EE7.5 - Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

Publisher's Note

On the 8th of September, 1985, the author, and founder of Ananda Marga, Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, began an extraordinary series of Sunday lectures in his native Bengali that would eventually fill a total of twenty-six volumes over the next five years. The title he gave to this series was Shabda Cayaniká, which translates into English as “A Collection of Words”. As the title suggests, each discourse consists of a discussion of a certain number of words from the Bengali language, beginning, in the first discourse, with the first letter of the Bengali alphabet, a, and continuing on alphabetically. What results, then, is neither an encyclopedia, nor a dictionary, but something unique to the fields of scholarship and literature.

Ostensibly, Shabda Cayaniká is a series devoted to the linguistics and philology of the Bengali language, but in reality it is much more than that. The author uses the platform of the word as a point of departure to take the reader on a journey through all the varied landscapes of human knowledge – history, geography, medicine, science, art, religion, philosophy, etc. – and in the process adds the indelible stamp of his own unique intellect, enriching our experience with new ideas and enabling us to see our human heritage in a way we have never been able to before.

Like most great authors, he is a consummate storyteller, using a seemingly inexhaustible supply of anecdotes, personal experiences and stories to capture the reader’s interest and lead him or her effortlessly through the garden of human knowledge. Along the way the author refines and develops a language that is the world’s fifth most widely spoken and the closest living language to its great classical ancestor, Sanskrit.

Footnotes by the translators have all been signed “–Trans.” Unsigned footnotes are those of the author.

Square brackets [ ] in the text are used to indicate translations by the translators or other editorial insertions. Round brackets ( ) indicate a word or words originally given by the author.

The author uses a certain shorthand for explaining etymologies of words. Under this system, a minus sign (–) follows a prefix, and a plus sign (+) precedes a suffix. Thus ava – tr + ghaiṋ = avatára can be read, “the root tr prefixed by ava and suffixed by ghaiṋ becomes avatára.”

The first English publication of the material on hysteria in the section entitled “Acetana” appeared in The Awakening of Women, 1995. The passage was translated by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta, Shrii Deváshiiśa, Avadhútiká Ánanda Rucirá Ácáryá and Ácárya Acyutánanda Avadhúta.

Many thanks to Avadhútiká Ánanda Rucirá Ácáryá for her invaluable assistance with layout and indexing.

A to Ac/ap/al (Discourse 1)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

Notes:

Words in double square brackets [[ ]] are corrections that did not appear in the printed version.

Among all mundane expressions, the sound a plays the chief role. In different layers, expressed or unexpressed, we find the a sound predominant. Just as one name of Prakrti is Pradhána [Chief], so can we call the science of sound a-ádhárita [based on a].

The sound a is the original seed of the creation. The mantra of creation, a, is gradually transformed into the mantra of preservation, u. And this mantra of preservation, u, gradually, with the passage of time, loses it momentum and sinks down into the final inertness [[of ma]]. But this is not the end of expression. Again, there is a new awakening, a new arising. That also happens through a; it is the play of that same a.

The seed of creation, a, is the first sound, the first letter of the alphabet. When we put together the first letter of the alphabet, a, and the last letter, kśa, we get the akśamálá [alphabet] which is also known as the varńamálá [the garland of letters].

Akśa means “to delineate”. That is why, in Sanskrit, we use akśáḿsha for the English word “latitude”. One sound gradually gets lost and within the melody of that loss is born another sound. A is the hidden source of all words and all sounds in this elliptical expressed universe.

The creation had arisen, sound had permeated the firmament, but in the unit body, the unit mind, the vibration of sound had not yet come – there was such an age. In that age ideas were expressed with the help of gestures; this still continues today in the case of mute creatures and insects for the purpose of channelizing their internal feeling and realization towards others through their rhythmic flows of acquired experience.

Even after the advent of language, gestures remained. They are there today and will remain forever. As thought procedes step by step towards greater subtlety, the intellect evolves a sharper language and subtler and subtler gestures – and it will go on doing so. Even today, when we want to show that it is hot we move our hand in a fan-like motion. When we want to show we are thirsty, we cup our palms and use a water-drinking gesture. At one time this was indispensable because the support of language was missing.

Movement is the dharma of the universe, both of the unit and of the collective. The creation is sustained in the rhythm of movement. Thus one name for the play of creation is jagat (gam + kvip = jagat), “that whose nature is to move”; another name is saḿsára (saḿ – sr + ghaiṋ = saḿsára) or “that which gradually moves away”. In this movement is hidden the measure of life, the grandeur of existence. The more one’s existence is vibrant with noble deeds, the more that existence is unique and splendid. But it is important to note that the old root verbs for “move” began with a vowel – either a or one of its closely related sounds. In the very ancient language, ejati was often used in place of gacchati; besides this, we also see the roots yati (i-á-ti), at́ati, and so on. Similar roots were aj and an – in both of these, movement and the possibility of movement were understood. The primordial phase (pre-embryonic stage) of creation was indicated by the root an.

The modern root cal originated much later, in the middle of the Vedic era. The root cal signifies “motion” – “advancement”. Thus, in differing circumstances it was used as both parasmaepadii and átmanepadii⁽¹⁾ (in modern Sanskrit its átmanepadii form has almost completely disappeared). Anyhow, when we add the suffix shatr to the root cal in paraesmaepadii we get the word calat which means “that which goes on moving”. And if the root cal is used in átmanepadii we get calamána (cal + shánac) which also means “that which is in a state of motion”.

The root an is more frequently used than cal. Its primary meaning is “to move” or “to come and go”. When we add the suffix ańd́ac to an we get the word ańd́a [egg] which means “that which moves about unseen and becomes active when it comes into the open”. The suffix ańd́ac is commonly used to imply something whose nature is hidden.

Thus, the etymological meaning of the word ańd́a is “that which is on the path of movement or emergence or expression”. The Cosmic citta or done “I” of the Supreme Entity is dominant as the causal factor and subordinate as the effect, thus it is the creation’s primordial manifestation. That conscious entity imbibes both possibilities, that of cause and that of effect, and thus the second stage is indicative of equality, that is, the causal factor and the effect factor maintain a state of equipoise or harmony, and the final or supreme state is subordinate in cause and dominant in effect, that is, where the causal factor dissolves into the effect, the effect is imbedded in the causal a, this is the third stage, the state of supreme negativity. That manifestation, or movement which emerges from the Great, that is, the all-expressive kaośikii bindu [primordial point] – is the first qualified stage of vibration of that Supreme entity. Thus a is the original sound, the first seed, and it is the first manifestation of alphabetic expression. The first letter of the alphabet is a.

When the Great Entity, Brahma, is bound by a, then the word brahmá (brahma + a = brahmá) is used. Brahmá is not a separate state from the trinity of Brahmá, Viśńu and Shiva – it is the first stage of expression of the Supreme Consciousness where the causal factor is dominant in that cognitive bearing and the effect factor is only mildly expressed.

In the world of living creatures, those beings which are hatched from eggs we call ańd́aj [omniparous]. This ańd́a is conceptually analagous to the brahmáńd́a [the created universe, literally “the cosmic egg”]; they are small editions of the brahmáńd́a. The Sanskrit-derived form of the word ańd́a, ańd́á,⁽²⁾ is prevalent throughout north India. Brahmáńd́a (cosmic egg)

It is not possible for creatures of the reptile group, that is, those who move by supporting themselves on their chest or ribcage, to carry a developed fetus in the womb. For this reason they carry eggs in their wombs. Though birds are technically not reptiles, when they fly they use their wings to cut through the air thereby putting a great deal of pressure on their chest. Due to this it is also not possible for them to carry a developed fetus in the womb and so they also carry and lay eggs.

Once an egg is layed, the embryo starts developing under the impetus provided by the egg’s contact with air, light and heat from the environment. When the developing fetus is fully mobile it pierces its shell and emerges into the outside world where it needs more heat than is normally present in the environment, so the mother bird or mother reptile helps the fetus develop by supplying warmth from her own body. Of course, not all creatures hatched from eggs require this extra heat. In such cases the mother abandons the egg once it is layed. In accordance with nature’s law, it does not feel any instinctive affection for the egg. For those eggs which require extra heat, however, it is the law of nature that the mother feels an instinctive affection for the egg. If someone comes and takes the egg she will often chase after them.

Because egg-producing creatures need their chest and ribs for labour, it is not possible for them to breast-feed their offspring. Thus oviparous creatures do not produce breast milk; this is the natural law. Exceptions to this can be found in certain creatures from an earlier era when reptiles were making the transition to non-reptiles, becoming creatures who moved by means of their hands and feet. During that time some creatures were in an intermediate stage; for several hundred thousand years they continued to lay eggs, but at the same time they used to breast-feed their offspring in small amounts. Later, when they stopped laying eggs and started bearing their young, the amount of milk they fed their offspring increased.

Among the creatures we are familiar with, the cow family produces the greatest amount of milk for their offspring. They are also comparatively more intelligent than other creatures and they show more affection for their offspring. Interestingly, they cannot run very swiftly, while the deer group, which produces very little milk and shows less affection for their offspring, can run extremely fast. The antelope family (bharal (niilgai), alpaca, black antelope) falls somewhere in between the deer and cow families in all respects, including their size, their horns and their tails, even their excretory systems.

Bear in mind that while the word niilgái is similar to gái [cow], it is not a member of the cow family, nor is it a member of the deer family. It belongs to the antelope family. We often fall into the error of thinking that certain animals are either in the cow family or in the deer family when actually they are part of the antelope family. We can use the word go-harin [cow-deer] for the antelope family.

That rare member of the cat family known as the duckbill, which is found in Southeast Asia and certain parts of Australia, is a nearly extinct prehistoric creature. Though this fast-disappearing creature lays eggs, it also breast-feeds its offspring. Because it uses its chest area more for locomotion and other activities in comparison with other milk-producing creatures, it continues to lay eggs. But in comparison with reptiles and birds, it uses its chest less, and so can still breast-feed its children. Proper efforts should be made to save the duckbill from extinction.

Among the aquatic creatures, fish are oviparous, the reason being that the way fish cut through water when they move is somewhat similar to the way reptiles slither along the ground or the way birds cut through the air. Thus, in the broader sense, they can also be considered reptiles. They also use their chest and ribs a great deal and so are unable to carry developed offspring⁽³⁾ in their womb or breast-feed their young. Thus, according to the law of nature, they produce eggs.

There are other aquatic creatures, such as whales, seals and walruses, which use their chests and ribs less in their movements than fish do. Most probably, the whale was also once a land animal like the dolphin. Later, under the pressure of circumstance, they took to the water. Like the hilsa and the shark, they are not ancient aquatic creatures. Though they live in water they are not a species of fish. To call a whale a fish is a gross error. Therefore such creatures bear their young, breast-feed their offspring and, according to the natural law, have more affection for their progeny.

In other words, we see that those egg-producing creatures which do not incubate their eggs, also show no affection towards them. Those which incubate their eggs show comparively more affection, and those creatures which bear their young and breast-feed them will even, in certain cases, not stop at sacrificing their lives for their offspring.

The crocodile is a land reptile – an ancient species from the Cretaceous age. Generally speaking, all members of this family are terrestrial by nature and all are egg-producing. The crocodile, fish-eating crocodile (mecho-kumiir), iguana (Gosáp. In Sanskrit godhá or godhiká, in indigenous Bengali goháŕgil, goh, gosáp), girgit́i [a type of lizard], t́ikt́iki [a small house lizard], takśaka [a poisonous snake] (the word guisáp is used in East Bengal), ánjuni [also a type of lizard] – all these egg-producing creatures have a similar nature; they differ only in their level of cruelty. The man-eating crocodile is extremely ferocious. The rest of these creatures are also ferocious with the exception, to some extent, of the iguana which, despite being a meat-eater, has a somewhat timid nature. When they see people they will flee if they have someplace to run. The Indian iguana is predominantly of two types: the black iguana and the golden iguana, both of which share this timid nature.

While it is true that the otter (in Sanskrit, udbiŕála [water-lion]) goes into water to catch fish, it is a land animal like the crocodile. Otters live near ponds or other water resevoirs, and they are milk-producing, not egg-producing. The Bengalee otter is somewhat smaller than the South American otter but it is more active and highly intelligent. Because it is a milk-producing creature, not egg-producing, it is, according to the law of nature, relatively keen-witted.

Normally, we observe that the young of any species are not fully developed at the time of birth. Whether human, dog, or cat, all are born in a helpless state, unable to hear or see. This helpless state is even more pronounced in egg-producing creatures. When tadpoles are hatched they cannot move properly. They need a tail in order to adjust with their environment. After adapting to their environment the tail falls off. From this we can deduce that the ancestors of the frog had tails.⁽⁴⁾

However undeveloped milk-producing animals may be, egg-producing animals are even more so; by comparison they also show significantly less affection as well as other sentiments. Many do not even recognize their own children; those who do not hatch their eggs feel little or no affection and tend to be much more malicious by nature. Crocodiles become extremely vicious at a very young age.

Another characteristic of the egg-producing animals is that some of them, such as the shark and hilsa fish, are completely carnivorous, while you will not find a single completely carnivorous milk-producing animal. Tigers may not eat uncooked rice but they will eat cooked rice or bread; they may not eat raw vegetables but they will eat them if they are cooked, while the shark, hilsa fish, vulture and some hawks and owls (especially the white lakśmii owl) are extremely carnivorous.

Another characteristic of the carnivorous egg-producing animals is that their bodies have a high fat content and give off a strong odour. Those who are familiar with the hilsa fish know how strong a fish-smell it has. The reason for this is that the hilsa prefers rotten meat to fresh meat. The shark is the same way. It also has a very strong fish smell. People who eat shark often remark that it is similar to hilsa. It also has a high fat content. In fact, shark oil is used as a medicine (bear in mind that the shark is a fish, not a crustacean like crab or shrimp). The vulture’s nature is quite similar. It prefers decomposed flesh to fresh meat.

It is worth mentioning again that such egg-producing creatures do not, for all intents and purposes, feel affection. Many do not even recognize their own children and some of them eat their own eggs.

Before the fetus is created, milk-producing animals produce an ovum in the mother’s womb. Rather than producing an egg, however, a fetus develops. In the world of egg-producing creatures, especially birds, there are exceptions to this. Some of them can produce fetus-less or unfertilized eggs. Some varieties of ducks, especially, frequently lay unfertilized eggs. With such eggs there is no possiblity of offspring, even if they are incubated. Commonly such eggs take longer to spoil. Many people who have a weakness for eggs, but do not want to harm a living embryo, are partial to taking unfertilized eggs; they contend that this way they are not killing a fetus. They should keep in mind that while it is true that they are not killing a fetus, they are still at fault for taking non-vegetarian food, because these unfertilized eggs still contain the defects of non-vegetarian food.

Snakes lay a great many eggs at one time but because they eat their own eggs very few of them have an opportunity to hatch. The result of this is that there is a check or a limit to the number of snakes – this is nature’s arrangement.

Among fish, those whose offspring remain helpless at the time of birth show an instinctive affection for their young and keep them nearby, often sheltering them in some part of their body.

It is quite normal for snake-mothers to eat their own eggs. It is not full meal for them, perhaps, but rather more like a light tiffin. Speaking of tiffin, that reminds me of a small story. It happened during British rule, when I was in my early twenties. I was taking the train from Jamalpur to Calcutta with a childhood friend, Suvimal Cakravartii (Bhondá) and his youngest sister, Raiṋjaná Cakravartii, alias Khendi.⁽⁵⁾ Seated next to me was a gentleman travelling from Muzaffarpur to Calcutta. Beside him was a basket filled with Muzaffarpur’s famous sháhii lichus. Suvimal’s sister, Raiṋjaná, was a very good girl but she lacked a little common sense and had even less consideration of time, place, and person. At the time she must have been about nine.

Suddenly Raiṋjaná, alias Khendi, spoke up – “I… I… w-want a… a… l-lichu.”

At first, Suvimal pretended not to hear and a few minutes passed. But when “I… I… w-want… a… a… l-lichu.” started again, this time with added hand and foot gestures, in other words, when she began flailing her arms and legs and saying, “I… I… w-want… a… a… l-lichu,” Suvimal found himself in a predicament. He told her: “You just had a full breakfast and you’re hungry again? Stop it. Be quiet.”

“I’m stopping, I’ll be quiet,” Raiṋjaná replied. “How can I say anything if I’m afraid of you! But I still want a lichu.”

Again Suvimal answered: “You stuffed yourself with breakfast and now you want to eat again!”

Raiṋjaná answered back. “No one gets stuffed at breakfast! Even if someone can eat sixteen nimkis [a salty snack], he never takes more than two or three for breakfast. Even if he wants to, he’s too embarrassed.”

Raiṋjaná replied, “Why be embarrassed in front of people on a train? We see them today, then we never see them again. Why should I be embarrassed?”

“After an hour or two we’ll reach Bhagalpur,” Suvimal replied. “I’ll get you some khájá [a type of milksweet] there. After that comes Sahebganj. There you can have some kálákánd [another type of milksweet], okay? Now keep quiet.”

Raiṋjaná (meaning Khendi) said. “I said I’d be quiet. How can I say anything if I’m afraid of you. But I’m going to eat and I want lichus. I’ll eat some khájá in Bhágalpur and some kálákánd in Sahebganj, but now I’m going to eat lichus.”

Suvimal lowered his voice: “Lichus aren’t available in the railway station. Tomorrow morning I’ll get you some lichus when we arrive in Calcutta.”

“So what if they’re not available in the station,” Raiṋjaná replied. “They’re available right here in the train. This fellow here has some.”

When he heard this, Suvimal’s nose and ears started turning red from embarrassment. He did not know what to say.

When the gentleman who was travelling with us in the train saw how stubborn Raiṋjaná was, he took some lichus from his basket and put them in her hand saying, “Now my child, eat. That’s what food is for. What a nice girl you are! Most people would’ve been too embarrassed to open their mouth, but you weren’t embarrassed at all. What a nice girl, as if Má Lakśmii [the goddess of fortune] herself had left heaven and come down to earth. I have a boy myself; there’s a little difference in age between the two of you, but nonetheless I would be glad to have Má Lakśmii in my house as my daughter-in-law. That would really be nice.”

Suvimal tactfully started making a few inquires. When Suvimal heard his replies he realized that the large-hearted gentleman had meant to console Raiṋjaná but had just gone a little too far. This time I noticed that his neck as well as his nose, eyes, and mouth had become red.

Meanwhile Raiṋjaná was totally engrossed in eating the lichus. Finally she finished her lichus and began licking her fingers. Suvimal became even more embarrassed. After a few moments he said testily, “Enough, come wash your hands.”

“By the time I’m done licking my fingers,” Raiṋjaná replied, “we’ll be in Bhagalpur. There I’m going to eat khájá. And by the time I’m done eating the khájá we’ll be in Sahebganj and I’m going to eat kálákánd there. When I’m done eating the kálákánd I can go for all three washings at once.”

Suvimal became even more heated: “Stop being so greedy. Only a foolish girl can talk like that!”

Raiṋjaná replied, “You’re calling me foolish? Didn’t you hear that I’m going to be married soon? That fellow there said I was Lakśmii herself. If the age difference wasn’t so much, I’d be married right here in the train.”

Suvimal got even angrier. “Where did all this foolishness come from? Nobody gets married in a train! Have you ever heard of it or seen it?”

“Why not,” Raiṋjaná answered. “I’m sure if you looked you could find a priest or two in the train. What would you say if the bridegroom was here? Just because someone is not here, does it mean that you don’t show them any respect? I bet you’re thinking that because there’s nobody to do ulu⁽⁶⁾ then there can’t be a wedding! I know how to do ulu myself.”

At that moment Suvimal’s entire face became red. Even his chin had started turning a little red. He was staring at the floor in embarrassment and I thought I could hear him muttering – “I would throw her out the window if it didn’t have bars.” I also thought I heard him mutter – “I wish the earth would open up and swallow me… how embarrassing!… how embarrassing!”

Seeing Suvimal’s condition, I could not keep quiet any longer. “Look, Khendi,” I said, “it’s getting late. Now stop!”.

This time Raiṋjaná screamed, “You used my nickname in front of so many people! What will people think!”

“I don’t get embarrassed about food, but when it comes to my name I get embarrassed. I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“When we get back to Jamalpur I’m going to tell your grandmother everything. I’ll tell her that Dádá used my nickname in front of everybody in the train. And I’ll tell her that I was going to be married but after telling everybody my nickname I won’t be able to now. Then she’ll really scold you.”

“Do as you please,” I answered. “Now stop being so greedy. Put a lock on your mouth.”

“Do you see a keyhole in my mouth? Is there a lock hanging there that I can lock? What are you saying! I don’t understand you at all.”

Now a word from much later, after independance. Suvimal is now a retired ICS officer. Raiṋjaná is a professor at a well-known college. She did her doctoral research on the use of the Bengali language in the Kácháŕ Royal Court [now a district in Assam]. Dr. Raiṋjaná is now a very erudite woman. Though I rarely see her anymore, I still call her Khendi from old habit and she does not get angry. But I’m not divulging her secret nickname to strangers on the train either. If she does get angry, I have no reason to worry. To whom can she complain? My grandmother passed on many years ago.

Raiṋjaná’s husband, captain Basu, is a very sympathetic gentleman. For justifiable reasons, I would venture a guess that he feeds Raiṋjaná khájá and kálákánd regularly. And even if she does not ask, he does not forget to feed her lichus.

Raiṋjaná’s secret nickname, Khendi, has been hidden away from the public eye. I am also trying to forget it. And Suvimal is now justifiably proud of his sister. All’s well that ends well.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention one thing. At Raiṋjaná’s wedding, I gave her a pair of gold lichu earrings for her to wear.

Just as an egg matures by coming in contact with the earth’s light, heat and air, then gives way to a child that develops little by little in that same earth’s affectionate shade, and finally one day sinks down into eternal silence when its life-energy is spent, the brahmáńda [Cosmic egg] emerges from the kaośikii bindu [primordial point] in the introversial phase (saiṋcara) as brahmá and is nurtured and grows in the affection and care of the universe where it finds no obstacle to its development. The one who provides that sweet touch every second and fraction-of-a-second, that preserving force is known as vaeśńavii shakti or viśńumáyá. The seed of preservation is u. Just as a developed being reaches the end of its days and loses itself in silence, so will every molecule and atom of the created universe one day return from effect to cause. This return to its own original cause is called “death”. It is not destruction but a return to its cause. The force which effects this return to its cause is called shaevii shakti. The seed syllable (biija mantra) of shiva or “destroyer” is m. From the a of creation, the u of existence or preservation, and the m of dissolution, we get om. But it is perceived only in the expressed universe. Om emerges out of the unmanifest – this expressed universe is a finite island in an ocean of infinity.

There is no signifier for the unmanifest. Thus, only a point is used to indicate it. When this point of the unmanifest or nirguńa state comes within the purview of the expressed universe, it is transformed into om. A crest is then used as the associated sign for this action of transformation. Thus, the point is the symbol of the unmanifest, the crest is the symbol of the movement from unmanifest to manifest, and om is the symbol of the expressed universe. Together they become ও৺. Thus it is not sufficient to say om. We should say ও৺.

First off, I’d like to say that the word a-rńii is an error. The prefix a, when preceding a consonant, remains unchanged but when it precedes a vowel it becomes an. For example, karttá becomes akarttá but abhyása becomes anabhyása. R⁽⁷⁾ is a vowel. Thus, an should precede r, not a. The antonym of rńii is anrńii. Yudhiśt́hira says:

Divasasyáśt́ame bháge shákaḿ pacati yo narah
Anrńii apravásii ca sa váricarah modate

To Dharma in the form of a crane, he says: Oh crane, the person who is able to get some vegetables to eat at least once a day, who incurs no debt and who has no need to leave home to earn a living, is really happy.

The antonym of rta [truth] is not arta but anrta [falsehood]. The antonym of ripu [enemy] is aripu [friend] because ra is not a vowel. For example:

Satyaḿ bruyát priyaḿ bruyát má bruyát satyamapriyam
Priyaiṋca nánrtaḿ bruyádeśah dharmah sanátanah

Speak truth, speak pleasantly. Do not speak unpleasant truth or pleasant lies – this is the eternal dharma.

Aka is a suffix. Many people use aka as an alternative to ńaka or śaka, but if one does one should be very careful. Generally, śaka is used in case of the direct subject, the nominative case, and ńaka is used as a suffix with the indirect subject or instrumental case. Hence, creating confusion between the two suffixes is not at all desirable.

For instance, the root rańj means “to dye”.⁽⁸⁾ Now, when someone dyes something a particular colour, or when the action of dyeing is accomplished by someone, we use the word rajaka for that person, which is formed by adding the suffix śaka to the root rańj, and the coloured powder or colour globules that the rajaka dissolves in water in order to prepare the dye is known as raiṋjaka which is formed by adding the suffix ńaka to the root rańj. Just as rajaka and raiṋjaka are not identical, neither are śaka and ńaka. However we look at it, it is not at all proper to use aka indiscriminately for śaka and ńaka. In this regard, it is important to keep in mind that the suffixes ka and nak (different from ńaka) bear no relation to the suffixes ńaka, śaka, and aka. Mánava [man] + ka = mánavaka (small mánava – mankin). Ci + nak = cin (prśi diirgha:⁽⁹⁾ According to the rule, cin becomes ciin.)

Aga is formed by adding the prefix a as a negation and the suffix d́a. Its etymological meaning is “that which does not move”. Its colloquial meaning is “mountain” or “tree”; in other words it is identical to naga [mountain, tree]. Instead of calling the Himálayas nagádhiráj [king of the mountains], we can also call them agádhiráj.

Apparently, there are many things which do not move. So why do we call mountains naga, aga, or acala [unmoving]? There is a tradition or a story behind this. The story goes that in ancient times people had a notion that mountains could fly. One day they would be in one place and the next day they would be in a different place many kilometres away, or, in other words, mountains at that time were not naga, aga or acala. Seeing mountains flying around this way, Indra, the king of the gods, became scared that some flying mountain might choose to land on his throne, making him king of heaven instead. Then how could he remain Indra?

So Indra came down to do battle with the mountains, fearlessly cutting them down. The mountain Maenáka, the son of the Himálayas (Menaká + the suffix śńa in the sense of “child” = Maenáka), took shelter at the bottom of the sea, fearing for his life. Even today, a submerged mountain is called maenáka in Sanskrit. Many ships fall into peril by striking such a maenáka. In English, maenáka is called “inchcape rock” (In English, when “ch” follows “n” as part of the same syllable, then the pronunciation, according to the French rule, becomes “sh”. For example, branch.). After Indra had finished rendering the mountains powerless, their name became aga/naga/acala. In regards to the mountain Maenáka, hiding itself beneath the sea, Raygunakar Bharatcandra Ray has written these lines of poetry:

Abhimáne samudrete jhánp dilá bhái
Je more ápana bháve tári ghare jái

[Feeling offended, my brother jumped into the sea; personally I go to the houses of those people who look upon me as their own.]

The fundamental meaning of the word agha is “sharp-witted”, especially someone who possesses a keen but crooked intellegence. You must have heard that in King Kaḿsa’s time there was a man in Shúrasena named Aghásura who was a very clever but evil man. Kaḿsa hired him to kill the baby Krishna.

The terrifying form of Shiva is called Aghoranatha. Aghoriis or those that follow the path of Aghora are generally Vámácárii Tantrics [Tantrics of the left-hand path]. None of them are Madhyamácárii [Tantrics of the middle path] or Dakśińácárii [Tantrics of the right-hand path]. It is said that they do not discriminate between edible and non-edible food. For this reason many people are afraid of them and try to avoid them. It would not be correct to say that all Vámácárii Tantrics are Avidyá Tantrics. Among them one will find both Vidyá Tantrics and Avidyá Tantrics. Towards the end of the Buddhist era, this Aghora path could be found alongside the Vajrayána and Kálacakrayána. Some people believe that when the Vajrayána and Kálacakrayána fell under the influence of Hinduism, the Aghora path certainly also fell under that same influence, but this is not so. Though the Aghora path does not follow the Buddhist doctrine, neither are its followers, followers of the Vedas. Rather they are clearly opposed to the Vedas. In Hindi and throughout north India, the followers of Aghora are called aoghaŕ.

In ancient times, when a word was made by adding the suffix ac after a verb, then the a was joined to the preceding letter. In subsequent times, when an effort was made to fix the gender of a word according to its suffix, masculine gender words which ended with the suffix ac were placed within the jurisdiction of the suffix al. Those which were not considered masculine in gender, or those which were adjectives and those whose gender was determined according to the gender of the noun created from that adjective, were given the suffix ap. This became a rule referred to as ghainalao puḿsi.

The word alaḿ was also used as an indeclinable. In that case its meaning was “vain” or “futile”. Alaḿ follows this rule when it has the third case-ending. For example, alamativistáreńa means: “to expand more is futile”, “to say more is meaningless”. Here the word vistára is in the third case-ending. Alaḿ múrkhopadeshena – “to give advice to a fool is futile”. In this case also, the word upadesha is in the third case-ending.

Similarly we get the word alaḿkára [ornament], alam + kr + ghaina = alaḿkára, for “that which is not natural wealth”. The word alaḿkarańa has the identical meaning.

(2) Ańd́a → ańdá; d́imba → d́imba → d́im. The one exception among the north Indian languages is Gorkhalii in which d́im [egg] is called phul [flower]. In spoken Bengali, that which takes shelter in the mother’s womb in creatures who are not produced from eggs, is also called phul. When the child is born, the flower blossoms.

(3) Shávak [offspring] + lá + u = shavakal, shavakal → shaoyál → cháoál cháliá → chele [boy]. The word chele is not a native Bengali word at all; it is a Sanskrit derivative.

(4) Vi-auṋga = vyauṋga [frog], the one whose limbs are loose. In Sanskrit its synonyms are bhek, mańdúk, dardur.

(5) In the construction of khendi [snub-nosed], i is used because someone can only be khándá or khendi by birth. Khándá’s wife is never called khendi in this sense. If she was it would be written khendii. Because they are related by birth, didi [elder sister], mási [maternal aunt], pisi [paternal aunt] and similar words use i, while in-laws such as kakii [paternal uncle’s wife] and mámii [maternal uncle’s wife] use ii because they are not only feminine gender but feminine as well.

(6) In Sanskrit the sound is hulu [a sound that Hindu women make during auspicious occasions]. I have heard certain pandits from Kerala use the word mukhavádyam also. The ancestors of Kerala’s Náyárs came to Kerala from Rarh in the year 534 BCE. Thus, like Bengal, the custom of making the ulu sound is also prevalent there as well. In some Bengalee villages the practise of doing ulu is also called jokár deoyá. In ancient Bengal, people used to make this sound during auspicious functions in order to protect against anyone present who might have been thinking harmful thoughts; in other words, it was used for all auspicious undertakings.

