A Baby Is Born in the Punjab

HELEN GIDEON, M.B., M.P.H.

Calcubta, India
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The data on which Dr. Helen Gideons paper is based came from field studies on
population dynamics, instituted in 1953 in Ludhiana District, Punjab, India, and
ending in June, 1960. The population is predominantly Sikh. Agriculture is the
principal occupation, and the people live in villages that range from two or three
hundred to two or three thousand people. Field studies included observations on a
series of pregnancies and deliveries by local midwives, most of them untrained and
illiterate. The series comprised 1,402 live births, 52 stillbirths, and 153 abortions.
Dr. Gideon and other members of the staff have analyzed pregnancy and childbirth
in these villages from a technical point of view, including obstetrical complications,
the causes of death in mothers and infants, and the general nature of obstetrical prac-
tice in rural India (Gordon, J. E., Gideon, Helen, and Wyon J. B., Obstetrical
Practices in a Rural Indian Community, Indian Journal of Medical Research, forth-
coming). There remains a wealth of other information not susceptible to presenta-
tion by graphs and trend lines. These facts deal with people, their thoughts and
motivations, their cultural heritage and social behavior, their occupations, economic
status, beliefs, and customs. Dr. Gideon has chosen to present these other data
in narrative form, as the story of a young woman of the Punjab who marries and
has her first baby. This is not fiction, but a composite experience drawn from
hundreds of case studies, carefully recorded and diligently analyzed.
I n presenting these cultural and social influences on childbirth, Dr. Gideon
makes no claim to being an anthropologist. Nevertheless, she is peculiarly qualified
to write on childbirth in the Punjab. She is a graduate of the Lady Hardinge
Medical College in Delhi and of the Harvard School of Public Health, with a
masters degree in epidemiology. She was assistant field director during the entire
study on population dynamics. She has the advantage of being the mother of two
sons. Perhaps her outstanding qualification is that she is herself a Punjabi, wholly
familiar with the environment and the people she describes, their way of life, their
ambitions, and their outlook.
JOHN E. GORDON, PH.D., M.D.
Harvard University School of
Public Health

THE STORY
URJEETO sat washing the clothes of the family. Today there was more
S wash t o be done than two days ago, but she did not mind that. A t this new
home with her husbands parents, washing was easier than it had been before
she was married. Typical of village homes in the Punjab, a single room served
all needs of the family from cooking, eating, and sleeping, to storing grain, and
1220
[ GIDEON] Birth in the Punjab 1221
as a stall for the cattle. But this one was larger; it also had its own water pump
in a corner, set in a square cement platform with a low wall around it. There
one sat and washed. At her parents home in a village ten miles away, women
still drew water from the common village well and sat beside it while they
washed and chatted with neighbors. Surjeeto thought how embarrassing it
would be if she had to go to the village well here.
She had been married a year, but had lived with her in-laws only about
seven months. Dipo, the young girl across the narrow street, was her only
friend. There was not much of a chance to meet anyone except the older wo-
men who came to see Maji, her mother-in-law, and the only time Surjeeto left
the house was early in the morning, when she and Dip0 went to the fields
which by custom served as the common latrine of the village.
Surjeeto thought of the day she was married. That was in 1959, just a year
ago. After her marriage she had travelled by bullock cart from her village to
her husbands village. She had been so distressed a t leaving her parents and so
terrified of new people that she did not know the route they had taken. She was
vaguely conscious of the vast fertile plains of the Punjab that stretched from
one village to another, here in this sturdy Sikh country of North India.
Surjeeto felt it was hard on the daughters of the village, who by custom
always married sons of another village. This meant beginning life anew in a n
unknown village with complete strangers. She felt envious of her brothers who
would continue to live with their parents even after they were married.
Those first two days in her new home had been awful. She remembered sit-
ting on the dirt floor dressed in her best clothes and jewelry, her dupata (head
scarf) pulled down low over her face as a veil. Neighbors and friends of the
family had come to see her, lifted her veil, and looked a t her face. Some had
said she had good features, some thought her a little dark. Others had remarked
about her jewelry. Some had even felt the weight of the gold necklace and
touched her bangles and earrings, trying to judge how much gold had been
given to the bride by her parents.
Some had sat round talking to Maji, asking what the bride had brought
with her. Maji told them every little detail: eleven sets of clothes, two sets of
jewelry, a ring for the groom, clothes for mother-in-law and her two younger
children, a chair, a bed, a big wooden box, three sets of bedding, and seven
kitchen utensils. You are lucky, a neighbor had said to Maji, She has
brought enough.
She was so shy she hardly spoke or ate. Her husband had not spoken to her,
though he had looked a t her when no one was watching. She was grateful to her
mother-in-law for making her sleep next to her those first two nights. The
third day she had gone home to her parents, stayed there a month and then
come back. It was then that her husband began to talk to her, asking for a
glass of water or something to eat, and gradually she had started to get to
know him.
Soon she would go home again. She had not had her periods for five
months: she was pretty sure she must be pregnant, but had told no one except
1222 A merican A nthropologist [64, 1962
Dipo. Possibly Dip0 had mentioned it to her mother, and so the news had
reached Maji. Recently, Surjeeto had felt Maji watching her closely as she
moved about the house; she was embarrassed and shy a t the thought of her
mother-in-law knowing it.
