The Tevadas Choose a Name: An Ancient Cambodian Naming Ritual

My old friend Ta Sâr's family has grown again. Three days later, the time had come to find a name for the child. The grandson of my friend was baptized "the old way." An original and nearly vanished method today of naming a newborn.

Cambodian child. By Thierry Leclerc (cc)

The Preparation of the Ritual

The choice of the child's name is thus the object of a ceremony that is at least surprising. An ancestral and bygone ritual, it owes its survival in this village only to the insistence of the old Ta Sâr, a living library, guardian of the customs and legends of the entire kingdom. The ritual takes place at nightfall in the large room of the wooden house on stilts. A few village elders are there, along with the midwife, who has returned for the occasion.

They prepare the offerings: a bottle of rice alcohol, a basket of white rice, a cooked hen, a $5 bill, five red wax candles, and five incense sticks. The father of the newborn lights the candles and arranges them in a circle on a copper tray. Slowly, he pours the wax on one edge of the tray and embeds the candles in it. The poor-quality wicks crackle for a long time. He then lights the incense sticks and, holding them in his joined hands, bows successively toward the four cardinal directions to greet the Tevadas, the divine spirits.

Then, it is Ta Sâr's turn, his father, the baby's grandfather, to imitate him. He collects himself for a moment, then recites aloud the names of all his ancestors and announces to them that a son has been born in their family. He implores their benevolence and protection over the child.

Cotton Against the Wall

It is a strange, moving moment. Only the lights from a few candles and an oil lamp illuminate the room. The faces are grave, closed. The baby's coos in his swaddling clothes occasionally disrupt the silence following the invocation. Ta Sâr sticks the stems of the yellow sticks into the ash of an ancient incense burner, where they will burn slowly. He detaches a small tuft of cotton from a half-open jar and hands it to the midwife.

The latter swears to act with complete sincerity, not to cheat the free choice by which the Tevadas will designate the name they assign to the little being, who now seems asleep. I admit I don't know what will happen at this precise moment of the ceremony. My friend told me nothing. He just asked me to sit in a corner and not make a noise.

Then, the father pronounces a first name, and in the second that follows, the midwife throws the cotton tuft against the wooden partition of the room. It bounces and falls back to the floor. The old woman picks it up again and prepares once more. The father pronounces a second name. The cotton piece is thrown against the partition again. It falls again. It will take several attempts—and thus several names pronounced—before, finally, at the name of Mat, the cotton sticks by a single thread to a wood splinter in the partition. The Tevadas have thus chosen the newborn's name.

The Mother Apologizes to the Midwife

The mother then steps forward toward the old midwife and prostrates herself three times before her. She recalls the names of the various children this midwife has helped bring into the world. Mat is actually the fifth in the family. The mother then asks forgiveness from the midwife for having "soiled" her—that's the word used. And the old country midwife reassures her by placing both hands on her head and pronouncing a few words in the Pali language.

The mother now addresses the female relatives and neighbors and renews her request for forgiveness. They in turn offer kind words and place their hands on the mother's head. Once all have responded this way, a young girl pours abundantly perfumed water over the hands of the midwife and the women who assisted her, collected from a brass basin. The ceremony is over. The old midwife mounts her motorcycle and disappears into the night.

The Tevadas Have a Sense of Humor

Seated on the house terrace, I contemplate the moon veiled by a few dark clouds during this rainy monsoon period. I still have trouble realizing what I just witnessed. I didn't think such traditions could still exist. This rural Cambodia is fascinating.

"Do you know that it was only at the beginning of the twentieth century that a royal ordinance prescribed that the name borne by the living family head would become the family name, preceding the children's names. Before that, people had only a first name," my old friend whispers, sitting beside me. "Probably the French influence," he smiles.

Lighting one of his old hand-rolled cigarettes that he takes half a day to smoke completely, he adds: "Mat is a beautiful name."

"It's the first time I've heard it. Mat isn't very Cambodian, is it?" I ask him.

Ta Sâr bursts into a great peal of laughter.

"No, it's not very Cambodian. It will be even less so when we add, as is the custom for young children, the letter 'A' as a prefix."

At my astonishment, my friend continues: "A-Mat," he says, emphasizing the two syllables particularly, "that's not very Cambodian, is it?" And he bursts into endless laughter! It takes me a few seconds to react. The Tevadas certainly had a great sense of humor that night...

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