(7) The Sanskrit vowel pronounced “ree” is romanized as r to differentiate it from the semi-vowel ra. –Trans.

(8) Chopáno and chápáno are not identical in meaning. Chopáno means “to colour something by dyeing or painting”. For example, if we dye a sari a light orange colour then we use chopáno. Chápáno means “to imprint something on something else”, such as a Murshidavádii print sari.)

(9) A rule of Sanskrit grammar in which a short vowel is changed into a long vowel; i.e., a becomes á, i becomes ii, etc.

Acala to Atha (Discourse 2)

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Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

Here the sound a is used as a negation. The etymological meaning of acala is “that which does not move”. Its colloquial meaning is “tree”, or “mountain”. It is worth remembering that in ancient times people were familiar with the verbal root cal primarily as átmanepadii, while in later days it became parasmaepadii; in other words, the verb calá can be used in both ways. Although during the time of the composition of grammar, the átmanepadii use of the verbal root cal was abolished, still the átmanepadii form was accepted for both padiis. If we can say that the verbal root cal was not used as átmanepadii in ordinary Sanskrit, then it is even more true of the spoken language. In the literary language it existed in name only. Since it was accepted as both padiis, then by adding the suffix shatr to the verbal root cal we get calat which means “that which is moving”. Thus: calat + citra = calaccitra; calat + shakti = calacchakti; jijiiviśet + shataḿ samáh = jijiiviśecchataḿ samáh; tat + shubhram = tacchrubhram; tadyacchet + shántátmani = tadyacchecchántátmani. And by adding the suffix shánac we get the word calamána which is equally correct. Thus, acala means aga [unmoving].

The practical value of money depends on its mobility. If no one will accept it due to some defect in its structure or lack of value then its motion gets halted. For this reason, fake [nakala] or counterfeit [meki] money is called acala t́áká, acala mudrá, or acala paysá [non-moving money]. One should keep in mind that in this case, the word acala comes from Sanskrit and t́áká is indigenous Bengali.

The words nakala and meki are of foreign origin. Meki mudra means “counterfeit coin” in English. Keep an eye on the spelling here. “I” comes after “e”. The usual rule is “i” before “e” but there are certain exceptions or apaváda such as “counterfeit”, “leisure” and the root “ceive” (its noun is “ceipt”) – “receive”, “deceive”, “conceive”, “perceive”, and so forth. Such exceptions are called apaváda in Sanskrit. Váda means “fundamental idea”. The prefix apa means “opposing”, the prefix upa means “near”, and the prefix ava commonly means “lower”. That which opposes the basic means of expression is apaváda. For example, words ending with di or dhi and suffixed by ki are masculine. We call this expression váda but the word dadhi is an exception; it is neuter. Rather than calling it an exception, we can say that it goes against the prevalent rule, that is, it is the apaváda of váda. In Bengali, however, the original meaning of apaváda has been lost. It is now used to mean “abuse” or “harsh words”.

It is important to remain aware of the difference between acára [pickle] and ácára [conduct]. Ácára is a Sanskrit word which is used in Bengali; it means “behaviour” (ácarańa). Á – car + ghaiṋ = ácára. Á – car + anat́ = ácarańa. Acára, however, is a foreign word – it was brought by the Portuguese approximately 450 years ago. The people of this country learned how to make acára from them and thereafter increased its scope. Mango, green jackfruit, lemon, hog-plum, chillies, bamboo shoots, cauliflower, cabbage, kohlrabi, radish, myrobalan, kaŕáishunt́i, karamcá, kámaráuṋgá – from what is acára not made? Ácára helps in digestion and is tasty besides.

The Indian people not only learned how to make acára from the Portuguese, but also jam, jelly, marmalade, conserves, syrup, and yeasted breads; this apprenticeship began in their main centre, Goa, as well as in Hoogli and Bonadel. Bonadel means “good area”. The word bonadel, as it spread orally, became bandel in some places (Hoogli district) and bondel in others (Calcutta, 24th Paragańá). If care is not taken in spelling then ácára can be easily confused with acára.

The renowned Agra jam in north India and Bengal’s Suri jam did not exist before the Portuguese arrived in this country. Of course, native fruits such as mango and jackfruit were already here, therefore they have Sanskrit names.

The etymological meaning of cyuta is “that which falls off or drops away after reaching full maturity or completeness”. Thus, etymologically, almost all fruits (palmyra fruit, mango, coconut, jám [Indian blackberry]) fall in the category of cyuta because they fall off the tree when they become fully ripe, but colloquially cyuta refers to sweet mango, coconut, palmyra fruit, bellfruit. The etymological meaning of acyuta is “that which does not fall off or drop off” – that which does not deviate from its own nature or its own dharma. It has achieved the fullness of its nature.

That vaeśńavii máyá which looks after and cares for the created universe also never deviates from its own nature or its dharma. When Parama Brahma [Supreme Entity] acts as the preserver then it is called Viśńu. This Viśńu never deviates from its path or fails in its duty. From beginninglessness to endlessness, all falls within the periphery of His duty. If Viśńu would forget His duty for even a second, the entire universe would collapse. This rhythmic expression of Viśńu is called acyuta. Brahmá, the creator, could put an end to this universal play, He could withdraw it back into annihilation; still Viśńu would continue His work of preserving and maintaining without a pause. Thus, from the supreme spiritual standpoint, acyuta stands for Supreme Consciousness’ Viśńu form whose seed syllable is u.

Cit + lyut́ = cetana. By adding the negation a it becomes acetana. The verbal root cit means “to perceive”, “to discriminate”, “to cogitate”, “to contemplate”. (By adding the suffix kta after the verbal root cit we get the word citta). The word cetana is used in different senses. It means “one who has awakened”, “who is alive”, “who has developed intellect”, “who is spiritually awakened”, “who is discriminating”, “whose power of judgement is developed”, and so forth. Although the word cetana has many meanings, normally we use it in three ways. Needless to say, we also use acetana primarily in three ways.

If, for any reason, in the world of physicality, the nerve fibres are injured and due to this the nerve cells lose their normal abiltity to function, then that temporary loss of function we refer to in colloquial Bengali as ajiṋána haye yaoyá [becoming unconscious] or jiṋána háráno [becoming senseless] for which the word acetana is also used. In many cases the nerve cells, rather than the nerve fibres, receive a blow. If the mind is agitated by some extremely pleasurable or extremely painful event, it can cause a psychic stupor which prevents the nerve fibres from functioning normally. As a result, the person becomes senseless. For this reason, one should not break any very painful or very pleasurable news to a person suddenly. It should be done slowly, step by step. The nerve fibres should also⁽¹⁾ not be given any sudden, heavy blow. One should be socially considerate in this regard.

If an unmarried daughter suffers humiliation from relatives and neighbours over a long period of time, then the pressure of that mental suffering can one day affect her nerve cells and render her senseless or take the form of a disease. This is commonly called hysteria. If the cause of suffering is removed then the disease also disappears. In those societies where the remarriage of widows is forbidden hysteria is common for this very reason. In colloquial Bengali we call this phit́ haowá [fainting].

One should keep in mind that spirit possession and fainting are not the same thing. In possession a person mumbles incoherently. In this case he or she does not or cannot control his or her mental pabula and expresses his or her mind without any awareness of time, place or person. Hysteria is different.

Anyway this hysteria is a form of acetanatá [senselessness]. Epilepsy is also transmitted from the psychic level, that is, from the nerve cells to the nerve fibres. But this disease first occurs in the nerve fibres and then agitates the nerve cells. After this, it remains imprinted in the nerve cells as a psychic disease and expresses itself in a particular place and time. These are the different kinds of senselessness that we observe or find in the mundane world.

Epilepsy arises when a person comes in sudden contact with some thing or some event completely outside the realm of his or her experience. Through proper counselling, attacks of this disease can be checked and through psychic treatment along with the use of small amounts of medicine the disease can be treated. Anyhow, in all the above cases we use the word acetana.

In the psychic world we use the word acetana in yet another way. Though from the spiritual standpoint it is not absolutely true, still we commonly divide the mind into three layers of which one is the acetana [unconscious] mind. Its scope is extremely vast but it functions entirely within that vast periphery. The second layer is the avacetana [subconscious] mind whose scope is comparatively much smaller but which functions partly within those boundaries and partly outside them. The third layer is the cetana [conscious] mind whose scope is extremely limited but which functions primarily outside those boundaries with the help of the ten sensory and motor organs. In those extremely few cases where it functions within its boundaries, its action consists of contemplation born of experience.

Ten sensory and motor organs and the faculty of contemplation – this is its domain. For this reason, many people are of the opinion that there are eleven indriyas. In social life and in individual life, for one’s sake or for other’s, that person’s life becomes exalted and sublime who is able to enrich his or her conscious mind’s creations with the wealth of the subconcious mind, and one’s all-round existence becomes successful when one is able to saturate one’s conscious mind with the riches of the subconcious mind, and the subconscious mind with the treasures of the unconscious mind. Within this is hidden the supreme spiritual inspiration of one’s existence and the complete fufilment of desire.

From the spiritual point of view, the essence of the all-imaginative ectoplasm is known as the Cognitive Faculty or the Cognitive Entity, regardless whether it is expressed or unexpressed. That essence or flow of the individual movement is the causal matrix of its arising. Within the crude manifestation of this conciousness in the unit inheres the fundamental substantiation of its existence – the establishment of the sense of doership – and in its ultimate transformation it becomes the faculty of discrimination.

This Cognitive Faculty which lies in the seed of expression remains associated with all manifest entities during every step of the process of manifestation, and it remains as the witness of all entities whether they are expressed or unexpressed. When it remains associated with each individual entity separately it is known as Pratyagátmá and when it remains associated with them collectively as the Cognitive Entity, it is known as Paracaetanya. When the knowership of the Cognitive Faculty remains associated with matter, that is to say, when it remains associated in such a way that there is no realization of existence, nor the capacity for doership or active experience, then that state of matter we call acetana or crude matter; everything else is cetana.

The manifestation of consciousness (cetanatá) is greatest where the sense of existence is most pronounced. For this reason human beings are considered the most developed beings. But is there anything more to the human being… does this exhaust his potential? No. The sweetness of this sense of existence is hidden in the glory of its expansion. It is their existential greatness and its unhindered radiation that makes human beings great. Thus, in another sense, when we say “conscious entity” we mean human being.

In the waking, dream and deep-sleep states, spiritual consciousness permeates the microcosm but in the living being it happens mostly in the waking state, very little in the dream state, and virtually not at all in deep sleep. But the wonder of it is that the same being that considers the waking state the final, supreme truth also considers the dream state as the final and supreme truth as long as he or she is dreaming. Deep sleep is the state of the experience of nothingness. Thus, despite the impossibility of calling this supreme or final, after waking from this deep sleep one falls into the error of thinking of this recent experience of absence as supreme and final. Actually, the dream state is a combination of subtle experiences collected from the mental world and vibrations collected from the waking state. Those vibrations which are gathered from the crude world oscillate constantly between truth and untruth, but those which come from the mental world are sometimes relative and sometimes non-relative truth. There is little opportunity for vibrational movement in the conviction of absence realized in deep sleep but we cannot reject this as non-existence. Anyhow, all this happens in the flow of consciousness, sometimes in a very natural, and sometimes in an unnatural rhythmic flow. This was consciousness or its negative, unconsciousness.

We were speaking about the waking state, dream state, and deep sleep, which reminds me of a little-known face. It was the year 1938 or 1939. At the time I was about seventeen or eighteen. It was British rule then and there was a fair amount of discipline and sense of discipline in evidence everywhere.

I was travelling from Calcutta to Patna by night train. Travelling by day would have been a waste of my time, but by taking the night train I was not losing any time because if I was not in the train I would still have to sleep, regardless of whether I was in Calcutta or Patna. Thus by taking the night train I avoided spoiling my time.

It was wintertime. The compartment I boarded was quite crowded at the beginning, but half the people got off in Burdwan and the rest in Asansol. After Asansol I had the compartment to myself. I lay down and covered myself, and fell asleep not long after.

Suddenly, about 2:30 in the morning, I heard someone whispering in my ear in a sweet, gentle voice. He seemed to be saying, “Excuse me, please. Could I borrow your lighter?”

A little annoyed, I pulled the blanket down from around my face and saw a young gentleman about my age in a coat and pants. At that time nobody liked to wear pants. Police, excise inspectors and military personnel had to wear pants as part of their uniform and gazetted officers had to wear pants for their work, but as soon as they got the chance they would switch to a dhoti and paiṋjábii. Doctors at that time used to wear either pants or dhoti. School boys used to wear half-pants, but as soon as they reached college age they would start wearing dhoti and paiṋjábii. During my time, many boys in the higher grades of high school also wore dhoti and paiṋjábii. That was the style in that era.

I was somewhat astonished to see this young man standing there wearing pants, but I guessed that he must have been a gazetted officer. His countenance bore an imprint of gentleness and nobility.

“Look in your right-hand pocket,” he replied. “There’s a lighter there.”

Amazingly enough, there was. I was completely dumbfounded. There actually was a lighter in my pocket.

When I handed it to him he smiled sweetly and said, “I put the lighter in your pocket. It was a pretext to talk to you. I hope you didn’t mind?”

I asked him to sit. A tornado was tearing full speed through my mind. I had locked the door, so how did my visitor get in? I was sleeping on my right side, so my right pocket was underneath me. How did he put the lighter in there? After a short stoppage at Sitarampur there was no other stoppage until Jashidi Junction. Did this fellow hop on a moving train?

My visitor appeared as if he had heard everything I was thinking and smiled in such a way that left no doubt about it. I motioned for him to sit next to me on the berth but rather than sitting on the berth, he spread a silk hankerchief on the opposite bench and sat there.

For a time there was complete silence. Outside it was completely dark and other than the sound of the train there did not seem to be anything else existing. The sound of the crickets blended with the sound of the train to make a single sound as the train rolled past the undulating land of Ráŕh. I asked this polite, mannerly, quiet young man, “Where is your home? Where are you coming from? Where do you stay?”

“I’m from Dhaka city, at Ramna, near Kaliibari,” he replied. “I’m working in Calcutta.” (This was nine or ten years before the partition of the country). Smiling a little, he said, “Don’t you know that I’m very close to you? I’m just a little younger than you are. You should use tumi and not ápni [the familiar rather than the polite form of address].”

So I said [using the familiar form], “Then you’re staying in Calcutta now.”

He smiled. “Yes, but for the time being I’m in this compartment.” I also started smiling with him.

He continued talking: “I was thinking that you didn’t get a chance to eat properly because you had to catch the evening train, so I kept some food for you. I wanted to give it to you when the crowd thinned out. I didn’t let just anybody cook it; I cooked it with my own hands, so I wouldn’t hear of you not taking it. I was going to give it to you myself but it was so crowded that I didn’t get a chance. Moreover, I was thinking for a long time that I wanted the chance to meet you. After the train emptied out in Asansol I thought to come and see you, but I noticed that you had lain down with a blanket over you and fallen asleep. One shouldn’t just wake somebody up like that. If I did wake you up under those circumstances to give you something to eat, it wouldn’t exactly be wrong, but I didn’t do it. About 2:30 I noticed that you were sleeping lighter and then I took the opportunity to wake you up on the pretext of wanting your lighter. Now I can see that waking you up was a great injustice; it won’t do to give you food at 2:30 in the morning.”

“My name is Madhumalay Mitra,” he replied. “In the morning also, I won’t have a chance to sit beside you and give you breakfast. A group of pilgrims are going to get on at Jhajha station. They’re going from Mokama ghat to Simariya ghat to bathe in the Ganges during the solar eclipse.”

“That’s the land of Magadha, while Simariya ghat is on the other side – in Mithila. The virtue one earns from taking a bath in the Ganges in Mithila is greater than in Magadha so they’ll take a steamer to the other side and bathe there.”

Madhumalay replied, “Even now you’re thinking that I’m a stranger. But I’m not a stranger. I’m inside your mind.”

“Unfortunately for me,” he continued, “I won’t find you alone tomorrow at breakfast time.” Again he started saying: “You just got up and took off your blanket. Why don’t you sit up and cover your ears and neck with a muffler. You were coughing several times during the night. You may have caught a cold.”

“Áklmand Singh also got in this compartment once,” he said. “He also knew me. Once he hung a heavy, one maund⁽²⁾ bag with his breakfast from that chain that you see there. The chain couldn’t handle the weight and as a result the train gave a strong jerk and came to a halt. The railway officers started searching and came into this compartment. ‘Who pulled the chain,’ they asked. ‘I didn’t pull it,’ said Áklmand. ‘Just look. There’s a bag tied to the chain. It only weighs a maund.’

“The rail authorities replied, ‘You’ll have to pay a fine. Why did you hang something that weighs a maund from there?’

“‘Come on!’ said Áklmand. ‘If my little one maund breakfast bag can stop the train, what can be worse than that! Rather, if you want, I’ll get down from the train. I weigh five maunds. Then the train should be light enough to be able to move.’

“I was thinking to tell this story if I saw you,” said Madhumalay. Then he added. “I know about another event. Once some students were keeping an old mole in a cage in a room in Britain’s India House. No one could go near the cage due to the terrible smell and the continuous high-pitched squealing. On a whim they decided: ‘Let us have a test to see who can stay the longest in that foul-smelling room. Whoever stays the longest will get the title of Knight.’

“There was a queue to go into the room. Who doesn’t want to be called a knight? But every candidate came out before a minute was up. No one could stay even a minute and a half. Then Áklmand Singh said, ‘I’ll try.’ He went in and stayed in nearly a full five minutes. Then they heard the sound of the cage rattling. Everyone was astonished to see the old mole somehow pull the cage out of the room, though he was still in it.

“Everyone asked, ‘My word, mole! Why did you come out?’ He replied, ‘Who can survive in that room? I was able to stay five minutes because of the virtue I’ve acquired from seven lifetimes of penance. Now give me my knighthood as first prize. I’m going back happily to my sugar cane field’.”

“Now you lie down for some time,” said Madhumalay. “I’ll just be sitting here. Go to sleep and don’t worry about anything.”

Again it was silent for a while. After some time I got up to go to the bathroom. Madhumalay looked at me and said, “Now it’s exactly 2:30. This isn’t a good time to go to the bathroom.”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t believe in any kind of superstition. Don’t mind, but I’m going to the bathroom.”

I went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I stepped forward and almost stumbled over something in front of me. When I looked down I was amazed to see a freshly dead body. I looked at the face carefully and saw… what!… it was Madhumalay Mitra! But just a few seconds ago I had seen him sitting on the seat across from mine; he was perfectly healthy when he was speaking to me. How could he have gotten into the bathroom ahead of me? And how could he have died in such a short span of time?

The corpse was wearing the same clothes that Madhumalay had been wearing when he was sitting in front of me. Even the lighter that I had put in his hand a little while before was in the right hand of the dead body. I thought, let me go back quickly and tell the Madhumalay that was sitting in front of me what’s happened; I’ll show him the lighter and see if it’s the same one or not. As soon as I took the lighter out of the corpse’s hand, the bathroom light went out. I left the bathroom cautiously, careful not to step on the dead body. When I arrived back at my seat what do I find? How strange! Where is Madhumalay? He’s gone! But his hankerchief was still on the seat. It was as if he was saying,

[I am stranded here with the heavy weight of past memories; free from burden, he is here no more.]

I quickly returned to the bathroom but, amazingly, there was no dead body there. Cold air was whizzing through the slits in the bathroom window shutter, and there seemed to be a voice keeping time with the sound of the inrushing air: “Now it’s 2:30 in the morning… I have to go… whoever comes, comes so that they can go… whoever goes, goes so that they can come… I loved you… I loved you very much… I still love you and always will. Keep the hankerchief and the lighter. Under your bed you’ll find a covered plate that I left there with some Dhaka parot́as [a fried, unleavened bread]… You must take them with your breakfast. I’m really sorry I didn’t get the chance to feed you myself.”

I returned to the compartment and picked up Madhumalay’s hankerchief. The strong scent of attar was rising from it. Near the leg of the bed I found a covered plate with some hot, freshly fried Dhaka parot́as, as if someone had just left them there.

I turned off the overhead light. As the train left Jishidi and headed towards Jhahja, the cold was tearing the heart of the dark winter night with a plaintive lament.

After I finished my work in Patna, I returned home. The hankerchief and lighter I put in my personal museum.

A few days later I went to Howrah station and found a railway employee to help me locate that same compartment from the train. The employee told me that the bogey had been separated from the train and sent to the Nellore railway workshop where they were going to dismantle it for parts. I asked him why.

The railway employee told me: “A few days ago a passenger by the name of Madhumalay Mitra met an unnatural death in that compartment and since then there have been a number of fantastic and puzzling complaints. The complaints were all different but they all agreed on one point. In every case the unbelievable event happened about 2:30 in the morning.”

I was dumbfounded. It was difficult for me to understand because this happened in the waking state, not during the dream state or deep sleep. Let the philosophers think what they will; let the psychologists say what they wish. I, however, have not been able to erase either Madhumalay Mitra or that night from my mind, even today. He remains in my mind.

The meaning of the verbal root chii is “to pen through”, “to draw a line”, “to delineate”, etc. The verbal root cho has the same meaning. By adding the suffix d́a to either verbal root, chii or cho, we get the word cha which means “to pen through something”, “to scrawl”. It should be remembered here that in ancient times, before the invention of script, the words rekhá [line] and lehká [writing] carried the same meaning. After the invention of the alphabet, the meaning of lekhá became “that line which expresses a letter”. And rekhá became a basic word. Still, in accordance with the ra-layorabhedah rule (such as roma/loma, rohita/lohita, rakta/lakta, arakta/alakta) rekhá used to be used for lekhá and lekhá for rekhá.

In any case a + cha = accha. The word a is a negation. Thus the etymological meaning of the word accha is “that which has not been penned through or scrawled on”. The colloquial meaning is “good”. This word, in its meaning as “good”, is common today in north India. Acchá ádmii, acche log, acchii kitáb – these all come from the word accha. Even though the word accha is not used in Bengali, the word svaccha (su + accha = svaccha), which means “transparent” in English, is quite common.

From the verbal root jan plus the suffix d́a we get the word ja which means “that which has been born”. By adding ja after the negation a the meaning becomes “that which has not been born”.

By using the word aja to mean “He who is eternal”, “He who is imperishable”, it refers to Parama Puruśa.

The meaning of the verbal root aj is “to move”. The verbal root aj plus the suffix ac gives us aja whose etymological meaning is “that which is always moving”. Goats always move around in search of food. Thus the colloquial meaning of aja is “goat”. The Cosmic Mind of Parama Puruśa is always busy imagining, both within and beyond the scope of time. Thus the word aja is used to refer to the mind of Parama Puruśa or the Cosmic Mind.

The word at́ana is derived from the verbal root at́ plus the suffix lyut́. The verbal root at́ means “to move”, “to keep the flow of movement unhindered”. By adding the prefix pari to the verbal root at́ its meaning becomes “moving while looking and learning” (pari + at́ana = paryat́ana); pari + at́aka = paryat́aka [traveller] or “he who moves from one country to another while looking and learning”.

The verbal root at́ suffixed by t́ac gives at́t́a. At́t́a means “that in which there is continuity”. A continuous “ha, ha, ha, ha, ha”, laughing sound we call at́t́ahási. That house which is continuously moving or growing we call at́t́áliká [mansion]. At́t́a means “that whose flow of movement is unhindered”. In English two words are used for it, “continuity” and “contiguity”. Though there is no fixed rule, generally “continuity” and “continuous” are used in the abstract sense and “contiguity” and “contiguous” in the physical sense. For example, we can say that Patanjali’s philosophy is a kind of at́t́a or continuity of Sáḿkhya philosophy whereas Thailand maintains territorial contiguity with Bengal.

The word at́ha means “meaning”. Artha → at́t́ha → at́ha. The word comes from Mágadhi Prákrta.⁽³⁾ However, it is not used in modern Bengali or in any other language which originated from Mágadhi Prákrta. The word was used in Ashoka’s Lumbinii inscription.

(3) An older language of eastern India, from which came Bengali, Oriya, etc. –Trans.

Auṋka to Akśa (Discourse 3)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

In some limited cases the verbal root anc means “to move”. Its usual meaning is “to determine”, or “to demonstrate” or “to point out”. We use our finger to point out some sight or a spot on a map and say “that place”. For this, the root anc is used. From the root anc and the suffix ka we get the word auṋka. Since the n here is apadánta [not at the end of the word], then in this case the construction is made with the fifth varńa, that is, it becomes auṋka rather than aḿka. The etymological meaning of auṋka is “that which has been fixed”, and the colloquial meaning is “lap”. The science which is based on fixed numbers, such as four, five, ten, twelve, is auṋkashástra or mathematics – algebra, arithmetic, trigonometry, surveying, etc. are all part of mathematics. Auṋka is also used to mean “part”. That drama which has only one auṋka [act] is called ekáunkiká drama. The Bengali word ánka has come from auṋka. (It also means “arithmetic”. In the rural language, ánka kaśá [to count] is still common.) By adding the suffix lyut́ to anc we get the word auṋkana which means “drawing”. Its spoken form is ánká.

By adding the suffix ka to the root anc we also get the word auṋga which means “to determine”. “This is a hand, this is a foot”. In this way whatever has been fixed we call auṋga [limb]. In the construction of auṋga, ḿ cannot be used; the fifth varna una must be used.

Anc suffixed by alac gives us the word aiṋcala which means “a fixed place”. In the construction of aiṋcala also, ḿ should not be used; rather it should be written with the fifth varńa, ina, because here the fundamental root uses an apadánta n.

The meaning of the root anj is “to grow”, “to increase” or “to extend”. To welcome a guest we extend our hand or we extend a garland of flowers. Since, at the time of welcoming, something is extended, we use the word saḿvarddhaná (from saḿvarddhan, “to increase” or “to extend”) for “welcoming”. We also get the word auṋga when we add the suffix ac to anj; its meaning is “that which has grown”. All those parts which have grown from the main body, or any portion of that growth, is thus also called auṋga. For this reason hands, feet, eyes and ears are all classified as auṋga. In olden days, that country that was situated at the far border of northern India was considered an outgrowth of northern India and so its name was Angadesh [the country of auṋga]. It was between Barendrabhumi and Mithila which were on the north bank of the Ganges. South of the Ganges was Magadha and the land of Rarh, and within them was this Angadesh. Karna was probably a famous king of this Angadesh.

If we add lyut́ to anj we get the word auṋgana which means “the growth of a house”, or courtyard (angane áo ab java rasiya [come in my courtyard now, Lord Krśńa] – Vidyapati). In ancient days, during the height of male-domination, women used to be confined to the courtyard. Other than women who worked as physical labourers, no one was allowed outside the courtyard. Thus the women of that time were called auṋganá. Would it not be desirable to abolish the use of this word⁽¹⁾ in this modern era?

By adding lyut́ to anj we also get the word aiṋjana [sulphate of antimony used as collyrium] which means “that which increases lustre”. Needless to say, the fifth varńa iṋa is used; aḿ is not used.

The word ad́d́a is old Bengali. Many believe that the word is perhaps of foreign origin. The actual meaning of the word is “many coming together in a single place”. Later, the word ad́d́á became transformed into ád́d́á. The word ád́d́á [dwelling place, rendezvous] is still used in Bengali today.

The meaning of the verbal root ńu is “to deliver”. The formal meaning of prańava (pra – ńu + al) is “that which has been delivered excellently”, in other words, that which has been successfully delivered to Parama Puruśa. The colloquial meaning of prańava is oṋḿkára [the sound of oṋm]. According to certain scriptures, by fixing one’s concentration on the prańava sound one will arrive at the original source, the Puruśottama [Cosmic nucleus]. In the Shruti it is said:

[This is the stance of Akśara [non-decaying] Brahma; this is the stance of the Supreme Entity.]

[Knowing this Supreme Shelter, one gets firmly established in the Supreme Stance.]

The Tripádavibhúti Narayańa Shruti has clearly said: Prańavátmakaḿ Brahma. The vibrational flow of the Cosmic Self oscillates the universe through innumerable expressions. Each individual expression is known as deva and the original source from which they emanate, that Supreme source, is known as Mahádeva. That is, this prańava, being emitted from the nucleus of the universe, flows in waves through the different levels of matter and mind and continues on to limitlessness. It is not destroyed. It only knows how to move ahead. All kinds of inferential manifestation, all kinds of expressions originating in the nerve fibres, vibrate in that series of waves. Even when those waves pass into the far distance where the sky can place no obstacle in their path, even in that abstract world, they are expressed in the flow of inferences. Whatever sound is emitted continues eternally, whether or not we are able to perceive it. Whatever form vibrations have come into existence will continue endlessly, whether or not our optic nerve is able to catch them. This flow of waves is the oṋḿkára. On the one side it is the Macrocosm and on the other, innumerable microcosms, molecules dancing around the Macrocosm.

What does not do what the root ńu does is ańu [molecule]. From ńu plus the suffix d́rń we get the word ńu. Here the a is a negation. Ańu means “that which does not deliver anyone anywhere”. It has come by itself. The microcosm dances around the Macrocosm, but the Macrocosm does not dance around the microcosm. Hence the ańu does not deliver anyone; it arrives by itself.

When the ańu goes from distant to close, when it goes from a partially manifest vibration and arrives at the original base of that vibration with the help of the series of waves through vibrational simulation, it arrives at its supreme station. Thus the Macrocosm is great and the microcosm small. The smallest portion of any entity that carries its fundamental characteristics is known as ańu. Still, colloquially, any small entity can be, or is, called ańu. The living being is an ańu of Parama Puruśa. Molecular existence is all ańu, though there are individual differences at the molecular level. The smaller portion of the ańu, which does not carry its fundamental characteristics, is known as paramáńu [atom].

Ańu must be written with ń. If it is written with n it becomes a prefix. The meaning of the prefix anu is “back” or “behind”. If anyone arrives (gamana) somewhere after another person arrives, then we say that he has “followed” (anugamana). If someone moves (sarańa) somewhere, that is, if he walks or moves aside, and meanwhile someone else moves behind him we say that they have “followed” (anusarańa). If someone does something or has done something or has been doing something, and someone else also does that something after him, we call that “imitating” (anukarańa). To indicate the desire to do this we add ap after the suffix san which gives the word anucikiirśa [the desire to imitate].

The word atah means “from here” or “from now on”. What happens after “from here” or “from now on” is called atahpar [afterwards].