Surjeeto finished washing the clothes, twisted and squeezed the water out
of each garment, put them all in a bucket, and carried the heavy load up a
bamboo ladder to the roof. She spread the clothes out to dry, picked up the
empty bucket, and stood for a few minutes looking across the roofs of the
closely packed houses to the fields beyond. Somewhere in the fields her hus-
band and father-in-law were working. They had left before sunrise. She had
gotten up early and made the two men a brass tumbler of tea before they left.
When they had gone she had stood the beds against the wall and flung the bed
clothes on a line stretched across the far corner of the room. Then she had
cleaned up the part of the room where the oxen had been tied for the night.
It was time then to send the men some breakfast. She had made a few
chappaties (flat thin cakes of unleavened bread), smeared white homemade
buffalo butter on each, tied them in a piece of cloth, filled a jug with butter-
milk, and handed both to Maji to take to the fields.
Surjeeto realized Maji would soon be back and it was already time to cook
the midday meal. She came down the ladder and lit a fire. The cow dung cakes
she used as fuel were not quite dry and smoked heavily. She put up dal (a
lentil) to cook and squatted on the floor to knead atta, a whole wheat flour.
While she was doing that her mother-in-law came in. Surjeeto took the empty
jug from her and put it near the pump to be washed. Maji slipped off the
black skirt she wore over her Punjabi trousers and handed it to Surjeeto.
Surjeeto hung it up on a big wooden peg against the wall. She thought of her
own blue satin skirt and wondered when she would wear it. Every daughter-in-
law wears such a skirt when she goes out. It is a good custom, thought Sur-
jeeto, it covered ones trousered legs and kept one from looking immodest.
Maji sat down on the doorstep and Surjeeto went back to kneading the
atta. They chatted for a while, then Maji said abruptly, I would like you to
stay here for your confinement, but I suppose your mother would like to have
you with her. How many months more have you to go yet? So Maji knew.
Just as well, it saved a lot of embarrassment. Surjeeto pulled her dupata over
her face, turned her head aside, and half whispered, The sixth month is run-
ning. Maji calculated and remarked that March was a good month, I t
begins to warm up a little, she said. No more was said. Surjeeto felt happy all
of a sudden. She had told her husband when she was three months overdue and
he had said that Maji would be pleased if they had a son. She hoped it would be
a son.
T h a t week an uncle of Surjeeto passed through the village. He visited
them, and Maji said, Ask Surjeetos mother if she would like Surjeeto to be
with her in March. So the message was sent; Surjeetos mother would under-
stand. Surjeeto wondered when they would send for her.
I t was a month later that Surjeeto went home. Her brother came to fetch
GIDEON] Birth in the Pufijab 1223
her. She was surprised at the sadness she felt a t leaving. At one time everything
and everybody in this village had seemed strange to her and she thought she
would never get used to it, but now without realizing it she found herself at-
tached to it all. She packed a little bundle of clothes and her brother tied it to
the handle-bar of his bicycle. She wondered if her husband would come back
from the fields to see her off. He had said he would, but he had not yet arrived
and it was time for them to leave.
Surjeeto bent down and touched Majis feet, and Maji put her hands on
Surjeetos head and blessed her. As Surjeeto straightened up, Dalip, her
husband, came in. All ready to go? he said. DO you need to pump up your
bicycle? You can do with a little air in the back wheel, it will be less bumpy.
Surjeeto was touched by Dalips thoughtfulness. She and her brother left soon,
with Surjeeto sitting on the bicycle carrier. Dalip called after them, Send
news when you can. And so the two of them travelled along the ten-mile dirt
road to their home village. Surjeeto was coming back to have her first baby.
For Surjeeto the atmosphere in her home village was free and easy. She
could go to visit neighbors as and when she wished, and there was no need to
cover her face, since she was a daughter of the village. She helped her mother
cook and wash and took meals out to the fields for her father and brothers.
She helped to cut up fodder for the cattle and carried big loads of cowdung to
an open space outside the village where she made cowdung cakes to be dried
and used as fuel.
One day a n elderly lady came to call on Surjeetos mother, Mohindro. She
said she was a health visitor employed by the government and from now on
would come once a month to the village to examine and advise all pregnant
women. She asked Mohindro to send Surjeeto for a checkup. Mohindro looked
surprised and said, But what is wrong with my Surjeeto? She was told that
pregnant women required a checkup now and then to see if all was well. They
also needed advice about diet and had to be taught child care. Mohindro
looked a t the health visitor in amazement and said, But I can teach my child
how to care for her children, and what advice about diet can you give? We
have plenty of milk, butter, dal, atta. What more is needed? And as for a
checkup, why I have had five children and never had a checkup for any of
them. The village midwife Akki came whan i t was time for me to deliver. The
health visitor said that Akki was all right, but she had had no training. Mohin-
dro was more amazed than ever and asked how any person could be untrained
if she had delivered babies all her life? A good discussion followed and ended
happily when Mohindro agreed to send Surjeeto for an examination if she had
any trouble, Surjeeto had no trouble except one day when she had a pain in the
abdomen. Akki the midwife was called. She rubbed melted butter on the abdo-
men in circular movements. Soon Surjeeto felt better and Akki said the pain
was because the head of the baby had gone down andshe had raised it a little
by massaging. Surjeeto thought that Akki was a clever person. I t was a pity
that most dais (midwives) were from the leather-worker caste; they had to
be, for women of higher social class would not cut the cord.
