Beyond superstition: Rethinking rural wisdom

Traditional rural practices in Bangladesh — often labelled 'geyo' or superstitious by proponents of urban, Western-influenced culture — reflect a deeper understanding of local nature and life. 

The distinctions between rural and urban culture, reinforced by the British colonial education system, framed traditional knowledge as superstition by comparison. Yet, beyond Newton's laws, regional practices — such as nature worship, refraining from cutting leaves at night, or respecting books — suggest an embedded cultural wisdom. Are we merely superstitious to those who view the world differently?

To better understand these cultural dynamics, it is important to consider the political history behind the division between science and superstition. It takes strong authoritarianism to dominate and dismiss a long-studied culture. Such weapons were used subtly by the colonial rulers of the Indian subcontinent. We are still walking the same path.

As a result, rural life has been relegated to a 'Chasha-Bhushar Sangskriti' (culture of farmers) when compared to the supposedly more sophisticated urban life. A crucial question arises: did the people of our diverse, river-lined Bengal Valley ever need modern, precise research? The relationship between the people of this region and the river runs so deep that they have long adapted to nature with remarkable skill. In that sense, there seemed to be little need for so-called modern science in their education.

This deep adaptation is evident in daily practices. At certain times of the year, people in this region refrain from eating fish, choosing instead to hunt for alternative foods. 

Why? We now know that, during particular months, marine fish migrate to freshwater rivers to reproduce. How could this understanding exist without a profound and sustained connection between humans and nature?

For the past few years, I have been working in a village inhabited by indigenous people in the plains to gain a deeper understanding of these concepts of knowledge and folk practices, studied within a spatial context. 

Although much remains unknown in this short period, the significance of what we have learned is by no means small. 

Some very important information about traditional practices has been obtained from an initial survey in Khirtala, Sirajganj. The first phase of work focused on the process of childbirth following indigenous methods. The second explored the use of herbal treatments in medicine, while the third examined local perceptions and actions in adapting to climate change.

Of these three topics, I will discuss only a few aspects of childbirth through traditional methods today. However, the research remains in its early stages. 

During fieldwork, we noticed that many of the childbirth methods depicted on ancient terracotta plaques were still followed by indigenous women in Khirtala. 

A midwife who serves as a traditional birth attendant is locally known as a 'Daima'. A year-long participatory observation of one such Daima revealed that she has been directly involved in the birth of over 100 children over the past 50 years. According to both her own accounts and those of the mothers whose children she delivered, not a single baby died under her care.

To illustrate further, the ethnographic survey also monitored the condition of several pregnant indigenous women. It is worth noting that this Daima had received modern training outside traditional methods about 10 years ago. 

Yet long before that, she had been providing obstetric care using indigenous techniques. For example, she can massage the abdomen of a pregnant woman using heated leaves from a plant called Bendri, determine the baby's position in the womb, and even predict its gender. 

How? According to modern medicine, certain physical changes occur in pregnant women due to hormonal shifts. Through long experience, Daimas have learned to interpret these changes, allowing her to understand the baby's position and sometimes even its gender.

While most of us are only familiar with childbirth in the lying position, it is well known that other methods exist — such as sitting, kneeling, or standing during delivery. These methods are depicted in ancient Roman terracotta plaques and panels. 

Remarkably, a terracotta plaque discovered in Mainamati, Cumilla, estimated to date from around 600 to 800 AD, depicts a child being delivered while the mother is on her knees and facing backwards.

This raises an important question: why did we so readily resort to the caesarean method of childbirth in our country, despite having effective traditional practices? In most developed nations, the caesarean method is reserved for cases of genuine medical complications, yet we seem to have normalised it in the name of modernity. Our trained obstetricians can certainly provide detailed explanations for this shift. 

However, it is worth noting that indigenous Daima are themselves quite aware of the limitations of ancient childbirth practices. So far, ongoing research into their maternal and neonatal care — covering both childbirth and postnatal growth — has not identified any significant flaws.

So, why do we so readily dismiss our traditional practices as unscientific or superstitious? What do we truly call science, and what do we label as superstition? The depth of traditional wisdom embedded in our practices remains vastly underestimated. Only by critically and rigorously examining these traditions can we begin to appreciate their true value. In doing so, we may ultimately redefine our understanding of knowledge itself.

Sketch: TBS

Md Rifat-Ur-Rahman is an Assistant Professor at the Department of Sociology, Rabindra University, Bangladesh.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.