Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

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 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 = avatara can be read, “the root tr prefixed by ava and suffixed by ghaiṋ becomes avatára.”

The first English publication of the material on the equal rights of men and women in ancient society, pages 77-78, first appeared in The Awakening of Women, 1995. Pages 113-121 in the section on ekarśi also first appeared in The Awakening of Women. Both passages were translated by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta, Avadhútiká Ánanda Rucirá Ácáryá and Ácárya Acyutánanda Avadhúta.

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

Chapter 1	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Indukamala

Indu means “moon”; Indu means “the moon’s amákalá [sixteenth digit or crescent]”. In some people’s opinion, indu means the entire moon. The light of the moon used to be considered as a symbol of sentient whiteness. Shubhrajyotśnapulakitayáminii [“The radiant moonlit night”].

The word kamala can be derived in two ways: (1) kam + ac + lá + d́a = kamala, meaning etymologically, “that which holds beauty”, or (2) kam + alac = kamala, which means “that which is an embodiment of beauty”. In both cases the colloquial meaning of kamala is “lotus flower”. In the first case the verbal root lá is derived with ádi la⁽¹⁾ and in the second case ádi la is also used in the suffix alac; thus, in both cases, ádi la is used in the construction of kamala. Similarly, ádi la is also used in the construction of kamalá because this word is derived by adding the suffix t́á to the word kamala.

Thus indukamala means “white lotus”. The word indiibara, which is used for “blue lotus”, is clearly a graceful combination, but when indukamala is used to mean “moon”, or “the crescent of the moon”, its meaning comes from the word indu. The etymological difference between the two deserves careful consideration.

Synonyms for kamala are padma, abja, saroja, sarasija, kubalaya, kokanada, nalinii, naliniipuśpa, mrńálamańiká, etc. In Bengal it is padma, in north India kamala, in Kashmir pampośa.

Indubilá

Indu + bil + ac = indubila. By adding t́á it becomes indubilá. Indu means “moon” or “the crescent of the moon”. The meaning of the verbal root bil is “to bore” or “to make a hole”. By adding the suffix van (in some people’s opinion, vun) to the verbal root bil we get the word bilva whose etymological meaning is “that which makes a hole”; its colloquial meaning is “bel fruit” [wood-apple]. In ancient times people held the view that eating burnt, unripe bel or wood-apple would alleviate ulcers and other kinds of stomach problems, while eating ripe bel would create stomach ulcers. Thus they named the fruit bilva.

According to a story from the Puranas, the etymological meaning of indubilá is “that woman who made a hole in the moon, or the crescent of the moon, in order to extract its nectar”, that is, that woman who was inspired by the belief that if she made a hole in the moon its accumulated nectar would come out. Colloquially, indubilá refers to the mother of the god of wealth, Kuvera.

Indhana

The word indhana is derived by adding the suffix lyut́ to the verbal root indh or idhi. That wood which is used as fuel for cooking is indhana. By the same reasoning, in the modern era we can also call the coal or electricity that we use for cooking indhana.

In southern Bengal, indhana is called jválánii kát́h, in the central and western regions it is called lákŕi, and in the north it is called khaŕi. Wood which is used as cooking fuel is also called arańi. Not all kinds of wood are suitable as cooking fuel. Many kinds of wood do not catch fire easily, others do not stay lit. Due to insufficient combustibility, some woods become scorched but do not burn strongly. Those woods which burn strongly are usable as cooking fuel and they are known as arańi.

Those forested areas which contain large amounts of arańi are called arańya. In ancient times the sages generally used to live in these arańyas, although this did not hold true for those who used to live off forest-grown fruits and roots. Those who used to cook their food needed cooking fuel, so they used to live in the arańya. They did not live in the ordinary forest areas which were bereft of arańi.

You must all be aware of the fact that the Vedas have two main branches: karmakáńd́a and jiṋánakáńd́a.⁽²⁾ The karmakáńd́a is further subdivided into two: mantra and bráhmańa. The jiṋánakáńd́a is also subdivided into two: árańyaka and upaniśada. The etymological meaning of árańyaka is “that which pertains to the forest [arańya]”, or “forest-born”. Colloquially it refers to all those philosophical portions of the Vedas which concern the objective world.

Those areas which contained large amounts of less-combustible or less-flammable trees were called ban in the common language. For example, I will point out that the Bankura jungle has an abundance of high quality wood while in the Sundarbans there is a lack of high quality wood – the greater part is wood for fuel. By this analysis, we can call the Sundarbans arańya, while the Bankura jungle we would call ban in the common language, not arańya.

All those woods which were not used for cooking, that is, which were not indhana, but which were used for yajiṋa [Vedic ritual sacrifice], such as shál (indra), bilva (bel or wood-apple), yajiṋad́umbara (ud́umbara) [Indian blackberry], are called samidha rather than arańi or indhana. In ancient times, yajiṋad́umbara was usually used as samidha; for this reason, those who were engaged in the performance of sacrifices would not use yajiṋad́umbar wood as indhana; due to superstition they would not even consume its fruit. In subsequent times, most likely after their arrival in India, they began to use indrakáśt́ha (shál wood) and bilvakáśt́ha (bel wood) in their sacrifices. I have sometimes seen samidha called yajiṋa indhana in old Prákrta literature. This usage is defective. Indhana is not used for sacrifices; it is used for cooking.

Irá

The verbal root ir means “that which flows” or “that which does not remain static”. One colloquial meaning of the word ira or irá is “water”. Iravat or Irávat means “sea”. According to a story from the Puranas, the name of the huge elephant that emerged from the churning of the sea was Eravata/Erávata or Aeravata/Aerávata (mammoth).

Another colloquial meaning of ira or irá is “air”. Sweet-scented ira means “fragrant air”.

Yet another meaning of ira or irá is “money”. In this sense, the value of money lies in its mobility. If money stops circulating then it loses its value. The wealth of the individual or the state accrues through ceaseless circulation; thus money should not be kept in a pot buried in the ground. Its greatest value lies in its circulation. Iravána or irávána means “wealthy”. Another meaning of iravatii or irávatii is “rich” [in feminine form].

Still another meaning of ira or irá is “knowledge” or “erudition”. In the case of the physical world, ira or irá is a name for wealth due to its mobility. For the same reason, another name for erudition is ira or irá. Calamity results in individual, social and political life if wealth remains confined – the water in a clay pitcher leaks out if it is not used. Such is also the case with erudition. Its real worth depends on its circulating and spreading, otherwise it becomes a burden. Pustakántaragatá vidyá parahastagataḿ dhanam [“Knowledge confined to books is like wealth belonging to others”]. Knowledge is spread through distribution, by doing service. Herein lies the significance of its name irá.

For the same reason, another meaning of the word irá is “articulation” or “vocality”. Those who have the capacity to speak and make others understand should speak and explain good things to others. The faculty of speaking should not be confined to a mute vocal cavity. As speaking and knowledge is irá, thus knowledge and the presiding deity of knowledge used to be called Vágdevii (vák + devii)⁽³⁾ in ancient times. The word irá used to be especially revered by the learned.

Ilábilá

The meaning of the word i is “desirous of obtaining”. The word lá (lá + d́a + t́á) means “one who holds”. Colloquially, ilá means “a collection of wealth” (a collection of money or learning). The etymological meaning of the word ilábilá is “he or she who goes around everywhere searching for holes or poking around in hopes of obtaining riches”. The colloquial meaning of the word ilábilá is Kuvera’s [god of wealth] wife.

In one Puranic tale, the name of Kuvera’s wife is Ilá (Ikśváku’s daughter). According to a Puranic story, the male Mercury was physically transformed into a woman. After becoming a woman, his name became Ilá. Through surgery he was again changed back into a man. Ikśváku’s daughter’s real name was Irá. After Mercury was changed back into a man, Irá was given the name Ilá. This Puranic tale offers evidence that there were sex changes in the past similar to the great number that we see today in modern times.

Iliisha

Il + iisha = iliisha. Il means “to go down into water”. Iisha means “ruler”… “king”. The etymological meaning of iliisha is “the king of water”. Colloquially, it refers to a certain kind of fish. Since those iliisha which unwittingly get caught in ponds, swamps, or stagnant water have their taste spoiled, they are called viliisha (vi + iliisha = viliisha). In Bengal, different people spell iliisha in different ways. This is not desirable. The correct spelling is iliisha because it is according to its derivation.

Iśt́a

The word iśt́a is derived by adding the suffix kta to the verbal root iś. Iśta would be correct but the cerebral letter śa cannot be joined to the dental letter ta; thus here ta is changed into t́a yielding iśt́a. The meaning of the verbal root iś is “the desire to obtain”. That which a person nurtures in the innermost recesses of his or her mind in the hope of obtaining it is that person’s Iśt́a.

In the spiritual world a person can only have one Iśt́a, one desideratum. In that world there can never be two goals, there can never be “desiderata”. In the psychic world, or within the jurisdiction of the mind, a person may have more than one object of desire, that is, there may be multiple iśt́as. Desideratum and desiderata – a person can run after both kinds of ideation.

Within the confines of the physical world, a person can run after or follow more than one object. The collective or combined name of all the various iśt́as that a person may have in the physical and psychic spheres is abhiiśt́a (abhi + iśt́a = abhiiśt́a). For example, we can say “he has come to Calcutta⁽⁴⁾ to fulfil his desires [abhiiśt́a].”

I just finished saying that in the spiritual world a person has only one Iśt́a. Here there is no scope for duality. In that world plurality is not accepted – giving it internal support is harmful as well. In that world the “many” can be illumined through the riches of the profound knowledge of the “One”. Getting overenthused with the “many”, this “One” cannot be found.

It is said that someone once asked Hanuman: “Well then, Hanuman, why is it, if you admit that Rama and Náráyańa are one, that you take Rama’s name so often, and never once, not even by mistake, do you take Náráyańa’s name? In reality, the two are one.” Hanuman replied:

Shriináthe Jánakiináthe cábhedah paramátmani;
Tathápi mama sarvasvah Rámah kamalalocanah.

That is, “I know that Shriinátha (Lakśmiinátha), that is, Náráyańa, and Jánakiinátha, that is, Rama, are one and the same in the supreme sense, but Rama is everything to me. I don’t know or accept any Náráyańa.”

I hope that you have all understood now the importance of the word iśt́a in the spiritual realm.

Iśva

Iś + van (vun) = iśva. Iśva means “that which is wanted” or “that through which one obtains what one wants”. Iśva means Iśt́a or the Dharmaguru [spiritual preceptor]. One who shows a particular community the true path in the collective or social spheres can also be called iśva.

Iha

Iha means “in this world”. One should keep in mind that atra and iha are not the same. Atra means “here”, “in this place”, and iha is used in a more expansive sense – “in this world”, “in this realm”.

By adding the suffix t́hak to iha we get the word aehika [mundane]. Its antonym is paratra [the other world], from páratrika [supermundane]. Ihalaokik [of this world] – its antonym is páralaokik [of the next world]. Ihaloka [this world] – its antonym is paraloka [the next world]. It is more correct to say atra tiśt́ha than iha tiśt́ha. Iha tiśt́ha means “stay in this world” and atra tiśt́ha means “stay here”. The word iha has been used since ancient times as an indeclinable.

From beginninglessness to endlessness there remains a subtle dividing line between this world [ihaloka] and the next world [paraloka].

It happened a long time ago. At that time I didn’t have my own house in Delhi; sometimes I used to stay in hotels and sometimes in a rented house. This time I was staying in a hotel. I returned to the hotel around 8:00 p.m. after finishing my evening walk and went into the bathroom to wash my hands and face in the basin. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a well-known and welcome voice from the past: “How are you?”

“What is this?” I thought. “It is the voice of Dulu Palit that I know so well from my childhood.” Dulu was both a close friend and a distant relative. He was the son of an aristocratic family near Magra. Dulu Palit, Vrajagopal Sannyal, and myself had had an intimate friendship. Both of them were quite handsome, but their inner beauty was even greater. It was their inborn nature to do good to others. But where was Dulu’s voice coming from in this hotel bathroom? How did he get here? This was not a dream. I was standing in front of the washbasin in full possession of my senses, washing my hands and face – it simply couldn’t have been a figment of my imagination or a trick my ears were playing on me!

Dulu spoke again in a hurt voice: “Are you angry with me? Why are you not looking at me?”