Tal + ac = tala. By adding the negation a before tala we get atala. The natural or etymological meaning of the word atala is “that whose bottom is too deep to be found” – in spoken Bengali we say Yár thai pácchi ná. The colloquial meaning of atala is “the third level down in the successive order of crudeness”. Just as when we ascend we have bhú-bhuvah-svah-maha-jana-tapa-satya with satya loka being the subtlest, when we descend we find tala right below bhúloka, below that atala, and then similarly talátala, pátála, atipátála, and rasátala. Rasátala is considered the crudest. Of course, the word rasátala is used to mean the worst kind of hell.

The word ati has various meanings. Sometimes it implies “abundance”, sometimes it signifies “excess”, sometimes “that part of growth which is unnecessary”. The word iisha means “lord”, “controller”, “director”, “ruler”; the formal meaning of atiisha is “formidable ruler” or Mahákaola. Its colloquial meaning is “fit to be welcomed by all” – wise sage. During the Buddhist era, those who were firmly established in profound wisdom used to be known as atiisha.

Atha means “this is” or “this will be”. Atha svarńanakulakathá means “this was a story about a golden mongoose”. Kathá means “story”. Kathániká means “assorted short tales”. Kathániká → kahániá → kaháni → kahinii [anecdote, story].

The meaning of the verbal root ad is “to eat”. Attá means “eater”. In the Vedas it is said: Attá vishvasya satpatih. We get the word anna from the root ad. Ad + na = anna. If hasanta da [where the a after the d is omitted] is followed by na, then na is inserted in place of d. The etymological meaning of anna is “that which is eaten” or “that which can be eaten”. The colloquial meaning of anna is “the chief food of any area” – in some places rice, in others bread, or potato or porridge. Just as a Bengalee is correct to call rice anna, so would an Irishman be correct to call potato anna. Áluka → álua → álu [potato]. What we call álu came to India from abroad about 400, 450 years ago. Thus it has no separate name in Sanskrit. Áluka used to be used for sweet potato. (Shakarakanda: Sharkarákanda → shakkarakanda → shakarakanda) In some parts of India this sweet potato or shakarakanda is anna for the poor people. Although it is tasty, it has little nutritive value.

Apa is a prefix. It denotes opposition. That which goes against karma [deed] is apakarma [misdeed]. When we say devatá we mean “one who has many kinds of good qualities”. One who does not have good qualities is called apadevatá. Imaginary ghosts are thus called apadevatá. The antonym of utkrśt́a [excellent] is apakrśt́a [inferior]. The antonym of saiṋcaya [accumulation] (sam – ci + al = saiṋcaya) is apacaya [squandering] (apa – ci + al = apacaya). Caya is created by adding the suffix al to the root ci. But if ghaiṋ is the suffix, then in place of the letter ca, ka is inserted, that is, ci + ghaiṋ = káya, not cáya (the spelling káyá is incorrect). Apakrti can be used as the antonym of saḿskrti [culture] but apa-saḿskrti cannot because saḿskrti means “that which has ascended to an advanced level of krti [deed]”. Apa means a degraded condition. How can the two then go together? Can a stone bowl be made of gold? Furthermore, apakrti also means “misdeed”. Thus asaḿskrti, rather, should be used as the antonym of saḿskrti.

A (negation) + Pá + lyut́ = apána. The etymological meaning of apána is “that which does not help in increasing fluidity”. According to the yogic scriptures, apána is one of the five internal váyus [vital forces]. There are ten different internal and external váyus. The internal váyus are práńa, apána, samána, udána, and vyána.

1) Práńa: The práńa váyu is situated in the area from the navel to the throat. It helps with the respiratory functions and the circulation of vital energy.

2) Apána: This váyu functions in the area from the navel down. It helps in the excretion of urine and stool.

3) Samána: Samána váyu is situated at the navel region and maintains equilibrium between the práńa and apána váyus.

4) Udána: The udána váyu is situated in the throat. It helps in vocalization and expression of thought. If someone uses very emotional language we say “tini udátta kańthe áhván Jánálen.” [He issued a clarion call.]

5) Vyána: The vyána váyu functions throughout the body. It helps in the circulation of vital fluids and blood, and in the perception and non-perception of experience.

1) Nága: It resides in the joints. This nága váyu helps with jumping and extending the body.

2) Kúrma: It is found in the different glands of the body. Kúrma váyu helps with the action of contraction. The way a turtle contracts by withdrawing its limbs into its body is called kúrmabháva. Since this váyu helps in effecting kúrmabháva, it is called kúrma váyu. One should keep in mind that kúrmabháva and kúrmanád́ii are not the same thing. Kúrmanád́ii is a point in the throat at the bottom-most portion of the periphery of Vishuddha cakra. If mental equipoise is brought about in the kúrmanád́ii then the body’s vibrations can be temporarily stopped. (According to yogis, bulls have the capacity to fix their mind in the kúrmanád́ii, thereby achieving a state where they can go without moving for a long time. To see them, it would appear as if they were not a living being but a statue chiselled out of stone.)

3) Krkara: Krkara váyu is scattered throughout the body. It expresses itself in the increase or decrease of air pressure. Krkara váyu helps in yawning and stretching. Ordinarily, yawning happens right before falling asleep, and stretching, right after waking up. In the spoken languages of north India, yawning is called jemná and stretching is called áḿd́e lená – in Bengali we say ád́moŕá bháuṋgá.

4) Devadatta: The devadatta váyu bases its action on the increased or decreased pressure of food and water in the stomach. Devadatta váyu rouses thirst and hunger.

5) Dhanaiṋjaya: As a result of internal or external labour, the body feels the need for sleep. The feeling of sleep or drowsiness comes from this dhanaiṋjaya váyu which pervades the body, and so the living being drowses or falls asleep.

Due to illness, old age or an unexpected injury, the region inhabited by práńa váyu degenerates and the práńa váyu can no longer maintain its natural functional capacity and flow. In this unnatural condition it strikes against the samána váyu causing the samána váyu to lose its equilibrium. As a result, the navelly-situated samána váyu and the upper body práńa váyu quit their respective areas and merge; the two then create pressure on apána váyu. In this condition the udána váyu loses its normal ability to function under the united pressure of práńa, samána and apána. This condition we call “navel breathing”. As a result of the udána váyu losing its normal functioning, a rattling sound is produced in the throat. This is an indication of imminent natural death.

At the time of leaving the body, the four united váyus – práńa, apána, samána, and udána – join with the vyána váyu, which is present throughout the body. These five vital forces, having become one, leave the body and join the aerial factor or merge in Mahápráńa [Cosmic Life]. At the time that the práńa váyu leaves the body, four of the five external váyus, namely nága, devadatta, kúrma, and krkara, join with the práńa váyu and leave the body together with it. Only the dhanaiṋjaya váyu remains in the body.

Sleep and drowsiness is the work of dhanaiṋjaya váyu. The body being in a state of permanent repose, dhanaiṋjaya váyu remains. After cremation, or when the dead body completely decomposes in the grave, dhanaiṋjaya enters the mahábhúta [five fundamental factors] and merges into the aerial factor.

The collective name of the five internal váyus and five external váyus is the five práńas or the ten práńas. The process by which we try to bring the vital forces under control is called práńáyáma in the yogic scriptures. Práńán yamayatyeśa práńáyámah. Of course, there is another explication of práńáyáma: Tasmin sati shvásaprashvásayorgativicchedah práńáyámah. Its meaning also ends up being essentially the same, that is, the special effort whereby the normal flow of inhalation and respiration is altered and a temporary cessation of respiration is introduced by special means, is called práńáyáma.

It sometimes happens that due to sudden accident or the attack of a deadly disease, the body is so disturbed that its vital force becomes paralysed. This can happen with cholera (visúciká in Sanskrit), pox (máriigut́iká in Sanskrit), snakebite, death by poisoning, and death by hanging.

Suddenly, there is an accidental death, but the body is not broken into pieces. Since the vital energy is paralysed, there is no opportunity for navel breathing or only very little. When the vital energy has been paralysed, it seems apparently as if death has occurred while actually it has not – that comes a little later. During this condition, if the respiration can be reestablished by an artificial process, the vital energy wakes up and becomes active or can do so.

As long as the vital energy is paralysed, there will be no sign of decay in the body. In olden days, whenever a person’s vital energy became paralysed for one of these reasons, the people, rather than cremating or interring the so-called dead body, used to attach it to a raft and float it in water. In the open environment or atmosphere of the river, the vital energy, in some cases, used to become fully active again. Thus, in those days, especially in cases of cholera, pox or snakebite, the people used to float the dead patient in water out of a spirit of welfare. In such cases, where the vital energy is paralysed, there is absolutely no chance of it returning if the body is cremated. If the body is interred underground it becomes even more grievous because that vital energy may reawaken for some time in the grave. After a short struggle the person falls again into eternal sleep in the darkness of the tomb. Thus, after these types of death it is better not to burn or bury the deceased until they have been examined by a competent physician.

I remember a story now about paralysed vital energy that I have not thought about for many years. I was going from Biharshariif to Ranchi via Gaya. It would have been shorter and faster to go via Nawada, Jhumri-Tilaiya, but since I had some⁽²⁾ work in Gaya I had to take the long route. It was late in the evening when I arrived in Gaya, about a quarter past eight. After finishing my work, I decided that if I spent the night in Gaya I would be late when I got to Ranchi the next morning. Instead, why not go on ahead as far as I could? I could stay at some resthouse along the way. Then I could start at dawn the next morning and arrive early in Ranchi.

Around 10:00 at night I reached the Gobhi dak-bungalow. After a few shouts, the caretaker woke up. I told him I wanted to spend the night there and leave at dawn. He seemed like a good man but he replied, “Look, Sahib, no one stays in this resthouse at night. As you can see, the jungle is not far from here. There are ferocious animals in the jungle, bears and some tigers also. After a little while you’ll hear the tigers roar. Four or five years ago the bathroom was broken; no one uses it. The authorities don’t want to repair it either so it’s really not possible for you to sleep in the room tonight. As you can see, we still haven’t gotten electricity in our rest house. We have the old-fashioned pull-fan⁽³⁾ but we haven’t had a fan-puller for two years. The authorites are thinking to bring electricity here so they’ve left that position vacant.”

“Now it’s cold season,” I said. “What’s the harm if there is no fan-puller?”

“What can I say, sir,” replied the caretaker. “Until now, I haven’t seen anyone who has been able to remain in any of the rooms of this house. So I can’t advise you to stay here.”

“Like I told you,” he replied. “There’s the danger of bears and tigers. I’m also afraid to stay here at night. How can I let you stay alone at night outside in the garden?”

“I’ll sleep under a mosquito net,” I said. “Bears and tigers won’t come through the net. You don’t have to worry.”

The man reluctantly agreed. He arranged a cot, some bedding and a mosquito net for me. When I laid down for the night I saw something white a little distance from the bungalow in the soft light of the waxing moon. I asked the caretaker if he knew what it was.

“Sir, I don’t see very well at night,” he replied. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

I had some fruits with me, so I ate something and lay down. The caretaker started heading home.

At that time British rule had just ended. The pressure of British domination was felt everywhere. But in this Gobhi area there was virtually no sign of the civilized world. It was completely jungle, and in the middle of it this little dak-bungalow. There were no houses, no market, no din and bustle nearby. If you shouted there would be very little hope that anyone would hear you. The caretaker said he would come at five in the morning. Until then I would be completely alone.

Anyhow, feeling tired, I laid my torch next to my pillow and went to bed. After a few minutes my eyelids grew heavy and I dropped off to sleep. Some time later I was roused by a rustling sound. What do I see? At the foot of the bed two hands were lifting up the mosquito net and coming in, human hands. There was no need of the torch because there was enough moonlight to see by.

“Who… who… who,” I said. Slowly the mosquito net rose up and the upper portion of a human body entered along with the two hands.

Was it a man? The image of a man created by the play of light and shadow? The glorious treasure of a human being vibrant with life? But why was it so silent? I could feel the touch of the cold air coming in from the forest at the foot of my bed. Was this heaven or hell? Or some other place, beyond either one?

The fellow stood there like a statue chiselled out of monolithic rock. I became very annoyed and turned over on my other side. From the forest I could hear the constant drone of crickets, ghostly owl cries, and the occasional sound of a várshiḿha deer. One sound in particular, I assumed, was the call of a deer. I could also hear the strange cries of hyenas. I had heard that there were bears, pythons, wild boars and a few man-eating tigers in this forest, but I didn’t hear any. Hunters say that the calls of deers and tigers never come from the same part of the jungle at the same time because deer won’t go anywhere near an area where a tiger is roaring, so if you hear the call of a deer you can be sure that there are no tigers nearby.

I tried to sleep a little. But who can sleep through misfortune? At the foot of the bed cold air was still coming in from the forest so I knew that the figure was still standing there lifting up the mosquito net. I got more and more annoyed. I decided to ignore him for a little while, but if he still didn’t go away I would scold him mercilessly and compel him to leave.

Two or three minutes passed. He continued to stand there, holding up the mosquito net and staring at me. Then I rebuked him severely in the local Magahii language: “What are you doing here? Whom do you want? If you’ve got no business here, well I have! I’m trying to sleep.”

He started to tremble and I could see that he was embarrassed. Then he started speaking in a very sweet, soft voice: “I came to make sure that you could sleep properly.”

He had answered me in Bengali. Seeing his gentlemanly behaviour, my mind softened. Looking closely, I could see that my visitor was a young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, wearing winter clothes. Judging by his face I could see that he was well-educated and from a good family.

“My name is Niiláiṋjana Bhaiṋja. My home is in Hazaribag. But it seems I am bound here by my strong attachment to the place.

“I saw how late you arrived and I knew the night would be troublesome for you. The caretaker of this place is a very good man. He was right to try to get you to stay in the next dak-bungalow at Caopárań instead of staying here. That’s a very good dak-bungalow. Everything he said was quite correct. It’s his duty to stay here at night, but he doesn’t do so out of fear. He leaves at 10:00 every night and comes back around five in the morning. His village is about a mile from here. Whenever he goes and whenever he comes he gets eerie feelings and becomes afraid. It’s like that. If I had to come then I’d also feel the same way.

“I saw that you had bananas and guavas for dinner. Imagine how I felt. You wanted to take a bath but the water from the well here is not fit for use. Even though the caretaker left a bucket of water before he left, thinking you might need it, still you didn’t use it to bathe. Imagine how we felt. Finally you went to bed on a cot in the garden and fell asleep. I didn’t get any chance to speak with you. Then I thought, let me lift up the mosquito net and tickle the bottom of your feet a little. If you woke up, then I would ask you if you wanted to come to my house.”

“Two inconveniences,” he replied. “As you can see, there’s a cold breeze coming from the jungle. It’ll get even colder as the night goes on. All you have is an endi [rough silk] shawl to cover yourself. You’ll be very uncomfortable. Secondly, the wild animals from the forest make noise all night long and they’ll keep waking you up. You see how much trouble it is? So we want to make the best of a bad situation and give you the best room in the bungalow. We’ve cleaned the room and arranged everything. You won’t have any problems there.”

“The keys are underneath my pillow,” I said. “Where did you get the keys from?”

“I have a duplicate set of keys,” he replied. “We often go back and forth to the bungalow at night. If we see any guest having problems at night we also feel troubled. Even more so with you since you are very close to us, as close as can be.”

Niiláiṋjana replied: “My sister is with me – Mainjulá Bhaiṋja. Didi has been doing research for a long time into Gondwanaland’s prehistoric age. Our Gobhi here was also a part of Gondwanaland. Didi’s friend Vásavii Vasu is also here. Vásavii has been doing long-term research on Magdha’s gods and goddesses during the Maháyána Buddhist era. Once she visited with you the rocky land that is in front of Shámasuddin Miyan’s house in Páhád́iyá village. In that rocky land there were different figures of gods and goddesses from Magadha’s Buddhist era, some broken or half-broken, and others still intact. Vásavii said that you helped her in many ways. So I can’t let you remain in such a troublesome situation. Please heed what I am saying and come to the room.”

Rather than give a direct answer, I asked Niiláiṋjana if he was doing research on anything.

“I’ve done a little research on the river civilizations of Rarh and Jharkhanda. But you can hardly find a single book on the subject so I haven’t been able to go very far in my research.

“Once you went to Hazaribag. My sister Mainjulá and I also went. You were standing near the Canary Hills. I was walking behind you but I didn’t have an opportunity to say anything. Had you looked behind you, even by mistake, I would’ve spoken a few urgent words to you.”

Then I asked: “In your opinion, are your sister Mainjulá and her friend Vásavii Vasu also bound here by the same attachment to the place?”

He smiled a little and replied: “Exactly as you say. Please come now. The ladies have finished getting the room ready.”

“The caretaker was saying that there is no fan-puller,” I said. “It may get uncomfortably hot during the night.”

“That’s partly correct. But as you can see, it’s cold outside. And besides, what am I here for? Myself, my sister, and Vásavii will take turns fanning you by hand. And so that you won’t be in any kind of danger while you’re asleep, I’ll stand watch. The only trouble you have to take is to go to the room. You don’t have to think for anything else.”

Niiláiṋjana started for the room and I followed after him. By the way, there is one thing I should mention about our walk over. My shoes were squeaking as I walked but Niiláiṋjana’s were absolutely silent. It was as if his feet weren’t touching the ground at all, or if they were, they were touching it so lightly that no sound was coming. It was quite strange. Like being in a spectral world. There was some moonlight so there were very few fireflies. Those few that were there moved aside when they saw me, but when they saw Niiláiṋjana they did not move at all, as if they did not acknowledge his existence. Such a thing! As if he was a phantom moving in a phantom world, lost in a magical inner realm.

I arrived at a large room. Niiláiṋjana really did have a duplicate set of keys. Otherwise how could they have opened the room? I could see from the decaying condition of the earth and brick walls that the house had been built either at the beginning of the British era or at the end of the Mughal era. It was along this road that they used to send the mail from Bengal to Delhi with mounted postal bearers. At points along the way there were arrangements for food and lodging for the riders and their horses.

As I entered the room I was keenly aware of the strangeness of the situation. There was no light on in the caretaker’s room but here they had lit a wall-lamp. Although one could more or less make things out in its dim light, one couldn’t see very well. From the open door that white apparition from the forest could still be seen indistinctly, the same white apparition that the caretaker had told me he couldn’t see clearly at night and would inform me about in the morning.

The bed was laid out. I lay down and covered myself with my eńdi shawl. The room was fairly warm. Niiláiṋjana pulled up a stool and began fanning me.

“Why should you stay awake so late at night,” I said. “You should go to bed. Just let me know which room you are going to sleep in and I will call you if I need to.”

“Even if you tell me a thousand times I won’t budge. Who knows how hot it may get? I’ll keep fanning you and I’ll make sure you don’t get too cold either. Do you know? For a while I’ve been feeling very remorseful. How long was I holding up the mosquito net and letting the cold air in?… It never occurred to me that you were getting cold. Here, let me warm up a flannel for you.”

“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t put me into debt like that. You can stay in my room if you like, but you don’t have to do anything more for me.”

“I’ll stay,” he said, “and I’ll fan you; Besides it wouldn’t be right for me to lie down now. Who knows when some danger might present itself. The three of us will take turns staying awake. My sister will take the duty after me. Then I’ll go out on the road to Caopárań. It’s also important to see if there’s anything dangerous on the road. When you’re crossing Caopárań it’ll be dawn. Whoever is going to look after you on your way out of Caopárań will have to have a word with me then. I can’t come so easily or talk so easily in the daylight as I can at night, you understand. So, after Caopárań, whoever takes responsibility for your care will have to remain near you secretly.

“Now turn over to the other side. I’ll fan the back of your head nicely. That way you’ll fall asleep faster. While I’m fanning you I’ll tell you a little story. You’ll fall asleep quicker listening to a story.

“The region where we are now used to be the far eastern part of ancient Gondwanaland. I can’t say it was the farthest eastern part because the farthest eastern part was that part of Gondwanaland that people nowadays call Rarh. The eastern mountains of Gondwanaland ran parallel from west to east. Only the Rajmahal Hills in the north ran northeast instead of due east, near Sahebganj and away from the Ganges. I say the Ganges although at that time the Ganges wasn’t there – the ocean was. At that time the Himalayas hadn’t been formed yet so where could the Ganges come from?

“This was during the time before the breath of man had warmed the earth’s air. All the way south, in the area near Meghasini peak, the mountains ran more or less southeast. The rest of the mountains ran from west to east and their last lofty peak was Sametashikhar, that today is known by the name of Pareshnáth. To the east of this Pareshnáth was the ancient land of Rarh and to the west was Jharkhanda. Of course this was before human beings came to the earth.

“Into the lowest portion of the valley, between these two mountain ranges, ran the melted ice water of Gondwanaland forming the Bánsh, Dváraká, Mayúrákśii, Hiḿlo, Ajaya, Dámodara, Dvárakeshvara, Kaḿsávatii, Shilávatii, Káliyághái, and Suvarńarekhá rivers – these were all very large rivers. When human beings came and made the ancient soil of Rarh holy with the touch of their feet, they built their dwellings on the banks of these rivers. Not only humans – those prehistoric creatures who came hundreds of thousands of years before the advent of men also used to live on the banks of these rivers because all living beings need water.

“Do you know why I’m only talking about Rarh and not about any other part of Gondwanaland? Elsewhere it was extremely cold and full of snowstorms. There was no proper environment there for human beings to evolve. Rarh had the living touch of warmth so humans came there first. They founded the world’s most ancient civilization and culture, which we can call the original Rarh culture.

“Nothing stops in this world, neither animate nor inanimate. It is not only that these rivers carried vital force for existence. They also led the irresistible attainment of civilization and culture swiftly toward union with the sea. That civilization that is founded upstream in the river reaches its fullness downstream. No two rivers carry identical civilizations. Thus, after two rivers merge, their combined flow carries yet a third civilization.

“Take, for instance, a small example. In our Birbhum there are two very small rivers: the Kopái and the Vakreshvara. The flow of these two civilizations and cultures is nearly the same. The spoken language of the people who live on their banks is also almost the same. But notice, I say ‘almost’ rather than ‘the same’ because they are not identical. Afterwards, when they join each other in Melánpur near Indása village (the famous Indrahása from the Jain era) and become the Kuye river, then its accompanying civilization and culture becomes a little altered. The people who live on the banks of the Kuye river enjoy the blessings of both the Kopái and Vakreshvara rivers.

“Dumká, Suri, Santhia, and Kandi – these four cities are in the Mayúrákśii valley. Their customs, behaviour, mode of living, and spoken language are the same but the Mandar hill, which is very near Dumká, is situated on the Chandan river and thus the customs, comportment and language there is different than Dumká’s. Kandi is quite far from Dumká but they are alike in all ways. Moreover, Kándi is very close to Jangipur but Jangipur’s culture is different; its spoken language is Shershahabad Bengali. You will find this kind of history with all rivers. The rivers of Rarh did not simply carry sand and alluvium to the sea, thereby making the Bengali plains, they also brought the verdant riches of civilization and culture to Bengal.

“After the rise of the Himalayas from the ocean, the Ganges and the Brahmaputra rivers brought the flow of civilization and culture with the current of their waters. The Ganges brought the Indo-Aryan culture, but near Sahebganj, where the Ganges turns south, the Gaorhiya [a portion of Bengal] influence over the cultural life increased. Similarly, as the Brahmaputra reached the Assam valley near Sadiya there was a mixture of the Tibetan and Burmese civilizations. The triple mixture of these two with the Indo-Aryan gave rise to the Kamarupa civilization which a little downriver became transformed into the Bengali culture.

“The lushness and artistry of the Bengali civilization and culture of today has been enriched by the civilization and culture carried by the many small rivers and tributaries of Rarh, and with the admixture of the Ganges and Brahmaputra civilizations the Bengali civilization has achieved its incomparable sweetness.”

“Niiláiṋjana,” I said. “You have learned so much at such a young age!”

Niilanjana replied: “Do you know what the funny thing is? (As he said this he was smiling sweetly.) You were thinking all these things yourself and I was only thinking of you. So what you were thinking vibrated my mind. I spoke so that you could enjoy hearing your own thoughts from my mouth. Now you sleep and I’ll sit here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Suddenly, my sleep was broken. Niiláiṋjana was no longer in the room; instead there was a young woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old. She greeted me and said, “I’m Niiláiṋjana’s sister, Mainjulá Bhaiṋja. Niiláiṋjana left for Caopárań to make sure that everything is okay on the road. Now I’ve taken over the duty.

“First of all, I should mention that when Niiláiṋjana left he put that pen on the table there to give to you. He said that if you object then I should put the pen forcibly in your pocket.”

“I also left my wristwatch beside it,” said Mainjulá. What’s the use of a wristwatch in this pitch darkness. Indeed, our life is pitch dark in this forested area, isn’t it? Better these things be free from the darkness of Hades and enjoy the light and air of the free world in your museum.

“I hope you’re not feeling any inconvenience. If you do, you must let me know. A little while ago I changed the bedsheet. The mattress is very stiff. It wasn’t possible to change it so late at night. All this time I’ve been busy trying to think of what might help you fall asleep quicker. You didn’t really have a chance to eat, but it wasn’t the right time to bring you food. After my duty is finished, I’ll make you some breakfast and leave it in the car. You certainly have to eat on your way to Caopárań.”

“Of course, I have a strong attraction to the terrain of Gondwanaland,” continued Mainjulá. “But I feel more attraction for the different plants and wild animals of this area, in a word, the flora and fauna. In the laterite soil of this land you find mostly piyál (piyáshál), palásh, kuśum, shál, and kendu trees. You also come across wild jackfruit, wild mango and custard-apple trees. Was the tree-life and different birds and beasts of this area the same during the end of the Pleiocene or beginning of the Meoiscene ages when ape-men first appeared?”

“Well keep in mind,” I replied, “that the custard-apple trees you find here in the wild were brought by the Portuguese about 450 years ago. What do you know about palásh?”

“Well, looking at the colour of the flower and its qualities, it seems to me that rather than the three varieties we have nowadays, white, red and yellow, there was only the red variety. The tree was ten times taller than the palásh trees of today. The flowers were bright red but very big in size, and the fruits were quite small but sweet and juicy.”

“Your thinking is correct,” I said, “because there are more palásh trees in the eastern portion of Gondwanaland. Where rivers have more or less level land on both sides you get this red soil that the palásh tree favours. The interesting thing is that in all the river basins of that area, especially the Damodar, Ajaya, Ushri, Konar, Barakar, and the Mahanadii’s central river basin, you get ample amounts of coal – high quality coal. The primary source of material for this coal is decomposed palásh trees. Those palásh trees were not like the palásh trees of today but they were the forefathers of today’s palásh trees.

“The part of Gondwanaland in which we are now is more or less divided into east and west by the Koyel river. The difference between east and west is not only evidenced in the terrain, but also in the flora and fauna. I would guess that the western mountains that we now call the Vindhya and Sátpurá mountains were once much higher. They had peaks higher than the Himalayas. Flora and fauna could not evolve there in the ancient past due to excessive snowfall, but the eastern mountains, although very high and snow-capped, were not as high as the western mountains. It is likely that the first appearance in the world of both flora and fauna was here, in this area where we find our ancient Rarh and Jharkhanda. In the west, the melted ice ran into the Arabian Sea. Although there was water, the soil was unfertile, so there was little flora and naturally little fauna as well. But in the east, where the water from the melted snows became rivers, the cold was not so severe. So the first expression of developed life was in the land of Rarh – this we can be certain of.

“Thus we find an abundance of prehistoric fossils in the eastern portion of the Ramgarh Hills, the Dalmá Hills, the Meghásinii belt, and the southeast portion of the Rajmahal Hills (Pákud́a and Rajmahal sub-divisions). The small hills of Bankura District, especially the Shushuniyá Hills, are also an extension of this Ramgarh range. Fossils of various types of ancient animals have been found near these hills. Still, the greatest amount of fossils are lying in the areas closest to the Suvarńarehká, Kaḿsávatii, and Damodara rivers. It is quite clear that the brontosaurus and other dinosaurs lived in this region. Rhinoceroses also used to roam the extremely high grasses of this area. Just two hundred years ago rhinoceroses were living in Birbhum and Kandi sub-division. Only 125 years ago rhinoceroses were spotted in Rajmahal and Pákurh.

“There were also huge birds of the phinge variety with loose, hanging tails. I would guess that the size of a single bird was about five or six feet. Their tales used to trail on the ground and the sabre-toothed tigers of that day used to catch them easily by stepping on their tails with their paws. But when the sabre-toothed tiger disappeared from Rarh about 700,000 years ago, these large-bodied birds also became extinct. The descendants of these huge birds, the phinge and doyel birds of today, are much smaller in size. The hyena (govághá, hud́ál, hud́ár, or huńdár in rural Bengali; in Madhya Pradesh vighavá) of today is the descendant of this sabre-toothed tiger.

“Ape-men or man-apes first took birth in this part of the earth. There were some differences between the humans that evolved on either side of the Koyel river in terms of intelligence and other qualities. Such differences still exist today among their descendants. On the eastern side was the dwelling place of the Munda clan⁽⁴⁾ of that primitive age, and on the western side lived the Oráno clan. The former belongs to the Austric group – their language also. Many Austric-family words are still used in modern Bengali, such as kurhi [twenty], dulál (from dulár [darling child]) and ghád́a [neck], among others.

“The Oráno family languages belong to the Dravidian group.⁽⁵⁾ Although there are some words in Bengali that belong to the Dravidian family, they are much fewer by comparison than those of Austric origin. This family of words [Dravidian] includes pallii [hamlet], miin [fish], and tentul [tamarind] (tinturi → tenturi → tentur → tentul), among others.

“The Biirhorh⁽⁶⁾ community also arose in this area in very ancient times. They are also part of the Austric family. The original home of the Málpáhárhiis is in the northeast part of this area. Later they were subdued by others and forced to take shelter in the forest at the far edge of the Rajmahal Hills.

“In those ancient days there was a great deal of fighting between the ape-men and man-apes. The apes did not know the use of fire so they could not use it to burn their enemies. When men learned the use of fire, they started to burn to death their main enemies, the apes, and eat them. During the British era also, the Biirhorhs used to burn apes to death and eat them. They also had some attraction to cannibalism, however, there is no proof that they ever ate human beings. One can deduce from this that they used to kill the apes for the purpose of eating their enemies.

“There is still another clan from this Koyel river basin – the Asuras. They originated here and developed their own separate culture. Later they left and headed northwest in the direction of Europe. A few words from their language can still be found among the Gypsies of central Asia and in the Romansch language of Europe.

“I can see that you really like your subject, so I also like it. How is it you know so much at such a young age?”