1224 American Anthropologist [64, 1962
The days went by and then one night without any warning Surjeeto felt
uncomfortable. She kept awake wondering whether the repeated odd painful
hardening of the abdomen meant labor pains. She decided to say nothing to her
mother just yet. Soon it would be morning. Her father and brothers would go
out to work. She would tell her mother then. Surjeeto lay awake and prayed for
a son. How pleased everyone would be if it were a son. She heard a rooster
crow; her mother got up, lit a fire, and made tea. Her father and brothers came
and sat by the fire, noisily sipping tumblers of tea, and soon they were gone.
Surjeeto got up, sat by the fire, and asked her mother if Akki would be home.
Mohindro looked at Surjeeto for a long moment and said, First let us go out to
the fields while it is still dark. There will be time enough to call Akki when we
return. Surjeeto had no inclination to go out, but she did not want to argue
with her mother.
On the way back, Mohindro went to Akkis house and brought her home
with them. Akki rubbed Surjeetos abdomen with some melted butter, then
warmed a little oil and, dipping her fingers in it, applied it to the birth canal.
Just to lubricate the passage, she said. Akki left, saying she would come back
later as there was still plenty of time.
Mohindro warmed a glass of milk, put an ounce of melted butter in it, and
gave i t to Surjeeto to drink; to give her strength, she said. Surjeeto walked
about the room doing odd jobs and all the time she felt the pains get stronger
and stronger. Soon Akki was back. Surjeeto, unable to walk around any more,
lay down on her string bed. She was cold. Mohindro put some glowing cowdung
under the bed and some extra bed clothes over Surjeeto. An old neighbor lady
from down the street was called in for any needed help. After she entered,
Mohindro put the catch on the door; she did not want anyone to know Surjeeto
was in labor for it might bring ill luck.
Surjeeto was told to lie flat on her back. On no account was she to turn on
her side, for fear the baby would shift sideways. Akki, a t the foot of the bed,
told Surjeeto to draw her knees up. Every now and then she would take a piece
of cotton, touch it into a bowl of oil, wrap it round her fingers, and apply i t to
the birth canal. With every pain, Mohindro pressed the womb down, and Akki,
squatting on the bed, put her bare feet firmly on either side of the opening of the
birth canal while Surjeeto pushed down, holding the side of the bed. Between
the pains the women relaxed and talked. Surjeeto was given sips of milk and
melted butter.
Akki told them of recent cases she had attended. How Nasseebo had had
her first baby and the shameless girl had made so much noise that the entire
street knew she was in labor. Then how Malkytos child had been born with his
feet coming first. It was fortunate, said Akki, that she had applied sufficient oil
to the canal and stretched i t or else the head would have got stuck. Then the
case of Bibo next door who would not expel the afterbirth and they had to give
her a concoction of heating things such as raisins, ginger, and gur (crude
sugar) in tea. Akki had taken a firm hold of the womb and squeezed it with all
her might. It only took a minute and the afterbirth was out, she said. Then
GIDEON] Birth in the Pmjab 1225
.there was Karnailo who took so long to deliver. Pain after pain would come and
go, but the babys head seemed stuck somewhere to the back. Akki had made
her sit on one of the big conical cowdung cakes and lean against the wall. With
the cowdung cake pressing the babys head forwards she had delivered in a few
minutes.
Meanwhile Surjeetos pains increased. With each one she wanted to cry out
loud, but her mother made a knot in her dupata (head scarf) and gave it to
Surjeeto to hold between her teeth to bite on. Surjeeto wondered if her babys
head was stuck a t the back, and if they would make her sit up. She felt she
would never have the strength to do it. What would happen if she could not
expel the afterbirth? Her abdomen already felt sore. She would never be able to
let Akki, strong as a horse, press her womb with all her might. A cold shiver ran
down her spine. By this time the pains were so bad that she did not feel Akki
stretching the birth canal. Suddenly Surjeeto felt as if she had passed a lot of
urine. She heard Akki say the bag of dirty water had burst and now it would
not be long. Poor Surjeeto was exhausted and weak. Her forehead was cold and
clammy; the old neighbor mopped her face, pressed her arms and then her legs.
Her mother still pressed the womb; and Akkis feet, pressing on either side of
the birth canal, felt good. After a few agonizing moments the room began to
ring with a babble of voices, each woman congratulating the other. Mohindro
turned towards Surjeeto, her face glowing with joy and pride. She pressed Sur-
jeetos face between her two hands. Surjeeto knew then she was the mother of a
baby son, and a feeling of great warmth and joy filled her heart.
The next instant Surjeeto heard Akki speak angrily to her mother. You
have left the womb. Keep pressing it firmly. I wont be to blame if the after-
birth rises to her heart and kills her. It will be your fault. Surjeetos abdomen
felt numb; in fact her whole body felt lifeless. She heard Akkis voice again,
telling her mother how these days trained midwives sometimes cut the cord
before the placenta was delivered. Mohindro and the neighbor clicked their
tongues in their cheeks and asked if the children did not all die. Akki ex-
plained how great a risk that was, for the life of the child was in the afterbirth,
and if all the life from it had not entered the child, one could lose the baby.