I remembered how much Dulu used to love me. While we were young he used to say that our relationship was just like that of Sudámá and Krśńa in the Krśńaliilá. Sudámá used to love Krśńa tremendously; Krśńa also loved Sudámá enormously. Dulu used to tell me: “We will love each other so much that Krśńa and Sudámá’s love will pale by comparison.”

I used to tell him: “I will be able to but will you be able to?” And he used to reply: “Of course I will. Just you wait and see!” Now, today, I was hearing Dulu’s voice again, sounding offended and asking: “Why won’t you look at me?”

The voice seemed to be coming from behind me. I turned around and there standing against the wall behind me was the luminous figure of Dulu looking at me and smiling happily. When I looked at him he said, bursting with happiness: “How are you? I’ve been feeling anxious about you for so long. Now that I am near you again I am okay.”

“I am fine,” I said. “When I go to Calcutta this time I will meet you.”

“Of course, of course,” he replied. Then after a few moments he said: “Give me some work to do, whatever you feel best. The advantage for me will be that I’ll be able to remain near you all the time. And if I’m not near you, that is, if the work takes me away somewhere, then I’ll have the satisfaction that I’m going there for your work.”

“So be it,” I said. “I’ll return to Calcutta within a few days.” Then the telephone rang and I went into the bedroom and picked it up. On the other end I heard a voice saying: “This is Vrajagopal Sannyal calling from Calcutta.”

Vrajagopal was my childhood friend. He knew very well that Dulu Palit could not remain apart from me, anymore than “q” from “u”.

“What do you want?” I asked Vraja.

“Our childhood friend, Dulu Palit, has been very sick these past few days,” he replied. “I am phoning from his house.”

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I’m not really sure,” he replied. “His pulse is normal, he’s not suffering from any disease, and he doesn’t have a fever. The doctor insists that he hasn’t caught any disease.”

“What is it then?”

“All he does is lie down, tossing and turning and talking about you. He keeps saying that it has been so long since he has met you and who knows how long it will be before he sees you again. When he sees anyone he knows he asks about you and wonders aloud when he will see you again.”

I informed Vrajagopal that I would return to Calcutta from Delhi by plane as soon as I had finished my work there and go straight to his house from the airport when I arrived.

Vraja was consoled and hung up the phone. I went back into the bathroom to talk further with the Dulu on the wall, that luminous Dulu in his coat and pants. “Now tell me how you are,” I said. “Are you fine now?”

“Quite well, as good as can be,” he replied. “How can I tell you how good it feels to be near you? Good enough to die, it seems to me. Didn’t the poet say: ‘If I die in such moonlight it is good; such a death is as good as heaven’.”

“Don’t talk about death,” I said, “or else I will get very angry. I shall have to rebuke you. You are well aware of my temper.”

“I won’t make you angry,” he replied. “I won’t talk anymore of death.”

I went back to washing my hands and face in the bathroom. From the clock I heard the sound of the nine o’clock chime. Looking in Dulu’s direction I saw that his apparition had merged into the white wall. Perhaps he had noticed that it was time for my meal and had left.

I returned to the bedroom. A few minutes later there was a phone call from Calcutta. Again I heard the voice of Vrajagopal. “I have very painful news to tell you,” he said. “Just now, at exactly nine o’clock, our friend Dulu left us for the next world.”

You know, I am completely confused. I can’t understand which is this world and which is the next.

Ikśa

The meaning of the word ikśa is “that which is handled” or “which cherishes the desire to masticate”. Bear in mind that ikśańa and iikśańa are not the same. Ikśańa means “to cherish the desire to handle or to masticate” while iikśańa means “to scrutinize”. Pari – ava – iikśańa = paryavekśańa [observation], pari – iikśańa = pariikśańa [testing], sam - iikśá = samiikśá [careful observation], apa – iikśá = apekśá [waiting], upa – iikśá = upekśá [disregard].

Id́á

The left nád́ii [psychic nerve or channel]. The name of the right nád́ii is piuṋgalá. The literal meaning of id́á is “very pale black or pale blue”. Its antonym is piuṋgalá whose literal meaning is a muddy or pale yellow. In the yogic treatises the left nád́ii is called id́á, the right nád́ii is called piuṋgalá, and the one between them is called suśumná. The id́á is also called candra nád́ii [moon channel], the piuṋgalá súrya nád́ii [sun channel] and the suśumná ákásha márga [sky channel]. The words lalaná, rasaná, and avadhútiká are also used for them in that order. The words gauṋgá, yamuná, and sarasvatii are also used. During the Buddhist era, the word avadhútiká changed into viyátii in Bengali due to distorted pronunciation.

Aḿgana gharapana shuńo bho viyátii;
Káńet́ chore nila adharátii.

This verse is in twilight language.⁽⁵⁾ On the surface there is one meaning and underneath another. The surface meaning is: “The courtyard went into the inner room – O honoured lady, do you understand? As a result of the courtyard going inside the room, the thief that was hiding in the courtyard also went inside and stole your earrings.” The hidden meaning is: “By reaching the higher stages of spiritual practice the outer world is swallowed up within you. Then you also become all-knowing. That thief of minds has stolen away your worldly bondages.”

On the practical level, what happens is that the unconscious mind is all-pervading, integral and immeasurably vast. Through spiritual practices the riches of the unconscious mind are brought down into the subconscious mind. The spiritual aspirant then understands everything; he discovers the secret signs of knowledge. Then, according to his or her needs, he or she is able to bring this acquired wealth of the subconscious mind into the conscious mind and use it in the external world.

How much can book knowledge help a person! It goes in one ear and out the other. If, by means of sádhaná [spiritual practices], a person can bring into the subconscious mind the boundless knowledge that resides in the unconscious mind, then that becomes transformed into lasting riches which then are, or can be, employed extensively for the welfare of humanity. The remedies for illnesses or answers to questions that a person receives at the shrine of different gods and goddesses is not due to the greatness of those gods and goddesses. As a result of sincere longing a state of one-pointedness arises in the mind and if, at that time, that person falls into deep sleep because of physical tiredness then the answers to his or her questions may descend from the unconscious mind into the subconscious mind. There the person receives the answers to his or her questions about illness or other questions according to his or her mental conceptions and beliefs. The person thinks that he or she has perhaps received these answers due to the grace of such-and-such god or goddess. Actually, thanks to the grace of the Supreme Consciousness, his or her unconscious mind is the hidden repository of infinite knowledge. Due to one-pointedness, the person has been able to temporarily submerge part of his mind within the boundaries of that profound knowledge.

Now have you understood the meaning of aḿgana gharapana? Understanding this, one can attain that profound knowledge by doing proper sádhaná through the medium of this avadhútiká or suśumná channel. The subject of the suśumná arose by way of discussing the id́á nád́ii.

In old Sanskrit, id́á was also spelled with antahstha lra, that is, it was also spelled ilrá. You can still spell it ilrá if you so wish. The only problem with this is that it can cause some confusion between the words ilrá and irá. But between ilrá and id́á there is no possibility of confusion.

Iyattá

Iyat means “this much” just as kiyat means “how much”. If we want to say “this amount” (ei parimáń) we can say iyat parimáń, just as we can say kiyat parimáń for “some amount”. Iyat is an adjective. If we want to make it into a noun we add tva or tá to it. Iyat + tva = iyatva. Iyat + tá = iyattá. For example, sat + tva = sattva (ánbsattva [dried mango juice], kánt́álsattva [dried jackfruit juice]). Sat + tá = sattá meaning “existence”. But when it means “ownership” or “possession” then it is spelled svatva. Here sva means “one’s own” and the suffix tva has been added to make it a noun.

Footnotes

(1) La at the beginning of a word is called ádi [first] la while la in the middle of a word is called antahstha [within] la. –Trans.

(2) The karmakáńd́a is the portion of the Vedas dealing with rituals and ceremonies. The jiṋánakáńd́a is the philosophical portion. –Trans.

(3) Vák means “speaking” in Sanskrit. –Trans.

(4) That place where the quicklime and coir-rope trades flourished was given the Bengali name Kalikata. It is a proper noun. Proper names are not subject to change when used in another language. A person whose Bengali name is Arun Kumar will still be Arun Kumar if his name is written in English; it will not be “son of crimson red”. Hence the name Kalikata should be written Kalikata no matter what language or script of the world it is written in. Writing “Calcutta” is not even worthy of consideration. It betrays intellectual poverty or split-thinking. In English one should write Kalikata.

(5) Ghar kaenu báhir báhir kaenu ghar; par kaenu ápan ápan kaenu par. Today, that which I thought of as my own in the worldly sense has become other, and that Supreme Being I have made my own. Today I have thrown outside that little house which I thought of as my residence by tearing the net of illusion and attachment, and the outside, that is, the entire universe, I have made into my house.

Chapter 2	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Iigal

The eagle [iigal] is the largest of the birds who are able to fly. The emu, ostrich, etc. are bigger than the eagle but they are unable to fly. Of course, not all eagles are equally large. There are thirty-two different varieties of eagle. Some of them are equal to or greater in length than human beings while others are like the vultures of this country.

The garuda bird as described in the Puranas and the vátávii bird described in the Mahábhárata are types of eagles. However the homá bird from the stories is not an eagle but rather a giant owl [bhutum peiṋcá]⁽¹⁾ – in some parts of Bihar it is called durgum. In the village areas of Burdwan some of the old people still call the giant black owl the homá bird. Their numbers are fast diminishing due to the scarcity of large trees and pervasive poaching by hunters greedy for the large amount of meat they can get from them. Some provisions should be made to ensure their survival.

The large migratory bird that one finds in the fields of northern India during the winter harvest at the beginning of the cold season is also called the garuda bird in the village areas of Bihar. However this bird is neither a garuda nor an eagle, but rather a very large variety of flamingo. They come to the winter harvest fields and eat the newly-sprouted pulse seeds.

In Bengal one normally finds five varieties of owls: bhutum owl – large in size and black in colour – the author of the Hutumpeiṋcár Naksá was most likely referring to the bhutum owl; (2) lakśmii owl – medium in size and white in colour; (3) black owl – medium-sized and black; (4) kut́ure owl – small-sized and catechu coloured; (5) shmashán owl (found mostly in burial grounds) – small and black.

The original home of the eagle was the mountains of the Alps in central Europe. Originally, different varieties of eagles lived in different portions of these mountains. Later, they spread to other areas due to natural causes, pressure from human beings and in search of food. Eagles cannot build nests like other birds due to their large size. Generally they place rocks and branches and twigs in mountain caves in order to protect themselves from the adversities of nature. This kind of eagle’s nest is called an “aerie”.

The condor is the biggest member of the eagle family. In ancient times they used to live in the southeast region of the Alps. Today there are very few left. They can see objects clearly five miles away; thus any entity with very sharp or penetrating vision is said to have “condor-eye” or “condor-vision”.

The monkey-eating eagle that is found in south and southeast Asia is quite large and very strong. They are also becoming very rare nowadays. A hundred years ago this monkey-eating eagle could also be seen from time to time in the Philippines but no longer.⁽²⁾

Although it differs somewhat in size and shape, the Indian vulture also belong to the eagle family. It’s Sanskrit name is grdhra or shakunta bird. The meaning of the verbal root shak is “to be able to” or “to be firm”.⁽³⁾ The vulture has an uncommonly powerful beak, thus it is called shakunta. In Sanskrit literature, Shakuntalá is the name of the girl who was abandoned by her mother when she was a baby and raised by a vulture out of its sense of deep affection (hence the name Shakuntalá, in the sense of one who is raised by a shakunta bird).

At one time a good number of golden eagles used to be found in western Europe. Today they are on the verge of extinction. Approximately a hundred years ago the last of the British variety of golden eagle died. Today the British golden eagle no longer flies in the earth’s skies. Like the dodo bird, they have disappeared forever. The British golden eagle is one of the victims of humankind’s death-sacrifices. Similarly, the Indian leopard can only be seen nowadays in pictures; it can no longer be seen in the Indian jungles. The Indian leopard, along with the leopard-cat, used to be found in good numbers in the Duars of northern Bengal, but today the Indian leopard is no longer to be found and the leopard-cat is also rarely seen anymore.⁽⁴⁾

Yes, talking about the eagle brought up the subject of the Indian vulture. At one time there were many sub-species of the Indian vulture. Nowadays, basically three varieties can be found: the big black vulture, the white vulture and the red-throated vulture.⁽⁵⁾ Among them, the white vulture has virtually disappeared and few people ever have an opportunity to see a red-throated vulture. In ancient India the white vulture was considered to be a symbol of misfortune. Thus in the Vedic era, if a white vulture sat on anyone’s house they would perform the shakunta yajiṋa [vulture sacrifice] to chase away misfortune. King Shyámala Varmmańa brought Brahmans versed in the Vedas from north India to Bengal in order to perform the shakunta yajiṋa.