“A few minutes ago I hardly knew anything about this subject,” she replied. “Whatever you were thinking just came out of my mouth. And whatever you were saying was reflected in the mirror of my mind.”

I continued. “Near the high mountains of this Gondwanaland there were many huge pits. With the passage of time the mountains eroded and became large hills, then smaller hills, knolls and mounds. Today also, Rarh and Jharkhanda are full of these hills, hillocks and knolls. Thus the land is undulating. What is today the lowest portion of this undulating land was at one time deep pits. And the upper portions were very tall mountains. Although many large pits have filled up, not all of them have. In Rarhii Bengali they are called kándar (from kandara in Sanskrit). Still there are a few very large pits. You will also find large pits nearby wherever you find a coal-yard with an open pit.”

“When I hear the word ‘pit’ I tremble and my throat goes dry,” said Mainjulá.

“It was in a pit that we had our accident,” she replied. “It was a long time ago, during British rule. I was travelling by car from Hazaribag to Gaya with my friend Vásavii and my little brother Niiláiṋjana to do some research about Magadha. As we were approaching Gobhi our car had to swerve to avoid getting hit by a truck and it fell in a huge gorge. Oh! If I think about it, even today, I lose consciousness. The last thing I heard was Niiláiṋjana crying ‘Didi’. I can still hear him. He was driving the car. We all fell in the gorge and were severely hurt but no one died. We remained unconscious for a long time.”

Listening to Mainjulá, I gradually fell asleep. Two or three times I said to myself: “Even today the three of us become afraid if we hear the word ‘gorge’.”

I don’t know when Mainjulá left. When I woke up again I saw a girl about Mainjulá’s age sitting in the room. I took a good look at her. It was the same Vásavii Vasu that I had seen a few years before in Magadha’s Páháŕiyá village. What a passion she had for archaeological research!

Then Vásavii started talking. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted an opportunity to talk to you, but I never got the chance. But first, before we talk anymore, I have to take care of one thing. I want my locket to stay in your museum along with Niiláiṋjana’s pen and Mainjulá’s wristwatch. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And just to be sure that you won’t get a chance to object, I’ve put them in your suitcase in the car.”

“What are you saying?” I replied. “The key to the suitcase is in my pocket. How did you open the suitcase? You live here so I can see how you might have a duplicate key for the room, but there’s no question of having a duplicate key for my suitcase.”

She replied, a little embarrassed. “Oh yes, you’re right. How did I open it?… how did I open it?”

To save her from an embarrassing situation I asked, “Do you remember your research into eastern Magadha and your investigation of the idols and images?”

“Ye-e-s indeed. Most of all, your words left a strong impression on me. You really helped me so much! Do you expect that the results of cultural research throughout Magadha will be the same?”

“Magadha culture can be divided into four branches,” I replied, “according to river valleys: (1) Shon-Punpun, (2) Naeraiṋjana-Mohaniya-Phalgu, (3), Kiul Valley and (4) Kśuri Valley.

“While it is certainly true that the Ganges flows through Magadha and that the civilization that the Ganges brought with it from north India took on a new form when it came to Magadha, Magadha was in no way founded on this Gangetic civilization. The heart of these four branches of culture was in Girivraja or Rájagir.⁽⁷⁾

“Today the rivers of Magadha have all but dried up, but it was not always so. At one time the source of its rivers was in the deep forest. There was a great deal of rainfall in those days and the rivers used to flow twelve months a year. Today, as a result of senseless destruction of the forest, Magadha is gradually being turned into a desert. The village where we met was a little outside the Kiul valley. It falls within the jurisdiction of the Ksuri valley. Today the Kśuri river⁽⁸⁾ has dried up but at one time it was a very big river. This can be ascertained by measuring the width of its source.

“It is true that, at that time, the Mahayanii Buddhist god Máriici was popular among the people. Some people used to do Maŕiici pújá [worship] and others used to throw sand in the idol’s face to get the god to leave the village. Háriiti was also popular in Magadha but one would not usually see both Máŕiici and Háriiti in the same place. At one spot in the Kśuri valley we found idols of both Máŕiici and Háriiti. But these things I’ve already told you. You took notes also.”

“The gods live inside people,” Vásavii continued, “and the demons also build their homes inside people. Mainjulá certainly must have told you how we fell into a gorge and were gravely injured. We were stunned, our life-force was paralysed. Nobody lived in that area and no one came to rescue us. But one or two hours after the accident some dacoits arrived and robbed us of all our possessions. They took my notebook and whatever money and other property we had with us, but they didn’t bother to call a doctor or to try to save us by taking us to a hospital. The only things the thieves overlooked were Niiláiṋjana’s pen, Mainjulá’s wristwatch and my locket so we’ve given them to you. What good will it do if they remain in this dark underworld? Let them stay in the open air and light of your museum.

“A little while later, an English gentleman was passing by on the same road and noticed our situation. He took our three bodies in his car to a nearby health centre. Fortunately, we were still alive though our life-force was paralysed.

“But how long shall I go on talking about us?” she said. “You were talking about Háriiti?”

“Háriiti was also a Mahayana Buddhist goddess,” I continued. “The difference between Máriici and Háriiti was that Háriiti was worshipped by both the Mahayana Buddhists and the Shvetámbara Jains. We found both Háriiti and Máriici in the Kśuri river basin. One can deduce from this that in this part of Magadha both Buddhism and Jainism existed side by side. Whether as enemies or friends, they lived together.

“It may also be, moreover, that this river basin was the original centre of Mahayana Buddhism. It should not be forgotten that Rajagir-Nalanda, Barhgaon, Mahabihar (Biharsharif), Paharhiya (the village of Maharsi Saiṋjaya, the philosophy teacher of Lord Buddha), and Pavapurii (the place where Varddhaman Mahaviira died) are all in the Kśuri river valley. At one time, the river had a very sharp (kśuradhárávat), strong current. Thus in Sanskrit its name became kśuriká. Later that became kśuri in Bengali. Here it should also be remembered that the current dialects of the Magahii language have been spread through the river basins.

“Magadha also has very clear, fixed natural boundaries: The Ganges in the north, the Shon river in the west, the Ramgarh Hills in the south, and in the east Sametashikhara or Pareshanath Mountain,⁽⁹⁾ Cákái Hill (Cakravartii Mountain: Cakravartii → Cakkavatii → Cakkavai → Cákái/Cakái), Grdhrakút́a Hill (Grdhrakút́a Gidhdhkúd́a → Gidhdhaud́a → Gidhaoŕa) and Kiul River valley. In the direction opposite Grdhrakút́a Hill is Angadesh and opposite Cakravartii Mountain is Rarh.”

“How very interesting,” said Vásavii. “About a month after we met that time, I went back there to do some more extensive research into the Máriici and Háriiti idols, but this time I was unable to find any. Brokers who dealt in idols had stolen them and smuggled them out of the country.”

“This kind of sad occurrence is a daily event in Magadha,” I replied. “So much archaeological wealth has been and is being smuggled out of Magadha that in the near future Magadha will become destitute and empty. There is no dearth of educated people in Magadha nowadays, but it seems that they are not paying proper attention to this. What the universities are doing about it I can’t say, but I will say that both the educated people of Magadha and the universities should come forward without delay in this matter. It is unthinkable that that part of the world which is richest in archaeological wealth should be deprived of everything it has.”

The sound of the caretaker approaching woke me up. When I looked up, I saw Vásavii getting ready to leave. “The caretaker is coming so I have to go now,” she said and then left rather hastily. At first she went like the wind, then even faster… she went near that white thing in the distance and disappeared somewhere. The next moment the caretaker entered my room.

When the caretaker entered my room he said: “Sir, you moved into the room last night! If you had told me that you were going to move into the room in the middle of the night I would have made all the necessary arrangements. Aha, I see you’ve laid out your bedding yourself. The bedding has also been cleaned up. And I see that the wall-lamp (deyálgii)⁽¹⁰⁾ has been lit. That was being kept in the storeroom. Why did you take the risk of going into the storeroom in the dead of night like that for the wall-lamp? What if you had had an accident?”

I kept silent. If I had said anything at all it would mean having to say something about those three people. I pointed in the direction of the door and drew his attention to that white thing in the distance. Then I said: “Last night, when I asked you what that white thing in the distance was, you told me that you couldn’t see properly in the darkness. Now it’s time for me to leave. Please tell me.”

The caretaker answered as if he hadn’t heard my question. “Oh Sir, you have to leave now? Before you go let me tell you a story of mine.

“It took place quite some time back, during British rule. Three people were travelling by car from the direction of Caopárań. For what reason, I don’t know, they had an accident. Their car ran into a deep gorge. The three of them didn’t appear too badly injured but they were all knocked unconscious. Whether they were killed or not is difficult for anyone to say in my opinion. One of them was a gentleman and the other two were ladies [mishibábá].⁽¹¹⁾

“A little while after the accident, it seems, some rogues robbed them of all their valuables, but they made no attempt to save them or bring them to a health centre. Just see what kind of brutes they were! Sometime after, an English gentleman was travelling on the same road from Gaya to Cátará (Hazaribag District). He noticed the damaged vehicle, stopped his car and went down into the ditch. When he examined the three bodies he couldn’t tell whether or not they were dead or had had their life-force paralysed.

“One by one, he carried the three bodies to his car and drove them to a nearby health centre. At that time the clinic’s doctor had been absent for about a month. His wife’s aunt was suffering from cough and cold, it seems. The English gentleman told the compounder: ‘Please examine them and see if they are alive or not. If there is any chance at all of saving their lives you must arrange it. Whatever the expense is, I’ll cover it. Use whatever medical means you know.’

“To relieve himself of any responsibility, the compounder moved and shook the bodies a little, then pronounced them dead. The English gentleman brought the bodies straightaway to this resthouse and kept them in this room. Within a short time he arranged for their last rites and cremation.”

“After a lot of effort,” he answered, “we were able to learn their names but we weren’t able to find out anything else about them.”

“Don’t go to too much trouble on my behalf,” I said; then he left the room to bring the old records.

As soon as the caretaker left the room, Niiláiṋjana quickly stepped in. Needless to say, this time also he had not made a sound. “How come you are in such a hurry and looking so tired,” I asked.

“Just now I’ve come from Caopárań,” he replied. “The road is okay now. In one place a banyan tree had fallen. As you know, there are quite a lot of banyan trees in Magadha. Not only nowadays, during the Buddhist era also there used to be banyan trees⁽¹²⁾ outside many villages. One of these very old banyan trees had fallen in the road. What was I to do? I couldn’t move it myself. You know, my body is now very light. I influenced the minds of a few elephants in the nearby jungle and brought them to where the tree was lying, and with their help I moved the banyan tree just enough so that the road was clear for a car to pass. Now your vehicle can pass freely through there. But you should still drive carefully. I will also accompany you.”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t have a motorcycle. How I will go still isn’t fixed. When we get to Caopárań I’ll tell you how I will go. The ladies also insist on coming.”

“If they go with you and also come back with you,” I said, “then what objection can there be?”

“I’ll let them know that you’ve given permission then. I also came to inform those who have taken responsibility to look after you after you leave Caopárań. Their bodies burn in the hot daytime sun so even if they want to come they won’t be able to do so. But they’ll come with you secretly. They gave me their word that they won’t allow any harm to come to you before you get to Ranchi.”

Then the sound of the caretaker coming could be heard and Niiláiṋjana slipped out of the room. The caretaker handed me an old register from the time of British rule. While I was turning the pages I asked him: “Can you tell me when these disembodied forms first started appearing in this place?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It was just after the bodies were given last rites and cremated.”

“Yes, they go everywhere, but it was in this room that the bodies were kept, and probably for that reason they seem to frequent it a little more.”

“I haven’t seen anyone clearly face to face, but sometimes in the evening, when it gets completely quiet everywhere and I start feeling drowsy, I feel as if someone is passing by me, going into the room, then going out of the room.”

“Not at all, absolutely not. They are very civilized. But when people see them they get dizzy with fear.”

“They can’t be compared with people,” he replied. “Especially the gentleman that is with them; he is completely an embodiment of compassion. That day in the evening I had fallen asleep with my head resting on my hand. Then I saw that this gentleman had brought a pillow from the room and set it down next to my head in such a way that when I turned over, my head would come to rest on the pillow.”

Leafing through the register, I went over to my vehicle and sat down on it. It was quite cold and still a little dark, although more foggy than simply dark. Finally I found the page. All the available information about those three people were written there.

1) Shriimatii Vásavii Vasu, age approximately 26, identity:
unknown.
2) Shriimatii Mainjulá Bhaiṋja, age approximately 26, identity:
unknown.
3) Shriimán Niiláiṋjana Bhaiṋja, age approximately 24,
identity: unknown.

For a few moments I was silent. While the caretaker was saying goodbye I asked him: “You still haven’t told me anything about that white thing in the distance. All you said was that you couldn’t see properly in the dark.”

“Even though I knew, I didn’t say anything,” he replied, “because it was so late at night and I didn’t want you to become afraid. Especially since you had to stay alone in such a lonely place.”

I started out on the road to Caopárań. A cold, though not unpleasant, wind was coming from the opposite direction so I covered my face with my hand. A short while later I seemed to hear a voice saying: “This wind, like a newly bloomed rose, is mixed with the unwept tears of three innocent and harmless young people shut into a dark grave. No one will ever see their tears. No one will ever hear their lamentations.”

Apa + ádána = apádána, that is, “that which is contrary to ádána [act of receiving]”. Grhát gacchati gopálah – Gopal is not going to his home; Gopal is going out of his home. He is doing the opposite of going home. Thus the apádána of home is taking place. For this reason, the ablative case is called apádána káraka. Apádána is the fifth case ending.

A type of plant having medicinal qualities. If the flowering top of the apámárga is thrown then it will get stuck to one’s clothes. In India, apámárga is divided into the white and red varieties. Both varieties have many different medicinal qualities. In the Bengali of the Calcutta area, it is called apáuna or ápáuna In Rarh it is called caccaŕe, and in Angika cicciŕá.

Abh + rak = abhra. Its etymological meaning is “that which sparkles constantly”; its colloquial meaning is a certain type of mineral – mica. India is its greatest producer and also has a lot of undiscovered quarries. But because the demand in today’s market is not up to expectations, and because its use in industry is decreasing, its production is not growing much. And since alternative materials are being used more, the mica industry is facing serious setbacks. Attention should be given to this.

Mica has been used in India since ancient times. In ancient Persia and Europe also mica was used quite a bit and it used to come from India. In old Farsi one can find mention of it; it was called ábrak; in English it is “mica”.

“That which, by ingesting, one overcomes death”, or “that which transforms something of little value into something of great value (such as iron into gold)”, or “that in which supernatural qualities are hidden”, is known as amrta [ambrosia]. The negation a + mr + kta = amrta. Amrta → ammia → ammi ami/amiya. Ammi or ami is used in Marwari, Mewari, Haraoti, Gujarati, Saorastri, Kacchi and other languages. In Bengali and Assamese, amiya is used. In southern Oriya, papaya is called amrtaphala (amrutaphaŕa). Mango has also been called amrtaphala since very ancient times.

[People say that amrta is found in heaven; not so, it is the fruit of the mango tree.]

Ara means “the spoke of a wheel”. Its other meaning is “flower petal”. If we take the meaning of ara as “spoke” then aravinda means “wheel”, or “that from which the spokes come out”. And if we take the meaning of ara as “flower petal” then the etymological meaning of aravinda becomes “flower” and its colloquial meaning “lotus”.

Ava is a prefix. It lowers the degree or measure of the word it is affixed to. From this meaning have come the words avacetana [subconscious], avakśaya [depreciation], avamánaná [disrespect], avajiṋáta [neglected].

Ashana is derived from ash (ashnute) plus the suffix lyut́. Ashana means “to eat”. Anashana means “not to eat” in the sense of not being able to eat. Áhára also means “to eat” but áhára means “to eat something that has been carefully selected”. Thus anáhára means “not eating carefully selected items” – filling the stomach with worthless edibles. Hence anáhára and anashana are not identical. The meaning of upavása is completely opposite. Upa means “near”. Upavása means “to stay in close proximity”. Most of the year people are busy with matter. If one fixes a specific day to suspend one’s worldly activities and remain near God or live near God then it is called upavása. When all other worldly activities have been suspended, then on that day one should also refrain from eating. Therefore eating is discontinued on that day. Thus these three words, anashana, anáhára and upavása are quite different from each other.

Asana means “to remain present” or “to survive”. In the causative construction, “that in which one remains present”, “one remains established in”, “one remains seated in”, etc. is ásana – kushásana, vyághrásana, padmásana, and so forth.

The first and chief meaning of akśa is “to mark off” or “to draw a line”. The line which is marked off in the middle of the earth is the equator (viśuvarekhá); its ancient name is maháviśuvákśa. If we mark off another line parallel to the equator, then that line is also called akśa or akśáḿsha [latitude]. The difference between the seasons is determined according to the dispersion of the visible and non-visible rays based on the proximity or distance of the sun relative to the equator or the lines of latitude.

The meaning of the word akśi is “eye”. Akśa is also used to mean “to have eyes”. For example, one who has eyes like a lotus (kamala) is called kamalákśa; one who has eyes like a dove (kapota) is called kapotákśa; one who has eyes like the early morning blue sky is called navaniilákśa. When the word akśa is used in feminine gender it becomes akśii. For example, one who has eyes like a peacock (mayúra) is mayúrákśa in masculine gender and mayúrákśii in feminine gender.

Another meaning of the word akśa is alphabet – fifty letters (akśara) whose first letter is a and last letter is kśa. One should keep in mind that the akśamálá [alphabet] means the fifty letters from a to kśa – the extra letters (qua, qhua, za) are not included within it.

The word rudrákśa can be derived in two ways. Those eyes in which there is raodrabháva (rudratá) [fierceness] are rudrákśa. Rudrakśa can also be derived to mean “where the dispersive power of the alphabet is full of rudratá”. Its colloquial meaning is a special type of wildflower which grows in south and southeast Asia and is used to make garlands.

(1) It has now come to mean “beautiful woman” or simply “woman”. – Trans.

(2) Some people use the word sámánya when they mean alpa [a little, some]. It is better not to do this. Sámánya does not mean “a little”. It means “common” or “general”. For example, if we say that Bengali is the sámánya language of this country we mean that is the language of the common people. This word comes from samána [equal]. By what logic, then, can it mean “a little”?

(3) Until the beginning of British rule, there used to be a pull-fan system in the houses of zamindars and foreigners and the person employed to pull the rope used to be called the páḿkhábardár. This páḿkhábardár used to sit in the little room at the end of the veranda, next to the bedroom in dak-bungalows, and pull the rope; inside the room the aristocrats would enjoy the breeze from the fan. If there was ever any slackness in the motion of the fan you could know that the páḿkhábardár was dozing off. A little scolding and the fan used to start again.

(4) Siḿ Muńd́á, Khángár Muńd́á, Ho-Muńd́á, Kherhiyá Muńd́á (shavar), Váorii, etc. The Siḿmuńd́ás and Váoriis use Bengali for both formal and ordinary occasions, while the rest, although their common language is of the Austric group, use Bengali for formal occasions in some places and in others Sádánii.
Another name for the Nágpurii language is Sádánii or Sadarii. This language belongs to the Occidental Demi-Magadhii family. The other languages of this Occidental Demi-Magadhii group are Magahii, Bhojpurii and Chatrishgarhii. The Oriental Demi-Magadhii-derived languages are Maethilii, Angiká, Bengali, Assamese, and Oriya. These are the nine chief languages derived from Mágadhii Prákrta that are spoken today.

(5) Kuruka and the Muriyá and Máriyá languages in the southwestern portion of the Oráno area of Gondwanaland, are part of the Dravidian group, although they still show significant Austric influence. There is, moreover, a clear influence of Bengali in their very close neighbour, the Hálavi language. In these languages the Dravidian influence is also quite clear, but by comparison, the Austric influence is much greater.

(6) Biir means “forest”. Hoŕ means “man”. Biirhoŕ means “forest-man”.

(7) Many people mistakenly say rájagrha. This is incorrect. If the word had been rájagrha then in modern Magahii its name would have become rájaghara. Rather the word is rájagiri or “royal mountain”. Rájagira was not only the ancient capital of Magadha, it was its cultural centre as well, the crown jewel of Magadha civilization. For that reason I have said many times that the spoken language of Rájagira should be accepted as standard Magahii.

(9) Near Sametashikhara is the combined border of Rarh, Magadha, and Jharkhanda. Of course, in the “Jhád́akhańd́e Vaedyanáthah” Shloka a slightly different opinion is expressed but there is no historical evidence to support that opinion; both Grdhrakút́a Mountain and Cakravartii Mountain are historically in Magadha.

(10) In those days a lamp was hung on the wall which was used both in the cities and in the villages during British rule. They used to spill less oil than the hurricane lanterns but they were inconvenient to move from one place to another. Some people used to call them deyálgiis.

(11) During British rule the house-servants used to address the daughters of the house as mishibábá. Most probably the word was created by joining the word “miss” to the respectful word bábá.

(12) In the Magahii language, the banyan tree is called baŕke rukh. At one time yakśa [a mythological race of demons] worship used to be performed at the foot of the banyan tree. The people used to have both devotion and fear for that place. Even today people do not go there alone after dark. That place is called “the abode of Brahma”.

Áṋka to Ád́hya (Discourse 4)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

Notes:

Words in double square brackets [[ ]] are corrections that did not appear in the printed version.

According to linguistic science a + a = á. Hence it is considered a double vowel. But despite being a double vowel its pronunciation is only slightly more difficult than that of the single letter a. In the opinion of some scholars, there was an amphibious creature by the name of aproposthiumas who, after spending some time moving about on wet, warm land, would afterwards dive back into the cool water, lift its head above the water and make the sound á, á, á [ah, ah, ah] as an expression of its sense of relaxation. This was, perhaps, the first sound made by a living creature, the first á sound. Even today we say “uh”, “oh”, or “eeh” to express some hardship, but when we relax we make the sound á. In Roman script we add a diacritical mark above the letter a to denote the sound á or else we write a second a next to it. In the Semitic languages we add a mark next to the head of the letter “aliph” to denote á.

By adding the suffix ka to the verbal root anc we get the word auṋka. The root anc means “to point something out by using one’s finger”. In certain limited cases the root anc is also used for movement. By using the ka varga instead of the ca varga we get anka from the verbal root anc. Specifically, in the etymological sense we use kola (in Sanskrit both kola and krod́a can be used) and in the colloquial sense we use the word auṋka.

In the sense of being the expression of a fixed part or a fixed idea, we use the word auṋka [act] to denote any one of the main portions of a drama. Any drama which is composed based on one fixed idea is called ekánkiká [one-act play].

Numerology has no borders, no limits. It is bottomless, unfathomable, endless. However, whenever we limit it to a certain idea then we call it aḿka [number]. Thus one, two, five, seven are auṋka. The science [shástra] which consists of the negotiation of these numbers is called auṋkashástra [mathematics]. Arithmetic, algebra, geometry, trigonometry, numeration tables, astronomy, and surveying are all branches of mathematics. To fix something by the use of lines is known as auṋkana or ánkana [drawing], and their derivative ánká is also used. The Bengali form of the word auṋka, which is ánka, is also used both in the sense of “number” and “mathematics”. In our younger days we used to say ánka kaśá in rural Bengali for auṋka kará or auṋka kasá [to do sums, to count].

Drawing pictures (citránkana) is also one kind of auṋkana. To delineate a particular idea is called citránkana. Thus we also call this chabi ánká [drawing].

In the Vedic language the meaning of the verbal root ikś (the root iikś is also used) is “to see well”, “to observe”, “to find out in detail”, “to study”. Ikśu (ikś + un) means “that which is studied in detail” or “that which is seen with earnest attention”. This is its etymological meaning. Its colloquial meaning is sugar cane [ákha]. Ikśu → ikhu → ikh/ákh. In Bengali ákh is used. In standard Hindi it is ikh. In Urdu-Farsi it is called ganná. In Bhojpuri ukh, in Magahii, Angiká and Nágpuri ketárii or ketáŕii, in Maethilii kushiyár. In Bengali also, the words kushiyár, kusher, kushur, and kushul are used. The word kushiyár has come from the Laokik Sanskrit word kusheruká or kushakerá: kushakerá → kushaerá → kushiár → kusher → kushur/kushul. The word kushiyár was widely prevalent in Old Bengali. Since it is smaller, the word ákh is more popular nowadays. As regards this meaning of the word ákha, in Old Bengali people used to say ákuyá, in modern Bengali ekho (ekho guŕ [sugar-cane raw sugar]). Many villages and the chief rivers of some river valleys of those areas that were once renowned for the cultivation of sugar cane are known as kushiyárá. (Many know about the kushiyáŕa river in Shriihat́t́a District and the kushiyárá subdivision in Burdwan District. The Rarhii Brahman appellation kushári comes from the name of this Burdwan subdivision.)

Among the grass family of plants (monocotyledonous), bamboo is the tallest and the durbá and dudhiyá varieties of grass are the shortest. Sugar cane lies in the middle. Since, in the grass family, different varieties grow according to differences in region and climate, sugar cane also differs according to time and place. Sugar cane prefers a wet, warm climate. The wetness and warmth help sugar cane achieve greater length and thickness. The best soils for sugar cane are loamy soil and sandy, clayey soil. Sugar cane is a one-year-crop – in India from the months of Kárttik to Kárttik, or Mágh to Mágh.

Sugar cane does not grow in cold climates. Even if planted, it will die when there is a frost. Thus, even with great efforts, it is not possible to cultivate sugar cane in predominately cold countries. Hot countries supply sugar cane sugar to the cold countries. During the time of the First World War, the supply of sugar from the hot countries (Fiji, Mauritius, India, Southeast Asia) was disturbed and so a lot of effort went into the cultivation of sugarbeets in Europe and into increasing the sugar content of ordinary beets, which brought about the development of today’s sugarbeet. Since then the cold countries are no longer dependent on the hot countries for their sugar supply. However, though sugar is gotten from sugarbeets, molasses is not. The production of molasses still depends on sugar cane. Besides this, the leftover fibres from sugar cane can be used for the manufacture of paper and certain chemical substances, while sugarbeet fibres cannot serve as a base for any such commercial use. From the qualitative standpoint also, that is, from the standpoint of food value, sugar cane is superior to sugar beet.

One can venture a guess that when people became familiar with molasses [guŕ] during the Vedic era (guŕ is a very ancient, pure Vedic Sanskrit word – madhvabháve guŕaḿ dadyát), they were also familiar with sugar cane. It may be, however, that during the time that the Vedic Aryans lived in Central Asia, they were familiar with molasses but not with sugar cane, that is, they imported the sugar-cane molasses from hot countries. Still, it would not be wrong to guess that they had heard the word ikśu. Thus, considering people’s attraction to sugar cane, even from a distance, they named the plant ikśu.

In the past, in certain parts of the world, sugar-cane seeds were produced through artificial means but the cultivation of sugar cane from these seeds was not successful. Sugar cane is grown from the eyes on the knots of the cane. These eyes should be planted at least one yojana, that is to say, twelve miles, from their old place of origin. It is in no way desirable that the eyes be planted in the same land they come from because then they will be much more liable to be attacked by insects. This rule is also applicable to banana and radish. Because sugar cane ties up the land for a full year, its cultivation is becoming less popular nowadays.

Sugarbeets mature in three months. The drawback with sugarbeets is that they do not produce seeds in hot weather. Their seeds have to be brought from abroad, from cold countries. When sugar cane is still young, wheat, jute, barley and autumn rice can be grown alongside it according to the season, and spinach can also be planted. But once the sugar cane has become big, nothing else can be grown with it except for plants of the cháyájáta [shadeborn or shadegrowing] tuber group such as ginger, tumeric, sweet potato, yam, and áma ádá [esculent root having smell of green mango]. There needs to be proper scientific research done so that sugar cane be harvested in less time.

If bees are fed off sugar-cane juice they can create a very high quality honey. Because there are not sufficient flowers throughout the year there is sometimes a lack of floral nectar. Thus, during this time very little honey collects in the hive. This problem can be easily solved by feeding domesticated bees sugar-cane juice.

This word has come from the Sanskrit word agni (aj + ni). The etymological meaning of agni is “that which grows quickly”, or “that which eats or devours quickly”. The colloquial meaning of agni is águna [fire]. Agni → aggina → ágina → águna.

The first step forward in human civilization was the discovery of fire. The second step forward was the discovery of iron. The third step forward was the invention of the wheel. That human clan of the prehistoric era which first discovered fire was considered the most civilized and advanced clan of its time. Gradually the use of fire became prevalent in all human communities. Thereafter, that community which first learned the use of iron leapt over the boundary of the stone age, bone age and bronze age, and was considered to have the most advanced civilization. The use of iron brought a new unfolding to the movement of human history, a new radiance. At that time the wheel had not yet been invented, and thus there were no vehicles. Later, with the help of iron, human beings produced the wheel. They learned to wage war seated in vehicles mounted on wheels. By sharpening the edge of the wheel they invented a weapon called the discus. The boomerang is also a type of discus used by the Maoris of Australia. In India and Central Asia people learned the use of the wheel in very ancient times, but no matter how long ago they learned it, they learned it after they learned the use of iron. That is, first they invented the chariot wheel, then afterwards turned the wheel into a weapon.

At one time, the ancient Mayan civilization of America was more advanced than many other civilizations, but because they lagged behind in the invention of the wheel, they were forced in subsequent times to acknowledge their defeat at the hands of other civilizations. The oldest existing artifacts of the Mayan civilization give evidence to advanced ways of life but no wheel. One should keep in mind that the Sanskrit name for America, Máyádviipa, came from the name of the Mayan civilization. During the Chola, Páńd́ya, and Pahlava dynasties of the Indian Middle Ages there was contact between America and India – this was before Columbus’s discovery of America.

For the use of iron and the wheel, fire is necessary. Thus, in ancient times, after discovering fire, people began to show it respect and worship it as a god. The Aryan gods of that ancient era were Indra, Agni, Varuna, etc. The Vedic scholars used to preserve fire in certain houses through the means of a special sacrificial pyre. They were known as Ságnika or Agnihotrii [priests charged with maintaining the sacred fire]. That sacrificial fire, which they would feed with offerings of sacred wood and special mantras, would be put into the mouth at the time of death; this became known as mukhágnikriyá, although today it no longer has much signficance. Nowadays no one preserves the sacred fire in their home. Today fire is kept in a matchbox or in a lighter.