That was the reason Akki never cut the cord before the placenta was expelled.
Didnt they remember Melos baby that she had delivered last year? How the
child was blue and lifeless, and as soon as the placenta was warmed up in an
iron dish over a burning cowdung cake, life travelled to the child and gradually
the baby lost the ugly blue-black color. Surjeetos mother remembered and
said she thanked God for giving them a person like Akki.
Akki now took hold of the womb and gave it a strong painful squeeze. They
all breathed a sigh of relief, for all was well. Surjeeto had not had any trouble
they said, but Surjeeto herself wondered if they knew just how she had felt.
Anyway it did not matter now. She was the mother of a baby son.
Akki was asking for some thread. Mohindro went to the corner of the room
to her spinning-wheel. Beside it in a grass basket were a few spools of home
spun cotton. Mohindro brought a spool and gave it to Akki. Akki held one end
1226 American A nthropologist [64, 1962
of the thread in her left hand and with her right hand put a loop round her
great toe and brought the thread back to her left hand. She repeated this once
more and then broke the thread. She took the end in her hand between her
palms and twisted it. Then she took the loop off her toe and doubled the
thread. I t twisted itself into a strong piece of cotton.
With this she tied the cord. Then she asked Mohindro for something to cut
the cord with. Mohindro produced a trowel from under a big wooden box and
handed it to Akki. As Akki took it, she said it was always easy to get some
instrument in a farmers house; they always had a trowel or a sickle. The
leather workers of course had the best instrument, the sharp knife with which
they cut leather; the tailors always had a pair of scissors, but it was the shop-
keepers and others that could not find their kitchen knife just when it was
needed most. She remembered the time when a brahmin family had had to
borrow a sickle from their next door neighbor.
Akki cut the cord. She smeared the cut end with fresh cow dung ashes. She
tied up the placenta in an old rag and put it aside. She cleaned and wiped Sur-
jeeto, and used a n old discarded shirt as a pad. Akki then got off the bed, and
covering Surjeeto with the bed clothes she gave her attention to the child.
Meanwhile Mohindro had brought warm water in an iron bowl. As Akki sat
beside the bed to bathe the child, Mohindro put a silver rupee in the water
saying, Here is something for cutting the cord. Luck is your way. You would
not have got this had the baby been a girl. Akki gave the child a bath, dressed
him, put black antimony powder in his eyes and a black spot on the temple to
protect him from the evil eye. Then she put the child next to Surjeeto.
Akki picked up the bundle of placenta and took it to the dark inner store
room. With a trowel she dug a hole in the mudplastered floor, put in the pla-
centa and buried it. She asked for a little water, wet the earth, and plastered the
area to a smooth surface again, So doing, she told Mohindro how Jaibo had had
her childs placenta buried outside the house and her child had gotten a n evil
spirit and had died of convulsions on the seventh day. Mohindro said it was
awful to do that, and women should not take such risks; to which Akki replied
that some women were indifferent about such things, especially if they had a
third our fourth girl born to them. Akki was of the opinion, however, that the
placenta should be buried outside for those women who had lost children pre-
viously and had buried the placenta inside. In such instances, if death hap-
pened to be due to a n evil shadow, the burial of the placenta outside usually
saved the child. Mohindro said she did not care what others did; all the pla-
centas she had delivered were buried inside.
Surjeeto watched Mohindro as she busied herself getting together the four
items that were to protect the child from evil spirits. First, she put glowing
cowdung cakes in an earthenware bowl under the bed; in hot weather a box of
matches under the mattress would serve the purpose. Then she put a little
water in a jar and put that under the bed, and alongside that a few grains of
wheat. Lastly she looked for something made of iron. A sickle placed a t the foot
of the bed often serves the purpose, b u t Mohindro found a lock and snapped it
GIDEON] Birth in the Punjab 1227
around one of the strings of the bed. Mohindro stood back and checked them
off: fire, water, grain, and iron. That was fine. They would stay there till the
fortieth day. Now no harm would come to the child even if it were left alone.
Having dealt with the placenta and plastered the ground under and around
Surjeetos bed, Akki washed her hands a t the pump, sat down on the floor, and
said she ought to be going. Mohindro was giving Surjeeto a drink of tea. She
asked Akki if she would have some. Akki refused and said once again that she
ought to be going. Mohindro went to a n earthenware chest and got about five
seers (10 pounds) of wheat, three huge lumps of gur (crude sugar), and two
seers of maize. She gave them to Akki and also one rupee and four annas. Akki
tied everything up in a cloth, mumbling that these days no one gave anything
much. Mohindro answered loudly that the midwives of today were never satis-
fied. I n any case, she said, Akki would get more later on from Surjeetos in-
laws. Akki picked up her bundle, said she would come again, and left the house.
Not long after that friends and neighbors began to come in to congratulate
Mohindro, bringing strands of green grass, green grass being the sign of life and
happiness. Elderly women patted Surjeetos face and the babys face, saying,
May God give you both long life. Others took a good look a t the child and
said he was just like Surjeeto, or like his father. Some said he had a fair com-
plexion and a sharp nose, and some remarked about his lovely long hair. Hair is
a sign of beauty among Sikhs. Surjeeto listened, feeling shy and embarrassed,
but each visitor overwhelmed her with joy and pride a t being the mother of a
son.