Although birds of the eagle group are meat-eaters and ferocious by nature, they are not very clever. Often it is seen that vultures meet their death in fights with crows because of their lack of intelligence. Most likely, the popular tale of old Jaradgava [a senile vulture] was based on the vulture’s lack of intellect.

Ajiṋátakulashiilasya váso deyo na kasyacit;
Márjáradośena hatah vrddhah jaradgavah.

[A completely unknown person should never be given shelter; old Jaradgava was killed due to the fault of the cat. ]

Iid́ya

The meaning of the verbal root iid́ is “to eulogize”. Iid́a means “one who eulogizes” or “that which is eulogized”. Iid́ya means “worthy of respect or eulogy or worship”. It is said in the shruti:

Tamiishvaráńáḿ paramaḿ maheshvaraḿ
Taḿ devatánáḿ paramaiṋca daevatam;
Patiḿ patiináḿ paramaḿ parastád
Vidáma devaḿ bhuvaneshamiid́yam.

[You are Maheshvara, the Controller of the controllers; You are Mahádeva, the Lord of the lords. You are the King of the kings, the greatest of the great, you are worshipped by the entire universe. So, Shiva, whether I know You or not, You are the Controller of all, You are the Supreme Controller, Maheshvara.]

Iiti

The meaning of the verbal root ii is “to move rapidly”, “to arrive suddenly”, or “to depart abruptly”, etc. Someone who falls victim to an unexpected natural disaster, such as tempest, flood, earthquake, falling meteor, or volcanic eruption, we call iita (ii + kta). Similarly, an unexpected calamity or natural disaster is called iiti (ii + ktin). In ancient literature iiti was also used for any sudden or unexpected battle or epidemic or plague of locusts.

Occasionally you will find a sudden swelling in the small rivers and rivulets of Rarh. It remains for a short time, causes some damage, and then disappears just as quickly. This suddenly appearing, suddenly disappearing flood is called haŕká in Rarhi Bengali. This haŕká is also a type of iiti.

Iip

By adding the suffix iip to any masculine word ending in a, the word becomes feminine. For example: cákśuśa – cákśuśii; shravańa – shravańii; shrávańa – shrávańii; ashvina – ashvinii; áshvina – áshvinii (the constellation is ashvinii, but the full moon is áshvinii).

Iipsá

This word comes from the verbal root áp (ápnoti) which means “to get”. The meaning of the word iipsá is “the desire to get”. The meaning of iipsu is “desirous of getting” or “that which has a propensity for getting”.

Iishitá

The word iishii comes from the verbal root iish which means “to rule”, “to control”, “to govern”. Iishii means “supremacy” or “comparative supremacy”. Iishitá means “supremacy when judged comparatively”. For example, “Among these four cooks, so-and-so has iishitá in comparison with the rest.” The word iishitá is pleasing to the ear and feminine in gender. Girls can be given the name iishitá. Similarly, by adding the suffix tvac we get the word iishitva which carries the same meaning but is neuter in gender.

Iishiká/Iiśiká

The meaning of the word iishiká/iiśiká is “the pupil of an elephant’s eye”. That is, iishiká/iiśiká means the eyes, particularly the pupils of the eyes, of those animals which are very large in size, but whose eyes are comparatively small. Because the eyes of elephants and rhinoceri are small in comparison with the size of their bodies, they were iishiká in old Sanskrit.

Iishidanta/Iiśidanta

This word means “tusk”. The two long teeth that extend out from both sides of the mouth of the male elephant are not used for mastication; nowadays they are purely for show. Previously. however, elephants used to use these tusks for digging up the ground. The tusks of the elephant’s ancestor, the mammoth, were even bigger – both longer and thicker. They used to attack and kill other animals with their tusks.⁽⁶⁾ In comparison with younger elephants, the tusks of older elephants are relatively yellowish. Needless to say, elephants also have ordinary teeth inside their mouths for chewing food just like other creatures. Those female elephants that have visible tusks we call várańii (not vánarii).

In olden times the ivory craft of Bankura and Murshidabad in Bengal was of a very high standard. This craft depended on the patronage of royalty and the wealthy. Nowadays it has nearly disappeared.

The teeth of the hippopotamus are even stronger and whiter than those of the elephant, but there are fewer hippopotami. Today the hippopotamus is no longer found in India. It disappeared from India approximately a thousand years ago. Human beings were most probably responsible for this evil deed, acting out of greed for their extremely firm, white teeth, much as they have nearly brought an end to the rhinoceros by killing them out of greed for their horns. It is in the last one hundred years or so that the rhinoceros has disappeared from the Sundarbans. The two hundred or two hundred fifty rhinoceri still surviving somehow in eastern India should be in protected reserves, otherwise humans, greedy for their hides, flesh and horns, will bring their final day even closer. Hippopotami teeth should also be considered ivory for the same reason that elephant tusks are. In prehistoric times, both hippopotami and giraffes were found in Rarh, but they disappeared about ten thousand years ago thanks to the capriciousness of human beings.

Speaking of tusks, an old incident comes to mind from the days just after independence when the influence of the British could still be felt everywhere.

I had gone to Ranchi for a few days in relation to an idea I had that the civilization of the Koyel River-valley found in the west of Ranchi District was a branch of the Rarhi civilization of central Gondwanaland. To the east of Ranchi was the Suvarnarekha River-valley, which in terms of language, culture and heritage belonged to Rarh. Each day I would go to one or two different spots in the Suvarnarekha River-valley in search of archaeological artifacts of ancient Rarh.

One day, while searching in a spot near Muri in the Silli area, I came across a fossilized fragment of a mammoth jaw with part of the tusk still attached. I knew I had found something important. There was no doubt that it would add lustre to the cultural heritage of Rarh.

All day long I travelled like a whirlwind from village to village in Ranchi District’s Silli area and the Jhalda and Jaipur areas of what was at that time Manbhum District, just adjacent to it. This region is also worthy of being recognized by archaeologists as the cradle of Rarhi civilization. Here the Suvarnarekha River-valley, Kamsavati River-valley and Damodar River-valley (Alkushi, Kupai, Uttará or Chot́ki Guyai and Dakśińá or Baŕki Guyai) are all close to each other and I was able to discover many things there.

I was quite pleased with the prospect of presenting the land of Rarh in a new way to people. And I was especially pleased, looking at the straightforward faces of these dark-complexioned, Austrico-Scythian-Negroid people of Rarh, to think that, though they are neglected today, at one time they were perched at the summit of civilization. They were the forefathers of human civilization and the trumpets of Bengali civilization.

It was 8:00, I noticed, when I made ready to return to Ranchi after having spent the entire day moving from place to place. If I started then, I thought, it would be nearly 10:00 before I made it back to the house in Ranchi, which would be quite late for my bath and spiritual practices, so I decided to complete them in the Jhalda dak-bungalow. Afterwards I would return to the house in Ranchi no matter how late it might be.

After arriving at the Jhalda dak-bungalow I finished my bath and spiritual practices, took a light snack and then told my travelling companions: “So much walking has left me a little tired. I want to lie down for a bit. When you have the car packed and are ready to leave, then you let me know and I’ll come to the car.”

I took some rest. After a while the room began to seem as if it was under an enchantment. Something was definitely out of place. Suddenly, the door near the foot of the bed cracked open and a gentlemanly-looking young man in his early twenties stepped in. He greeted me with a very sweet and courteous smile and said: “Oh, I’ve waited a long time for a chance to see you.”

“Who are you?” I replied. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I’ve been here for a few days with the Silli royal family; we are very close. I am greatly interested in the archaeology of Rarh. In fact, I am from Rarh. My home is in the Bundu area of Ranchi District.”

“Go ahead and tell me what you wanted to say.”

“I am extremely interested in the archaeology of Rarh,” he replied, “but I have never had an opportunity to meet anyone who was as interested in the matter as I am. I heard that you were in the area going around to different villages, and that you had managed to gather many facts. I also heard that you discovered in the house of a certain Siḿmuńd́á in the village of Mardu, an intact statue of the state goddess of Bengal, Dákśáyańii, from the beginning of the Shur dynasty. I went out to try to find you but you were moving so fast from village to village that it was impossible to catch up with you. I got tired and sat down under a mango tree near the Silli royal palace. Then it popped into my head that you were staying in the Jhalda dak-bungalow, so I rushed here and managed to find you.

“During the rule of the Shur dynasty,” he continued, “our Bengal extended from the Suvarnarekha River-valley to the Naaf River-valley. Although nowadays there are twelve dialects of Bengali spoken over this huge area, in those days there were even more because there wasn’t any good transportation between the different areas. It was due to the impassability of traffic that so many dialects arose. Roughly speaking, the Bengali language of that time was a related form of Oriental Demi-Mágadhii. We can also call it old Bengali. We can find this Oriental Demi-Mágadhii-related form of Bengali in the Caryápada and the Caryácaryavinishcaya of the Buddhist era. From this we can easily conclude that the Bengali language is at least 1500 years old – not a bit less. There are older languages among the world’s modern living languages, but very few.

“In that era the influence of Shiva on the Bengali people was immense. Dákśáyańii, the daughter of King Dakśa and the wife of Shiva, was the state goddess of Bengal. Statues of this Dákśáyańii have been found in a good number of the villages of our Suvarnarekha River-valley. Most of them have been carved from stone and some bear inscriptions in the Dalma script. You went to the village of Mardu in the Silli area of Ranchi District – that village is very close to Jhalda; the Suvarnarekha River runs through it.

“During the Buddhist and Puranic eras, indeed, even during the Pathan era as well, the Dákrás⁽⁷⁾ used to gather gold particles from the sand of this river which they would then melt down to remove the base metals and extract the pure gold. During that time many of the archaeological artifacts made in this Suvarnarekha valley were fashioned of pure gold, but they fell into the hands of thieves so they are no longer found today. During the time of Varddhamana Maháviira there was a great influence of Jainism in this region especially in our Suvarnarekha and Kamsavati river-valleys and to a lesser extent in the Dhalkishore⁽⁸⁾ , Damodar, Ajay and Mayurakshi river-valleys.

“You certainly must have discovered a large-sized Jain Shiva in the broken Shiva temple in Mardu village. This type of Shiva-liuṋga has been recovered in excavations elsewhere in Rarh and more will be in the future. Some of them can also be seen above ground, in some of the temple ruins. At the end of the names of these Jain Shivas the word iishvara was used, not nátha. For example, Khadgeshvara, not Khadganátha. In Bengal the word iishvara was used at the end of Shiva’s name from the end of the Buddhist era until the appearance of Shankaracharya. These Jain Shiva-liuṋgas were quite large in size and the gaorii pat́t́as were very large as well.

“The old Jain Shiva-liuṋgas had the same radius from top to bottom. Later, during the time of Shankaracharya, those people of Rarh who accepted Shankara’s Shaeva doctrine gave them the name jyotirliuṋga. But alongside the Jain religion, váńaliuṋgas were also prevalent in Bengal, chiefly in Buddhist Bengal. This váńaliuṋga has no relation to the Jain Shiva, thus, in olden times, the jyotirliuṋga and váńaliuṋga were worshipped with different mantras. Khadgeshvara of Birbhum, Jhaŕeshvara of Midnapore, and Tárakeshvara of Hoogly are all from the Jain era, but while some of their temples are quite old, many are less so and some are quite contemporary.

“If you go into the villages upland of the Suvarnarekha River-valley region you will notice that the indigenous people of these areas (for example, the Singhmundas) are completely different from other Bengalees in their behaviour, practices, culture and women’s style of dress. Their spoken languages are the Páinc-Parganiya,⁽⁹⁾ or Patkumi, or Golawári branches of Rarhi Bengali. Their skin colour is also not black; one can say that it is darkish. Light-skinned people are also found among them. This illustrates the fact that while the Bengali people are a blend of the Austric, Mongolian and Negroid races, the amount of Negroid blood in them is significantly less. There is very little Negroid influence on body-size and structure as well, though it cannot be denied that there is some influence.