In subsequent times, when the discovery of fire became old, the importance of the god Agni diminished. The different Vedic gods, Indra, Agni, Varuna, gradually disappeared. In the next era, the gods Brahmá, Viśńu and Maheshvara filled the void they had left. When the god Agni was still flourishing in the imaginary world of the people, they also gave him a wife and gave her the name Agnáyii (agni in feminine gender is agnáyii). In Hindi the word ága is feminine gender. Since there is no neuter gender in Hindi, nothing can be said if someone uses ága in feminine gender, but if agni is used in the feminine form then it is certainly an error. If agni is feminine gender then what gender will agnáyii be? Thus, even if I use ága in Hindi in feminine form, I use agni in masculine form. In feminine gender I use agnáyii.

Formerly in Bengal, as well as in eastern India, Agraháyańa was the first month of the year. Generally, in the lunar calendar, the lunar month is named after whatever constellation the end of the full moon night is in. For example, when the end of the full moon night is in the constellation Vishákhá then the concerning lunar month is called Vaeshákha; if the end of the full moon night is in Jyeśt́há then the concerning month is called Jyaeśt́ha; if the constellation is Bhadrá then the concerning month is called Bhádra, and so forth. The sole exception to this is the month of Agraháyańa. Its full moon night finishes in the constellation mrgashirá. According to practice, the name of the lunar month should be márgashirśa or márgashirya, but in Bengal the name márgashirśa or márgashirya is not in vogue. The word agraháyańa is used meaning the first month of the year. Agraháyańa → aggaháyańa → agghána → ághana. Subsequently, it seems that, unlike the custom in the rest of India, Bengal did not accept the month of Caetra as the beginning of the year. The lexicographer, Amar Singh, accepted Caetra as the first month but there is no evidence that this was accepted in Bengal. In still later times, when all of India started counting Vaeshákha as the first month, Bengal also started counting Vaeshákha as the first month in place of Agraháyańa.

Aghráńete vachar shuru navánna hay mit́he
Paośete áuni báuni ghare ghare pit́he

[In Aghráńa the year starts and the new rice is delicious/in Paośa there is the popular Paośa festival with rice cakes in every house]

[The month of Kárttik is the end of the year/do not go to your father’s home]

In former days, Bengali women would not go to their father’s house during the month of Kárttik. If they were already there, then they would return when Kárttik started. It is clear from the doggerel that Kárttik was the last month of the year; in other words, Agraháyańa was the first month.

Before the cultivation of the modern high-yield varieties of rice came into vogue, the kalamkat́hi, kalmá, bádshábhog, jhiuṋgeshál, jiráshál, keshar, kánt́áliibhoga, sinduramut́hi, dádkháni and other varieties of rice were prevalent in Bengal. In those days the fields used to be full of ripe paddy during the month of Aghrána or Ághana. If it rained at that time then all the farmers would be in danger because the ripe paddy in the field would begin sprouting. Thus the proverb says:

That is, if rain falls during the month of Aghrána, then even the king is forced to go out with the begging bowl.

The word ághana is no longer being used among the educated classes in modern Bengal, but in the other languages that have evolved out of Magdhii Prákrta, such as Oriya, Magahii, Angika, Maethilii, and Assamese, its use is still widespread. According to Kśańá’s verse:

If it does not rain during the month of Agraháyańa, the farmers can still have a successful crop if they spray water on the jackfruit trees from the top down.

The meaning of the word auṋgára in Sanskrit is kaylá [coal]. The modern word kaylá has come from the word koilo which evolved from Málavii Prákrta. (The Gujárati, Saoráśtrii, Kacchii, Máraváŕii, Mevárii, Haŕaotii, and Málavii languages have come from Málavii Prákrta. The Kacchii language evolved from a mixture of Málavii Prákrta and Saendhavii Prákrta. In this language there is the influence of both Gujárati and Sindhii). The people of India and of Bengal have been long acquainted with mineral coal. The local people are well acquainted with open-pit or open-quarry coal but it was only during the time of the British administration that extracting coal from the earth by digging quarries was introduced. Since auṋgára or áuṋgára means both charcoal and mineral coal, one is called kát́hkaylá [charcoal] and the other páthure kaylá, in order to differentiate between the two.

It is quite true that decomposed trees from hundreds of thousands of years ago became transformed into coal but not all trees are turned into coal. If there is insufficient thermal pressure within the earth’s crust then dead trees will decay and become dirt. If there is the requisite pressure then ordinary coal will take the form of the highest quality coal or different forms of carbon such as graphite or diamond. As a result of an accelerated increase or decrease in atmospheric, environmental, or thermal conditions, trees (living or dead) which do not take on another form in the decomposed state, are turned into fossils. The river valleys of Rarh and Gondwanaland are among the best depositories of coal in the world. Because the Damodara river basin contains huge coal reserves, there have been fires since ancient times in the open pits along both of its banks. The local people are quite familiar with these events. Due to the abundance of coal many villages in Western Rarh are named Áuṋgárd́ihi, Áuṋgárd́ihá, Áuṋgársuli, Hiirápur, and so forth. Because there is a lot of combustible coal in the Damodara river basin, the river is called Dámodara (dáma + udara = dámodara; that is, “that which has dáma in its belly”. In laokik Sanskrit, the meaning of the word dáma is “fire”).

In ancient India áuṋgará used to be called háŕ áuṋgrá or “bone charcoal”. Because this bone charcoal was used to make sugar odourless and colourless, many widows in those days would not use it. While performing their worship also, they would use native sugar in place of this coal sugar.

Á – car + lyut́ = ácarańa. Car means “to eat while moving”. The word calana is used in a general sense. Carańa means “where there is eating going on there is also movement”; that is, that which is created by a certain person’s way of eating, behaviour, and all other expressions in the external world is called ácarańa. In English, the closest corresponding word is “conduct” but the word “conduct” is not completely synonymous with the word ácarańa. In English, the word “character” can also be used to mean ácarańa but the word “character” is closer to the Bengali word ácára. Thus, for the rules of ácarańa, the expression “conduct rules” is nicely suited. Still ácarańa does not comprise all of life. Ácarańa is the collective name of expression of a certain part of life.

Á – car + ghaiṋ = ácára. Ácára is the composite of eating, living, behaviour and all external expressions and their concerning mentalities. Thus we can say that ácára is the reflection of life in its totality. Just as one cannot comment on the conduct of a person if they do not know them very well, one is even less able to comment on their character. Although one may be able to say something about one aspect of a person, that is, about their conduct, one takes a greater risk if they want to say something about their character. By caritra is meant that part of ácarańa which is externally well-manifest. If one has some rough knowledge then one can certainly make some comment about one’s caritra provided one accepts the liability, but if one does not accept the liability or risk then there is nothing one can say. Dramatists, novelists and litterateurs portray the character of their own mentally-created entities. Thus they have the right to comment in this matter. But one will have to make sure that these entities are really their mental creations. It is not at all desirable to suddenly say or write something if one does not know something about the creations of the real world.

Talking about ácarańa and ácára brings to mind an old memory. At that time I used to go for a walk nearly every day in the mountains east of Jamalpur. I used to sit on the second mountain. One after another, several small and large mountains run parallel to each other. The summit of the second mountain was the highest place among them. I used to arrive there in the middle of the afternoon and stay there until about eight at night. Then I would climb through the gáb (a large variety of kendu) forest that lay in the valley between two mountains. In this valley there was also a small lake. First I would cross the mountain, passing by the right side of the lake, and then I would take a shortcut back home. One day I was sitting on the peak. It was the bright lunar fortnight and I knew the path through the forest well so there was no need of a torch. Behind me, that is, to the east, there was a high plateau that was completely covered with woods. Most of the trees were sál, piyál (piyásál), and palásh. In front of me, that is, to the west, on the slope of the mountain, was a dense gáb forest. After that, in the valley in front, was an old tamarind tree. Other than this, there was very little vegetation. The mountain in front was completely bare.

It was the lunar fortnight, beautiful moonlight. I was probably the only person for several miles, completely alone. To my right was a dried-up spring. The spring would have water for three or four months during the rainy season when the water would rush down quickly from above into the valley below. From that mass of water the lake was formed and the overflow from the lake would flow through many small streams into the little Dakra river which emptied into the Ganges west of Monghyr, below the Monghyr-Patna road.

Behind me, the jungle-covered plateau, though not plentiful with wildlife, still had some tigers, bears, hyenas, and the shambar and bársingá varieties of deer. That evening, however, I had not heard any sounds from them. Most likely they would not begin making sounds until after 10:00 or so at night. Beside the peak that I was seated on was a path that led down the mountain; they would take this path down to the lake to drink.

That day there was a strong, sweet breeze coming from the forest behind me and blowing out towards the mountain in front. I started feeling a little drowsy, having worked more than normal that day.

I started nodding off but after a time I heard what sounded like someone approaching me from behind. I turned around to look and saw a fair-skinned person wearing western clothes. I was somewhat surprised, for three reasons. First of all, it was extremely unlikely that anyone would be in that area after the sun went down. Secondly, though there was a lot of forest, even thieves would not dare come to cut wood for fear of wild animals. Thirdly, in those days western clothes were completely out of place there.

Though this was the time of British rule, everyone knew that Westerners never came anywhere near such places. I asked him in English: “Who are you?” Looking at him, I could see that he was a real gentleman but he approached me without replying. He started looking around in all directions until his eyes came to rest on the valley in front of us. This time I asked him in Angika who he was and what he was doing there so late at night in such a deserted place. In those days such places were not completely safe. Then he answered me in a very soft and sweet, but unnatural, Bengali. “As long as you are here I’m not at all afraid.”

I was speechless. At any rate, his face bore the stamp of a gentle, courteous soul. As best as I could see in the moonlight he looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old and from a good family. I invited him to sit down on the rock next to me. He thanked me politely and sat down. As he sat, I felt a change in the environment around me, as if someone had fashioned a dream world out of the power of máyá.

“I am very near and dear to you,” he said. “You know me but perhaps nowadays you’ve forgotten me.” I gazed at him and noticed his unblinking eyes. It was as if all the wonder in the world, a fathomless magic collyrium, was contained in those eyes. My ears pricked up to hear what he had to say and I looked at him carefully. His body did not seem to be of this earth. Somehow it seemed to be made of light and shadow… as if I was watching a talking picture.

Seating my guest near me, I asked him in Angika: “Are you one of our Angadesh boys?”

“No,” he replied, “but I have been here so long that I have become one with the soil. I love Angadesh with all my heart.”

“Why have you come to this solitary wilderness so late at night? By looking at you it seems to me that you’ve been here before.”

“You are quite right. I often come here; rather, you can say I come here daily.”

“If you’ll give me a few moments of your time,” he replied, “there are a few things I’d like to say. If I start bothering you, please let me know and I’ll stop.”

Then my visitor continued speaking. “This happened a long time ago, at the end of the Mughal Period when the kingdom was in disarray. At that time the capital of the Province of Bengal (Bengal, Bihar and Orissa) was Murshidabad, and there was a zamindar in Singur (Hoogly district – at that time Burdwan district) by the name of Virendravijay Vásumallik. Although he was a small zamindar he was a man of strong and independent thought. While the other zamindars were indulging in addictions and luxuries, he was not. He was directing all sorts of efforts to preserve the freedom of Bengali culture, civilization, and way of life.

“He was quite dissatisfied with the character and comportment of weaker-minded men like Nawab Alivardii Khán. The nawab should have made the governmental machinery strong by making sure the commander-in-chief and the subedars⁽¹⁾ did their respective jobs properly; on the one hand to develop Bengal’s military prowess and on the other hand to firm up its economic structure, but he failed to do this. While it is true that he was a man of good qualities, and his character, as such, was unstained, still, in matters of character and comportment he was prone to weakness at every step – something which his wife, Lady Sharf-Un-Nisá, was unable to check or hold together despite much effort. He used to hide many things from his wife.

“At that time the Marathas of the Bhonsale family used to attack quite often. Those attacks, which were under the leadership of Bháskar Pańd́it, were extremely bloody. The nawab was unable to make any provisions to resist them. This conduct of his was completely unpardonable. Rather, in order to avoid war, he was somehow able to strike a truce with the Marathas by giving them one fourth of the collected state revenue. When the Marathas arrived in Katoya, throwing Rarh into complete disorder, Alivardii Khan became aware of the danger but the nawab was not able to mount any resistance from Poŕahát (Seraikelá-Kharsoán) to any part of Katoya. This weak conduct of the nawab continued to afflict the mind of the Bengali people.

“Many of those who were wealthy took shelter in Calcutta and in Angadesh out of fear of the attacks of the Marathas. While the Marathas were skilled in land battle they were not known for their naval skill. Thus, to save Calcutta from Maratha attack, a ditch was dug to the northeast of Calcutta – today it is known by the name ‘Maratha ditch’. Seeing that he was being routed by the Marathas, the nawab committed yet another blunder. He took four large districts, Burdwan (what is today Burdwan, Hoogli, Howrah, and Jamtara), Midnapur, Chittagong, and the 24 Paragana, formed from the the eastern portion of Nadia-Chakla, and delivered them into the hands of the East India Company with the condition that the East India Company would help the nawab turn back the Marathas. The people of Bengal did not like this behaviour of the Nawab – the freedom-loving Virendravijay Vasumallik was completely against it.

“Seeing the bad condition that Bengal was in at that time, Shobhá Singh, the king of Midnapore’s Ceŕiyábeŕiyá came forward. Shobhá Singh was as brave in character as he was firm. Most of the people of Bengal wanted him to be king of all of Bengal. The British also secretly wanted this and thus supported him from behind the scenes. Shobhá Singh saw that the British had come to his country to do business and realized that if they were afforded convenient business opportunities their friendship could be won, but two people were thorns in Shobha Singh’s path. One was Maharaja Bahadur of Burdwan. He was not a man of strong character but he was Bengal’s biggest zamindar.⁽²⁾ In a secret corner of his mind he felt that he had the greatest right to be Bengal’s king. The second thorn in Shobhá Singh’s principled, strong-charactered path was the king of Mallabhúm (Biśńupur of Bánkurá district) – Raghunáth the Second (There is some difference of opinion in this matter).

“Raghunáth was a man of vacillating character, a symbol of poor conduct. Forgetting his family’s illustrious tradition, he became infatuated with a certain Persian dancer by the name of Lalbai⁽³⁾ and made up his mind to marry her. This fueled a dispute with the queen and with his ministers. Finally he met his death at the hands of the queen (Shobhá Singh’s daughter). This Lalbai was probably killed at this time.⁽⁴⁾ Anyhow, as a result of his own conduct Shobhá Singh came into conflict with Raghunáth the Second.

“The king of Singur, Virendravijay, helped Shobhá Singh in many ways. He was not afraid of incurring the Nawab’s displeasure for this but Shobhá Singh was stabbed and killed unexpectedly by the Princess of Burdwan.⁽⁵⁾ After the death of Shobhá Singh, Virendravijay was wondering what path should be taken to save Bengal. After the death of Alivardii Khan, his immature grandson became the nawab of Bengal, taking the name Miirza Mohammed Siraj-Ud-Daola.⁽⁶⁾ In addition to his young age, he had many kinds of defects in his character and conduct. Virendravijay did not like this at all.

“At the time the East India Company was encroaching like a cat extending its claws, trying to gain control of the throne of Bengal by any means possible. On the other side, the public was divided into three camps. One group was vocally against the conduct and character of Siraj. Directly and indirectly, they supplied help to the East India Company.

“A second group supported the nawab regardless of his faults, following the policy of nun khái yár gun gái tár [if you eat someone’s salt then you have to praise their virtues]. Miirzafar, Jagatsheth, and Umichand⁽⁷⁾ fell into this category. Among them were also a few men who recognized the faults of the nawab but who did not want to allow the administration of Bengal to pass into the hands of the East India Company. For this reason alone they supported the nawab.

“The third group consisted of those who could not support the bad behaviour of the nawab but who also did not want to allow the East India Company to gain political control over Bengal. They supported neither side. Queen Bhávanii was of this mind. Her relationship with the nawab was extremely bitter. Yet, when she was asked to help the East India Company against the nawab, she said: ‘I do not want to dig a canal to bring the river crocodiles into my backyard pond.’ Because of this the East India Company was quite displeased with Queen Bhavánii. Virendravijay was of the same opinion as the queen. Thus it was impossible for him to do anything either for or against the nawab.

“There was one more thing worth mentioning about these last days of Mughal political dominance. The Bengali people were unable to consider the family of the nawab of Murshidabad as their own. No matter how much fuss and bother the writers and historians of today make over Siraj, the family of Murshidabad’s nawab were very distant from the common people of Bengal. It was not only that they were Urdu-speaking immigrant Shiahs;⁽⁸⁾ though they had settled in Bengal and were Bengalees in the eyes of the law, they did not think of themselves as Bengalees. They called the Bengalees ‘rustics’ or ‘Muslim rustics’.⁽⁹⁾ Of course, they learned to speak Bengali, more or less, so that they could communicate with these Muslim rustics, but at home they spoke Urdu or a corrupted form of Urdu that was mixed with Bengali, and put on airs that they were not out-of-fashion Bengalees. This mental attitude kept them quite removed from the common people.

“If a person is great, if their mental arena is very large, then people lose sight of their worldly identity. Because Siraj’s character was not very expanded there is no scope for people to forget his worldly defects. It is true that most people accept that he was broad-hearted and generous, but this was not enough for him to gain a seat in the heart of the Bengali people. And he was the nawab for how long!

“Most of the people who supported the nawab were senior Hindu officers. The East India Company put forth their best efforts to try to please the Hindus so that they would withdraw their support from Siraj.

“Virendravijay died shortly after the battle of Plassey. At the time of his death he told his only son, Vireshvijay, that he should dedicate himself wholeheartedly to the task of strengthening Bengal’s culture, unity and economic situation, and asked him to use both his intellect and his courage rightly in this matter. At the time Vireshvijay was a boy of eighteen or nineteen. Vireshvijay carried out the instructions of his father and became well-versed in the martial treatises.

“Neither Virendravijay nor Vireshvijay could support Mirzafar. Mirzafar was an indisciplined, power-hungry, spineless drunkard. His main preoccupation was to keep his nawabship intact by whatever means possible. For some time after his death the throne of Bengal was thrown into confusion. Thereafter Miirkashim became the nawab. His conduct was spirited, his behaviour showed individuality, and he was a man of strong character. Vireshvijay came into contact with him and Miirkashim befriended him, touched by his sincerity.

“In those days the throne was the nawab’s in name only. The power was in the hands of the East India Company; the administration was in the hands of the nawab but the economic power was not. Moreover, if one was to repel the East India Company, it would not be possible to accumulate power by sitting in Murshidabad because Murshidabad was right next to the East India Company’s chief outpost. Vireshvijay advised Miirkashim to shift his capital from Murshidabad to Monghyr. He did not advise him to remove his capital to Azimabad (Patna) because Azimabad was, to some extent, a centre for the East India Company.

“There were one or two other reasons for making Monghyr the capital of Bengal. During the time of the Mahabharata, when Angadesh was first accepted as an independent kingdom, Duryodhana made Karna the king of Angadesh and rather than consider him a vassal, he allowed him to wear the crown of a sovereign king. Since ancient times the Anga region was not considered part of northern India. Neither Anga, Vanga, nor Kalinga were considered part of northern India. Starting from this time, Anga was declared an appendix or auṋga of northern India and hence its name became Angadesh. Vanga remained outside of northern India. Kalinga gained acceptance as a part of southern India. Thus, even today, Oriya Brahmins are sometimes known as Dakśińátya Vedic Brahmins in Bengal. At the time of Karna the capital of Angadesh was Champakanagar.⁽¹⁰⁾ Karna also founded an auxiliary capital in Mudgagiri, on the western border of the kingdom of Anga. Hence Monghyr has a tradition as a capital.⁽¹¹⁾

“When Gujarat’s Rastrakuts [a royal dynasty] defeated eastern India then Angadesh came under their jurisdiction. The Khirkhiriya Hills that we are sitting on were the eastern boundary of the Rastrakut kingdom. Thus they established a capital in their border city of Mungagiri. So we see that Monghyr became a capital more than once. At that time the road system of Bengal, as well as India, was not at all developed. The long highway Shershah built that extended from Suvarnagram in Dhaka District to the city of Át́ak in western Punjab via Teota (Mańikganj subdivision) and Howrah-Burdwan, and passing by Calcutta, did not afford much convenience to Murshidabad, Monghyr or Patna but Monghyr’s water-route transport system was good. The waterway worked well all the way from Dhaka to Benares/Allahabad passing via Narayanganj, Teota, Rampur, Boyaliya (Rajsahii), Lalagola Ghat, Godagarii Ghat, Chapaghati, Rajmahal (At one time Rajmahal was the capital of Bengal), Bhagalpur, Monghyr, and Azimabad. Benares and Allahabad used to be helped out by the Shershah-built Badshahii road. Thus, since Monghyr was marked as an important centre of water transport, the capital could be established there without there being any communication problems as such.

“Miirkashim accepted Vireshvijay’s reasoning and moved the capital to Monghyr. On Vireshvijay’s advice, the nawab set out preparing the capital in Monghyr with great speed and began constructing his armoury. A great fortress was built in Monghyr as well as a munitions factory, heavy-weapons arsenal, huge parade grounds (Karheya Maidan or Kora Maidan), and a new cultural centre, Kasimbazar. The East India Company recognized the danger. Seizing on various small pretexts they declared war against Miirkashim. They had economic power and were prepared for war – the nawab had nothing. He had just begun organizing. On the other side, the East India Company had concentrated their power at Fort William in Calcutta and in Alinagar (present-day Alipur, now a part of Calcutta).

“The first battle was a trifling affair; it took place in Katoya and the nawab was defeated. The second battle took place in Gheriya and there also the nawab was defeated. The third took place in Udhuya or in the Udhuyanala. The East India Company advanced along the Ganges in the direction of Monghyr. A great battle took place in the Dakra canal. With his finger my visitor pointed out to me the Dakra canal which originated on the western border of the Khirkhiriya Hills and joined the Ganges a little to the west of Monghyr. In reality, the Dakra was not a canal but a river. In the East India Company records it is mistakenly called a canal. At the time of the monsoon deluge, the water of the Ganges goes upstream through the Dakra River and floods a wide area in Monghyr District. At the time my visitor pointed out the Dakra canal there was heavy flooding.

“When the nawab was defeated in the battle of Dakra canal he started heading by water for Azimabad. The map and plans of the next battle site remained in the hands of Vireshvijay. The planning of how the next battle in Buxar and on the banks of the nearby Karmanasha river could be fought was not in the hands of the nawab. All he knew was that there would be a battle fought in those places. Vireshvijay got separated during the fighting and fell back a little south. He was not able to reach the banks of the Ganges and go upriver to Azimabad. But the warplans and maps were in his hands so he took shelter in the jungle of the Khirkhiriya Hills.

“Another of the nawab’s chief difficulties was his severe lack of economic resources. Vireshvijay knew that King Karna’s huge treasury was secretly preserved in a cave in the Khirkhiriya Hills. He set about searching for that treasure thinking that if it came into his hands he would much better be able to help the nawab.

“At this point I should say something about the history of Angadesh’s terrain. In Karna’s time the north of Angadesh bordered on the Himalayas.⁽¹²⁾ The southern border was the source of the Chandan river, a little to the north of Deoghar. On the western border was Ramdiri and Shamhodira (Samidha), near Beguserai, and the eastern border was the Rajmahal Hills near Sahebganj where they approach the Ganges. The Rajmahal Hills range occupy a large area in eastern Angadesh. Their eastern branch stops abruptly near Sahebganj and the Ganges; its western branch ends near Monghyr by the side of the Ganges. The western branch’s Sanskrit name is the Kśirakśirika Hills. In Angika they are called Khirkhiriya Hills and in English the Kharagpur Hills. These Kharagpur Hills are a branch of the Rajmahal Hills.

“Southern Anga’s chief river is the Chandan which has two companions, the Baruya and the Chiir. In this Chandan-Baruya-Chiir river basin⁽¹³⁾ one finds the Kalhan Hills (near Kahalgaon, named after Maharsi Kalhan), Ajagavii Hills (near Sulatanganj), Mandar Hills⁽¹⁴⁾ (a little north of the railway station), and these Khirkhiriya Hills on the western border where one can find, scattered here and there, innumerable examples of the culture of ancient Angadesh. Like the Angika culture, the language also belongs to this place.

“Those who think that the Khirkhiriya Hills are the western border of Angadesh, however, are mistaken. To the west of the Khirkhiriya Hills lies the Dakra river basin. This Dakra river basin is Anga’s final western border. Beyond the Dakra river basin lies the Kiul river basin where one can find many examples of Magadha culture, that is, it belongs to the land of Magadha.

“The Angika language has three chief dialects: Dharamapuriya, Champanagarii or Chekachekii, and Mangeriya. The Dharamapuriya dialect is spoken on the north bank of the Ganges. The Chekachekii dialect is spoken in far eastern region where the Rajmahal Hills approach the Ganges near Sahebganj, and in the western border area where the Khirkhiriya Hills stop near the Ganges. Miirzachauki, near Sahebganj, was at the border of the provinces of Bengal and Bihar during the time of Akbar. Miirzachauki was a busy checkpost. It occupied a narrow strip of land between the Ganges and the mountains and thus was an ideal spot for a checkpost. The Mungeriya dialect is prevalent to the west of the Khirkhiriya Hills in the Dakra River basin.

“Besides these, there are also two mixed sub-dialects of Angika: The first is the Shriipuriya sub-dialect which is used in the region lying between Purnia and Kisanganj. Purnia’s language is Angika, and Bengali is the language of Kisanganj. The Shriipuriya language that is spoken in the interlying areas is a mixture of Angika and Raunapurii Bengali (Súryapurii). The second sub-dialect is the Northern Khotta dialect which is used in the region between Katihar and Maldah. The language of Katihar is Angika, and in Maldah, Bengali. In certain places between the two one can find this Northern Khotta sub-dialect. It is a mixture of Angika and Shershahabad Bengali. In Mungeriya Angika one can find some influence of Magahii. Similarly, in the Magahii of the Kiul River basin there is some influence of Angika.”

“As I was saying,” my visitor continued, “I hope I am not annoying you by talking for so long. Earlier I told you that I loved Angadesh with all my heart. So when the topic of Anga comes up, I start going on without any hesitation. Then afterwards, I think to myself that I hope I haven’t annoyed whoever I’ve been talking to.”

“Why should I be annoyed,” I replied. “Rather, I’m quite astonished; I wonder how you came to know so much at such an early age.”

The light and shadow body of my visitor trembled as he spoke. “These are all your own thoughts. Earlier I said that I am in your mind. So your thoughts are coming out from my mouth.”

“Yes,” he continued. “Vireshvijay started searching the forest of the Khirkhiriya Hills for Karna’s ‘treasury’ in order to save it from the hands of the East India Company. Do you know,” he added, “when I visit these hills I feel as if my entire being is overwhelmed by that Vireshvijay. It feels as if I am also searching someone in these hills and in this forest. Shall I say one more thing?… Please don’t mind. Please say you won’t mind.”

“Now,” he continued, “it seems to me as if I have come searching for you.”

I stared at him, speechless. There was the whisper of a smile on his guileless face.

“After a few days’ search, Vireshvijay came across one of his faithful followers. He entrusted him with the secret plans and maps as well as various urgent matters and sent him to the nawab in Buxar. It was impossible for him to go himself. It would not have been so bad if he himself were caught, but it was essential that the war documents not fall into the hands of the Company. But to the good fortune of the East India Company and the misfortune of Bengal, his follower was caught by the Company near Surajgara. He was killed and the Company learned of the movements of both Vireshvijay and the nawab.

“The Company dispatched a large advance army to Buxar and the bank of the Karmanasha River where they laid in ambush waiting to draw up battle formation. Needless to say, Miirkashim lost the battle of Buxar and was completely routed in the battle of the Karmanasha. He had neither manpower nor economic resources. Disheartened, he went first to Zamaniya, then later to Gazipur. At the time Gazipur was under the control of Agra Province. The East India Company’s direct rule had not yet been established there. In poor health and with a broken spirit, Miirkashim breathed his last in Gazipur. The nawab of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa, Miirkashim, died like an ordinary man, or not even, since no one dared to give him a proper burial for fear of the East India Company. Simply a hole was dug and he was thrown in. Even this was washed away and vanished when the Ganges flooded.

“When he received news of the nawab’s death,” my visitor went on, “Vireshvijay became very sad but he didn’t fall apart. He decided to leave the Khirkhiriyá valley and head for Rarh. There he thought to build a new army with the help of the Bágdiis [a fighting community belonging to the lower strata of society].

“In fact,” he went on, “Vireshvijay was sitting and thinking in the very spot where you are sitting now, thinking and thinking.

“I was telling you about Gazipur City. Lord Cornwallis introduced a permanent land settlement for the landed property of Bengal Presidency. Before introducing the land settlement in Bengal, he went first to Gazipur District to make the same arrangements for the province of Agra.⁽¹⁵⁾ Gazipur was at that time a huge district. Later, the eastern portion of this district was separated and a new district was formed called Baliyá (Bahlik). When Cornwallis arrived in Gazipur city he fell ill and died there. His tomb is still there today.

“Yes, since Mughal times, the city of Gazipur has been famous for rosewater and attar. This fame still continues to some extent. Rabindranath Tagore’s elder brother, Satyendranath Tagore, was the District Magistrate of Gazipur city. It was in his government residence that Rabindranath wrote his book Naokád́ubi [The Wreck].

“Talking about Gazipur reminds me again of Monghyr. Shahjahan’s son, Suja, had the same kind of relationship with Monghyr that Miirkashim had with Gazipur. He fled the country from Monghyr for fear of his life during the Aurangzeb’s invasion. People today still call the wharf that his barge left from, Sujiighat (Sujá-i-ghát́). Of course, Suja stopped for one night while passing through the city of Bhagalpur in order to draw up his next plans. After that he went to Akiyab, the capital of Arakan, to take shelter with its king. But he disappeared into oblivion there – whatever happened there is still a mystery today.

“After Vireshvijay’s messenger fell into the hands of the East India Company in Surajgarha, they knew that he was holed up in the Khirkhiriya Hills. The Khirkhiriya Hills were then part of the zamindary kingdom of Dvarabhauṋga. Badshah Akbar had given them to Mahesh Thakur as a feudal estate. During Miirkáshim’s time the Khirkhiriya region was controlled by the king of Dvarabhauṋga from his residential offices in Khaŕagpur.⁽¹⁶⁾

“At the time that Vireshvijay was wandering in the Khirkhiriya Hills, the director of the Kharagpur Zamindary offices was his maternal uncle, Mohankrisna Mitra. The East India Company didn’t know that Vireshvijay was Mohan Mitra’s nephew. Mohan Mitra was well-aware of the steely character and fiery behaviour of his sister’s son. He also understood that his nephew was carrying out the instructions of his father. So despite the fact that Vireshvijay was the same age as his own son, he showed him the greatest respect and helped him in every way possible.

