Hindu Goddess Sasti/Shasthri: deity of children and assistance during childbirth.16
by Muneera Hussain
I am an Indian woman living in Canada, and I would like to share my birth story with you. I humbly present to you my experience in the hope that it will bring you closer to my culture and also give you a different perspective on birthing. There is much to say, and so I will tell it in two parts. Part one is about the Indian approach to pregnancy and birth. Part two will be about traditions of the postpartum period.
Part One
In India, pregnancy is a sacred time for us women. A woman carrying a baby is as special as perhaps a queen, or a goddess: she is, after all, a vessel for the creation of new life! She will bring a child into the world. She must be protected from all danger, every evil, and any grief, fear, or worry. Her thoughts and feelings will become the baby she bears. Her experiences and actions will shape the consciousness of this new being. Her only purpose during this time is to nurture her body and the baby, think beautiful thoughts, and spend as much time as possible in contemplation of the divine. Every person around her will support her in this. She will be cooked for, and allowed to rest with her legs elevated. She will be treated to beautiful sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and sensations. She will be smothered with love so that she never feels a moment of sadness. Her every desire is fulfilled because it is seen as the child within speaking its needs. This is the joy of childbearing that Indian traditions espouse and that I experienced.
I live in Vancouver, and since life is so different here, I adapted those traditions to my Western lifestyle. I worked for the first three months and then decided to stay home to enjoy my pregnancy. I gave myself the care that I would have otherwise received from my community in India. I cooked fresh food every day and ate well. I loaded up on beneficial, alkaline, and energetically pure (sattvic) foods like milk, clarified butter (ghee), fruits, and vegetables. I tried to tune in to my baby, and to feel her every wish and satisfy her every craving. I refrained from any work too demanding on my softening and quickly growing body. I gave myself warm oil massages and sang sweet songs to my belly. All of a sudden, I could no longer watch movies that were suspenseful, violent, or horrific. I lost my desire to read books and listen to music. Somehow, all I wanted was stillness and quiet. I respected that this was what was right for my baby, that they were her particular wants. And I gave thanks for the peace that I felt inside. It was as though all doubt about everything disappeared from my mind, and questions answered themselves before they were even asked. I felt within myself the power of the life-giving goddess.
Of course, there were also those moments when I felt like I was regressing back to my childhood. I wanted nothing more than to be held by my mother and soothed by her healing touch. Especially so in my second and third month when I had strong nausea, and felt as though something alien had usurped my body. I would phone my mama, all the way in India, and she would counsel me from ten thousand miles away. She told me how these were merely small tests and challenges to prepare me for my work as a mother. I felt comforted by her words and found a new strength for my baby. Thankfully, by my second trimester, I felt the alien leave and my baby arrive. And then, all was bliss!
I would meet with my doula, and she would drop her little pearls of wisdom gently into my open hands. “Remember, Muneera, you can give it all the treasures that you want, but all a baby really needs is love.” Her words still echo in my mind and send surges of warmth through my body. This is the truest thing that anyone has ever said to me about childbearing.
We had planned for a homebirth with midwives. My husband and I attended “Birthing from Within” prenatal classes and felt as prepared as we would ever be. Such classes are unheard-of in India. Presumably, older women in the family and community prepare women for birthing in a more informal way. Unfortunately, all that tradition is lost in the “developed” areas of my country. In the city, we blindly trust in Western medicine practitioners who, in India, are often only out to make an extra buck. Modern hospital births are the norm, and cesarean sections are a dime a dozen. The new wave of the return to empowered natural birthing has yet to wash over our cities. In the villages and rural areas, there is more traditional practice around birthing—but less and less each day.
In India, the tradition is for the woman to go to her mother’s home for the birth and for forty days after. The idea is for her to be where she feels most at home, and where she has complete, loving care. Of course, underlying this tradition is the close bond shared between mother and daughter. We believe that new mothers need a kind of emotional support that only other women can provide. A husband may mean well, but he may not always be able to fully understand what his wife really needs. With her mother, a girl is also safe from having to meet the sexual needs of her partner again before she is ready to. It also prevents the new father from becoming overwhelmed by the combination of the new baby and the emotional fragility of his partner. If the daughter cannot return home, often the mother will go and be with her daughter for the birth.
Of course, some of this may seem so absurd to people who come from a different worldview. I know that the success and utility of some of our customs hinge on the conservative and old-fashioned nature of gender roles and relationships. But that aside, I feel that there are still some truths that apply to every woman regardless of her upbringing and culture.
In keeping with the Indian custom, my mother came to stay with us in Vancouver. We all squeezed into our little one-bedroom apartment (as Indians regularly do). My mama happily slept out in the living room on my massage table. She coddled me wonderfully. I was ecstatic to be eating the comfort foods that I grew up with (and had dreamt of for the last nine months), that only my mama could prepare so perfectly. I was finally ready for the baby to arrive.