“The mixture between the Dravidian people and the Mongolian race is greatest in the land of Bengal, thus the inborn tendency towards sentimentality found in the Mongolian race is also innate to the Bengali people. This can be considered a positive quality just as much as it can be considered a defect. This sentimentality has enabled the Bengalees to pass through many fiery ordeals and it will do so in the future as well.”

“You are still a young lad,” I said to him. “How is it that you know so much about archaeology?”

“I don’t know anything at all,” he replied. “I was just articulating what you were thinking.”

“It heartens me to see young men like you,” I told the young man. “Go ahead and rescue Rarh’s archaeological artifacts from the ground and reconstruct the history of Bengal. Remove the defects from India’s historical record. Make the history of humankind resonate with the great message of humanity.” His face began to glow. “What is your name?” I asked.

“Shrii Nityanarayan Singhdeo,” he replied.

From the door at the foot of the bed I heard the knock of the iron handle. “Who is it?” I asked.

My travelling companion and close acquaintance, Amulyaratan Sarangi, entered the room. “We are all ready,” he said. “Will you get up now?”

“Let’s go,” I replied. I looked towards where Nityanarayan had been standing but there was no one there.

Now let me move ahead a few days. I was crossing the Ganges in the Sahebganj steamer, heading for Siliguri via Maniharighat and Kishanganj. It was a large steamer and very crowded. The Farakka Bridge-Barrage had not yet been built and the people of south Bengal used to take this route to go to north Bengal. It was also the shortest route for people travelling from north Bengal to Calcutta. My eyes fell upon a young man in his early twenties with a bright face standing in the steamer crowd. While I was looking at him he walked slowly over to me and greeted me with folded hands, saying: “Please don’t mind, but it seems as if I have seen you somewhere before.”

I smiled and said: “Think for a moment and see if you can remember or not.”

“I remember something but it’s not very clear.”

“Whatever it is you remember, tell me.”

“Not long ago I was in Silli for a few days. One day I heard that a certain gentleman had come to Ranchi who was very interested in the archaeology of Rarh and who was doing research in the Silli area. I went here and there looking for him but I didn’t know his name or what he looked like; I wasn’t even able to discover when he had gone to what village. Finally I sat down under a mango tree. I fell asleep there and had a dream. I dreamed that I went into the Jhalda dak-bungalow and there I found this gentleman lying down on a cot. Beside him was a part of a mammoth’s tusk. I stood next to this mammoth’s tusk and this gentleman looked at me and spoke to me as if I was his very close friend. I also felt as if he was very near and dear to me. We talked for a long time and then I woke up and the dream fled away.”

“And then?” I asked.

“Why, you are the same gentleman I visited that evening in the Jhalda dak-bungalow!”

I smiled and said; “Can you kindly tell me your name?”

“Shrii Nityanarayana Singhdeo,” was his reply.

Iishiiká/Iiśiiká

The meaning of this word is “paintbrush” – a brush for painting pictures. The word is feminine and can be used as a girl’s name.

Iishvara

Iish + varac = iishvara. Generally the suffix varac is used to indicate something which is inherent. The verbal root iish means “to rule” or “to control”. Thus, one whose intrinsic nature is to rule or to control is iishvara. That which perishes according to the law of nature is nashvara (nash [perish]+ varac); “that from which light is diffused” is bhásvara (bhás [luminosity]+ varac). About iishvara it is said:

Sa iishavara anirvacaniiyah paramapremasvarúpah.

[He is the Supreme Controller, the inexplicable one, the very embodiment of supreme love. ]

The unit being is only partially able to express its inner feeling. The amount of inner feeling that exists in the initial stage is greatly decreased when it is translated into language, that is, when it enters the second stage, because language’s capacity is limited in comparison with thought. Rasagolla, rasamalai and coconut ladu are three types of sweets. When we taste them we can easily understand the difference between them, but when expressing it in language we cannot explain just what the sweetness of each is like. The capacity of language fails. This is the case with all worldly feelings, in other words, in comparison with feeling, our expressive capacity is significantly smaller. If we stick ourselves with a pin we say “ooh”; if we are stung by a wasp we also say “ooh”; and if we are stung by a scorpion we still say “ooh”. Yet the feeling in each case is not the same, nor is the intensity. In this case the feeling in its initial stage cannot be expressed at all in either language or intensity in the second stage, thus we say that it is inexplicable.

About Iishvara, it is said that He is inexplicable, that is, He exists but He cannot be expressed, cannot be manifested; language is completely unable to express Him. Thus He is called Vákpathátiita [beyond language]. About that which is the essence of an adjective, we say that it is the embodiment of that adjective. For example, one who is very noble we call the embodied symbol of nobility. One who possesses great erudition we call the embodiment of erudition. Regarding Iishvara, it is said that He is the embodied image of love – the embodiment of divine love. No matter how much a person remains engaged in unjust actions, he always hopes that Parama Puruśa will forgive him, that He will wipe the dust off him and take him on His lap. Although he forgets Parama Puruśa at the time of committing injustice, after he has committed it, when he remembers Parama Puruśa, he thinks to himself: “O Lord, you know the condition I was in when I committed this injustice. Please forgive me.” Or else he says: “O Lord, why did you give me such a nature that I could commit this type of injustice? Save me.” That is, under all circumstances the living beings are dependent on Parama Puruśa, whether they know it or not. Parama Puruśa is such an entity. No matter how much a person may be frightened of Parama Puruśa, he is much more filled with hope by Him. Therefore it is said about Parama Puruśa or Iishvara that He is Parama Premasvarúpah [the embodiment of divine love“].

It is also said about Iishvara – Bhagaván eva Iishvarah [“God alone is Iishvara”]. Bhaga + matup = Bhagavat. In the first person, masculine singular it becomes Bhagaván – feminine Bhagavatii. The meaning of the word bhaga is:

Aeshvaryaiṋca samagraiṋca viiryaiṋca yashasah shriyah;
Jiṋána-vaerágyashcaeva śańńáḿ bhaga iti smrtah.

[Bhaga is a collection of six attributes: aeshvarya, viirya, yasha, shrii, jiṋána, and vaerágya.]

Aeshvarya: ańimá, mahimá, laghimá, iishitva, vashitva, prápti, prakámya, and antaryámitva (in some people’s opinion káyavasáyitva) – these eight supernatural powers are known as aeshvarya (in English “occult power”). In the ordinary living being, in the unit mind in its natural state, these qualities are not manifest. The living being cannot enter another’s mind (ańimá). It cannot penetrate into another’s physical structure or wander at its will in the stratosphere (laghimá). It can not make itself all-pervading (mahimá). The unit cannot pervade all the strata of existence and control them (iishitva). It cannot bring either itself or others completely under its control (vashitva). An impassable distance lies between what it wants and what it gets (prápti). The living being cannot give shape to all sorts of desires in all different spheres (prakámya). It cannot know or understand the thoughts of another’s mind or of the Cosmic Mind (antaryámitva), nor can it maintain control over another person’s physical structure or any other physical structure (káyavasáyitva). These things are called occult powers or aeshvarya.

Viirya: Viirya means “seed form of strength”. In spoken Bengali it means “extreme force” or “extreme power”. Thus, that by which absolute power is created is viirya.

Yasha: One who is praised by the world for his or her uncommon virtues or else is continually slandered by those blinded by jealousy, is called yashasvii. His or her essential quality is known by the name yasha (yashas).

Shrii: That special quality which attracts everyone in one direction, the “one” of that attractive power, is said to have shrii. It is also called shriipati (tirupati). In other words, shrii means “the power of attraction” or “charm” or “fascination”.

Jiṋána: The spiritual meaning of the word jiṋána is “profound knowledge” or “supreme spiritual knowledge” – that is, hidden spiritual knowledge in molecular form. This knowledge draws the awareness of matter towards the awareness of existence. It diffuses the limitless effulgence of existence in every pore and cavity of matter.

Vaerágya: Vi – rańj + ghaiṋ = virága. The state of virága is vaerágya. Virága means “to go beyond colour” or “to be uncoloured”. To remain completely engaged in the world yet uncoloured by the world is called vaerágya.

The collective name of these six attributes, the eight occult powers [aeshvarya], viirya, yashah, shrii, jiṋána, and vaerágya, is bhaga. That vast being in whom this bhaga exists, or that vast being who is the master of this bhaga, while being part of the world also remains beyond it. Another name of this Bhagaván is Iishvara.

Klesha-karma-vipákáshayaeraparámrśt́a puruśavisheśa
iishvara.

[That Entity who remains unassailed by klesha (afflictions), by the bondages of karma, by vipáka [reactions] and áshaya (saḿskáras) is called Iishvara.]

The living being is worn out by hardship, ravaged by the thought of troubles. He is not the master of action but is turned into the slave of action. He is not able to treat adverse circumstances as a joyful sport. When calamity befalls him he is subject to it. He is not above the reactions of his saḿskáras, rather he is subject to them. But that being who is not affected by hardship, action, misfortune and fate, who remains unassailed and unaffected, is Iishvara.

Iishvaro sah jagatkarttá. Gam + kip gives us the word jagat which means “that which naturally goes on moving”. The play of creation is itself moving. Everyone and everything moves by its power of motion; there is no question of stopping. One cannot remain static even for a single moment. Like it or not, one will have to move, in body, mind, feeling and intellect, that is, everyone and everything goes on moving naturally in this supreme arising and dissolution. This movement is the intrinsic nature of existence. Matter moves, mind moves, thought moves… towards consciousness, towards the nucleus of the universe… it rushes towards the condensed state. There is nothing besides this movement; it is inherent in everything. The world is sustained by this mobility. He who is the doer of this world is Iishvara – in every facet of existence exists the sequence of doer, doership and effect. He whose role is the ruler of this doer, doership and effect is Iishvara.

The nádabindu mark (৺) that is used before the name of a dead person is also read as iishvara. Take, for example, a person named Shubhamanas Sarkar. While he is alive, we write and read Shrii Shubhamanas Sarkar, but once he is dead then this nádabindu mark is used just before the first letter of his name.⁽¹⁰⁾ This nádabindu mark is not the same as the candrabindu. In the first place, the candrabindu is placed just above the head of the letter and the nádabindu is placed near the head of the letter – just before the head of the letter, rather than above the upper stroke of the letter. Secondly, the tail of the crescent of the nádabindu is drawn up more towards the top than the crescent of the candrabindu. At any rate, we write this nádabindu mark before the name of the deceased Shubhamanas Sarkar and we read it as Iishvara Subhamanas Sarkar. Here the word iishvara is equivalent to the English word “late”.

It is improper to use the word shrii with a word that has the nádabindu, pronounced iishvara, attached to it, that is, while living we say Shrii Shubhamanas Sarkar and after death we say Iishvara Shubhamanas Sarkar, not Iishvara Shrii Shubhamanas Sarkar. Many people, when they write oṋḿkára also put a candrabindu over the o⁽¹¹⁾ but this is incorrect. There is no scope for a candrabindu when oṋḿkára is written.

Iiha

The meaning of the verbal root iiha is “to go on trying tirelessly”. For example, “to speak without stopping”, “to move without stopping”, “to drive a car without stopping”. There is a beautiful Sanskrit word for a person who keeps on putting forth efforts without stopping – iihásana (ihásana means “in this seat”). Iihá means “effort”. That person who works tirelessly in society to establish his or her ideology and establishes that ideology is called iihaketana, the feminine form is iihaketaná. Both words are pleasing to the ear, so both can be used as names – Iihaketana for boys and Iihaketaná for girls.

Iikśa

The meaning of the verbal root iikś is “to scrutinize”. Iikś + ac = iikśa. Iikśa means “one who scrutinizes” or “that which is scrutinized”. The prefix pari is used to indicate “having attained completeness” or “filled to the brim”. Thus the word pariikśá [test] (pari – iikśá) is used for “to scrutinize thoroughly”. Similarly, “to scrutinize exhaustively” is sam - iikśá = samiikśá (to observe, to survey); someone who is coming from a different direction, that is, thinking of someone who is coming from the opposite direction or to remain looking in that direction, is prati – iikśá = pratiikśá [awaiting]. Upa means “nearby”, thus “to disregard” will be upa – iikśá = upekśá. Actually, iikśá in this sense is pra – iikśá = prekśá [observation] (prekśágrha means “cinema hall”).