“The East India Company surrounded the Khirkhiriya Hills with their troops in an effort to trap Vireshvijay, who got word of this through his uncle. Through similar means, Vireshvijay discovered the cave where King Karna’s treasure-store was hidden, however the treasure was no longer there. Someone, it seemed, had emptied the cave of all its wealth after King Karna had left. Vireshvijay was only able to get a hold of three Siinaks [a gold coin].” Then my visitor pointed out the cave to me with his finger. It was very close to where I was sitting.

“It is a very small cave,” he continued. “A few miles to the southwest of this hill is a cave with paintings from the Buddhist era, and to the east is Rśikuńd́a. Nowadays people have forgotten its history, so they say that it is the ashram of the Rśyashrnga Muni mentioned in the Ramayana. Actually there was Buddhist monastery here during the Buddhist era. On the western edge of these mountains you will find the grave of Jamal Minya. Jamal Minya came here from Rajnagar in Birbhum and was the first to propagate Islam in this area. This place was named Jamalpur after him.

“Yes, I was talking about Rajnagar. Rajnagar is now a very small city but at one time it was the district headquarters. During the Mughal era, certain districts in the Province of Bengal were extremely large (Monghyr, Silet, Birbhum, Mymensingh, Purnia, etc.). In many districts the district administrator was called the Jilá Hákim but in Birbhum and Purnia he was called the Baŕá Hakim or governor. The governor of Birbhum used to live in Rajnagar. The last governor, Alinakhii Khan II, only ruled Birbhum for a short time, and Purnia’s last governor, Shaokatjang,⁽¹⁷⁾ after being defeated in the Katihar war by Siraj-ud-Daola, was removed from the post of Purnia’s baŕá hákim.

“Anyhow, this Jamal Minya came from Rajnagar. Later the area of Birbhum district was reduced and the district headquarters was shifted from Rajnagar to Suri. Various cultural artifacts are scattered throughout our Angadesh but who is there to point them out? Angadesh’s condition is like that of an orphaned child. What to speak of Angadesh, a great part of India is in the same condition today. Where will the historical materials come from if we continue to neglect these cultural artifacts? Nearby, for example, near Kahalgaon (Áńt́ichak) was the Vikramshila university from the Buddhist age but how much research has been done on it? Yet, nowadays thousands of universities are springing up like mushrooms.”

My visitor paused for a moment, then said softly: “I am talking a lot, quite a lot. But you don’t seem to be annoyed at all. Of course, these are all your thoughts. They are only coming out of my mouth.”

Then he continued. “Vireshvijay began to worry that the Company had picked up his trail and might capture him at any time and persecute him. There was also the danger that they would learn about the work he had just begun with the help of his followers among the Bágdiis in Rarh and make them suffer greatly for it. One cannot bear to think about it. What kind of a future would Bengal have? Would Mother Bengal pass her days crying? Would the time he had spent on the earth go in vain? This is what Vireshvijay was thinking that night, seated in this very spot around 8:30 in the evening. Perhaps the next morning the Company would catch up with him. Vireshvijay slowly made his way down to the rain-swollen falls and plunged into its waters. Within moments his body was swept up in the current and carried down into a deep cavern, from there to a lake, then to the Dakra river and finally to the Ganges. There was no one to attend funeral services for this twenty-three year old, ideologically-dedicated young man. No one even knew his history.

Ye phul náphut́ite jhareche dharańiite
Ye nadii marupathe hárála dhárá.

[That unbloomed flower that has been cast off in the world.
That river whose current loses itself in the desert.]

My visitor looked at me for a short while and then said: “I think you also feel something for Vireshvijay.”

“This is what I thought, and exactly what I wanted. Now your watch is showing 8:27. Please sit here for another three minutes, that is, until 8:30. I know you’ll be late returning home, but I beg you to please stay another three minutes. I am going down to the falls.”

“Don’t go too close to the waterfall,” I requested. “These falls have a very strong current, as you can see; it will be dangerous for you to go too close.”

My visitor slowly made his way down to the falls and stood there. He looked once at the sky, once at the ground, once at the forest before him and once at me. One leg was very close to the falls. I called out to him: “Take your left foot away from the falls. If you step back you may fall in.” A soft smile appeared on his bright face and he brought his foot forward. I said: “You were telling me such a long story, but you see, I have committed a great mistake by not asking your name.”

“No, no. You haven’t made a mistake. I am the one who has made a mistake. My offence is that I am a gentleman, from a good family, but still I haven’t introduced myself. I should have given you my name as soon as we first met. Please forgive me.”

I did not know what to say. Again he repeated: “Please tell me that you forgive me.”

“There is no question of forgiveness,” I said. “If you want to tell me your name then you can.”

“I am that Vireshvijay Vasumallik,” he replied. Saying this, he threw himself into the water. The rapids flung his body around violently and carried him off towards a deep cavern. After that his body sank and disappeared from sight. A sudden strong gust of wind blew at my back from the direction of the forest. Then the gust of wind started blowing towards the mountain in front of me. All around me I could hear the sound soṋ, soṋ, soṋ [[sound of the wind]]. If someone else had been there they would not have heard anything else, but in the middle of this soṋ-soṋ sound I could hear Vireshvijay’s last words má-má-má go [“mother, mother, oh my dear mother”]. With steadfast eyes I looked at the rapids. Unknowingly, my eyes lighted on a few drops of water. In all directions one could hear the hills reverberating with the sound – má-má-má go.

Áste → Ácche → Áche. Similarly we get the word achi from asti. Asti → Acchi → Achi. This word is used in Maethilii. It is written achi but pronounced aich. This is a speciality of Maethilii pronunciation. Mát́i is pronounced máit́; pánii is pronounced páiin; cári is pronounced cáir. It should be remembered here that when the i sound is in the middle of the word it is pronounced fully and blends somewhat into the next consonant.

Adya → ajja → ája. Short da becomes a in Prákrta. Long da becomes ja. Thus the da in adya becomes ja.

The word jáŕa means “root”. Ájáŕa means “not preserving the root”, that is, to remove something by uprooting it. Suppose there is puffed rice in an earthern jar. If we remove the last bit of puffed rice from the jar then we can say that the jar has been emptied – ájáŕ kará halo. And if the last of the puffed rice has been destroyed then we say about the jar: ujáŕ kará halo. If anything has been emptied unjustly then we use the word sábáŕ.

A nonsense story is called an ájáŕe galpa. Today this word ájáŕe has been modified to áśáŕe.

The word ájjá comes from ádyá and ájá comes from ájjá. Ájhá is spelled incorrectly. Earlier I said somewhere that Ájápur is a very large and well-known village in Burdwan district. Its name comes from the Jain goddess Ádyáshakti. At one time it used to be a centre of Jain Tantra. Ádyápur → ájjápur → ájápur.

Át́ká → át́káno → át́kál. The word át́káno means “to stop motion” or “to limit”. Át́ká paŕá means “to have one’s motion stopped” or “to lose momentum”. Át́káno means “to bring something within the purview of certain, observable limits”. Before Persian words were absorbed into Bengali, the Persian-derived word ándáj was not used. Bengalees were not familiar with this word. At that time the word át́kál was used with the same meaning as the word ándáj [guess] is used today. In the village areas of Rarh the word át́kál is still used today to some extent.

[Now matter how much you cry or dance, the measure of my hands remains the same.]

Asthi → at́t́hi → ánt́i/ánt́hi. Since the use of word ánt́i is widespread in Bengali we can let it stand, but if someone would write át́hi it would not be incorrect according to linguistic science.

The meaning of át́há is “to stick”. If something is sticky then we say about it: át́há át́há t́hekche. If we mix water with wheat flour then it becomes sticky. If we boil refined flour in water then it also becomes sticky. The sap of many trees (such as acacia) is sticky, thus we call them all át́há (the sap of the acacia, gand, is a type of gum or át́há). Thus wheat flour is called át́há, however, we now spell it át́á. Another meaning of the word át́á is “to fight” – dánava sheś paryanta mánaver saunge ente ut́hte párla ná [in the end the demons were not able to successfully fight the human beings].

Camaka means the arising of a sudden restlessness or vibration in the body or mind, nerve cells or nerve fibres. That which occasions this restlessness, that event or occurrence is called ácamká. In Urdu, however, camak means “lustre”. “Sakal me camak á gayii [lustre came to the body].

Ád́hya means “a profuse collection”. Varńád́hya means “where there is a collection of colour”. Dhanád́hya means “where there is a collection of wealth or money”. In Bengal ád́hya is found as a surname among the business community – in colloquial language we say ád́d́i. “Se ád́d́i báŕiir pújoy paorohitya kare” [he serves as priest in the house of the Ád́d́is].

(1) At that time in Bengal there used to be three subedars. One was in the capital Murshidabad, the second was in Dacca, and the third was in Azimabad (the name of the railway station in Patna city that has recently been changed to Patna Sahib).)

(2) He also had a few army leaders. He had forts in Sháktigarh (people mistakenly say Sháktigarh), Tálitgarh, Pánágarh, and so forth.

(3) Lalbai did not have any kinsmen in India. A distantly related paternal aunt lived in the capital, Agra.

(4) The extremely large pond that the king had dug in the name of Lalbai is called Lalbandh. Later the corpse of Lalbai appeared floating in the waters of Lalbandh. In some people’s opinion, the body of Lalbai was not found floating in the waters of Lalbandh but rather her rock-bound skeleton stayed at the bottom.

(5) There is a difference of opinion in this matter; in some people’s opinion poison was used.

(6) The son of his daughter Amina. She was married to his nephew, Jain-Ud-Diin. Mirza Mohamed was the son of this Amina.

(7) Ámirchand or Ámiinchand. This man, who came from the Punjab, did various kinds of work in the service of the nawab but the majority of his time was spent in Hoogly working for the nawab’s treasury.

(8) The majority of Bengali Muslims belong to the Sunni sect – the Shiahs are nearly all immigrants; in conduct, behaviour, character, language and physical makeup they are distinct from the Bengali people. Practically speaking, there is no intermarriage. They live in small numbers in the urban areas of Murshidabad district. The Muslim rustics are the Bengali people.

(9) Generally these “Muslim rustics” live in those areas where the Shersháhábádiiyá dialect is prevalent, that is, they stay chiefly in Murshidabad district, Maldah district, the Bholáhát́, Gomastápur, Nácol, Shivaganj and Navábganj areas of Rájsháhii district, the Nalhát́ii and Murárai areas of Birbhum district, Pákuŕ-Rájmahal subdivision and certain parts of Sahebganj and Katihar. They also make their home in the river basins adjacent to Sahebganj. Everywhere they speak Shersháhábádiiyá Bengali. They are original Bengalees, extremely straightforward, hardworking, and they keep away from all kinds of falsehood or crookedness. I have seen that many people take advantage of any opportunity to cheat them. Something should be done for them.

(10) It may be at this time that Angadesh got its first capital. Today Campanagar is located a little to the west of Bhagalpur, near the Nathanagar railway station.

(11) The Karnacaora palace of present-day Monghyr bears no relation to the Karna of the Mahabharata. The palace was built at the very end of the Pathan era or at the beginning of the Mughal era. Karnacaora is not actually the name of the palace but the name of the place. Karna, it seems, had his residence in this place.

(12) The present-day Moráḿ district of Nepal and bordering area (Viratnagar) belonged then to Angadesh.

(13) Chiir-Chandan-Baruya/Áor sab bhaŕúyá – These Chiir, Chandan, and Baruya are the main rivers; the rest don’t deserve to be called rivers.

(14) Ciiracandanayormadhye mandára náma parvatah. [The Mandár is the name of the mountain between the Chiir and the Chandan.]

(15) At that time Agra and Ayodhya were separate provinces. Subsequently, when the East India Company conquered the two regions they joined them and gave them the name: United Provinces of Agra and Oudh (abbreviated UP) The name UP is still prevalent today in India, however, now its name has become Uttar Pradesh [Northern Province].

(16) In those days there were two well-known Kharagpurs in Bengal. One was Hábelii Khaŕagpur in Monghyr (Hábelii means a city which is surrounded by a wall) and the other was Hijlii Karagpur in Hijlii district. Later the name of Hijlii district was changed to Midnapore district. The city is still in good shape today. It takes its name from the Jain God, Khaŕgeshvar Shiva. At that time the Kaḿsávatii River basin was one of the centres of Digambar Jain Tantra (a mendicant Jain sect that goes naked).

(17) Shaokatjang was Nawab Siraj-ud-Daloa’s uncle [mother’s sister’s husband] – there is some difference of opinion here.

Áṋt to Áhiira (Discourse 5)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

This word comes from the word átmá [soul, or consciousness]. The Sanskrit word átmá in Mágadhii Prákrta, specifically in the case of Occidental Demi-Mágadhii, becomes attá (attá hi attánaḿ náth). In the case of Eastern Demi-Mágadhii it becomes attán. From that comes the modern Bengali ánttá. Ánt is a shortened form of ánttá. Ánte ghá means “a deep offense to the inner self”. (Se ánte ghá diye kathá bale. [“His words offend deeply.”])

From átmá we get the word átmika and from this we get the word ántti in old Bengali. Ántke ot́há means “that condition in which the átmá is also disturbed”, that is, when such an agitation occurs in the mental sphere that it also produces agitation in the self or spirit. Átaunkita haoyá and ántke ot́há are not the same thing. Átaunkita haoyá can go on for days or months together while ántke ot́há is purely temporary.

The word pedar in Farsi, which is a member of the Vedic family of languages, comes from the Vedic word pitr. Europe’s Latin family of languages contains a large number of words descended from Vedic: Petar, pear, father, etc., have all come from the Vedic word pitr. Pitá means “he who rears”, or “he who protects”. From the word pitá comes the old Turkish word itá – in medieval Turkish atá/átá. Kemal Pasha did a lot for the people of Turkey so he was called Kemal Atatürk.

The fruit which we know by the name of átá [custard-apple] is not native to this country. The Portuguese brought it from South America about 450 years ago. They called it áttá or áttis in their Iberian language. They planted custard-apple trees in their Bandel Church garden (it is the oldest church in Bandel). Afterwards it spread to the rest of India in a very short time with the help of birds. Today you find custard-apple trees everywhere in India, in the forests, jungles, and fields, and on the paths and river-banks. The custard-apple tree does not like too much rain; it grows well in same laterite soil that the papaya grows so well in.

The Spanish ruled the Philippines⁽¹⁾ for a long period of time and brought this fruit with them; they called it áttis.

The noná fruit [a variety of custard-apple] also originated in South America; its real name is anona murikát́á. The Bengali word noná has come from the word anona. Neither átá nor noná has any name in old Sanskrit. In modern Sanskrit átá is called sitáphal⁽²⁾ and noná is called rámphal. In a large part of northern and central India átá is called sitáphal and noná is called rámphal. The word átá is prevalent throughout eastern India. In Urdu the fruit is called shariifá.

Noná, unlike átá, prefers black or loamy soil and more rain, and its fruit is not as well liked. Noná also has distinct eyes, as átá does, but its scent is not as tempting.

The original Farsi word is iitr. Iitr means “essence”. If this essence has food value then the word rúh is used in Farsi, and in the case of a pleasing scent iitr is used. The word átar came into use due to distortion and confusion, but in subsequent times the word gained acceptance through usage.

Koh means “mountain”. The mountain of iitr or sweet scent is known as kohiitr (koh + i + iitr). This kohiitr is the name of a well-known variety of mango from Murshidabad. We mistakenly say kohitur.

Iitr was first discovered by Empress Núrjáhán. Jáhán means vishvabrahmáńd́a⁽³⁾. Núr means “light”. Koh-i-núr means “mountain of light”.

I think it is important to mention here that the diamond which is known as kohinúr [Koh-i-Noor] was the locket [pendant] on Shrii Krśńa’s jewelled necklace. After many battles and campaigns it came into the hands of Nadir Shah, and after that, Punjabkesharii Ranjit Singh. After him, Jhindan got it, and finally it came into the hands of the East India Company. They had it cut and polished in Holland and then had it set in the British Royal Crown, although some people are of the opinion that it was not set in the crown but was preserved in a different place. Whatever may be, Krśńa’s kaostúbhamańi and the kohinúr are one and the same.

Now let us come back to the actual subject. By mixing rose essence with water, Núrjáhán invented the process of preparing rosewater. It is said that she used to bathe daily in rosewater. By mixing rose essence with sandalwood oil she invented rose iitr. Later she started to prepare other types of iitr by using flowers other than rose.

Núrjáhán was a Persian lady. This uncommonly beautiful woman was sold by her father in India. Her real name was Meher-Un-Nisá. During Akbar’s time, Burdwan⁽⁴⁾ was the capital of Bengal. It was during this time that she was married to the governor (or subedar) of Bengal, Sher Afgan. Selim, the son of Akbar’s Rajput wife (later known as Jáhángiir after ascending the throne), put pressure on Sher Afgan to surrender Meher-Un-Nisá to him but Sher Afgan did not agree and so there was a fierce battle in Burdwan between Sher Afgan and the Mughal army.⁽⁵⁾ Sher Afgan was slain in the battle (his grave is still in Burdwan city) and Jáhángiir forcibly abducted Meher-Un-Nisá by force. At first Meher-Un-Nisá refused to marry her husband’s killer, Jáhángiir, but later, under the pressure of circumstance, she agreed.

After her marriage to Jáhángiir her new name became Núrjáhán. Jáhángiir was an unstable drunkard; India was actually ruled by Núrjáhán. Both Rájiyá Begum during Pathan rule and Núrjáhán during Mughal rule, became famous as especially skilled female administrators. But the name of Núrjáhán is more famous for iitr. Núrjáhán was also a highly skilled poet⁽⁶⁾ in the Farsi language.

Speaking about iitr reminds me of an experience from the old days. I was staying in an average hotel in the city of Gaya doing research on the culture and civilization of Magadha. At the time I was working in the hilly wilds around Gaya searching for the deep, hidden similarities between the pre-Buddhist Magadha civilization and the ancient civilization of Rarh. I had found a striking similarity between the two and had never before felt such excitement and enthusiasm in my research. In terms of my river valley research I was concentrating then on the Naeraiṋjaná-Mohaniyá-Phalgu River basin.

The hotel was small but neat, clean and orderly, as if someone’s house had been turned into a hotel. I arrived there about six in the evening, took a good look at the bedroom and the bathroom, and then, after finishing some important work, I retired early, tired after the day’s labours. Sleep came on quickly. Ah yes, before sleeping I noticed a white stone iitr-pot in one corner of the dressing table, a Gayan artifact of ancient Mágadhii culture. I could tell that the iitr-pot had not been used in a long time because it did not smell at all of iitr.

Sometime later, I’m not sure exactly what time it was, I was awakened by a strange sensation just above the ankle. There was a dim light in the room – the rest of the lights I had turned off before going to bed. What did I see in that dim light when I looked down but what looked like a pair of hands catching me just above the ankles! I freed my legs with a jerk and called out in Magahii: “Who are you? Why have you come into my room like this? This is not good.”

The two hands drew back. Then I saw a shadowy figure slowly move back into the dark part of the room and lose itself behind the dressing table. I quickly got up, turned on the lights and thoroughly searched the bedroom and the bathroom as well as the closet but no one was there. The door was still locked from the inside as I had left it, which meant that nobody had come in from outside. Then what was it? Whose hands was it with their indistinct touch? And those hands had left the scent of jasmine essence!

Keeping the light on I lay down and called out mentally: “Hey, bodiless one, have courage, come out once again. I never do anyone any harm, so there is no possibility of you being harmed by me. Come and tell me your untold story.” But nothing or no one came out.

Then suddenly I see… what is this? Astonishing! Smoke is rising out of that abandoned iitr-pot. But how? And that smoke was filled with the scent of jasmine. I was dumbfounded. Gradually the smoke began to twist into coils. They became denser and denser, but what was behind those coils of smoke could not be seen or understood.

After a short time the smoke began to thin and what did I see behind the coils but a young man of good breeding, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five years old. He looked at me and greeted me politely with folded hands, stood silently for a while, then softly made his way towards the door. He opened the locked door and quietly went outside. I found this all very mysterious.

He went down the stairs from the first floor to the ground floor but his footsteps were completely silent. He was walking but no sound was coming. I also followed silently behind him, determined not to leave him until I found out who he was… for what reason he had entered my room at one in the morning… what it was he wanted to say.

The main entry door to the hotel was locked, but he opened it and went straight out into the street. I was following right behind him but he never turned back to look. The city was dead quiet. Not even a dog was awake and about. He walked on and so did I. Not far from the hotel was the Phalgu River, and after a short time he reached the river and stopped. He stood there silently for a short time, then turned around to look at me and said in Magahii: “I have given you trouble… quite a lot of trouble… please don’t mind.”

“What trouble have you given me?” I replied. “I followed you of my own accord. I wanted to see what your destination would be.”

“I entered and left your room abruptly and came here for no other reason than that you would follow behind me.”

“I have come to hear what you have to say,” I said. “Tell me briefly whatever it is you want to say.”

He looked around once carefully in all directions and then began. “At the moment there is no one here besides the two of us; in these surroundings my words will make a stronger impression.

“I am a child of Magadha. History has never done full justice to this land of Magadha. Every dust particle of its villages and markets is mixed with the gold-dust of its heritage but no one has properly recognized it or recorded it. The little that has been written about it has been written by foreign historians – some out of sport, some out of merriment. The shrivelled Phalgu that you see today was not always in this condition. The hills of southern Magadha were once covered with dense forests. Beyond the mountains, from the north to the south, the Mágadhii river valley was also covered with thick forests. Even a portion of the plains and the banks of the river were also forested. This heavily-forested Magadha used to enjoy an abundance of rainfall and thus the rivers were full of water twelve months out of the year. Because of the abundance of forests there was no problem of soil erosion, and because the forests contained the water there was very little severe flooding. Seeing the Magadha of today, it is difficult to imagine the lush green Magadha that once was.

“You are certainly aware of the fact that Magadha was once a vast empire. At the time of Ashoka and Samudragupta it was probably the largest empire in the world but nothing lasts forever. Those glorious days came to an end and a cimmerian darkness descended over Magadha. The most difficult days in Magadha’s history drew nigh during the reign of Skandagupta.”

He went on. “Skandagupta was one in a string of unworthy sovereigns to occupy the throne of Magadha. At that time the empire had disintegrated and the kingdom was on the point of collapse, confined to its ancient borders. To the north was the Ganges and north of that Mithila, which was at one time part of the empire of Magadha and which Rarh’s King Shasháuṋka had wrested from the hands of Magadha. To the east were the Grdhrakút́a and Cakravarttii mountains. In the eastern region of the Grdhrakút́a Mountains was Angadesh and the Magadha Empire. King Shasháuṋka of Rarh also took possession of these areas. In the eastern regions of the Cakravarttii Mountains was the land of Rarh, which came under Shasháuṋka’s direct rule. The southeast corner’s border was Sametashikhar. After that was ancient Rarh, which the king of Rarh had conquered. The southern portion of the Ramgarh Mountains to the south and the western portion of the Shońa River to the west were first controlled by the king of Kashii, Citrasena. After his fall, this entire area was controlled by the royal house of Thániishvar. Magadha did not have a direct struggle with Prabhákaravarddhana but rather with Rájyavarddhana and Harśavarddhana.

“ I’ve gone on quite a bit about the borders of Magadha at that time. I hope you didn’t mind. Without it the picture would not be complete.”

“Magadha had lost all its previous power and glory,” he continued. “King Skandagupta was a weak-minded, vacillating drunkard. He did very little of what we normally consider great deeds; rather he led Magadha to the brink of destruction.

“Of course, nothing in this world is completely one-sided. No matter how much historians blame him, Skandagupta did some good also. This city of Gaya, which we are standing in the heart of, was designed by him. He founded Sanskrit schools and training centres in various parts of Magadha, such as Dvádashavarddhaká (Váravigha), Brhaddhiká (Vaŕahiyá), Madhukamadhá (Mokámá), Urubilva (Arabál), Grdhrakút́a (Gidhaoŕ), and so forth, which endured for quite some time. He was the first to introduce the use of the Mágadhii language of that time (Western Demi-Mágadhii) in government service alongside Sanskrit. Still, he watched the Magadha Empire crumble in front of his eyes. He died watching an entire empire fall apart due to his own incompetence.

“At that time there was a fierce struggle going on for the capture of Magadha between King Rájyavarddhana of the royal house of Thániisvar and Rarh’s King Shasháuṋka. Thánisvara’s kings used to repeatedly move their capital from place to place, but Shasháuṋka did not. Rather, he would enlarge his capital according to necessity and befitting the times. He founded Paiṋcagaorh [the five ancient parts of Bengal] after capturing Anga and Mithilá and then North Bengal (Barendra), Central Bengal (Samatat́) and East Bengal (Vauṋga). That is, during his time Bengal was divided into five political divisions: (1) Rarh, (2) Mithilá, (3) Samatat́, (4) Barendra, and (5) Vauṋga-D́abák (East Bengal or Shriibhúmi or Cat́t́al was then included in Bengal) – but he kept his capital at Karńasuvarńa.⁽⁷⁾

“There were several reasons for the war between Rájyavarddhana and Shasháuṋka. Rájyavarddhana’s aims were to plunder Magadha’s wealth and to take possession of Angabhumi. Shasháuṋka’s main aims were to take possession of Angabhúmi and to root out the Buddhist religion and culture from Magadha. Although Rájyavarddhana put on a show of liberality he was really narrow-minded. In actual fact, he never treated the Shaivite religion as equal to the Buddhist religion. Shasháuṋka was a staunch follower of Shaivism and completely against Buddhism. He openly declared that as long as one drop of blood remained in his body, he would not allow Buddhism the right to enter either Rarh nor Paiṋcagaoŕa,⁽⁸⁾ or Bengal.

“I am sure you are familiar with Ambabhúmi,⁽⁹⁾ which is situated in the western part of our Magadha. Ambabhúmi was the ancient name of that fertile region (modern name Mokáma T́ál) composed of the western areas of what is now Monghyr District – Surajagaŕá, Lakśmiisarái, Váravighá, Vaŕahiyá, and so on; the eastern portion of Patna district, especially Mokámá and surrounding areas; the eastern part of present-day Nálanda District; and the northeast areas of present-day Nawada District. There was no other region in all of India which was as fertile and as affluent at that time. Thus everyone had their greedy eyes set on Ambabhúmi. Rájyavarddhana and Shasháuṋka were no exceptions.

“Their style of attack, however, differed. Rájyavarddhana wanted to plunder wealth, so he would set fire to people’s houses and ransack them. Shasháuṋka’s aim was to destroy Buddhist monasteries (what are now called gaŕa in modern Magahii) and Mahayana Buddhist images and idols. You are certainly aware of the fact that, according to social and religious regulations, idols can no longer be used for worship once there is any defect or deformation in them. So Shasháuṋka had the different statues of Buddhist gods and goddesses deformed with a chisel. Today you will find that most of the ancient Buddhist religious statues still in existence have had their noses broken off.

“Foreign historians claim that they were damaged during the time of Baktiar Khiljii, or Kálápáháŕ.⁽¹⁰⁾ Although there is a grain or two of truth in this, it is, for the most part, a false assertion. They were actively fostering conflict between the Hindus and Muslims of our country, because they followed the policy of ‘divide and rule’. Actually Shasháuṋka was responsible. He was not interested in looting. In this way, with Rájyavarddhana burning his way from the west and Shasháuṋka applying pressure from the east, the two of them brought Magadha to its last gasp.

“Now the sacred banyan tree that you were sitting under yesterday was not the real Bodhi Tree where Siddhartha attained enlightenment. Ashoka’s son, Mahendra, took a branch from the original tree and brought it to Sri Lanka. That branch grew into a second Bodhi Tree in Sri Lanka and a branch was taken from that second tree and brought here and planted. This Bodhi Tree was produced from that branch. Shasháuṋka not only extirpated that ancient Bodhi Tree, he also dug a deep ditch around it afterwards and filled it with honey so that the ants would come and eat whatever remained of the roots while they devoured the honey; as a result that Bodhi Tree could not grow back again.

“You can’t be very old,” I said. “One could say that you are still a lad, so how is it you know so much? There was no clear or formulated system of studying or teaching history in those days. The study and teaching of history in India was first provided for by Emperor Násiruddiin during Pathan rule and by several foreign travellers during the Mughal era. Thus there were no history books in either Sanskrit or any of the Prákrta languages. The real beginning of the teaching and study of history came during the time of British rule. So the things you have been talking about have never been properly recorded.”

“I am not saying all this myself,” he replied. “I am thinking about you and whatever you are thinking about is coming out through my mouth.”

“As a result of the clash between Shasháuṋka and Rájyavarddhana,” he continued, “the amount of harm that Magadha suffered was doubled. It would be a mistake to say that neither one wanted to see the other; neither one of them could even stand hearing the other’s name. Shasháuṋka, in an unexpected development, captured Kányakubja, slew its king, Cakráyúdha (in some people’s opinion, Inráyudha), the husband of Rájyavarddana’s sister, Rájyashrii, and installed his own nephew from Rarh, Keshariivijaya, on the throne, giving him the name Indráyúdha (some say Cakráyúdha). Rájyashrii returned to her father’s house and instigated her brothers, Rájyavarddhana and Harśavarddhana, to turn against Rarh. As a result, Magadha, which lay between those two lands, had to suffer many outrages. This is our Magadha.

“Mag means ‘he who moves about independently’, that is, one who does not follow the Vedic injunctions. Dha means ‘follower’. The land which follows the anti-Vedic, Buddhist doctrine is magadha. The Sanskrit dha is transformed into ha in Prákrta. Thus magadha becomes magaha – the name of the language is magahii. Following the Buddhist era, the language of all of eastern India was this Magahii Prákrta. Lord Buddha, The Enlightened, made his appearence in this land.

“Our Magadha is situated in the northeast corner of the prehistoric Gondwanaland. Since Gondwanaland is the oldest land on earth, it is also the original home of human beings, the birthplace of human civilization. Rarh is in eastern Gondwanaland. In the prehistoric era, human beings came from Rarh to make their home in Magadha and they brought with them the current of their civilization and culture. Just as the geography of Magadha slopes downwards from north to south and the rivers flow from north to south, similarly the culture and civilization flowed from south to north. Thus the people of Rarh and Magadha are fundamentally one. Like the people of Rarh, the common people of Magadha are dark-skinned. Magadha borders Rarh along its south-east border. The skin and bodily structure of the people of Rarh and Magadha are identical. There is also a noticeable similarity between their languages.