Surjeeto dozed happily until her father and brothers came home. Her
brothers shouted with joy and said they had heard the news from a neighbor.
They wanted to see their nephew. Surjeetos father went quietly to the head of
the bed. For a moment he looked a t his daughter and then with big rough
hands caressed her face saying, My girl is the mother of a son; your husband
Dalip should be proud of you. Then he turned to his wife and said, We must
send the barber with the good news to Surjeetos in-laws. Mohindro said it
would be done in good time.
Surjeeto wondered what they would do without a barber. He did so many
useful jobs for the village community. He carried messages from one village to
another, acted as go-between in arranging for marriages, helped to cook, serve,
and wash a t village feasts, invited people to functions, and distributed gur to
friends when a son of a family got engaged. He also was a very skillful man, for
he could lance an abscess just as easily as he could cut the hardest toenail.
Meanwhile the family water carrier came with green mango leaves tied on
a string and hung them up over the door. Surjeeto knew that all who saw the
leaves would know that sqme happy event had occurred in this house. They
had put such a string of leaves up when their house was newly built, and also
when her older brother became engaged. Now the leaves announced the arrival
of her son. Surjeeto was pleased the leaves were up, for no woman who had
recently had an abortion, stillbirth, or even a live birth would enter the house;
nor would any person who had had a recent death in their family. Neither
1228 A merican A nthropologist 164, 1962
would menstruating women come to visit them for 40 days. Therefore, no evil
shadow could be cast upon her son.
Surjeeto had barely awakened next morning when Akki the midwife came.
Surjeeto asked her nervously what she meant to do. Akki laughed and said she
was not going to do anything, only give her a massage. Saying this, she pushed
aside the bed covers and squatted on the bed beside Surjeeto. She asked
Mohindro for some warm oil and began systematically to massage Surjeetos
abdomen, first a t the edges then moving towards the middle, and from the
middle towards the lower abdomen. As she massaged, Akki explained that she
would do this for nine days after delivery, and that by so doing all the air and
dirt were expelled from the abdomen.
Then Akki moved a little lower down the bed and firmly pressed her
thumbs in the groins. Surjeeto complained that she could feel pins and needles
in her legs. Akki told her to be quiet because this was going to take all the
heaviness away from her legs, directly she removed her thumbs. Akki was
right. Surjeetos numb aching legs soon felt much better. Then Akki rubbed the
thighs.
While she was doing that, she asked Mohindro for some cloth; Mohindro
tossed her a pair of patched pyjama trousers. They fell on the floor beside the
bed. Akki picked them up, tried to tear the cloth into two pieces, but the seam
would not give way; so she put her foot on the seam and pulled the pieces
apart. She folded one piece and used it as a fresh pad for Surjeeto. Then sitting
a t the foot of the bed, she pressed her heel firmly against the birth canal for a
few minutes, relaxed, and pressed again, and once again. Akki told Surjeeto
this was the most important treatment after confinement because it put the
womb and muscles back into place. Surjeeto complained that she had felt pain
in the abdomen all right. Akki explained that those were afterpains that
came as the empty womb looked for the child it had lost. Surjeeto was com-
forted; she was in competent hands. A little later Akki left; Surjeeto was dis-
appointed that on her way out Akki had not even glanced a t her son.
Mohindro took charge of the baby, She applied heated ghee (clarified
butter) to the stump of the cord. She put some goats milk in a little bowl and
with a cloth wick gave the child a few drops of milk. She left the bowl on the
dirt floor beside Surjeetos bed and told her to feed the baby now and then.
The third day Akki came in again, and again went through the process of
massaging and heeling the birth passage. As she was about to leave, she
asked which young girl was being asked to perform the ceremony of washing
the nipples, Mohindro said she intended to get their neighbors child, Ajaibo.
Ajaibo was called. She was eight years old and considered pure because she
had not yet started to menstruate. Mohindro took a tumbler, put some water
in it, added a few drops of milk, some grains of sugar and a few kernels of rice,
and then threw a coin into the tumbler. Little Ajaibos eyes lit up with pleasure
for the coin would be hers. Mohindro looked a t Ajaibo and told her she was
lucky that Surjeeto had had a boy; had it been a girl she probably wouldnt
have put a coin in the tumbler, She gave a few strands of green grass to Ajaibo.
GIDEON] Birth in the Punjab 1229
Ajaibo knew what to do. She dipped the grass in the milky water and brushed
Surjeetos nipples with it, first on one side three times, and then the other. That
done, Ajaibo threw the grass away, poured the milky water out of the tumbler,
grabbed the coin, and was off like the wind to the little village shop.
Surjeeto remembered years ago how she had run off just like that after she
had performed this ceremony for a neighbor. With her coin she had bought her-
self two sweets and two pairs of glass bangles. Surjeeto was sad that every girl
who was called to do this did not get a coin. The custom was the same, regard-
less of caste of mother or sex of child, and yet often when a girl was born no
coin was put in the tumbler. Quite often, too, the leather workers did not have
a coin to put in the tumbler. Surjeeto wished every little girl could have the joy
of earning a coin as she had done so many years ago, and as little Ajaibo had
today.
