The Witch Doctor's Daughter by Kathrina Mohd Daud

Author:Kathrina Mohd Daud
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Epigram Books

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I wake that afternoon disoriented, and realise that the cooing of the birds in my dream is in reality Adam, who is kicking his legs happily in his cot. He seems to be fascinated by something he is reaching out for in the air. I sleepily watch him for a while, amused at the facility of babies to entertain themselves. I remember something my mother said to me.

“Babies see things,” she said. I remember the words more than their occasion, but know that it was during an Aidilfitri house visit. We were at a forgotten someone’s house, surrounded by people, and there was a three-month-old who was in the arms of her mother, another guest, encircled by admirers. My mother was speaking abstractedly. “And angels are attracted to babies, also, they say—”

I turned to look, amazed, at my mother. “You can see angels?”

My mother burst out laughing. “No, no,” she said, chuckling, shaking her head. Her eyes lightened—I saw something dark chased out in a swirl of amusement. “No one can see angels. Don’t believe anyone who tells you they can. Some of the jinn can look angelic—lovely and floaty—but it’s just a trick. I’ve heard that babies can see real angels—and that angels like to play with babies. So if you come across a baby laughing at something in an empty room, there’s no need to be alarmed.”

A chill moves across my exposed arms as I watch Adam, and I have the sudden urge to snatch him up and cuddle him close. I school myself and recall the rest of my mother’s words.

“What about the jinn?” I had asked her. “Or bad spirits. Are they attracted to babies also?”

A frown had flickered across my mother’s face, and she’d shaken her head very definitively. She had looked lovely that day, if unusual—she wore the same traditional baju kurung once every year, a plain, straight-cut concoction of clusters of flowers across a background of red satin-silk. The red suited her, set her skin aglow, like a steady flame when she moved. The conservatism of the baju kurung, however, exaggerated her otherness rather than quietened it—you could tell straightaway that this was not a woman who belonged in a baju kurung. My mother in a baju kurung always reminded me of a tablecloth on a table—bright, concealing, unnecessary. My mother’s true nature could not be hidden.

“No,” she said. “Most of the time, babies are safe from jinn and bad spirits. There are a lot of natural protections around babies—prayers said at their birth, a good name, a mother’s touch. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “it’s always best to keep them indoors after dark and not take them out so often when they are very young. Three months is okay.”

I’m not being overprotective, I assure myself, as I pick Adam up from his crib and hold him close to me. Just careful. But still, I should go and see my mother soon. She will be able to tell me the best way to keep Adam safe.

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