Iikś + lyut́ = iikśańa. Iikśańa also means “scrutinizing” or “that which is scrutinized”. Vi – iikśańa = viikśańa (ańuviikśańa) [careful observation]. Pra – iikśańa = prekśańa [observation].

Tanvii shyámá shikharadashaná pakvabimbádharaośt́ii;
Madhyakśamá cakitaharińaprekśańá nimnanábhih.

Iikśańaka/Iikśańika/Iikśańiká

Both iikśańaka and iikśańika mean “astrologer” or “one who foretells the future”. In old Sanskrit iikśańaka, in the later language iikśańika – in feminine gender iikśańiká (female astrologer). The science of astrology or astronomy that is based on the position and movement of the stars and planets, however, is not the science of iikśańa. Those who predict the future by scrutinizing a particular individual’s mode of living, conversation, the letters of their name, certain solar or lunar dates, traditional ideas, etc. based on certain processes, or else those who are able to give some hint of the future after having visualized it by dint of a little concentration of mind, are called iikśańaka or iikśańika. This science of iikśańa has yet to become a fully developed science, even today. It is still in the research stage. In other words, it sometimes gives results and sometimes does not. Really speaking, the science of iikśańa is still like a child tentatively taking their first steps. Fingernail gazing, crystal gazing, numerology, science of breathing, black-magic killing, enchantments, magic incantations, stupefying, hypnosis, wards – directly or indirectly all of these come within the scope of iikśańa-vidyá. At one time people used to think of the so-called Dákini Tantra (witchcraft) as a part of iikśańa-vidyá. That misuse of Avidyá Tantra that comes within the scope of iikśańa-vidyá cannot be used on those who are firm believers in Vidyá Tantra, or if used will prove fruitless – this the sages and knowers of the truth have said since ancient times.

Iikśańa means “to scrutinize”. The etymological meaning of the word Iikśańaka/iikśańika/iikśańiká is “one who scrutinizes”. In olden times people from the intelligence branch or spies were also sometimes called iikśańika, although generally the masculine word gahapuruśa and the feminine word viśakanyá were more widely used.

There is a story that at one time during the Buddhist era some friction arose in the political relations between Kashmir and Bengal. At that time the capital of Bengal was Mahasthan,⁽¹²⁾ on the banks of the Karatoya River. One day, an unknown man arrived unexpectedly in the city. Sometimes he worked as an astrologer, sometimes he sold fruit and sometimes he sold woollen clothes. The state intelligence people had doubts about him but after conducting their secret investigations they could find nothing to accuse him of. Through their efforts arrangements were made for a dance performance in the capital. That unknown man also attended and was seated a short distance from the king, the royal princes and the king’s officers [rájapuruśa].⁽¹³⁾ During the dance, when the dancers would approach the king and his retinue with a gold pot that they would extend in a certain mudrá, they would give the dancers some coins. It was observed that when the dancers approached that unknown man he began to lift his hand to give something and then pulled it back. The king’s intelligence people or gahapuruśas then understood that this aquiline-nosed man was the son of some royal family. And because he belonged to the Mediterranean⁽¹⁴⁾ branch of the Caucasian race, they had no doubts that he was from Kashmir, that is, he was a member of the Kashmiri royal family and he had come there for the purposes of spying. The intelligence people then arrested that iikśańaka.

Footnotes

(1) I have seen this bird also in Kachar District.

(2) The Philippines’ Sanskrit name is Mahárliká or Mahárliiná which means, etymologically, “small in size but great in qualities”. After the Spanish took possession of the country they gave it the name “Philippines” after their King Philip.

(3) The word shaktu is used in the sense of “that which makes the body strong”. Its colloquial meaning is “corn-meal” or “gram-meal”.

(4) The plains at the edge of the Himalayas are called terai in northern India and duyár in Bengali. Thus the name of the city of Alipur located in that region is Alipurduar, and the one that is not located in the duyár, but rather adjacent to Calcutta, is just called Alipur. Until the Mughal era its name was Alinagar.

(5) In old Sanskrit they used to be called grdhra and in north India, gidha.

(6) In English we use the word “tusk” for the Bengali word gajadanta and the adjective “ivory” is used for the material which is made from these tusks. In other words, when I show someone an elephant’s tooth [gajadanta] I call it a “tusk”, and when I show a bangle made from the tooth of an elephant I call it an “ivory bangle”.

(7) A local indigenous tribe. –Trans.

(8) The name of the first part of the river is Dhalkishore. After it joins the Gandheshvari River in Bankura, the name of the combined flow is Dvarakeshvar. When this Dvarakeshvar River reaches the far border of Hoogly District it joins the Shilavati (Shilai) River coming from the west and thereafter flows towards the southwest under the name of the Rupanarayan River, dividing Midnapore and Howrah; thereafter it joins with the Bhagirathi. At its end, Howrah District’s Shyampur area is on the left bank and Midnapore District’s Tamluk is on the right bank.

(9) The far western fringe of Rarh, where the Suvarnarekha, Kansavati and Damodar River-valleys come together, we can call the cradle of both Rarhi and human civilization. As regards the spoken language, the branch of Rarhi Bengali that is prevalent in the area lying on the right bank (south) of the Suvarnarekha River is called Páinc-Pargańiyá Bengali. The spoken language found on the left bank of the Suvarnarekha River and the right bank (south) of the Kansavati River is the Patkumi branch of Rarhi Bengali. And the language spoken on the left bank of the Kansavati and the right bank of the Damodar is the Golawárii branch of Rarhi Bengali. Gola is a famous place of this area from which the name Golawárii has come. The spoken language of the area lying on the left bank of the Damodar, that is, north and west of the Pareshanath Hills is called Dakśińii Khotta Bengali. The closer one gets to the Pareshanath Hills the more the influence of Rarhi Bengali increases in this Dakśińii Khotta Bengali and the nearer one gets to the Tilaiya Reservoir, the more the influence of southern Magahii or Gayáli Magahii increases. The Páinc-Pargańiyá branch of Rarhi Bengali is spoken in Ranchi District’s Bundu, Arki, Tamar – 1, Tamar – 2, Sonahatu, the southern part of the Silli area, and the southern part of the Angara area. The Patkumi branch of Rarhi Bengali is prevalent in Purulia District’s Jhalda and Tulin areas, the northern part of Ranchi District’s Silli and Angara areas, and in certain parts of Hazaribag District’s (now Giridi District) Kasmar and Petarwar areas. The Golawárii branch of Rarhi Bengali is spoken in Purulia District’s Jaipur area, Dhanbad District’s Chas, Chandankeyari, Bokaro Steel City and Jeridi, and in certain portions of Hazaribag District’s (now Giridi District) Kasmar, Petarwar, Gola and Ramgarh areas. The spoken language of Hazaribag District’s (now Giridi District) Gomoh, Nuyadi, Bermo, Dumri, Chandrapura and Bokaro (Thermal) areas is also a variety of this Golawárii Bengali.

(10) It is not placed above the head of the first letter but just beside the head of the letter.

(11) A candrabindu (candrabindu is ṋ in romanized Bengali) above an o appears as ওঁ in Bengali script. –Trans.

(12) Mahásthán or Mahásthángarh is located in the present-day Bagura District.

(13) In Sanskrit rájapuruśa does not mean “members of the royal family”; it means “government officers”.

(14) People of the Alpine or Nordic branch of the Caucasian race do not live in India.

Chapter 3	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Ui

This is a native Bengali word. In north India, diimak is used, on the Bengal and north India border, diiyank or diiyán, in English “white-ant” and in Sanskrit valmiikakiit́a or pluśińa. This tiny creature belonging to the ant group increases its numbers at an extremely fast rate. They cannot see anything in sunlight. Their sense of touch also diminishes when exposed to sunlight. Thus they build little tunnels out of earth to protect themselves from sunlight and use them to move around because their sense of touch and other senses come to life in the darkness of these tunnels. Under certain conditions the different branches and sub-branches of these tunnels that they lay down right and left become visible as a mound or hillock. In spoken Bengali we call these ui-dhibi, in English “anthill”, in Sanskrit valmiika. An anthill was built around the entire body of a sage who remained motionless for many days during the practice of his austerities. At the time that he sat for meditation he was known by the name of Ratnakara. The people gave him the name Valmiiki because at the time that he finished his penance and rose from his seat he had the body of an anthill.

People in many countries of the world eat ants, even civilized people in some places. They say that ants are tasty and have a sweet and sour flavour.

In many parts of Bengal, a is used in place of ra, and ra is used in place of a. For this reason ui are called rui nearly everywhere in southern Bengal. That fungus variety of plant, or mushroom, which grows on anthills is called rui-chátu [ant-mushroom].

In Sanskrit the word pluśińa was more widely used than the word valmiikakiit́a. Sama pluśińá sama mashakena sama nágena sama ebhistribhirlokaeh, that is, Parama Puruśa is unbiased. He is equal to everyone because He sees everyone in the same way. He sees an ant in the same way He sees a small mosquito. He understands an ant in the same way that He understands a mosquito. He doesn’t make any undue fuss over a giant serpent (python or “elephant of the jungle”) because of its great size. He sees a python or “elephant of the jungle” in the same way that He sees an ant or a mosquito, and they also see Him in that same way. Nor does He make any special fuss over this universe, the three worlds of heaven, earth and hell, because of their vastness, and they look at Him in this same way. In other words, everyone is equal to Parama Puruśa – a mosquito, an ant, a python, a mammoth, even the three worlds. He remains with everyone equally through His ota yoga and prota yoga. He is impartial under all conditions.

In the opinion of biologists, ants first appeared on the earth approximately six million years ago. It is possible that they appeared somewhat earlier than this, but not later. In other words, after ants arrived on the earth they passed through at least one, if not more than one, ice age, and have arrived in their present form having undergone one or more long hibernations.

Ukta

Ukta means “that which has been said” or “that which has been mentioned before”. Vac + kta = ukta. Generally, when the suffix kta or ktin is added to a verbal root which begins with antahstha va, the va of the root verb is changed into u. For example, vad + kta = udita [said]. Anu – vad + ghaiṋ = anuváda [translation]; but anu – vad + kta = anúdita (that which has been translated). By adding kta to vac + ńic we get the word ucita whose etymological meaning is “that which has been made to speak” and whose colloquial meaning is “that which is to be done” or “that which is worthy of being maintained”. Some people spell the word ucita with t – ucit. This is anucita [improper]. There is no such word as ucit.

Ukti

Vac + ktin = ukti. Ukti means “word”, “language”, “remark”. If one wants to say “pat́utá [dexterity] in the Sanskrit language” one says pát́avah saḿskrtoktiśu. Here ukti means “language”.

Uktha

By adding the suffix thal/vak to the verbal root vac we get the word uktha. Uktha means “that which is uttered forcefully” or “that which is sung forcefully”. Many people know that the Sámaveda is not actually a Veda. The song portions of the Rk, Yajuh and Arthava Vedas collectively make the Sámaveda. The Rgvedic portion of the Sámaveda is called uktha. The correct pronunciation of this portion is somewhat strenuous.

Uccarańa

Ut – car + lyut́ = uccarańa (utterance). Its etymological meaning is “to step to the upper side” and its colloquial meaning is “that which is said” or “that which is diffused in the firmament”.

Uccárańa

Ut – car + ńic lyut́ = uccárańa (pronunciation). Uccárańa means “to articulate a sound properly”.

Uccára

Ut – car + ghaiṋ = uccára. The etymological meaning of the word uccára is “that which is ejected”; its colloquial meaning is “stool”. The straining which is done at the time of passing stool is also called uccára deoyá. Some people mistakenly use the word soccára when they want to say sarava, or “vocal”. One meaning of the word soccára is “one who has passed stool but still has not cleaned oneself”. Its second meaning is “one who is straining to pass stool”. Is it desirable then to request a gentleman or lady to be soccára?

Ut́a

Ut́a means “that which is made out of straw and such”; its colloquial meaning is “cottage” or “hut”. Ut́ + ac = ut́a. Ut́aja shilpa means “that industry which is done in a cottage” – cottage industry. One should keep in mind that the word ut́a here is adopted from Sanskrit. Where the word ut́a is Sanskrit – derived then its English synonym is “camel”; uśt́ra → ut́t́ha → ut́a.