“Earlier I told you that in those days Magadha was full of forests and had abundant rainfall so there was no need of irrigation. The pre-Aryan people of Magadha used to believe that their land received rainfall due to the grace of the sun-god. Thus they used to worship the sun-god according to their ancient local customs, once during the autumn paddy harvest and again during the spring sun harvest (chaetii harvest). This sun-worship of pre-Aryan Magadha is known today as chat́ pújá. This worship was not performed according to Aryan rules. It was a completely local Magadha practice. The people of Magadha did not bow their heads and submissively accept any of the Aryan practices. For that reason the Aryans called the land magadha. They were afraid of Magadha and used to pay it respect. Thus, to satisfy their grudge and vent their spite, they declared Magadha an unholy land. They said that if a man died there he would not go to heaven and they made efforts to forcibly impose their language, culture and civilization on Magadha. It is up to the historians and social scientists to consider just how successful they were in their efforts.

“Magadha did not accept the Aryan civilization. In ancient Magadha there was no custom of racial or caste divisions. The caste system in Magadha came much later due to the influence of the Aryans. Even after the advent of the caste system, the Kraoiṋcadviipii and Magadha’s Shrotriya Brahmins did not like the severity of caste divisions. For this reason the Kraoiṋcadviipii and Magadha’s Shrotriya Brahmins were not recognized by the Brahmins of northern India.”

The boy looked at me and said with a choked voice, “You know, today Magadha is torn apart by caste differences. I want to hear from your lips if Magadha has a future or not.”

“Why are you weeping?” I asked. “Why are you thinking in this way? I tell you, Magadha has a bright future. Magadha will once again break down the walls of narrow-mindedness and hold its head high in the world community. Magadha’s past was bright and its future will be radiant.”

“It was an unbelievable and unforgettable happening. Nearly two and a half thousand years ago two great spiritual leaders appeared on the earth at about the same time on the soil of Magadha to sow there the seeds of their spiritual teachings. One was Vardhamána Maháviira and the other was Gaotama Buddha. Gaotama Buddha was the son of the feudal king of the central terai, Shuddhodana (Malla dynasty, Shákya branch of the Kśatriyas), and his wife Máyádevii. He practised austerities for a long time in Magadha in the areas of the Barábar, Brahmayoni and Grdhrakút́ mountains. His Guru in Sáḿkhya philosophy, Ácárya Saiṋjaya (Nawada district), was also from Magadha. Although what is called avidya in his philosophy is not the same as pradhána or prakrti in Sáḿkhya, there is some similarity between the Buddha’s concept of avidya and the Sáḿkhya concept of pradhána.

“The Buddha attained enlightenment in the village of Urubilva, located on the bank of the river Naeraiṋjaná (Urubilva is called Bodhgaya today). That Sujátá who fed him kśiira [rice pudding] and saved his life at that moment when the period of his radiant austerities had brought him to the point of death, was Buddha’s cousin and the wife of a certain feudal king of Magadha. One should remember here that at that time the Naeraiṋjaná river coming from the south joined the Mohaniká (Mohaniyá) river near Urubilva and flowed together as the Phalgu river from there, later joining the Ganges near Modhukamadhá (Mokámá). About 2000 years ago the two rivers underwent some physical changes due to a huge earthquake and for that reason the Phalgu river of today is much smaller than it was.

“At any rate the prince of the Shakyas, Gaotama, attained enlightenment on Magadha soil. Many say that Buddha first introduced the Buddhist dharmacakra [wheel of dharma] and initiated his first disciple near Benares in the Iśipattana Migadába (Rśipattana deer grove, alias Sáranganáth or Sáranáth). Although this is partially correct, it is not the complete truth. It is certainly true that he introduced the dharmacakra in the Iśipattana deer grove and that his five disciples, Kaońd́inya (Kaońdilya), Bappa (Vapra), Bhaddiiya (Bhadreya), Mohánáma, and Ashsháji (Ashvajit), were present there. But he gave his first initiations on Magadha soil – to Sáriputta, the son of Rúpasári, and Mahámoggallan Arhan, the son of Mahámoggalii.

“In those days Magadha’s matriarchal system still retained some influence alongside the patriarchal system. So Buddha’s first two disciples in Magadha were known by their mother’s names. The merchant that the city of Pát́aliiputra was named after due to his philanthropy also carried his mother’s name in accordance with the matriarchal system. The name of the merchant’s mother was Pát́alii.

“Varddhamán Maháviira was born in Vaeshálii in a Vaeshya family. His father’s name was Siddhártha and his mother’s name was Trishalá. Like the Buddha, however, he did not propagate his teachings first in his native land but came to Magadha to do so.

“One does not have to go far to find the reason why both of them selected Magadha as the proper place for their work. Magadha was not bound hand and foot with the bonds of the Vedic religion. Their natural liberal mentality gushed forth in all aspects of their lives. Buddha was successful in spreading his spiritual teachings there because they were based more on logic than on superstition and belief. Of course, the spirit of revolt against conventionality was present in Varddhanamána Maháviira’s teachings also, but in the opinion of the Magahii people his doctrine of ahiḿsá [non-violence] did not accord well with reality so they were not able to accept it easily. Of course, some people did accept it, but others considered him an unrealistic theoretician and tried to bring him down to earth by using occult powers. Thus he felt the need to go elsewhere to propagate his new religion.

“At that time the most famous city for progressive thinking, education and culture was Ástikanagar (Atthinagar), the capital of Rarh. Varddhamán Maháviira went there and stayed nearly eight years. There he managed to fit his doctrine of ahiḿsá into a somewhat realistic framework. Some prominent merchants of Ástikanagar accepted his doctrine and they renamed the city Varddhamán [Burdwan] after him. Thus it is said that the Jain religion was first established in Rarh.

“Thereafter he took the road back to Magadha from Burdwan and stopped for a short time in a small village named Svámiisthána (Svámiisthán → Sáinchitthán → Sáinchithiinchá → Sainthiyá) on the banks of the Mayúrákśii River to preach his gospels. By then he was an elderly man, while Gaotama Buddha was still a young man. He breathed his last in Pávápurii on Magadha soil.

“There were many in North India who did not appreciate this free mentality of Magadha. They did not spare any efforts to belittle Magadha in the eyes of the people but Magadha was not discouraged by this.

“The seven Prákrta languages that arose after the demise of Sanskrit were as follows:

1. Maháráśt́rii Prákrta which was the forerunner of Konkańii, Márát́hi, Vaedarbhii (Várárii), etc.

2. Málavii Prákrta which was the forerunner of Gujrátii, Saoráśt́rii, Kacchii, Málavii, Mevárii, Haŕaotii and Máravárii.

3. Saendhavii or Saobiirii Prákrta which gave rise to Sindhii and Múlatánii. 4. Páshcáttya Prákrta which was the forerunner of Pashtu, Káshmiirii, Uzbekii, Tázákii, etc.

5. Paeshácii Prákrta which was the forerunner of D́ogrii, Páhárii, and Punjabi.

6. Shaorasenii Prákrta which was the forerunner of Hindi, Abadhii, Bundelii, Bághelii, and Vraja.

7. Mágadhii Prákrta which was the forerunner of Magahii, Bengali, Oriya, Angika, Assamese, Nágpurii, Maethilii, Chatrishgaŕii and Bhojpurii.

“This Mágadhii Prákrta had two daughters – Eastern Demi-Mágadhii and Western Demi-Mágadhii. Western Demi-Mágadhii later gave birth to the Magahii language. At one time Mágadhii Prákrta was used not only in eastern India, but in central India as well among the educated community for the exchange of thoughts. Educated people used to show the same zeal for learning Mágadhii Prákrta as they showed for learning Sanskrit. The structure of the Mágadhii Prákrta language is both straighforward and easy. The grammar is also not complex. Both Maháviira and Buddha gave their teachings in the Mágadhii Prákrta of that time which many people today call Páli. A great deal of literature was composed in the Páli language and its successor Occidental Demi-Mágadhii. Magadha also had its own script. Inscriptions in that ancient Mágadhii script can still be found in certain places in Bodhgaya. It is the younger sister of the Shriiharśa script and closely related to modern Maethilii (Tirahutii) script and Bengali script.”

The young man looked at me and smiled. “You know what the sad thing is? Today many educated people in Magadha are ashamed of speaking their mother tongue. They think that it is perhaps a rustic language, unsuitable for respectable society. Yet this Mágadhii – Occidental Demi-Mágadhii – was once the language of state administration. Who else can I tell this sad tale to?

“Just as Magadha’s language has its own style of pronunciation and syntax, its popular culture also shines with originality. Today this popular culture is being swept away but do you know what is even sadder? At one time Magadha had a sound economic infrastructure but since the time of Skandagupta that infrastructure has crumbled. Today, wherever you look, you see a stark picture of poverty and distress. There is no plan for economic development. The young people of Magadha do not have any economic legs to stand on. Magadha has not been built up; rather, for 1500 years it has been hammered into the dust.”

The young man looked at me again and said in a tearful voice: “You know it maddens me to think about Magadha. Anyhow, as I was saying, the war was going on between Rarh and Thánishvara, and Magadha, lying between the two, was being destroyed. Shasháuṋka was an intelligent and courageous man. He built a large army through whatever means he had at his disposal and took Rájyavarddhana by surprise when his adversary was temporarily absent from his capital, taking possession of the city. After this he waged a fierce war against Rájyavarddhana in which Rájyavarddhana was defeated and slain. Some people claim that under the pretence of a truce, Shasháuṋka extended an invitation to Rájyavarddhana, and then either stabbed or poisoned him when he came. One can say what one wants in this matter but there is no sound historical evidence that Shasháuṋka killed Rájyavarddhana unfairly.

“After Shasháuṋka retuned to Rarh, Rájyavarddhana’s brother, Harśavarddhana, liberated his kingdom once again and continued the struggle with Shasháuṋka. As long as Shasháuṋka was alive the war against Thánishvara continued without pause. And so there was no end to Magadha’s distress.

“After Shasháuṋka’s death his widow, Jayashankarii (in some people’s opinion, Triguńáshankarii), ruled Rarh along with Paiṋcagaorh or Bengal after installing his under-age son, Mrgánkashekhara, as the crown prince. Haŕsavarddhana did not let this opportunity go by and struck a powerful blow against Rarh. War ensued and after two sanguinary battles at Nalhát́i and Parkat́iipur (Pákuŕ), Rarh fell under Harśavarddhana’s control. The same Harśavarddhana who has achieved everlasting fame in India, who, as legend has it, was known for his generosity and who, in some people’s opinion, was the founder of the Kumbhamelá and the Mághamelá, also killed Rarh’s Queen Jayashankarii and her under-age son, Mrgánkashekhara, with his own hand, and utterly exploited Magadha, tossing it aside like a worn-out banana peel. According to the scriptures, the elderly, women, the sick, the disabled, conscientious dissenters, under-age men, and emissaries must not be killed. Harśavarddhana blatantly violated this scriptural injunction. Both the people of Bengal and the people of Magadha condemned and censured him for this.

“As long as Shasháuṋka was alive he did not allow the Buddhist religion into Rarh. After the defeat of Bengal by Harśavarddhana, Buddhism, despite not enjoying his open support, became predominant, due to the tremendous indirect support he gave it. In their hearts the people remained Shaivites but on the outside they became Buddhists. Later on, during the time of Shankaracharya, a small number of Rarh’s Jains and large numbers of Buddhists throughout Bengal accepted the Puranic religion. This may have been because in Rarh there was some similarity between the traditions of the Puranic religion and the Digambar Jain doctrine of that time. So Harśavarddhana dealt a strong blow to the religious thought of Rarh, as well as Bengal, and by exploiting Magadha brought it to its lowest point.”

The boy looked at me again and said in a choked voice: “Now tell me, who can I express this to? Today I’ve poured out my heart to you.”

“Magadha’s misery is not a recent thing. It dates back to the time of Harśavarddhana. The people of Magadha have tried to pull themselves up from time to time but after so many blows they’ve had their back broken. Now they can no longer stand up straight at all.”

“I am really moved by your sincerity, overwhelmed. There should be more boys like you all over Magadha.”

He continued. “While returning back after defeating Bengal, Harśavarddhana tried to pulverize Magadha into submission even more. He knew about Magadha’s tradition and was afraid that Magadha might overthrow his throne. At that time Magadha’s last general, Agnimitra, and his younger brother, Chandraketu, were directing its final efforts to resist Harśavarddhana and a great war ensued. In the battle of Barábar Hill, near the city of Gaya, Magadha’s army was utterly routed and destroyed. Even then Agnimitra did not accept defeat. His final confrontation with Harśavarddhana was at Brahmayoni Mountain in Gaya; in this battle Agnimitra was killed.”

The young man stopped again, then continued falteringly. “You know, people say that Agnimitra’s relatives, friends and neighbours offered sesame, water and so forth to the gods so that his soul would go to heaven but Agnimitra did not attain salvation. As long as Magadha does not regain its lost glory, Agnimitra will not get salvation. Even if he gets it he will not accept it.”

He went on in a halting voice. “You know, it was in this very spot that the funeral pyre burned for Agnimitra’s cremation. The boy stopped speaking. I looked at him but somehow he had vanished and a funeral pyre was burning in his place. The flames of the pyre were rising from the soil of Magadha and scattering these words on the winds: ‘I will never let Magadha die.’

I looked around but there was no one there. Seeing no reason to remain there I started back for the hotel. I met no one on the way; not even the animals were awake. The main entry door of the hotel was open. I went inside and closed it, then went up to the second floor and headed for my room. I went inside, locked it and laid down unperturbed. I lay there thinking for a while and began feeling sleepy. Then I seemed to hear a voice coming from the direction of the incense burner on the dressing table. “Do you know, I forgot to tell you. I am Agnimitra. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you are doing research on my Magadha. I took hold of your leg so that I would have a chance to talk to you. Please forgive my audacity. I would like to request you to come back to Magadha as often as you can. Try to awaken the consciousness of its people. Talk about it, write about it, and promise me” – his voice surged with emotion – “that my Magadha will survive.”

“That Magadha which has given birth to noble persons such as yourself,” I replied, “will never perish. There is no power on earth that can destroy it.”

The meaning of the verbal root tap is “to heat”, “to go through hardship”. Thus tapa means “to welcome hardship in order to accomplish something for the attainment of welfare (shreya)”. The word tapasyá comes from this word tapah (tapas). Tap + ac gives us tapa. That which brings heat is called átapa. If we add lyut́ to the verbal root tap we get the word tapana which means “to heat” or “that which heats”. If we add kta to tap we get tapta [hot]. Before the use of the Farsi word garam became prevalent in Bengali, the word tapta was used more. When I was a young boy I noticed that the old people of Burdwan district used to use the word tapta rather than garam (bhát ektu tapta áche, ektu vátás kare dii [the rice is a little hot, let me blow on it a little]). Just as the Farsi word garam was not used much at that time, the Turkish word havá (which is now spelled háoyá) was also not used much.

Sunlight brings warmth, thus sunlight or raodra is called átapa. The etymological meaning of the word raodra is “fierceness” or “violence”. From this word raodra we get the word raodá in Bihar and roda in Bengali and Angiká. So in old Bengali the word ugra was used for “hot”. In medieval Bengali the word became oggara.

Oggara bhattá rambháa pattá
Gaikka ghittá dugdha sajattá
Nália gacchá muallá macchá
Dijjai kantá kháy puńyavantá

[Hot rice is being served on banana plantain leaves along with ghee, carefully boiled cow’s milk, jute leaves, and maorala fish. The devoted wife is serving and the lucky husband is enjoying.]

The rice that we get by parboiling the paddy, then drying it and husking it with a husking pedal is called seddha [boiled] rice because the paddy is boiled in order to prepare it. In Bihar it is called uśná cáur. The rice we get by parboiling the paddy and drying it is called muŕi rice. And that rice which is not boiled at all but which is washed and then left in the sun to dry is called átapa cál or álo cál because it has been dried in átapa and not boiled. In the same way you can have both seddha and átapa varieties of beaten rice. Widows did not eat rice outside their home because it was cooked. For the same reason seddha rice and seddha beaten rice was not used for worship.

Because the paddy for making seddha rice is boiled, it is somewhat malleable. Thus it breaks less at the time of husking. Because the átap paddy is relatively less malleable it breaks more during husking and leaves more broken bits of grain. In the olden days in Bengal the broken bits of grain from átapa rice were also sold in the market at a good rate. People used to like to use these broken bits for cooking rice pudding.

The word átas is incorrect. The correct word is átiish; it can also be spelled átiis. Átiish means “pertaining to inflagration” or “explosive” or “pertaining to explosives” or “pyrotating”. It is hard to say how it has become distorted in Bengal and become átas. Rather than saying átasbáji [fireworks], we should say átiisabáji.

Á – drsh + ghaiṋ = ádarsha: that which we keep in front of us or watch, and follow while we act. In ancient times, when there was no scope for printing, that authentic manuscript that the pandits would place in front of themselves and transcribe or copy was called the ádarsha manuscript. Whenever some person or individual was held up before others so that they could watch him and do as he did, or try to emulate him, then that individual was called ádarsha puruśa.

In the Vedic language, ádarsha means “mirror”. In laokik [comparitively recent] Sanskrit the word ádarshii was more common, but that is not to say that the word ádarsha was not used at all. Still it is true that in laokik Sanskrit the words mukura and darpańa were more prevalent than ádarsha/ádarshii. In the Vedic language it is said:

Yathá’psu puriivadadrshe tathá gandharvaloke
Cháyátapayoriva brahmaloke

It is said about the way in which the Paramátmá [Supreme Soul] can be seen in the átmá: In the same way that something can be seen in a mirror, a person can see the Paramátmá by analysing the átmá. The Paramátmá can be seen in heaven in the same way that an entity is seen in a dream. Just as a reflection is seen in water, Parama Puruśa can be found in the gandharvaloka, that is, in the study of musical science. And just as sunlight can be seen or understood next to shadow, Parama Puruśa can be found in brahmaloka. Here yathá’’darshe means “like in a mirror”, that is, the word adarsha is used in the sense of ádarshii. Ádarshii → áarashii → árashii.

In modern Bengali there is no derived form in use that come from the laokik Sanskrit words mukura and darpańa. However, the word dápańa, which is derived from darpańa (darpana → dappana → dápana), was prevalent in Old Bengali.

That is, someone who wears a bracelet on her wrist has no need to look in a mirror [dápan] to see it. In the same way, one does not need to take the help of a third party in order to understand one’s own mind.

Á – nand (nadi) + ac = ánanda. The verbal root nand (nadi) is Vedic and means “to get pleasure”, “to feel at ease”, “to swell with emotion”. The etymological meaning of ánanda is “that which, when obtained, creates a flow of bliss”.

Whatever one does in this world, one does in order to get pleasure. A person becomes greedy for tasty food because by eating it that person gets pleasure. Someone has a weakness for earning name and fame because that person gets pleasure through the medium of name and fame. Another person forgets everything in his greed for money because his avarice gives him pleasure. If someone’s mind becomes very negative and he thinks that he will get happiness by not living, then he will commit suicide.

Many people use the name of Shrii Krśńa’s foster-father, Nanda Ghośa, in a metaphorical sense. They say that nanda means “to overflow with joy”. The joy that overflows when one attains God is nanda and the word ghośa means “to proclaim”. He who proclaims the attainment of God is nanda ghośa. The word ghośa can be used for many different kinds of proclamations. “Milk for sale; yoghurt for sale!” When someone calls out in this way to sell milk or yoghurt it is one kind of proclamation. As such, one can use the word ghośa for what they are doing. If someone protests against someone’s name and fame he also proclaims. And if someone extols someone’s virtues then that praise is also a type of proclaiming. Whichever way you take the word ghośa, it is personal decision. I have nothing to say about it, no objections one way or another.

Speaking of “no objections one way or another”, one event comes to mind from the life of the Buddha. At the time the Buddha was propagating his teaching in the villages near Hatthiigrám.⁽¹¹⁾ Usually he would deliver his sermons in a mango grove. The place where he gave his spiritual talks would generally be known afterwards by the name of sońvarśá (suvarńavarśa [the golden place]). Those villages in which he spent the night would usually be given the name dharáhará (dharahará).

This time a certain wealthy youth was particularly attracted to his discourse and became his disciple. This youth had a friend, a certain rich merchant, who was engaged in antisocial activities. After his friend became a disciple of the Buddha, this rich merchant found himself alone and missing his companion in crime. Finally, unable to restrain himself, he went to where the Buddha was giving his discourses. When he drew near the Buddha, he started to use rude language and insult him. The Buddha only smiled. Finally the fellow became tired and said: “Look, I have abused you so much, yet I have not seen the slightest reaction on your part. All my insults are in vain. You could at least get a little angry. Put up some strong protest, then I’ll be satisifed.”

The Buddha chuckled and said: “Look. Let’s say you want to give somebody a lakh of rupees. If the person accepts the offered money then who does it belong to?”

The rich merchant answered in reply: “Why, the person to whom I gave the money.”

“Now let us say he does not accept the money. He says, ‘I am unwilling to accept your gift.’ Then who does the money belong to?”

Then the Buddha smiled and said: “The whole time that you were hurling your abuse I was unwilling to accept it. You can keep it.”

“You can wear it proudly as an ornament or use it for whatever else you like,” the Buddha replied. “I have nothing to say about it, no objections one way or the other.”

So you can use or take whichever of the meanings of ghośa that I’ve given according to your desire. I have nothing to say about it, no objections one way or the other.

The sages have said that Parama Puruśa has created this universe from a perennial fount of bliss.

Ánandáddhyeva khalvimáni bhútáni jáyante;
Ánandena játáni jiivanti ánandaḿ prayantyabhisaḿvishanti vá.

Having created the world, I get joy from the creation of innumerable bubbles in divine sport and dance. Thinking this, Parama Puruśa has created the world and continues to do so. By maintaining the creation He gets bliss and the created beings living in the world also get bliss. By appropriating the sportful essence of the created world, Parama Puruśa gets bliss, and the created being gets bliss when he loses himself in Parama Puruśa in the supreme stance of the divine play.

Since Parama Puruśa destroys the creation or since the created being is completely lost in Parama Puruśa, Parama Puruśa’s last name is Saḿharttá, and as the preserver his middle name is Viśńu. Viśńu means “that which permeates and takes good care of everything”. And as he is well-saturated by the seed of creation, a, the name of the first stage of the creator is Brahmá. Thus the sole duty of intelligent and judicious beings is karmańá manasá vácá, to keep oneself in ánanda and to conjoin the living being, world and God in the flow of ánanda.

There is a heaven and hell difference between pleasure [sukha] and bliss [ánanda]. Yet, by way of explanation, one may say that bliss is the state of endless pleasure. Ánanda is above both negativity and positivity. Ánanda is not confined to the arena of either one. It is the consummation of the two.

The word áhiira has come from the Sanskrit word ábhiira. Ábhiira means “the owner of a cow-shed”.⁽¹²⁾ A few áhiiras or owners of cow-sheds came to Calcutta long back from north India and settled in the northern part of the city. The area where they settled is still called áhiirat́olá.

Ratnákarastava grhaḿ grhińii ca padmá
deyaḿ kimapi bhavate puruśottamáya
Ábhiiravámanayanápahrtamánasáya
Dattaḿ yadupate tvamidaḿ grháńa

[Your abode is brimming over with gems and jewels. The goddess of fortune is Your housekeeper. What can I offer to You, Oh Lord? Oh yes, there is one thing that You lack, as it has been stolen by Your devotees; it is Your mind. I therefore offer my mind to You. Please accept it.]

(1) The original name of the country was Mahárliká or Mahárliiná, which means, etymologically, “small but great in glory”. When the Spanish took over the country they named it the Philippines after their King Philip.

(2) Sitá means “sugar”. Sita means “white”. Asita means “black”. The name of Ráma’s wife was Siitá. The word siitá means “land which has been tilled with a plough”. There is a story that Maharshi Janaka pulled Siitá from the bosom of the earth while he was ploughing his land. Thus he gave his foster daughter the name Siitá

(4) At that time Burdwan was given the name Shariifábád or Bár-e-Diiván, however, ultimately the name did not last. In the pre-Jain era the city’s name was Ástikanagar or Atthinagar. Since the Jain era it has been called Vardhamána [British spelling Burdwan] after Vardhamána Maháviira.

(5) This battle took place between Curzon Gate and what is now the railway station of present-day Burdwan. There was a great loss of life and for a long time afterwards the people used to be afraid to go there alone after dark.

(7) In Birbhum, at the Rarh-Murshidábád border, on the present-day Nalhati-Azimaganj line.

(8) Although Shasháuṋka was the king of Paiṋcagaoŕa or Bengal, he started off as the king of Rarh. Thus he was better known as the king of Rarh.

(9) Even today, the Kayasthas of Ambabhúmi still use Ambaśt́ha as a surname.

(10) His former name was Kalimuddin Khan. At one time he was a zamindar of Bengal. His original name was Kálácánd Ray (Vandyopádhyáya).

(11) Its modern name is Hathoyá and it is situated in the Sárana district of Bihar.

(12) The place where many cows or buffaloes stay together is called báthán. The collective name of cows and buffaloes, or milk-giving animals, is cattle. The place where they stay is called báthán in colloquial language and gośt́ha in Sanskrit.

Ik to Indura (Discourse 6)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

The Old Persian words iyak, ik, ikká came from the Vedic word eka. The substantive form of ik or iyak is ikái (unit). The word is common in Urdu. “Pertaining to eka” is ekká. For example, a one-horse vehicle or chariot is called ekká (ekká gáŕii khub chut́eche/oi dekha bhái cánd ut́heche [the one-horse cart is moving so fast/look brother, the moon has risen]).

In pure Bengali when someone was routed or defeated one used to say t́ekká deoyá. For example: kheládhúloya sabáike t́ekká diyeche oi chot́a chelet́i [that little boy has defeated everyone in sports]. Because there is a distinctive similarity between t́ekká and ekká, t́ekká is sometimes used in Bengali where ekká should be used. In card games we say t́ekká [ace] in Bengali where we ought to use ekká. In young children’s games you find ekká… dokká… tekká.

In olden times a one-horse cart was called ekká, and a two-horse cart was called t́omt́om. If the vehicle was covered, it was called tangaka in Sanskrit – t́ángá in Shaorasenii Prakrta. Nowadays however, the horse-drawn vehicles which we know by the name of pálki or bagi are not very old. They were first introduced in Calcutta during British rule. Men and women in high posts used to use pálkis for going here and there. The Indian palanquin or sedan-chair was in use nearly up until the end of the Mughal Era but towards the end of the Mughal Era its use rapidly declined. In my childhood days I saw the palanquin⁽¹⁾ or sedan-chair used in Bihar but after I became a little older I never saw it again. In those days the village people would sometimes go to the city in palanquins for medical treatment.

At any rate, when the Europeans came to India at the end of the Mughal Era they brought with them their palanquin which in Bengali was called pálki. The British introduced it in Calcutta. The bearers were mostly from Orissa. The fare was one paisa per mile.⁽²⁾ They petitioned to have the fare increased to one and a half per mile. When their petition was not approved they held a strike for several days. Then the English with their inventive intellect designed the pálki gáŕii or bagi [bogey] gáŕii and provided for it to be drawn by horses. In this way we got today’s horse-drawn carriage. A single carriage is called a “bogey” in English. The pálki carriage had the convenience of the pálki and because it was horse-drawn it could go faster as well. As a result, after a short time the horse-drawn carriage became favoured by the people over the traditional palanquin. So the palanquin’s days slowly came to a close; its fares also decreased. However, it managed to survive in villages where there were no proper roads that the horse-drawn carriages could travel.

Similar to the ekká-t́omt́om carriage in India was the phaeton carriage in Europe. The gentlemen of Calcutta used to ride in these phaeton carriages and enjoy the open air in the Esplanade. The pálki carriage gradually replaced the phaeton carriage because the women of this country who normally lived in seclusion at home did not like to ride in the open phaetons. They used to ride in the pálki carriages to maintain their sanctity.

The days of the ekká also came to an end, pushed out by the pálki carriage. Only in those cases where the roads were poor or where there was a need to bring heavy loads of vegetables to the local market, did the ekká carriage survive. It still survives today in a few places where cycles and rickshaws cannot do precisely this kind of work. Moreover, cycles and rickshaws need somewhat better roads than the ekká does.

Speaking of the ekká, a story comes to mind in which the ekká plays an important role.

I had gone at the time to a village in Nawada subdivision of Gaya district in search of archaeological artifacts from Magadha. This place was more or less in the Kśuri river basin. At the southwest it bordered the historically renowned Grdhrakút́ mountain where the Buddha performed spiritual austerities and later gave his spiritual teaching.

I was somewhat late returning. Though it was night there was no harm done because the night train from Gaya would pass through Nawada station quite late. The train was running late and dawn was breaking when I arrived home in Jamalpur.

It was the full moon night in the middle of Hemanta⁽³⁾ and a cool breeze was blowing; I had no trouble seeing even without a torch. I was feeling quite happy after having verified several important facts. The issue under consideration was whether or not the Buddhist Mantrayána was dominant in Magadha during the middle of the Buddhist era or the Kálacakrayána. In the Buddhist Mantrayána they recognized the goddess (which also happened later in Tantra and the Puranic religion) and she was also honored in the Buddhist Kálacakrayána, but the two were divided along doctrinal lines – one accepted Vajratárá and the other Niiltárá or Niil Saraswatii.⁽⁴⁾ With the passage of time Niil Saraswatii took the form of Prajiṋápáramitá in Tibet and later Prajiṋápáramitá was accepted in India by the followers of Maháyána. At the outset, Prajiṋápáramitá and Niil Saraswatii were considered to be one and the same, but later they became separate goddesses. In the beginning, their Dhyánamantra was also the same, but it also became different afterwards.

In Magadha I found the whole or broken statues or remainders of destroyed statues of Niil Tárá, Ugratárá, Bhrámariitárá, and Prajiṋápáramitá. From this I arrived at the firm conclusion that they were accepted in Magadha despite the divisions that took place on or outside of Magadha soil.

I was walking in the direction of Nawada station, the station still about six miles away, when I saw a pond on the left side of the road. In Magadha there are very few ponds but during the Buddhist era ponds were often dug next to Buddhist monasteries because many mendicants and students used to stay there and a great deal of water was needed for them for which a well would not be sufficient.

When I saw the pond I stopped. I thought that perhaps there might be a garh⁽⁵⁾ nearby. There was no garh to be seen but I did see a tall mound next to the pond. If one sat on one side of the mound then the other side was not visible but if one stood one could see all the way around it. I sat on one side of the mound and started pondering – I had never heard of the existence of a Buddhist monastery in such a place. But then whose mound was this?

