sĕjuk), e.g. fruits, with some exceptions, and vegetables; (2) things which have a
heating effect on the blood (sagala yang bisa-bisa), e.g. the fish called pari
(skate), the Prickly Fish (ikan duri), and the sĕmbilang (a kind of mudfish with
poisonous spines on both sides and back), and all fresh-water fish; (3) all things
which have an irritating effect on the skin (sagala yang gatal-gatal), e.g. the fish
called tĕnggiri, and tĕrubok, shell-fish, and the egg-plant or Brinjal, while the
fish called kurau, g’lama, sĕnahong, parang-parang may be eaten, so long as
they are well salted; (4) things which are supposed to cause faintness (sagala
yang bĕntan-bĕntan), or swooning (pengsan), such, for instance, as uncooked
cocoa-nut pulp, gourds and cucumbers; (5) sugar (with the exception of cocoa-
nut sugar), cocoa-nuts, and chillies.^32
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