Urńá

Urńá → uńńá → uńá → uńa. Urńá means “wool” or “woollen thread”. In northern India the word uńa is used to mean “wool” and the word uńii is used to mean “woollen”, but it is mistakenly spelled with ú instead of u, and na instead of ńa. That creature which produces wool-like threads from its umbilical [nábhi] region or makes its home in the web fashioned from these threads is urńanábha [spider] – in Bengali mákaŕsá. Another name for the threads which make up this web is lútá or lútátanttu.

Utkala

Ut – kal + ac = utkala. Its etymological meaning is “that whose sprout [kalra] rises upwards” or “that which grows like the crescents of the moon” [candrakalá] or “that which has been created as a result of the piling up of sand and alluvium deposited in the sea by the Mahanadi, Brahmani, Baetarani, Godavari and other rivers”. In olden times the area from the mouth of the Godavari River to the mouth of the Mahanadi River was called Utkala, and the area from the mouth of the Suvarnarekha River to the mouth of the Mahanadi River was called the land of Od́ra. The combined areas of Od́ra and Utkala, that is, the wide coastal area extending from the mouth of the Suvarnarekha River to the mouth of the Godavari River, was called Kaliuṋga.

Ud́ (od’) + rak gives us the word od́ra which means “one who extends a warm welcome to others”; “who cordially receives others”; or, “who warmly invites others and feeds them”.

Utkháta/Utkháda

To uproot something by digging a hole around it and throwing it away is called utkháta or utkháda. Utpát́ana also has the same meaning. The meaning of unmúla kará is “to pull something up root and all”.

Udgátá

Its etymological meaning is “one who sings in a loud voice”; its colloquial meaning is “a Sámavedic pundit who is engaged in performing sacrificial rituals”.

Udgára

Ut – gára. Its etymological meaning is “to throw or eject upwards”; its colloquial meaning is “that which comes out of the mouth”, or vocal expression. Thus the word udgára is used for “to praise someone”. A speech delivered in a loud voice is called udgára or siḿhodgára. In the physiological texts belching is called udgára.

Udgiita

Ut – gae + kta = udgiita. Its etymological meaning is “that which has been sung”; colloquially it refers to the Sámaveda.

Udgriiva

If someone stretches one’s neck (griivá) out of excessive desire to hear something then this is called udgriiva haoyá.

Uttála

Tála is a particular measurement of water height. Roughly speaking, it is a standard size equal to the palmyra tree. If a certain wave reaches a height greater than that of a palmyra tree then we can call it uttála (ut-tála).

Dekhite dekhite jhaŕ haelo prabal;
Sát tál haeyá gela magarár jal.

[As I watched, the storm grew intense; the surging waters rose up as high as seven palmyra trees. ]

In Bengali there is a proverb which says: “Once the pond was as high as a palmyra tree; now the water-pot can’t even be immersed.”

Uttunga

Ut – tuḿ + gam + d́a or ut – tung + ac = uttunga. Tunga means “high” – that which outdoes another in height. Ut means “upper direction”. Uttunga means “that high thing which has become apexed and seems to want to touch the sky”.

Udghośa

Ghoś + ac = ghośa. Ghośa means “one who announces” or “that which is announced”. If a seller says “Take some curd, mother” or “Take some sweet-rice, Mother Lakśmii”, then he is ghośa in the sense that he is announcing. If someone is charmed by someone else’s virtues and proclaims his or her praises then he is also ghośa. If someone announces something in a loud voice for the purpose of having that sound or those virtues heard by someone else then that is ut – ghośa = udghośa. Its English synonym is “slogan”. If someone says something in a loud voice, whether for another person to hear or not for another person to hear, then it is called nirghośa. For example, tini vajranirghośe ballen [“he spoke with a thunderous voice”]. If someone speaks one’s mind in unambiguous language, without mentally suppressing it or blocking it with his lips, then it is called ághośa.

Uddálaka

Ut – dal + ńic + ka = uddálaka. Its etymological meaning is “one who moves with one’s face turned completely upwards” or “one who has risen above everyone”. Colloquially it refers to a certain sage.

Udváhu

Váhu means “that part of the arm which is above the elbow”. Lifting the arms so that they are at least parallel to the earth or above it is a symbol of complete dependence on God. Thus, in olden times the devotees and virtuous people prescribed this udváhu posture for kiirtana and self-surrender.

Udbiŕála

Uda or udaka means “water”. The etymological meaning of udbiŕála is “that cat-like creature that lives in the water”. Its colloquial meaning is “water-lion”. Some people have the notion that the water-lion is, perhaps, an aquatic creature but it is not. It is a land creature like the crocodile and the fish-eating crocodile. It goes into the water to catch prey. It is a land-dwelling creature which breast-feeds its young. It sleeps and gives birth on land, and normally lives in large holes near ponds and reservoirs.

Udbuddha

Ut – budh + kta = udbuddha. Buddha means “to be aware of”, “to be enlightened”. If someone becomes enlightened or aware in any matter, or if his or her blood circulation quickens due to some thought process, some inspiration or strong inspiration, then this is called udbuddha haoyá, in English “inspired”.

Udbodhana

Ut – budh + lyut́ = udbodhana. Bodhana means “to bring within the faculty of perception”, “to bring within the purview of experience”, “to make expressed what was unexpressed”. Whenever any action goes from the level of conception to the level of objective expression, then the first stage of that objective expression is called bodhana. When this bodhana is done by calling the people ceremoniously with the help of musical instruments then it is called udbodhana.⁽¹⁾

Upakathá

Kathá means “story” or “narrative”. The word kathá is also used in Bengali to mean “word” or “sentence”. For example, Or saunge ámi kathá balba ná [“I will not speak with him”] but in Sanskrit the word kathá does not have this meaning. Kathá means “story” or “narrative”. Kathániká → kahániá → kaháni → káhinii. Káhinii means “a particular type of story” or “short story”, in Farsi kissá. From this kissá has come the rural Bengali word kecchá. For example, motii bibir káhinii [Moti Bibi’s story] becomes motii bibir kecchá. The word kecchá is also used to mean “slander and harsh words”. Kutsá → kucchá → kecchá. That story which does not come cent-percent with the category of story – it has some characteristics of a story and lacks others – is called upakathá. Or else, that which is not quite classified as a story but which is very nearly one (upa means “near”) we also call upakathá. According to the practice where a replaces ra and ra replaces a, upakathá becomes rúpakathá. Although rúpakathá is common usage, from the grammatical standpoint it is incorrect. Upákhyána (upa + ákhyána) means “short story”.

Upakúla

The level ground lying a short distance from a river is called kúla. The sloping or slanted area beside the kúla which slopes down to the water’s edge is called upakúla [bank or coast].

Upad́haokana

Upa – d́huk (d́hok) + ńic + lyut́. Upad́haokana means “something given with respect” or “gift”, “eulogy”, “token of respect”.

Upadevatá

The etymological meaning of upadevatá [demigod] is “nearly a god”, that is, not quite a god or worthy of being meditated upon, but venerable and worthy of respect. In many cases people are devoted to upadevatás out of fear and sometimes they are worshipped in the hopes of obtaining something. Banabibi [The Lady of the Forest] is there to save one from the grasp of the tiger. Besides her, there is Dakśińa Ráya; out of fear of cholera people worship Olái Cańd́ii; out of fear of smallpox they worship Shiitaládevii; out of fear of snakes, Manasá. These are all upadevatás. The women of a household will sometimes worship Lakśmii year-round to bring happiness in the family; Śet́erá as well as Suvacanii is worshipped in the ritual peace ceremony; Śaśt́hii and Niila are worshipped to bring welfare to one’s children; and out of fear of illness Shmashánkálii and Rakśekálii are worshipped. In Sanskrit they are all classified as upadevatás because they are not Parama Puruśa, the object of meditation in the spiritual world. Besides these, there are many other upadevatás such as Mangalacańd́ii, Áshánbibi, Satyapiira, etc. Upadevatás are also called folk [laokik] gods and goddesses. Some of them have dhyána mantras and some do not; some of them also have dhyána mantras in the local or state language and some do not have that either. In many cases the gods and goddesses of the Buddhist and Jain eras came or are coming to be worshipped as upadevatás in the post-Buddhist and post-Jain eras. Those spiritual aspirants who follow the paths of knowledge, action and devotion, of course, do not bow their heads to upadevatás. They practise the sádhaná of the singular Parama Puruśa.

Some people call ghosts upadevatás out of excessive fear, that is, they accept them as minor gods and goddesses lest they be angered by being called ghosts. In Sanskrit, however, the word upadevatá is not used to mean “ghost” – for ghosts the word apadevatá is used. Upa means “near” and apa means “just opposite”. Apadevatá means “one whose nature is just opposite to that of a god”.

Upadesha

Upa – dish + ghaiṋ= upadesha. Desha means “that particular place which is shown through signs, gestures, letters or finger-indications.” In the case where these instructions [deshaná], what-is-to-be-done and what-is-not-to-be-done, are articulated in detail and what action is to be taken according to those instructions is also articulated, then it is called upadesha (advice). When what-is-to-be-done and what-is-not-to-be-done is carefully articulated and according to that orders are given, then it is called nirdesha (nir – dish + ghaiṋ = nirdesha – direction). When that something is made compulsory, either to do or not to do, regardless of whether something is said about whether it is proper to do or not to do, then it is ádesha (order; á – dish + ghaiṋ = ádesha).

Speaking of upadesha a story comes to mind about European indigo planters.

It was the time of heavy monsoon rains. The paddy fields of east Monghyr’s Khaŕgapur and Belharnii River-basin⁽²⁾ seemed like a vast lake, and in the centre of the paddy fields, on a piece of high ground, stood a huge indigo factory.

I went there to do archaeological research on Angadesh, in the Lachmiipur jungle area by the eastern border of the Khirkhiriya (Kśiirakśiriká) Hills. I found there many cave paintings from the Buddhist era. I even came across some artifacts that dated back to the beginning of humankind’s history in old Angadesh. In these hills humankind depicted its existence through many different varieties of drawings. From these it can be understood just how far back Angadesh’s history goes. If Karna is accepted as Anga’s first king, then Anga’s political history is over 3500 years old, but these cave paintings are signs of the first stage of prehistoric humans’ ascension through the annals of history. They are approximately twelve thousand to fifteen thousand years old. No writings are found with them because at that time humankind had not yet invented script.

This Lachmiipur jungle was even bigger during Buddha’s time. At that time it extended south to Grdhrakút́ (Gidhaor). To the west and south of this jungle was Magadha and on the north-east border was Angadesh. After going around all day in the hills I realized that if a proper search was conducted then there would be a strong possibility of finding the highest quality slate, red mineral iron and kaolin there.

Anyhow, seeing that evening was fast approaching, I started heading back. As I was crossing the jungle I found that the entire region had become submerged in water. The Khargapur Lake dam had broken and water was rushing down and flooding the Khargapur River. The roads to both the cities of Bhagalpur and Monghyr had been washed away by the surging waters, hence there was no road back; I would have to spend the night somewhere there. The next morning some way could be devised to drive to Bhagalpur and Monghyr by putting bricks, wood and stones on the damaged road.

Now, on a piece of high ground in the middle of that mass of water stood a witness to the first part of British rule – a huge indigo factory.

Incidentally, I should mention that at that time different varieties of dye used to be obtained from different sources, some metallic, some plant. Among them, the need for blue dyes was by far the greatest. There was a great demand for blue for arts and crafts, and different kinds of household and social needs. Blue dye was collected from the indigo plant. Bear in mind that nowadays blue dye is no longer prepared from the indigo plant. Since the discovery in Europe of a means of preparing blue dye through a scientific process the cultivation of the indigo plant has become obsolete.

Anyhow, towards the beginning of British rule the British cultivated indigo extensively in Bengal. The indigo plant likes warm weather and lots of rain. The British cultivated their indigo in different areas using local farmers; in some areas they cultivated the indigo on their own land and they would prepare the blue dye in local factories from the indigo plants and send it overseas. These English indigo merchants used to be called niilkar saheb. There were many indigo factories in Bhagalpur, Monghyr, Burdwan and Birbhum. The indigo plant near Burdwan District’s Ajapur was quite huge. It was destroyed in the Damodar flood of 1912.⁽³⁾ Wild indigo plants can still be seen growing uncared for in this district. But indigo was cultivated more in Jessore and Nadia districts. At one time, the farmers of these two districts in Bengal revolted, disturbed by the oppression of these indigo factory owners. This rebellion has been described by Dinabandhu Mitra in his book, Niiladarpańa.