Suddenly I saw an ekká coming down the same path by which I had come. It came to halt in front of me and, lo and behold!, there was no driver, no one at the reins. The horse knew the path and brought the vehicle there. Just as it pulled up, a young gentleman appeared from the other side of the mound. I asked him in Magahii: “Who are you?” He greeted me with folded hands and said with a slight smile: “Look, it seems perhaps that the ekká has come for you. Otherwise wherefrom would it come in such an unlikely moment and place? Quite astonishing, in fact!”

“But there is no driver,” I replied. “How will the horse go to where I want to go?”

“Don’t worry about it. I can drive the ekká.” Saying this, he helped me get in the ekká and then jumped into the driver’s seat himself and started to drive.

“Look here,” I said. “This is quite astounding. An ekká has come for me – how, I don’t know how – and you as well it seems. And another astounding thing is that you know how to drive it. It amazes me to see so many astounding things at one time.”

“I am not any the less surprised to see you here,” he said softly. “If you had gone a little further you would have come to Kaoyákol village.⁽⁶⁾ You used to be able to find statues of Vajrabáráhii and Vajrayoginii from the Chinese Buddhist Tantra there, in other words they were recognized goddesses in Ciinácára [Chinese Tantra]. Their main place was Vikrammańipur’s (Vikrampur) Vajrayoginii village in Bengal (the village name is Badarajoinii). Statues of Vajrayoginii and Vajrabáráhii were also found in old Tripura’s Mayanámatii (subsequently British Tripura or Kumillá district) and Dattapáŕá village of Bhuluyá.”

He replied very politely and gentlemanly. “I drive the ekká and I also do one or two other things. I was very happy to see that you are doing research on Magadha’s archaeological wealth. Actually, I didn’t just come here; I’ve been with you secretly all along. When you sat down on one side of the mound, I sat down on the other side.”

“I live in this land and I won’t know it? I love every particle of Magadha.”

Finally we arrived at Nawada station. I gave him my thank-you but when I offered him some remuneration he folded his hands and said: “I am so happy to have had the opportunity to drive you. If I accept a fee then I will not be so happy, so please, don’t give me any money.”

What could I do? I sat down in the waiting room and a short while later the train to Jamalpur arrived. The train was nearly empty and I was able to find a small compartment that was unoccupied. I fell asleep but at one point the rattling of the train woke me up and when I looked up I saw the same young man who had brought me to Nawada station in the ekká sitting in front of me.

This time he answered in Bengali. “I also got in at Nawada, just after you did.”

“After you got down I could no longer see it, almost as if it was magic. As if you had conjured it up with your magic wand. Do you know what I am thinking now? I am thinking that this body of mine is also yours; as if you created it with a magic incantation.”

“I can see that you are also very enthusiastic about archaeological research,” I said. “Now tell me, what was this mound for?”

“That mound is not a relic of the Buddhist era, rather it dates from the British era. As far as I know – but of course you are well aware of this – in the year 1905, India’s Viceroy, Lord Curzon, divided the land of Bengal, or Bengalistan, into two parts, East Bengal and Assam Province with its capital at Dhaka, and West Bengal with its capital at Calcutta. Included within East Bengal and Assam Province were:

a) North Bengal: Rajsáhii, Pávná, Baguŕá, Dinájpur, Raunpur, Jalpáiguŕi, and Northeast Raunpur (Dhuvŕi).

b) East Bengal: Mymensing, Dhaka, Faridpur, Bákhargaiṋja, British Tripura (Kumillá), Noyákháli, Cat́t́agrám, Párvatya Cat́t́agrám, Silet and Káchaŕ.

c) The mountaineous areas of eastern India: Gáro hills (Previously part of the landholdings of Mymensing’s Suśanga kings. These kings were Bárendra Brahmins from Bengal), Khási hills (Formed from many very small native kingdoms, one of which was the kingdom of Miliyem. The city of Shillong was in this kingdom), Jayantiyá hills, Mikira hills, Nágá hills (Nagaland) and the Lusái hills (Mizoram).

d) Assam: Kámarúp, Darang, Shivaságar, Nagáon, North Lakhimpur, and the Báliápáŕá border district (later NEFA, and even later, Aruńácala).

a) West Bengal: Burdwan, Birbhum, Bankura, Hoogli, Howrah, Midnapore, Murshidabad, Nadia, Jessore, Khulná, 24th Paragana, Calcutta, Mánbhúm, Singhbhum, Sáontál Paragańa, Málda, Darjeeling, and Purnia.

b) Bihar: Bhagalpur, Monghyr, Tirhut (Dvárbháuṋga and Muzaffarpur), Campáran (Motihari), Sárań (Cháprá), Sáhávád, Patna and Gaya.

c) Cut́iyá-Nagpur: Cut́iyá Nagpur (Ranchi), Palámu (D́ált́angaiṋja), and Hazaribag.

“The people of Bengal did not accept this partition. They started agitating strongly for the reunification of Bengal. One can say that the struggle for Indian independance began with this movement.

“One may ask why the Sepoy Mutiny was not part of the struggle for independance. Because it was not inspired with the goal of liberating the country. That struggle began out of the fear that the East India Company would destroy religion. It was supported by some dispossessed local kings and nawabs. When the Sepoy Mutiny first started in Barrackpore and Berhampore, the thought of liberating the country was not in the smallest corner of their minds.

“When the movement began against the partition of Bengal, the desire to liberate the country had not yet arisen in their minds either. Their primary objective was to make the two Bengals one again. But after the agitation to unite Bengal had been going on for some time, the desire to liberate the country from the grip of foreign enemies arose in their minds. Thus we can say that this time saw the sprouting of the seed of desire for independence. The rulers of East Bengal and Assam Province at the time completely lost their senses, like a mad dog, in the effort to suppress the movement. As a result, ‘terrorism as an effect of helplessness complex’ arose among the oppressed and persecuted Bengali population. Such tyranny was not seen in [west] Bengal, so terrorism also did not flourish there.

“How does it strike us today to think that in those days it was forbidden to publicly utter the words vande mátaram.⁽⁷⁾ For the offence of saying vande mátaram in public the youth of Bengal had their skulls cracked open in Barishal by the police, and those who did not die filled up the jails.

“When people are not given an opportunity for civilized and orderly agitation, they take to the path of terrorism… they accept the path of guerilla warfare. This was the case in this situation. Two youths of that time, Manotośa Vasu from Málakha nagar in Dhaka district, and Shubhendu Náráyáńa Guha from Vánáriipáŕá in Bakharganja district, plunged bravely into terrorism under the inspiration of the intinerant troubadour, Mukunda Das. The police chief of East Bengal and Assam Province, Mr. Tegartt, scoured the region in a furious effort to capture them. Thereafter they quit East Bengal and Assam and came to Bengal where they continued to conduct their terrorist activities from Nawada in Gaya district. Along with their terrorist work, Shubhendra Narayana ran a betel shop in Nawada and Manotośa Vasu used to drive an ekká.

“The two friends used to meet each other in their spare time. As their terrorist activities in Gaya district grew, a lot of eavesdropping started going on. Informants were recruited in different neighbourhoods to help catch the terrorists. After a long search they were able to track the two of them down. There was a great battle between the police and these friends near the mound where you were seated, next to the pond. Both of them were killed. A grave was dug and Manotośa was buried on the spot. A mound was built up over it so that the site could be identified.

“Many local villagers arrived before a grave could be dug for Shubhendra Narayana so the body was sent to Calcutta Medical College to be used there. That is why I told you that the mound dates from the British era, not the Buddhist era.”

“What excellent research you’ve done!” I said. “You’ve done better than any famous archaeologist could have done. I’m really amazed to see what excellent research work you’ve done at such a young age.”

“I have lived on Magadha soil for a long time,” he replied, “so I have a responsibility to know these things. You know, I love everything about Magadha.”

“That I can see,” I said. “When you were driving the t́omt́om you were speaking fluent Magahii.”

He laughed softly. “Those same Bengalees who had once fought with all their might to unify Bengal presented a petition to the British in 1947 to once again divide Bengal in two. When the two Bengals were united in 1912⁽⁸⁾ the Bengalees thought that they had won the fight. And when Bengal was again divided in two in 1947, again the Bengalees thought they had won the fight. What a tragedy of history!

“When the two Bengals became one in 1912, many parts of Bengalistan were kept outside it. History tells why. Nowadays I have realized that liberty not only means escaping the clutches of an external enemy; liberty means gaining one’s freedom from all kinds of bondages – economic, dialetical, intellectual, educational, linguistic and cultural. Geo-sentiment and racial sentiment alone are not all there is to freedom. External forces ruled this country because they were able to extract its essence, its vital juices. When they saw that they had to expend a lot of money to maintain the sugar cane production, when they saw that it was no longer profitable after having sucked the industry dry, then they left. They did not go due to any other pressure; economic difficulties forced them to leave. It is important to remember, both then and now, that it cannot be called freedom when black exploiters take the place of white exploiters. Even though the foreign powers have left, their exploitative machinery is still in place. That machinery will have to go. Then the threefold freedom will be possible – physical, mental and spiritual.

“Now go to sleep and don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ll return after I see that you’ve reached Jamalpur.”

“I love you very much,” he replied, “and I’m concerned about you. Do you know what I am thinking?”

I laughed and he went on. “I won’t keep you awake any longer by going on talking. You go to sleep. I’ll be sitting here.

“I am always anxious to be able to do some good for other people but I don’t have the means to do so.”

I covered my face with my shawl and then said: “How so? You are so young. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to do good work.”

He replied with a choked voice. “I am that Manotośa Vasu. You were sitting beside my grave.”

By adding the suffix kta to the verbal root iuṋg (inj/igi) we get the word iuṋgita. The meaning of the root iuṋg is “to make something understood through the medium of gestures without using language”, thus iuṋgita means “to make something understood through gestures and postures” [hábebhábe bojháno]. Often we say ábháśe iuṋgite. Ábháśa and iuṋgita, however, are not identical. Ábháśa [hint] means “to say something in abbreviated language or twilight language or aphoristic language” and iuṋgita means “to make something understood without language”. Hábebhábe bojháno and iuṋgita are also not identical. Hábebhábe bojháno means “to make something understood without speaking”, through mannerisms or any other means, but iuṋgita is not exactly that.

A moment ago I used the word “twilight language”. Twilight language means to use a language to express what I want to say which will have two meanings. A person who does not know the sign or the clue which indicates the real meaning will take it to mean one thing and the person who knows it will take it to mean another, that is, the real meaning. Suppose I write in twilight language baŕá bábu áj mar gayá, baŕii bahko pat́há dená. Someone who does not understood its actual significance will take it to mean: “The elder brother has died today, send for the elder sister-in-law” (that is, send the elder sister-in-law to do the obsequial rites). But those who understand the hint will take the correct meaning. “The elder brother (senior business partner) has gone to Ajmer, send the ledger (the elder sister-in-law) with the real balance sheet.” Anyhow, now you have understood the subtle differences between the words, iuṋgita, ábháśa, and hábbháv. Saḿketa simply means “signal”.

In Old Bengali the word icá means “developing without care”. Those insects or worms which are born, according to the law of nature, in putrid or stagnant water are called icá or icá poká. These icá poká were the food of some people. There is no relation between these icás and fish. They do not belong to the fish group. But greedy-tongued people, those who on the one hand had a strong desire to eat them but who, at the same time, were ashamed to, called them icá mách [icá fish] or ciḿŕi mách (lobster) in order to maintain some balance between their greed and their shame.

There is no relation between fish and ciḿŕi. Ciḿŕi are ciḿŕi. Those ucciḿŕe (uŕ + ciḿŕe = ucciḿŕe) that we see flying in the evening during rainy season are born on the ground and survive on decaying earth and stagnant water. In the opinion of some biologists, ucciḿŕe and icá were the same species in very ancient times. In parts of western Ráŕh and eastern Bengal, ciḿŕi mách is still called icá mách. In Ráŕh one will also find villages by the name of Icágaŕ, Icád́i, etc.

While there are 15 kinds of old Bengali ciḿŕi, chiefly they are of six varieties:

1) galdá ciḿŕi – they favour stagnant, fetid water, 2) bágdá ciḿŕi – their favoured places are running, fetid water and fetid river water, and also slightly salty estuaries (east 24th Paragańá and east Khulaná),

3) mocá ciḿŕi – they live in the Ganges and in fresh-water rivers. They also reproduce in blocked-off pools of fresh-water rivers,

4) kuco ciḿŕi – they normally reproduce in fresh water, 5) kádá ciḿŕi – they normally reproduce in the water that washes down mountains in the rainy season, and

6) red ciḿŕi – their favourite place is the sea near rivermouths. If this ciḿŕi is eaten too much then one will get skin disease.

However many varieties of ciḿri there are, the word icá refers to all of them, although nowadays some people use icá in a limited sense to mean only small ciḿŕi.

Icchá By adding the noun suffix sha plus the feminine suffix áp to the verbal root iś we get the word icchá. The verbal root iś means “to desire, to long for”. Icchá means “desire” or “wish”. The fundamental difference between icchá and eśańá is that icchá is limited to one’s internal world but when that icchá is associated with the effort to give it a practical shape or an actional expression then it is called eśańá. Thus hitecchá (hita + icchá) and hitaeśańá (hita + eśańá) are not identical. Keep in mind that the word hubahu [identical] is neither pure Sanskrit, nor derived from Sanskrit nor native Bengali. It comes from an old Persian word.

Ichá The word ichá comes from spelling the word iśa with cha. Many mistakenly believe it to be a shortened form of icchá. Jesus Christ was referred to as iśa in old Arabic. Iśa and Musa [Moses] were both accepted as prophets.

There are two rivers in Bengal with the name ichámatii – one is in the Pabná district of Bangladesh and the other is in Central Bengal. The river in Central Bengal issues forth from the Padma and passes through Murshidabad, Nadia, Kuśt́hiyá, Jessore, and 24th Paragańá before emptying into the ocean. A tributary breaks off from the middle part of this ichámatii on its right-hand side and joins the Bhágirathi near Shantipur. This tributary is known by the name of the Churni. It is said that the Dewan of Nadia, Raghunandan Mitra, made this river (or rather canal) in one night by pilfering the waters of the ichámatii with the help of a huge number of diggers. Since the canal (in subsequent times called a river) was fashioned with stolen waters it was given the name Churiye Neoyá [Pilfered] – shortened to Churni. Up until the time that the Churni came out of the Ichámatii, that is, as long as the Ichámatii came from the Padma but before the Churni was made, the river is known as the Máthábhauṋgá. Thereafter the right-hand river is known by the name of the Churni and the left-hand, original river, by the name of the Ichámatii. When this river approaches the Sundarban forest, a certain portion of it is known as the Kálindii⁽⁹⁾ and Harinábhángá (some people mistakenly say Harinád́angá). Some people call it Icchámatii instead of Ichámatii in order to give it a more refined or correct form; no, the river’s name is not Icchámatii; it is Ichámatii.

Ijya Yaj + kyap = ijya. The verbal root yaj means “to do great work”, “to accept sacrifice”, “to teach truth”, “to work on another’s behalf”. Thus ijya means “teacher”. Brhaspati, the teacher of the gods, accepted many sacrifices for the welfare of his pupils so he was referred to as ijya. The Asuras [demons] cannot forget the contributions of their guru, Shukrácárya, on their behalf. Thus, in the language of the demons, ijya means Shukrácárya. In the Vedic era, the offerings given or due the priests used to be spent for the people’s welfare. Such priests were called ijya to show them respect, and the rest used to be considered traders in religion. Ijya also refers to those cows which give greater quantities of milk.

Itara I means “one who has a desire to obtain”. By adding the suffix ghaiṋ to the root trae or trr we get the word tara. Itara means “one who preserves the hope of getting a little”. This is its etymological meaning. Its colloquial meaning is “general public or mass”. Its synonyms in Sanskrit are prákrta jana or sádhárańa mánuśa.

In the Bengali language the meaning of the word itara has become distorted. In a broad sense, if we say itara we mean a man or animal of inferior standard. Thus, to a certain extent, we use itara as a derogatory expression. Itar lok [vile person], itara práńii, itara páshu [lower animals], itarámi [meanness]. Here the word itara is taken in a mistaken sense and the common people are shown disrespect, which is not at all desirable. Krśńa has said: Yadyadácarati shreśt́hastattadevetaro janah. The general public or itara jana follow and copy the behaviour of those in positions of leadership. Here the word itara jana has not been used with contempt at all.

Kanyá barayati rúpaḿ mátá vittaḿ pitá guńam
Bándhaváh hitamicchanti miśt́ánnamitare janáh

The meaning of the Shloka is: Before a wedding the bride-to-be wishes the groom to be handsome, the mother of the bride wishes the groom to be rich, the father of the bride wants the groom to be virtuous, the friends and relations wish that whatever happens will be for the good, and the public hopes that there will be all the sweets they can eat.

Here also itara jana does not convey the sense of inferior or lower standard people. We should be careful how we use the word itara.

Iti By adding ktin to i (verbal root yá) we get the word iti whose etymological meaning is “that which is moving”, or “that which has been”, or “that which has been in such a way”. Its colloquial meaning is “whatever more I may say or write, it goes on in such a way”. Iiti means “a great kind of danger”. Many think that iti, perhaps, means “end”. No, it does not. At the end of a letter we write iti. Here it also means – as I wrote, so it goes, what more can I write?

Many people become confused by taking iti to mean “end”. A certain person had many daughters. He gave his seventh daughter the name Ánnákálii (Ár ná Kálii = Ánnákálii – O Kálii, it is too many, no more!). The eighth daughter he named Chái-ná Kálii [I do not want, Kálii]. He gave the ninth daughter the name iti thinking that iti meant “end”. But actually iti means “let it continue as it has gone”. One day a gentleman told him the real meaning of iti – let it continue as it has been. “Just as you have had one daughter after another born to you, so will it continue.” Dazed and confused, he ran home straightaway to change his daughter’s name.

Aveti means a temporary or partial punctuation mark, not a permanent cessation. This aveti carries a special significance, not only in the written language, but in the spoken language as well. Aveti should be part of any proper collection of words.

“He is devouring a bad kind of good yoghurt” or “He is lamenting his mother in perfect calm”. These sentences are against the spirit of aveti. Using punctuation marks haphazardly in a letter is also against the spirit of aveti. You might remember the following story: A gentleman was staying in the city when a letter arrived from his village home. “Today respected mother-in-law vomited twice. From the Brahmin priest’s mouth you will hear everything. The farmers have cut down all the date palms. Our cows are well.” Due to confused aveti, it was written: “Today respected mother-in-law vomited twice from the Brahmin priest’s mouth. You will hear everything the farmers have cut down. All the date palms, our cows, are well.”

Iti means “to continue just as it has been”. Kathá means story. To arrange events by means of narrative is itikathá or “history”. Behind the word “history” lies the original French word, estoire. Because the beginning of the word is pronounced as a vowel, one used to say “an historian” rather than “a historian”. Nowadays, in English, both are current.

Hása means “smile” or “laugh” and hása means “to shine”. Itihása means “These shining words that I have spoken will continue on”. That portion of history which is particularly shining, that is, that portion of history which has educative value for the people is itihása. There is no proper English synonym for itihása.

Dharmárthakámamokśárthaḿ niitivákyasamanvitam
Purávrttakatháyuktamitihásah pracakśyate

That portion of history in which there is morality and in which the four vargas, dharma, artha, káma, and mokśa, attain fruition is called itihása.

In is a suffix. Normally, the suffix in changes a noun into an adjective or a verb into an adjective or an adverb. For example, guń + in = guńin (1st person singular – guńii); karma + in = karmiń (karmii); viraha + in = virahiń (virahii). Similarly, jiṋánin (jiṋánii), tapsvin (tapasvii), vidyárthin (vidyárthii), árohiń (árohii). In compound words where in is attached to the end of the first word, the na is dropped and the form of the compound word is determined according to the form of the first word. For example, guńin + gańa = guńigańa, karmiń + brnda = karmibrnda, virahiń + gopala = virahiigopala, jiṋánin + samúha = jiṋánisamúha, tapasvin + nivása = tapasvinivása, árohiń + gańa = árohigańa. The feminine form of words ending in in is inii. (in + ip = inii). Ekákin (first person singular ekákii – masculine gender) – in feminine gender ekákinii, karmiń (karmii) – in feminine gender karmińii, tapasvin (tapasvii) – in feminine gender tapasvinii.

Ind (idi) + ac = inda. The verbal root ind means “to collect in abundance”, or “to be established in abundance”.

Indi/indii means “adorned with the abundance of beauty”. Colloquially it means “beautiful flower”. Indivara/indiivara means “blue lotus”. Some people believe that the feminine form of indra is indirá but this is incorrect. The feminine form of indra is aendrilá or indránii. In laokik Sanskrit some people use the word indirá to mean lakśmii. They think that inda or indi means “the splendour of abundance” and ra means “that which gives”. That is, that goddess which gives in abundance. But there is a fundamental error here. In Vedic or laokik Sanskrit, rá is used to mean “manifestation”, “vocality”, “receive” or “obtain”. It is not used in the sense of “giving”. When thus analysed, indirá means “one who gets or receives abundance”. The Puranic goddess Lakśmii gives abundance, so to use the word indirá for her is completely unjustified.

Ind + uń =indu. “The one in whom there is nectar or the abundance of beauty” – this is the etymological meaning of indu. Its colloquial meaning is the moon. According to the yogic scriptures, among the sixteen kalás [sixteen divisions of the lunar cycle] the fourteenth is seen on the fourteenth lunar day and the fifteenth is seen during the full moon but since the moon remains in a certain position the sixteenth kalá is not visible. It remains in darkness. This sixteenth kalá is the receptacle of ambrosia. Because it remains covered in darkness, its name is amákalá and because it is the recptacle of nectar, its other name is indu.

In the individual this indu resides in the sahasrara cakra of the human body. By dint of sadhana, the yogis drink this indu-mixed nectar. (Surá pán karine ámi, sudhá khái jay kálii bale – Ramaprasád. [I do not drink wine; I drink nectar by singing the praises of the Divine Mother.]) Shiva was the King of the Yogis so the yogis used to think that this amákalá was permanently bound up in his matted locks. Thus one of the names they gave him was indushekhara. But in laokika Sanskrit and in the people’s languages the word indu is also used to refer to the entire moon. If indu was only used for the sixteenth kalá where would the complete moon (indumatii) be able to go?

Jat́ájut́asamáyuktá arddhendukrtashekhará;
navayaovanasampanná púrńendusadrshánaná.

If, in a mantra, it is said about the face of a goddess púrńendusadrshánaná [having a face resembling the full moon], and here indu is taken to mean the sixteenth kalá of the moon, then it will mean that her countenance is disfigured. And precisely for this reason where will the krśnendus, púrnendus (the kalá, not the entire moon), shubhendus go? If yet another error is indulged, saying that indu means the entire moon, in order to shore up this prevalent error, will this be proper? In this case, in order to mend the situation and to rectify another mistake, I can say emphatically that indu means the sixteenth kalá of the moon. Still, in some people’s opinion, indu refers to the entire moon.

The root ind means “to accumulate in abundance”. Ind + uras = indura. Its etymological meaning is “one whose natural activity is accumulating abundance”; colloquially it means “mouse”. Its synonyms are ákhu, múśá, múśa, cuhá, cuhiyá, cut́ariyá. Some people believe Ganesh to be the god of accumulation and as the representative form of accumulation they believe that his mount is a mouse.

(1) In Old Bengal, the people who used to carry the palanquin were called duliyá or dule. In the Bengali army there were large numbers of bagdiis [a Hindu caste] During battle the duliyá or dule bágdiis used to help them by carrying their palanquins.

(2) In those days the half-paisa coin was quite common in the market and was worth something as well. Officially the pie-paisa was in use but practically it was the half-paisa or adhlá. In my childhood days in Bihar one could get four kacuri [a kind of pancake made from pulse] and vegetables for one adhlá.

(3) The Bengali year has six seasons. Hemanta corresponds to the end of autumn and beginning of winter. –Trans.

(4) In many people’s opinion this Niil Saraswatii was later transformed into the white-coloured Puranic goddess Saraswatii. Up until the time of British rule what people meant by the worship of Saraswatii was the worship of books. After the first statue of Saraswatii was made during British rule the Saraswatii puja was introduced. The Saraswatii of the Vedic and post-Vedic eras and the Saraswatii which is worshipped today are not the same. The Dhyanamantra of the modern Saraswatii, Ya kundendu tuśárahára dhavalá, [who is as white as the kunda flower and as glittering as a string of icicles] is not an ancient mantra.

(5) In Magadha the common people call the ruins of an ancient Buddhist monastery a garh [fort].

(7) The first two words of a song by Bakim Chandra eulogizing the motherland – “we salute thee, O mother”.

(8) When the two Bengals were reunited in 1912, the East Bengal and Assam Province’s Secretariat at Dhaka, its capital, was divided; the newly-created Province of Assam had its capital removed to Shillong and the newly-created Province of Bihar-Chotanágpur-Orissa had its capital removed to Patna. The word Chotanagpur was dropped from the name of the Province later on.

(9) The Kálindii river means “black river”, or that river whose waters are black.

Glossary

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Shabda Cayaniká Part 1

ÁCÁRYA or ÁCÁRYÁ. Spiritual teacher qualified to teach all lessons of meditation.
ÁNANDA. Divine bliss.
ANANDA MARGA. Path of divine bliss; Ananda Márga Pracáraka Saḿgha (Ananda Marga organization).
ASURA. An Assyrian tribe. Among the Indo-Aryans, the term took on in addition the derogatory meaning “monsters”, and came to be applied by them in this sense to certain non-Aryan peoples.
ÁTMÁ or ÁTMAN. Soul, consciousness, PARAMA PURUŚA, pure cognition. The átman of the Cosmos is Paramátman, and that of the unit is the jiivátman.
AVIDYÁ. Ignorance. See also VIDYÁ.
AVADHÚTA or AVADHÚTIKÁ. Literally, “one who is thoroughly cleansed mentally and spiritually”. A monk or nun of an order close to the tradition of Shaeva Tantra.

BRAHMA. Supreme Entity comprising both PARAMA PURUŚA, or Shiva, and PRAKRTI, or Shakti.

CAKRA. Cycle or circle; psycho-spiritual centre, or plexus. The cakras in the human body are all located along the suśumná canal which passes through the length of the spinal column and extends up to the crown of the head. Some cakras, however, are associated with external concentration points. The concentration points for the cakras: (1) for the múládhára cakra, the base of the spine, above the perineum; (2) for the svádhiśt́hána, the base of the genital organ; (3) for the mańipura, the navel; (4) for the anáhata, the mid-point of the chest; (5) for the vishuddha, the throat; (6) for the ájiṋá, between the eyebrows; and (7) for the sahasrára, the crown of the head.
CITTA. Done “I”, objective “I”, objective mind, mind-stuff.

DHARMA. Characteristic property; spirituality; the path of righteousness in social affairs.
DHYÁNA MANTRA. A Sanskrit verse listing the attributes of a deity, to be used for visualizing that deity in meditation.

KŚATRIYA. Written as kśatriya, a person whose mentality is to dominate over matter, a member of the warrior social class; written as “Kśatriya”, a member of the second-highest caste in India.

LAOKIK. “Of the people”, created relatively recently out of popular sentiment and not found in the scriptures.

MAHABHARATA. “Great India”; the name of a military campaign guided by Lord Krśńa around 1500 BCE to unify India; the epic poem written by Maharshi Vyasa about this campaign.
MAHÁKAOLA. A Tantric guru who can raise not only his own kuńd́alinii, but those of others also; in Buddhist Tantra, Mahákaola is sometimes symbolic of PARAMA PURUŚA.
MANTRA. A sound or collection of sounds which, when meditated upon, will lead to spiritual liberation. A mantra is incantative, pulsative, and ideative.

OṊM, OṊḾKÁRA. The sound of the first vibration of creation; the biija mantra (acoustic root) of the expressed universe. Oṋḿkára literally means “the sound oṋm”.

PARAMA PURUŚA. Supreme Consciousness.
PARAMÁTMÁ, PARAMÁTMAN. Supreme Consciousness in the role of witness of His own macropsychic conation. Paramátman comprises: (1) PURUŚOTTAMA, the Macrocosmic Nucleus; (2) Puruśottama’s association with all creation in His extroversive movement (prota yoga); and (3) Puruśottama’s association with each unit creation individually (ota yoga) and (4) with all collectively (prota yoga) in His introversive movement.
PRAKRTI. Cosmic Operative Principle.
PRÁŃÁYÁMA. The fourth limb of aśt́áḿga (eight-limbed) yoga: process of controlling vital energy by controlling the breath.
PURÁŃA. Mythological story with a moral import; educative fiction.
PURANIC AGE. The medieval period, about 500-1300 CE when Hinduism was dominated by the PURÁŃAS.
PURUŚA. Consciousness.
PURUŚOTTAMA or PARAMASHIVA. The Nucleus Consciousness, the witness of saiṋcara (extroversion from the Nutcleus) and pratisaiṋcara (introversion to the Nucleus).

RARH. The territory, mostly in Bengal, stretching from the west bank of the Bhagirathi River to the Parasnath Hills.

SÁDHANÁ. Literally, “sustained effort”; spiritual practice; meditation.
SAHASRÁRA. See CAKRA.
SHAKTI. PRAKRTI; energy; a deification of Prakrti.
SHLOKA. A Sanskrit couplet expressing one idea.
SHRUTI. Literally, “ear”; hence, a composition learned by hearing (before the invention of script).
SVAYAMBHÚLIUNGA. Ultimate point of negativity, or crudity, in the human body.

TANMÁTRA. Literally, “minutest fraction of that,” i.e., of a given rudimental factor of matter. Also translated “generic essence” or “inferential wave”. The various types of tanmátras convey the senses of hearing, touch, form (vision), taste and smell.
TANTRA. A spiritual tradition which originated in India in prehistoric times and was first systematized by Shiva. It emphasizes the development of human vigour, both through meditation and through confrontation of difficult external situations, to overcome all fears and weaknesses. Also, a scripture expounding that tradition.

VÁMÁCÁRA TANTRA. A school of Tantra that attempts to overcome Máyá by fight, but without any clear goal.
VEDA. Literally, “knowledge”; hence, a composition imparting spiritual knowledge. Also, a religious or philosophical school which originated among the Aryans and was brought by them to India. It is based on the Vedas and emphasizes the use of ritual to gain the intervention of the gods.
VIDYÁ. Knowledge. See also AVIDYÁ.

YOGA. Spiritual practice leading to unification of the unit
ÁTMAN with PARAMÁTMAN.