We went into labor early in the morning. It was 4 a.m. when I felt the first little uncomfortable cramping as I lay in bed beside James. I felt a bit sheepish for having stayed up until at 2 a.m. the night before. I had worked as a doula myself. After all my doula experience, and the many women I had advised to get good regular sleep in preparation for labor, I myself had stayed up late for the last few nights and was in a considerably sleep-deprived state for my own. I managed to sleep for a few hours, and awoke when I could no longer ignore the sensations in my belly. It was 8 a.m. My mama was outside, still asleep, when James and I woke her up with our excitedly grinning faces declaring the time had come.
Now for my mama, who had her babies during the time when birthing had become an industrialized process in the hospital—complete with pipes and tubes and big metal instruments—this whole “homebirth in water” business was quite an outrageous idea. She definitely had her reservations about the whole thing. Well, when the time came, she jumped to her feet and quickly made me breakfast, after which she went into a corner of the apartment, laid down her prayer mat, and started her prayers. She then continued to pray non-stop until the baby had been deposited safely into my arms. It is curious how the act of birthing in Indian cities has moved from the hands of the midwife (dai) to those of Western medicine doctors, but all the traditions that occur outside of the hospital have remained alive.
We labored away the hours. James was the perfect birth partner. Loving, reassuring, and steadying. I rocked in his arms, and walked around between contractions. My doula set up the birthing pool. The midwife arrived. It was noon. The contractions were now unbearable. I lost my center many times over, and started to doubt that I could do it. I was five centimeters dilated. The midwife offered to break the bag of waters sitting right at the cervix preventing the baby’s head from pressing it open. I gladly agreed.
I sat in the pool for some semblance of a rest. The contractions now seemed back-to-back. I was no longer conscious of anything except my womb. I felt like I was in a hypnotic trance. My doula would stroke my third eye to help me focus. I went to a place that I have never even visited in my so-called morning meditations. James could no longer take away my pain or distract me. He was there, but on the outside. Oh, I was so glad he was there, but I knew that I had to finish the journey alone. It was now just my baby and me. I went for my last pre-motherhood pee. It was three in the afternoon.
As I leaned against the bathroom sink (the only time I ever did that without noticing how badly we needed to renovate our bathroom), I felt the desire to bear down. Oh it felt so, so good to do that. My midwife slipped her hand inside and gave me the go-ahead to do it. With every contraction, I would bend my knees, grab on really tight to the sink, and push down. Then I was in the bedroom. I wondered how I got there, but I did. There was more of that low squatting. I was often on my knees too. I knew that I was screaming. In fact, the whole act of pushing out my baby felt like one long, loud, uncontrollable scream. I knew of nothing else—well except maybe that my anus was going to pop right off my backside. Only from looking at the pictures later did I realize that James was with me, being my pillar as I rested in between pushes, holding and caressing me through it all. Then the midwife said that I had to lie down on the bed . . . the baby’s heartbeat . . . something or the other. I panicked. And I said, “No, give me one more push.” And out she came, one hand over her head (the little rascal), and she smiled at me.
Part Two
Then began the glorious postpartum period that I was so looking forward to. We Indians have an elaborate set of customs for after the baby is born. With each Indian subculture it differs slightly, but the underlying principles are the same.
Complete rest and warmth for mother for up to forty days: This confinement includes having someone to cook and clean for her, lots of help with the baby, a daily hot oil massage and bath, and as little activity as possible. Some women even bind the belly tightly with a cloth to help the muscles tighten. There is certainly no movement outside the house so as to protect mother and child from any unwanted external influences like cold, germs, negative energy, etc.
A special diet of warm, light, and nourishing food: Most people have a version of cream of wheat porridge that is eaten immediately after birth, and for the first weeks. It is cooked with ghee (the most nourishing of fats according to Indians) and jaggery, or gur (a dark, almost black, unprocessed cane sugar high in minerals, and good for balancing hormones). Some other foods are milk, nuts, and soupy mung beans.
Special herbs to rejuvenate reproductive organs, improve digestion, increase milk flow, and reduce gas in both mother and baby: There are some spices that we make into a tea and sip throughout the day. My mother made me one with fennel seeds, ajwain seeds, fenugreek seeds, and black pepper. I have heard of other versions too. We also take herbs made into ball-shaped sweets or just plain in milk. Ginger in particular is believed to cleanse the uterus and control postpartum bleeding. I ate a spoonful of a dry mixture (made of dried coconut, dill, ajwain, poppy, sesame seeds, dried date, and almonds) after meals to help my digestion and to stimulate good milk. We also insufflate the vagina with some dried herbs to help it heal and tighten well.
I happily adhered to these customs as much as I possibly could because somewhere deep inside me I had faith that they were of value. I wished I could have had more massage, but I was happy with the occasional one I got (in India it is a lot more affordable to get a daily massage). I did massage my baby every day, and still do at least once a week. She still loves it as much as she did when she was four days old. I know that the tea I drank saved me from many a long night with a fussing baby. She rarely got too uncomfortable from gas and when she did, a simple tea made from roasted cumin seeds steeped in warm water quickly dispersed the bubble in her tummy.