At any rate, somehow I made it to the indigo factory. Evening had descended and it was pouring rain. The road was deserted. A short distance away I spied another large house which I guessed to be where the present caretaker of the factory was staying. I approached the house and its caretaker was very glad to see me. “This house is under my guardianship,” he said. “but there’s no good reason for you to spend the night in that dilapidated old house. You can stay here with me. Just wash up and relax; in the meantime I’ll arrange for some drinking-water.”

“I am fasting today,” I replied. “I won’t take anything. I’ll spend the night in that house.”

Disappointed, the gentleman handed the keys to the house to my driver. He sent his servant along with us and told us to let him know if we encountered the slightest inconvenience.

I went into the indigo factory. There was a broom and a lantern from the old administration and the lime and plaster on the walls was falling off. There were owls outside in the cornices and a multitude of titmice inside in the cracks between the rafters. It felt as if I was in a silent royal palace. There was an eerie stillness all around, as if this house was not for the living, as if the dead had the sole right to be there. From the great banyan tree nearby came the sound of a bhutum owl – hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok, hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok.

I opened a nearby window. A lizard jumped down and I could feel the threads of a torn spider web fall over my head. I felt uneasy. I realized that it had been a long time since any human being had entered that house, or at least since anyone had spent the night there.

I had worked all day and was feeling quite tired. I was also half-soaked. Let me not waste any time, I thought. Let me change my clothes, wash up and go straight to bed. If I went to bed then the disembodied spirits would be free to go about their games and mischief. If I stayed awake they would be in difficulty. They might consider me a troublesome burden!

When I entered the room the fellow accompanying me, that is to say, the attendant that the caretaker had sent with me, lit three hurricane lanterns. One he put in the hallway room that was fixed for me to sleep in, another in the bathroom, and the third in the medium-sized room between the bathroom and the bedroom. I told the attendant: “I know that the good gentleman sent you to take care of me, but why should you go to so much trouble on such a stormy night. Go and sleep in your own house.”

“No, sir,” he replied. “I’ve been sent to look after you so I won’t go to my own house. I’ll go and sit in the car outside where your driver is going to sleep and stand guard from there.”

“The driver is there to watch over the car,” I said. “There’s no alternative but for him to be there, but why should you go to needless trouble?”

“No, sir,” he replied. “You will be completely alone in the house. Under such conditions it won’t do for me to abandon you. It would be better that I stayed inside but there are certain reasons why I can’t. However, I will certainly remain outside.”

“Why? Why can’t you stay inside?”

“It’s an old house, you see! The old house of the niilkar sahebs! It has a long history, you understand. Now I must go, otherwise you’ll be late going to bed. Tomorrow morning I’ll tell you its history. I left water for you in the bathroom.”

His words raised doubts. The house has a history! Who doesn’t have a history? If you take away history then you take away existence as well. We may know someone’s history, or we may not, but everyone has a history. Some gets written; some goes unwritten. History is filled with the exaggerated exploits of kings and emperors while the history of the poor and indigent lies buried in the earth, neglected, but everyone certainly has a history. The history of victorious kings is written in glowing letters while the history of the defeated kings lies neglected and ill-treated, covered with mud. So this house also has a history… of course it does.

In the room I found a heavy wooden cot from the old administration showing the craft-work of that time. A thick coconut-fibre cushion was laid out on top of it, over it a tośak [a thin cotton-mattress] and over that a beautiful bedsheet woven by a local weaver on a handloom. It reminded me that it was on these handlooms in Bengal and Angadesh that the world-renowned muslin cloth was woven that first went to the markets of Egypt and later spread to all of Europe. This handloom-woven muslin was made in Dacca, Murshidabad, and Bankura’s Sonamukhi, and exported from the Port-de-Bangala (Chittagong) and the Port-de-Grandee (Saptagram or Satgaon). The sound of these handlooms resounded day and night throughout the cities of Tangail, Bajitpur, Shantipur, Baluchar, and Dhanekali. That was the golden age of Bengal’s economy and Angadesh also shared Bengal’s good fortune.

Anyhow, I thought that after going to the bathroom and washing up properly, I would go to bed early. If I could leave early in the morning, then I could make it to Monghyr early.

I went out of the bedroom and passed through the middle room in order to get to the bathroom. In the middle of the room I saw a beautiful rope hanging down. Perhaps they used to hang the lanterns from it. Near a window in the decaying plaster wall I saw an iguana. As soon as it saw me it jumped down and ran out. On closer inspection, I noticed that the beautiful rope was black with titmice. A pack of ucciḿŕe [a cricket-like insect] had entered the room and were scurrying about, enjoying a little light after the rains. A few titmice turned circles when they saw me. Perhaps they wanted to let me know that only they had the right to be there at night in that palace of the dead. It seemed almost as if the disembodied spirits were speaking from the unseen world and saying: “we have no objections if the titmice stay but this place is ours.”

I went into the bathroom and after washing my hands I passed again through that middle room. It seemed to me as if someone had been pacing about in the room in the meantime and had fled when they had seen me coming. I looked around carefully – no, no one was there. I was alone in the room, indeed in the entire house. Outside the crickets were letting me know through their continuous chirping that they were also alone. They also hadn’t found anyone around. I continued on into the bedroom. As I did I had a feeling that someone had been standing in the northwest corner of the room and had left when he saw me. Anyhow I laid down on the cot thinking that now I would be able to rest undisturbed.

Just as I was starting to feel drowsy I heard a strange noise. I opened my eyes and saw a black cat. It was looking towards the northwest corner of the room, its eyes completely dilated, alarmed by something it had seen. When it saw me looking at it, it seemed to regain some of its lost courage and left the room with a single leap. I looked toward the same northwest corner of the room which had left the cat stupefied and I had the distinct feeling that someone had been there in the meanwhile and had absconded when he saw me looking.

Everything was completely still and silent. From a distant banyan tree came the periodic hooting of the bhutum owl – hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok, hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok.

I turned over on my other side but I wasn’t able to sleep. What a bother! I had a feeling that whatever disembodied spirit was standing in that northwest corner of the room had a desire to approach me. Several times I called out in a loud voice: “Hey, bodiless one, who are you, standing in my bedroom this way? I don’t appreciate your behaviour at all. Be brave, come out face to face. Speak your mind. I don’t appreciate this kind of fooling around. As long as I am in this room, it’s better that you disembodied spirits cease with your games.”

After a little while I fell asleep again. I don’t know how much time passed, but sometime later I thought I heard a European lady and a man talking to each other. Although the woman was speaking English she spoke it with a French accent; the man’s accent was Cornish. The woman was saying: “You know, the people have lost patience with the tyranny of the niilkar sahebs. Those same farmers who could never think of confronting the Europeans, who used to flee in fear just hearing their name, are now chasing after them with their sticks and spears when they see them. The situation is not good at all! Here also, the houses of innocent farmers are being set on fire on your instructions; your men are dragging their daughters and wives out of their houses and taking them with them. People are being beaten for no reason and chased away with bullets. It’s horrible. These things are inhuman; the dignity of these women is being trampled into the dirt. As a woman I cannot put up with this. I will not put up with it. You have to put a stop to it!”

“The world is for the brave,” the man replied. “If you can’t demonstrate your power and authority in this world then you can’t survive. They have to be shaken up a little. This is the ruler’s philosophy.”

“If this ruler’s philosophy goes against humanity,” the woman said, “then I refuse to follow it. Whatever people may think, you can’t sever your ties with humanity. The foundation of everyone’s activities and work has to be humanity. Otherwise the demons in us will not only swallow our bodies and minds, but our entire human existence will end up crudified. That the consciousness which has evolved out of matter should return back to matter – no judicious human being would want that. So you give up your anti-humanity ruler’s philosophy.”

“If the indigo planters gave up the ruler’s philosophy,” he replied, “then the farmers would disrespect them and cheat them. So we deal with them according to the law: ‘First the stick, then talk’.”

“Then this coming Monday I’m going to take the ship from Calcutta back to England. I can’t bear this antisocial, one-sided, hellish affair.”

After hearing all this I became suspicious. I looked in the direction where the woman’s voice was coming from and could have sworn that a woman had just left. The man’s voice had been coming from that dreadful northwest corner of the room. When I looked over there I could understand that the Englishman had just left hurriedly. I looked around the house carefully but found nobody there but me. I was the only guest of that deserted, silent night. From the distant banyan tree the sound of the bhutum owl continued: hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok, hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok.

I turned over on my other side and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come to my tired eyes. What a bother I had landed in. I started scolding that unseen man in a loud and serious voice. “If you maintain a relationship of ruler and ruled in individual or social life then it will surely lead to disaster. Whenever the kings of former days gave excessive weight to the ruler-ruled relationship, it resulted in the strong devouring the weak, and that led to revolt by the people – it happened during the time of King John; it happened at the time of Louis XIV; it happened during the Buddhist era in the time of King Devapal the Second. Understood, bodiless one! Be careful, ‘Go softly, softly in the night’; ká kasya parivedaná.”⁽⁴⁾ My words bounced off the wall and came back. There was no other ear there to hear them.

For a little while I slept and again my sleep was broken by some people exchanging heated words. Some of the local, common-class farmers were having words with a sahib. The farmers were speaking Angika and the sahib was also replying in broken Angika.

The farmers were saying: “Sir, you are a high-ranking officer. You may not even be aware of what the people at the lower levels are doing. They are forcing us to sell the indigo to them for practically nothing, and if we don’t agree then they persecute us and beat us. They want to buy the indigo without paying what it’s worth. They want us to work but they don’t want to pay us for it. If people show any sign of speaking out about it they set fire to their house and abduct their daughters from their home. We’ve come to you because we have no alternative. Please save us. Rescue us from the violence and oppression of your oppressive workers. We will be forever grateful to you.”

The man replied: “I don’t give advice to my workers, I give orders. Whatever they do, they do for me. Do you think you can teach me how to treat dogs and swine like yourselves? I know very well.”

“But sir, we implore you. Save us. Our families’ survival depends on the indigo we sell. Don’t thrust us into the jaws of starvation.”

“Work hard and you’ll eat. What’s the big deal? If you say anything against my workers I’ll run you off with bullets.”

“Sir,” said the village farmers, “we fear you like we do the god of death himself. We’ve come to you out of fear for our lives and of being tortured. Please try to understand our situation a little.”

“I understand, I understand,” replied the man. “What’s happening in Nadia and Jessore has spread to Monghyr now. You want to light the fires of rebellion here as well. I’ll teach you a lesson or two.” Saying this, the sahib took aim at them and started firing recklessly and mercilessly. Several villagers fell to the ground twisting and screaming in agony.

“This is how we teach dogs a lesson,” the sahib said. “The late Dinabandhu Mitra has inflated your audacity by writing his book, Niiladarpana. I know how to make that audacity grovel in the dirt. Let this be a lesson to you.”

I couldn’t stand it. Let me jump up, I thought, and teach this sahib a lesson of his own. I opened my eyes but not a single villager was there. The sound of the sahib’s voice had been coming from the northwest corner of the room. I looked in that direction but there was no one there either. The room was as still as a tomb.

I was astonished and dumbfounded to hear such arrogance coming from this sahib. Are there really such people on this earth? “Listen bodiless sahib,” I said. “You really showed some temper with those villagers. Let me see you lose your temper in front of me! If I can see this temper of yours I will consider my human life successful.”

No one came out; no one answered my challenge. The room was completely silent. The chirping of the crickets had stopped but I could hear the steady patter of the rain. From the banyan tree in the distance I could hear the intermittent call of the bhutum owl – hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok, hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok.

I lay down and turned over from one side to the other. Can anyone sleep in such a state? The soft light of the hurricane lantern illumined the inside of the room; outside it was pitch black, completely dark. A few fireflies darted here and there over the rain-soaked earth. Seeing that I was not able to fall asleep, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the bathroom and rinse down my head and neck. If I could cool my body down a bit I might be able to get some sleep.

To get to the bathroom I had to go through that middle room. When I entered I pulled up, startled. Hanging from the rope in the middle of the room with a noose around his neck was a tall sahib. When the sahib saw me he said in a painful voice: “You know, I am completely alone in this place – solitary, companionless. No one comes here; they are afraid to. Everyone says it is a house of the dead.” In a passionate voice he said: “What can I do? Tell me!”