Mohindro called out to Surjeeto and told her to nurse the baby now that
the nipples were washed. Surjeeto was shy and embarrassed. Mohindro came
up to her, spoke roughly and asked who she thought was going to feed the child
if she did not. She made Surjeeto nurse the child. She watched mother and son
for a moment or two, bent down and lovingly caressed the little head, and then
went off to her household chores.
Surjeeto woke up on the fifth morning feeling much excited. This was the
day of the little ceremony when she would be taking her first step outside the
house. That done, the village barber would go off to her in-laws with news of
the new son. Surjeeto knew her husband, Dalip, would be proud of her, and
that her mother-in-law, Maji, would be delighted. She wished she could see
their expressions as they got the news. Dalip would probably act indifferently
and show no emotion except embarrassment.
Surjeeto had wanted to step out on the third day so that news could go
earlier, but her mother refused to consider that. Only when the weather is un-
usually hot do girls step out on the third day. Sometimes, if all is not well, the
stepping out is delayed until the seventh day. It was a good custom, for it
forced one to rest and relax.
Every woman regardless of caste had this forced rest after her first con-
finement. After that it only happened if a son was born; after two or more
daughters they did not bother with such ceremonies. Surjeeto was impatient
and hoped the ceremony would soon be over. The barbers wife was to come
and perform it, and the woman was holding up everything. Had Surjeeto been
of the leather-worker caste, her mother or the midwife would have done the
job. Being the daughter of a farmer, she could afford the services of the barbers
wife, and indeed that arrangement was more or less expected.
At long last the barbers wife, Bhago, arrived with Akki. Just outside the
doorstep Bhago made a design with flour of a circle with a cross inside it. She
then sprinkled some yellow turmeric powder over it. Bhago next directed Sur-
jeeto to put on the barbers shoes, which she had brought along with her; she
put the baby in Surjeetos arms and helped her across the room and over the
doorstep. Surjeeto bent low and almost touched the pattern on the ground with
1230 A merican A nlhropologisl [64, 1962
her forehead and then sat down with the baby in her lap. Bhago sat opposite
her. Surjeetos mother handed Bhago a tray holding gur, some grains of wheat,
and a bowl of holy water with a few strands of green grass in it. Surjeeto put
two small coins in the water. Bhago put some of the grains of wheat on the
pattern on the ground. Then three times she put a little of the holy water into
Surjeetos palm. Surjeeto sipped it each time and tossed the last over her head.
Some grains of wheat were then put in her hands. She folded her hands, put
them to her forehead, and finally placed the grain on the ground. She did the
same with a piece of gur. Then Surjeeto was told to uncover the childs face, so
that he could look a t the sun. A little holy water was put on the childs tongue,
and some was sprinkled on Surjeeto, Surjeetos mother, and on the old neighbor
who was present a t the confinement. The green grass was a symbol of life for
the child; the grain and gur for the well-being of the childs father. The child
saw the sun and was expected to imbibe its light and to lead a good life.
While Mohindro gave Bhago some coins, gur, and grain, the midwife and
Surjeeto walked to the bed where she had been confined. Surjeeto bent low and
bowed, to thank the good earth that she had been spared. The midwife plas-
tered the ground under and around Surjeetos bed with fresh cowdung, mud
and water, and the ceremony was a t an end. Naranjan the barber arrived soon
after the ceremony. Mohindro gave him a huge lump of gur and told him to go
to Surjeetos in-laws to give them the good news.
Surjeeto looked back almost two years, when her uncle had come with the
news of an eligible man as a husband, Dalip. Surjeetos father had made in-
quiries about Dalip and his family. As custom demanded they were of the Jat
or farmer caste, as was Surjeeto. Dalip was indeed a desirable son-in-law. Soon
thereafter this very barber, Naranjan, was sent to Dalips house with the offer
of marriage. The proposal was accepted. Surjeetos family were well off and
that went a long way. Naranjan had put a silver rupee in Dalips hand and the
engagement was announced.
And now Naranjan was on his way with the good news that a son had
arrived. He came back the following morning with plenty of gifts: a set of
clothes for Akki, another for Surjeeto, and for the baby a gold pendant, two
large colorful silk handkerchiefs, two little cotton vests, and seven pieces of
cloth. Naranjan was given five yards of home-woven cloth and five rupees.
Besides all this, Naranjan had brought some 10 pounds of punjeeri. Surjeeto
knew the trouble her mother-in-law, Maji, must have taken to make this over-
night. Atta (whole wheat flour) was browned in a large amount of melted
butter, sugar added, and then raisins, almonds, and tiny crystals of raw gur.
Punjeeri had the reputation of giving great strength; almost every woman had
a handful of it every day after her confinement. Surjeeto recollected how often
she had heard women teasing a pregnant woman, saying, We know why you
decided to have another child, you wanted to eat punjeeri again. Certainly it
tasted good, thought Surjeeto, and wondered if Majis punjeeri would taste
any better than what her mother had made for her.
Surjeeto and her baby continued to progress. The cord had dried and fallen
GIDEON] Birth i n the Punjab 1231
off. Surjeeto herself was happier after the stepping out ceremony because now
she could go out of the house. Akki called every morning. She had stopped
massage of the abdomen after the seventh day, but still heeled the opening
of the birth canal.
