but after much persistence on our part, she conceded that the midnight visitor was in the form of an old woman, purportedly seeking to feed on the uri (afterbirth).

This was one of the creepiest, spookiest episodes of my life. Thank be to God, nothing untoward happened in the days and months after Mak Cik Besah's scary exchange.