My mother stayed with me and taught me everything I needed to know about a baby. She showed me how to bathe her, change her, wrap her up warm and tight, and rock her to sleep. If I ever got too tired, my mama would take my little one and keep her outside so that I could sleep. I never reached a point of exhaustion while my mother was with me. I only realized how important that was for my state of mind when she once went away for a few days to visit a friend. I was left alone with a baby and a house to look after. I was so fatigued by the third day that I started to feel low. It was the only time I met the notorious postpartum blues. As soon as she returned the next day, and I rested myself again, I felt no trace of the sadness. I realized that good, supportive company during the postpartum period could really keep the blues at bay. She explained to me how women are in a fragile emotional and physical state after birthing. The hormonal changes that we go through demand special care. We must take the time to give ourselves the rest so that our bodies may return to their state of balance. The forty-day confinement made so much sense to me then.
Above all, my mother helped me transition into my new role as mother. She counseled me to surrender to my child, and to accept the changes that she brought into my life. She reminded me that it was normal to feel conflicting emotions of happiness and sorrow—intense love for baby yet resentment from the sacrifices I had to make; eagerness to be a perfect mother and frustration at not being able to control events and outcomes. I needed that gentle encouragement to let go of the way things were and open up to the joys that my child brought with her. I was so grateful for her wisdom and experience.
In every Indian subculture, the postpartum time is marked by several important ceremonies. There is much ritual attached to each event (the details of which would fill pages and pages yet), so I will only describe them briefly here. For my family, the first one takes place on day six. It is the naming ceremony (the chatti). We gather with close family, food, and gifts. The sister of the father names the baby by speaking the chosen name first into baby’s ears and then aloud to the public. In most communities, the child is named only after consulting with an astrologer who creates the birth chart. He will appoint the letter (dictated by the birth planet of the baby) with which the name must begin.
The next ceremony is when we remove the baby’s birth hair (the aquiqa). It is often only the first of many shavings. This is done on day fourteen or twenty-one. Special prayers and sacrifice accompany it. The custom of shaving the head is associated with benefits to the nervous and endocrine system of the child. It also makes for a beautifully thick crop of hair.
There are some other celebratory days that have been lost over the years in my family. Years back, we would celebrate the beginning of the seventh and ninth months with food and music. Postpartum, we would mark the last day of the woman’s confinement, the first time a baby is placed in its cradle, the baby’s first taste of weaning food, the appearance of the first tooth, the first time baby crawls on all fours, the piercing of the child’s ears . . . the list goes on and on. I love the festivities around birthing in my culture. It makes the journey into motherhood so much more enjoyable, and it brings the community closer together.
Then there is the business of the evil eye (nazar). Many people (including my Caucasian husband) laugh outright when I talk about it but it is tremendously important to us Indians. We believe that there are negative energies out there that can cause harm to us, especially to our helpless babies. This evil eye can be cast by anyone, often without their even knowing it. Why, even a mother can cast it upon her own baby! So we take elaborate steps to avoid it. First, we put a black dot on the baby’s head. This is said to draw the evil energy away from the baby by allowing it to rest on a perceived “imperfection.” We also put on talismans and metal charms. In addition, we never praise the baby out loud, and say many prayers for its protection. If the evil eye falls on the baby, it gets sick. Then we undertake many rituals to remove it. I personally know people who use coconuts, knives, burning cloth, eggs, salt water, and special crystals to name a few. I use a black string around my daughter’s neck to ward against it.
When I look at the birthing experience I had, I feel wonder at what a complex combination of new and old it happened to be. I guess it is a reflection of how I myself am a mishmash of the traditional and the modern. There are many customs that may sound like pure superstition to some. Yet, even my scientific mind can accept them because energy and spirituality are a part of science in our tradition, and many of our beliefs are around maintaining positive energy and closeness to the divine. Then there are those customs that I choose not to follow, because they do not serve my beliefs and feel more like societal or religious limitations. In those instances, I opt for modern methods and ideologies. How wonderful to be able to choose from such a wealth of possibilities, to live in a time and place where that can be! I find it a beautiful combination that allows me to trust in my intuitive impulses and follow my heart. I try to have faith that I will be guided to do what is right, and hope to stay humble enough to learn the lessons that come my way.
This is my story. I know that many women have different experiences from mine, yet feel the same gratitude as I do because every experience of birth is special. Regardless of the cultural traditions, the process is the same. It is a miracle. It is our truest experience of God because it takes us to a place of such deep love. I hope that women always find the teachings that guide them easily through pregnancy, childbirth, and after, and allow them to have that deeply spiritual experience.
Hindu Goddess Sasti/Shasthri: deity of children and assistance during childbirth.16
Muneera holds a Bachelor of Science, is a doula, and works in the healing arts. She is a follower of Amma, Mātā Amr.tānandamayī Devī, also known internationally as “the hugging saint.”