Then came the eventful ninth day, the day of the purification ceremony.
After that she would be allowed to step into the kitchen area of the house and
cook again. The ninth day is usual for this ceremony. If there is no other helper
in the house to cook, it is held earlier; occasionally, with enough helping hands
a t home, it might not take place until the thirteenth day. Like the stepping out
ceremony, this was a part of the first confinement of every woman, regardless
of caste or of the sex of the child. It is also customary to have it after each suc-
ceeding male child, but it is frequently omitted for girls.
Today Akki had come earlier than on other days. She gave Surjeeto a bath
and helped her to wash her hair and heeled her in the usual way for the last
time. This heeling, Akki said, certainly made the muscles around the birth
canal opening good and firm; besides that it put the womb back in its original
place. Surjeeto was now ready for the purification or kitchen ceremony. The
family brahmin was called and he soon appeared, together with his wife.
The brahmins wife took wet mud that had been soaked overnight, mixed
cowdung with it, added more water, and made it into a half-liquid mixture.
With this she plastered the entire kitchen area, walls and all. Then she scrubbed
with ashes all the untensils she would need to cook a meal. This done she
settled down to cook. Surjeeto thought it rather hard on the brahmins wife to
have to cook a meal, but it could not be helped; brahmins would not eat food
cooked by anyone of another caste, and of course the brahmin had to be fed.
When the meal was ready, the brahmin sprinkled holy water on Surjeeto,
the baby, the dai (midwife), and all others who had been present a t the con-
finement. His wife sat on a low stool and ate by herself. When she had finished,
she washed her hands, rinsed her mouth, rubbed her teeth with her forefinger,
and again rinsed her mouth. She then served food to everyone and sat and
talked while they ate. When they had finished she left, taking along plenty of
food for her family.
Surjeeto was now permitted to go into the kitchen. She was glad that holy
water had been sprinkled over her by a brahmin. Among the lower caste
leather workers and water carriers the midwife or a relative performed this
ceremony, although they always got a little water from the brahmin for the
sprinkling.
Thus it was that the formal ceremonies after childbirth were finally over:
the nipple washing, the stepping out, and now this chaukka (kitchen) cere-
mony. Surjeeto was glad that all had gone so well with her and her child. She
was happy also to see the love of her parents and her brothers for her son.
They would not allow the baby to cry. The minute he did, someone picked him
up. If he still cried, he was handed to her to feed.
He was becoming quite a good little lad. He seldom wet the bed. From time
to time, Surjeeto would hold him over the bedside and say sh-sh-sh and he
1232 American Anthropologist [64, 1962
would urinate. When she noticed the child trying to strain as if a t stool she
would put her bare feet together with the arches of the feet making a little hole
between them and the child would have a bowel movement sitting there on her
feet. Soon he would learn that was the way to have a motion and not soil too
many clothes. Also he would soon stop howling as he got used to being washed
after each motion. Surjeeto covered the results of the bowel movement with
ashes, then picked up the heap and threw it outside the house. A little water
poured over the mudplastered floor and smoothed out with the palm of her
hand served to clean the area sufficiently. The little wet patch dried in no time.
Surjeeto stayed with her parents for three months, resting, relaxing, and
helping with the housework. Then came a message from her in-laws that they
would come to fetch her the following Wednesday. Mohindro seemed dis-
pleased that they should want Surjeeto so soon. She wanted her to stay a t least
six months so that the child would be bigger and so Surjeeto herself would be
well and strong enough to take on all the work she would have to do when she
got back. What could one do? Times were changing and girls went back home
earlier than they did in her time. Surjeeto belonged to her in-laws and if they
wanted her what could a mother do? Surjeeto herself seemed anxious to leave.
She had hoped that Dalip would have come before this to see their son, but
April always brought the wheat harvest and Dalip could not be spared. It
would be wonderful to go and show Maji and Dalip her son.
Mohindro, resigned to letting Surjeeto go, went about preparations for her
departure. A great many things had to be done. Surjeeto would take another
lot of gifts with her. This is the custom. The gifts are called shwhak and are
always given after the birth of the first child. Well-to-do parents give almost as
much as they do a t a wedding. Surjeeto was presented with a gold necklace,
five sets of clothes, a spinning wheel, a small string stool, two sets of bedding,
and clothes for Maji, Dalip, and Dalips two younger brothers. There were
seven outfits for the baby and a gold ring. The gifts were put together and dis-
played on a bed. Friends and neighbors were called to see Surjeetos shushak.
Everyone had a good look, tested the quality of the clothes and the weight of
the gold necklace, and remarked how well Mohindro had done for her daughter.
They hoped Mohindros daughters-in-law, when they came, would bring as
much.
The appointed Wednesday came, The house was cleaned earlier than usual.
All the brass pots and pans were scrubbed and put away on a homemade
filigree-worked shelf of clay. Surjeeto sat spinning a t her mothers wheel with
subdued excitement. Any minute somebody would arrive. Would it be Dalip or
would it be one of his brothers? She hoped it would be Dalip. The next minute
there was great excitement in their little street. One woman shouted to another,
Its Mohindros son-in-law.
Surjeetos heart leaped for joy and yet she sat a t the wheel trying to spin
until Dalip stood in the doorway. Then Surjeeto got up, went to a far corner of
the room, and drew her veil over her face. Mohindro went to meet Dalip a t the
door. Dalip bent low and touched her feet. Mohindro put both hands on his
GIDEON] Birth i n the Punjab 1233
head and blessed him. You must have left your home very early my son. How
did you come? she asked. Dalip said he had come in his bullock cart and that
just outside the village he had met Surjeetos brother who had taken the oxen
to care for them.
Mohindro took him inside to where the child lay asleep, saying, Come and
see your son, God bless him. She uncovered the face of the child. Dalip
glanced a t him casually and said he looked all right. Watching through her veil
Surjeeto knew the depth of Dalips feelings behind that casual remark. He
could not be anything other than casual in front of his mother-in-law.
Mohindro called out to Surjeeto to come and make Dalip some tea. Sur-
jeeto came hesitatingly and started to light a fire, while Mohindro left the room
to send someone to fetch her husband from the fields. Directly she was out of
the room, Dalip said, HOWare you, Surjeeto? Surjeeto glanced a t him and
said, For heavens sake dont talk to me; mother will be back soon and my
friends will be peeping in the doorway to get a glimpse of you. Dalip mumbled
something and looked toward the door. Surjeeto was right; he just caught a
glimpse of two young girls disappearing rapidly. They had been peeping
through the doorway.
Mohindro was back within a few minutes and said, Surjeetos father will
be here soon. Tell me, how are your parents? Surjeeto made tea while they
talked, put it in a brass tumbler, and gave it to Mohindro. Mohindro handed it
to Dalip. He was sipping the tea when Surjeetos father came in; Dalip got up
a t once and touched his feet. Surjeetos father blessed him, saying, May you
live long. The two men sat down to talk of crops and seeds and the quality of
the harvest.
Meanwhile, with Surjeetos help, Mohindro cooked the midday meal. Later
when the meal was over, Dalip and Surjeetos father went outside to sit under
the big banyan tree while Surjeeto hurriedly changed into fresh clothes. Her
younger brother was called and told to change also for he was to accompany
Surjeeto. With all the baggage, Surjeeto, and a small baby, Dalip might need
help on the way.
Friends and neighbors gathered and walked with Surjeeto to the bullock
cart which Dalip and Surjeetos brother, Teja, had already loaded with the
many gifts. The young girls embraced Surjeeto, the older women blessed her as
she touched their feet. With tears running down her face, Mohindro took Sur-
jeeto into her arms and clung to her for a moment, helped her into the cart,
handed her the baby, and touched both the child and Surjeetos head in bless-
ing. Dalip, who had been talking with Surjeetos father, came up and touched
the feet of his parents-in-law, and they in turn blessed him again.
Teja was already seated in the front of the cart; Dalip took his place next to
him. Teja called out that he would be back the next day. Dalip raised his
folded hands in the usual gesture of farewell, and Surjeeto with her son in her
lap and a tearful face looked back once more a t her parents. The cart began to
move slowly. Mohindro, watching, hoped that Surjeetos in-laws would let her
come back for her second child; girls always came home for their first baby, but
1234 American Anthropologist [64, 19621
not always for the second. Well, thought Mohindro, whatever is written in
Surjeetos fate will be.
The bullock cart trundled along the ten-mile dirt road with a drowsy
rhythmic motion. Dalip and Teja were good friends and talked about this and
that, taking very little notice of Surjeeto who sat with her back to them. The
baby slept most of the way. Surjeeto wondered what was happening a t home;
her mother probably would be spinning. She realized it might be another year
or more before she would get a chance to see her parents again. The thought
saddened her; she sighed deeply, but this time did not weep as she had before.
The child in her lap moaned, and Surjeeto, turning away from thoughts of her
parents, began to nurse the baby. Dalip leaned back and asked if she needed
anything, to which Surjeeto replied with a shake of her head.
Within two hours they were a t their village, The bullock cart could go right
up to their door. Maji came running out, took the child from Surjeeto, and
helped her out of the cart. Surjeeto touched her feet and Maji raised her and
embraced her. Maji was beaming with joy and pride over her grandson. She
took them inside, talking all the time. As Surjeeto stepped inside, she noticed
the remains of the green leaves across the doorway. Maji must have put them
up when she got news of her grandson.
Within a few minutes Surjeeto had lighted a fire in the kitchen and served
them all with tea; Maji meanwhile sat holding her grandson in a possessive
way. Friends and neighbors came to see the shushak (gifts) which had to be
displayed. Everything was examined with great care. Surjeetos parents had
certainly done well and had given her enough, said the friends.
The excitement died down, the evening meal was cooked and over, and
beds were put down. Maji and Surjeetos father-in-law had already gone to
their beds in one corner of the room; Dalip walked over to his end of the room,
calling back for a drink of water. Surjeeto pumped up some water, filled a
tumbler, and took it to him. Dalip drank the water, handed the empty tumbler
to Surjeeto, caught her hand and said, Surjeeto, now will you tell me how you
are? Surjeeto, veil off her head, smiled a t him and said, Just a minute, let me
blow out the lamp.
NOTE
From the Population Studies Unit, Harvard University School of Public Health, Boston,
Massachusetts. This study was supported in part by the Rockefeller Foundation of New York, the
Government of India, and the Indian Council for Medical Research.