I started to say something but he stopped me by saying: “First go and rinse your head and neck and cool yourself down. Then you can give an answer to a worthless fellow like me. You know, I really am a worthless fellow, the garbage of human society, the refuse of a dustbin. I came to this earth and only increased its burdens. Even dead I am still a burden. But please, first wash your head and neck and then come.”

I went to the bathroom and cooled down by rinsing my hands and face, then went back into the middle room. I looked again at the hanging rope – but where had the sahib gone? The rope was swinging gently, swayed by a damp gust of wind coming from outdoors. The titmice started to flee in fear when they saw me. Not finding the sahib, I started again for the bedroom to lie down but just as I took a step I heard the voice of the sahib behind me. He was saying: “Please sir, don’t leave me this way. I wasn’t certain how to talk to you, so for a few seconds you didn’t see me hanging from the rope. Now I’ve figured out what to say. Do you see me hanging here now?”

“Yes, indeed, I do. I swear I do!” Then I continued in a harsh voice: “Why did you have to die this way?”

“But please, sit on that stool over there,” he replied. “I’ll tell you my story in brief.

“At the beginning of the British administration indigo was a booming business. On one side there was the oppression and tyranny against the farmers, and on the other our pockets were filling up with money. This was the biggest indigo factory in Monghyr District. Millions of rupees worth of indigo were exported from here to Europe each year. I was the head manager of the factory. It is normal human psychology that when there is oppression, at first the timid people keep their mouths closed and put up with it. Even courageous people think: ‘Let me see how things go for the time being. Then I will take action.’ When the oppression increases even more, the cowardly-natured slap their heads and curse their fate, and the brave call out in loud voices and fall on their oppressors. When tyranny reaches its limit then even the faint-of-heart start roaring like lions and mercilessly take revenge on their oppressors.

“Maddened by delusions of power, and bereft of the knowledge of right and wrong in our greed for money, we niilkars forgot this historical and psychological truth. The result of this mistake of ours was the Niilkar Rebellion in Jessore and Nadia. The rebellion, however, never completely broke out in this Monghyr District because no such oppressive niilkars had come to this area besides myself. I set the steamroller of tyranny loose on these ordinary farmers. I earned huge amounts of money and in the process I sold my humanity in exchange for a few gold coins. I went hell-bound step by step, transforming myself from a conscious human being into no better than an inert stone. I had no remnant left of my common sense. Maddened by pride, I fired recklessly on those village farmers who came to me peacefully with their grievances and needs. I even killed seven men. After that I hadn’t the slightest sense of what-to-do or what-not-to-do. There was no one around to give directions or orders or advice.

“After firing on the villagers, I sent a letter to the district magistrate informing him of the affair. He sent back an immediate reply by letter-bearer informing me of the situation: ‘The indigo rebellion has broken out in Jessore and Nadia. Under these circumstances it is best that you observe certain limits in all matters. Do not do anything that can make the situation get out of control or law and order get out of hand. For several days now I’ve known that the village farmers have been disturbed by your conduct. You have even fired on and killed several innocent farmers. I can guess that they will become even more agitated. Under these circumstances I will give you this counsel: you should start for Calcutta this very night under the cover of darkness. It is no longer safe for you to remain there. It will take you approximately five days to reach Calcutta by horse-drawn carriage. To ensure your safety I will send some mounted soldiers to ride in front of and behind your carriage. In this matter I cannot rely on native sepoys.’”

The sahib let out a long sigh and said: “The advice of the district magistrate was quite sound, but at that time I was not in the right mind to accept his counsel. Because of my arrogance I had completely lost my common sense. My ruler’s philosophy was prodding me continuously, telling me – What! Will I flee under the cover of darkness out of fear of a few ordinary farmers? Never! It is against my ruler’s philosophy. I will have to do something to save my respect. On and on I went thinking like this until I was at a complete loss. There was no one to give any clear directions or orders. That day my wounded pride told me – the only way to salvage my honour is to tie a noose around my neck and hang myself with this rope. That is the only path to salvation. In this way my honour, my prestige, my reputation, will be saved.

“So thought, so done.

“I tied a noose around my neck with this rope and hung myself. You may call it suicide, cowardliness or sin. But in the state of mind I was in that day I could see no other path open to me. So knowingly, perhaps, I took this sinful path in order to salvage my honour.”

His voice choked. “You know, now I am completely alone in this place – solitary, companionless. No one comes near me. Everyone is afraid; everyone says that this is a house of the dead.”

“Then?” I asked.

“Today I realize what a horrendous mistake I made. Human beings’ benevolent consciousness leads them towards greatness and evil crudifies them. This path of suicide that I have taken to save my honour has crudified me so much that even after such a long time I cannot find any deliverance. These days I am utterly helpless. Please consider my helplessness and give me some direction, some order; tell me what to do. Where is my path of welfare, my road to providence?”

“Look here, sahib,” I said. “There is no limit to the injustice you’ve committed. You’ve treated human beings as if they were worse than dogs or swine. Anyone who heard the history of your sins would hate you; but no one could help but feel sympathy had they heard your heartfelt remorse today. Still, in this situation I really don’t know what I can do to help you. Think for a moment and tell me what I can do that might be of some good to you. If I have the capacity to do it then I certainly will.”

This time the sahib replied in even a sadder voice. “Afterwards the people buried my body underneath that banyan tree where the owl lives. If you look over there you can see a place where there are a lot of fireflies gathered; I am buried just in that spot. A few bones from my skeleton still remain. It seems almost as if those bones have bound me to this soil. Oh, what a painful bondage! Is there no path left open to me to attain peace! Is there no ointment I can apply which will soothe the burning of my bondage!”

“Sahib, it saddens me to hear your repentant words. It brings tears to my eyes. But tell me, what can I possibly do for you?”

“There is one thing you can do for me.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“No one on this earth has ever loved me. People look at me like they were looking at a vicious animal, and for good reason. No one has ever said: ‘Sahib, may your soul attain peace.’ You could say those words, just once. If I could just hear them then I would be satisfied.”

I looked towards the trunk of the banyan tree where the owl was calling and while looking there I told him: “Sahib, it is true that you are completely alone in this place, completely solitary, altogether companionless. People are justifiably afraid to come here. For good reason they call it a house of the dead. Having heard the story of your secret agony I can honestly say with all the benevolent wishes of my mind: May your soul attain peace. Sahib, you are a cruel, vicious creature, but still I love you.”

I turned with sympathetic eyes to look at the sahib but there was no one there. Only the rope, damp from the gusts of wind, and a few titmice flying around. I looked all around me; I was alone in the room, completely alone. Not only in the room – I was the only human being in that entire huge house. There was no second entity. The sound of the crickets had stopped and now the patter of the rain also ceased. After a long pause, a half-call of the bhutum owl floated in from the distant banyan tree – hoom-hoom bok-bok-bok-bok.

Slowly and silently I went to my cot and lay down. After a few minutes I fell asleep and no one disturbed me, no one prevented me. I woke up a little late, hearing the tapping of the iron door-handle; I went to open it and found my driver standing there, smiling.

“If we can start from here at first light,” he said, “then we should be able to arrive in Jamalpur early this morning by taking the Telia-Talaw road. The rain has stopped and the sky is starting to clear up. The road has been washed out in two or three places but we should be able to get the car through by laying down some brick and stone in those spots and putting some planks down on top of them. I’ve already set some people to work on it.”

“I’ll be ready within five minutes. I need to arrive in Jamalpur within two hours.”

Looking over at the distant banyan tree, I saw the red sun peeping over the horizon. The call of the bhutum owl had ceased. Surely he is sleeping peacefully now in his dark hollow.

Upanaya/Upanayana

Upa – nii + lyut́ = upanayana. Upanayana and upanaya have the same meaning. Etymologically they mean “to bring near”. Their colloquial meaning is “to meditate on the effulgence of Parama Puruśa in the hopes of fulfilling one’s sádhaná”. The Rgveda’s sixty-second rk, third mańd́ala, tenth súkta centres around this upanayana. The rk goes as follows:

Tatsaviturvareńyaḿ
Bhargo devasya dhiimahi
Dhiyo yo nah pracodayát⁽⁵⁾

“I meditate on the venerable effulgence of the father of the seven lokas so that He might guide my intellect to the path of truth.”

At the beginning of the mantra is the line oṋḿ bhúr-bhuvah-svah from the Atharvaveda. The use of this additional part was added in subsequent times.

Upanyása

Nyása means “to place”. For example, the placing of the first brick when inaugurating the construction of a house is called shilányása [laying of the foundation stone]. In olden times houses were built out of shilá, or stone, so we say shilányása rather than iśt́akanyása [iśt́aka means “brick”]. That person who has placed himself or herself completely at the service of ideology is sam + nyásin = sannyásin (in the first person singular, sannyásii). One who is a true ideologue, that is, one who has placed oneself at the service of Parama Puruśa is sat + nyásin = sannyásin (in the first person, singular sannyásii).

Upa means “near”. If any material object (object of enjoyment or edible) is kept near a person then that is called upanyása, in Farsi pesh karná. This upanyása can be done either with respect or without respect. If a wooden trough is filled with chopped hay or with bran well-mixed with flax, and that is placed near a cow’s mouth, then this nyása is done with respect or care. If paddy or broken bits of grain is scattered or spread for the hens or pigeons then this is also upanyása. And if pieces of dried bread are thrown for a dog lying on the road then that is also upanyása. To place something near is upanyása. The word upanyása is also used in the sense of “introduction”, “preface” or “prelude”. In this case one thing that should be borne in mind is that the Bengali synonym for the English words “novel” or “fiction” is not upanyása; rather it is, or should be, kathányása. There is no relationship between the words “novel” or “fiction” and the word upanyása, so it is not desirable that the word be used mistakenly.

Previously I mentioned scattering broken bits of grain or paddy for the pigeons or hens; a person who does this should properly be called aopanyásika. Indeed, while the word upanyása is used incorrectly in very recent times in Bengali, Hindi and several other eastern Indian languages, it has not lost its meaning in the other Indian languages. I have never seen the word upanyása used to mean “novel” or “fiction” in Marathi.

Upaniśada

Upa – ni – sad + kvip. Its etymological meaning is “that which brings near”; colloquially it refers to a certain philosophical portion of the Vedas which, despite being theoretical, is dependent on God. Although upaniśada can be spelled with sa, it is normally spelled with śa in Bengali in accordance with Gaod́iiya usage (Bengali usage).

Upapada

That word or part of speech which is not important or which stands by itself when used to form another word or part of speech is called upapada. Upapada is also the name of a system of making compound words.

Upamá

The etymological meaning of upamá is “that which comes nearby when measured”; its colloquial meaning is “qualitative proximity” or “close in quality”. Tulaná means “closeness or proximity by measure”. About Krśńa it has been said, Tulá vá upamá krśńasya násti [“Krśńa has no parallel or equal”].

Upala

Upa – lá + d́a. Its etymological meaning is “that which does the work of a container or base but which cannot do it well or permanently” – it slips down or goes away or falls behind. Colloquially, upala means “a piece of stone” or “pebble”, in Hindi roŕe, in Urdu and Farsi saḿreje.

Utpala means “that which has bloomed upwards”; its colloquial meaning is “lotus flower”.

Upahata

Hata means “extinction of existence”; upahata means “where the existence has been pervasively influenced”. For example, we sometimes use the words mahátmá [great-souled], durátmá [wicked], pápátmá [sinful], puńyátmá [virtuous] and so forth. However the átmá [soul] can never be great or wicked, nor can it be sinful or virtuous. “A virtuous soul” or “a sinful soul” – the words pápátmá or puńyátmá cannot be so derived by using these as explanations of their compounding. The proper compound expressions for pápátmá or puńyátmá are pápopahata átmá or puńyopahata átmá, and their method of compounding is madhyapadalopii karmadháraya.

Upashama

Upa – sham + ac. Sham means “to be peaceful” or “to decrease”. Upashama means “to be somewhat peaceful” or “to decrease a little”. Upasama means “nearly equal” or “quite near”.

Upasampadá

Buddha, employing philosophical language, used to call the Supreme Principle sampada or sampadá; that which brought a person close to the Supreme Principle was called upasampadá. Buddha used to use the word upasampadá to mean taking initiation into the path of sádhaná.

Upádána

Upa – á – dá + lyut́. Upádána means “ingredients for preparing something”; for example, milk-curds and sugar are the upádána used in the preparation of rasagollás [a milksweet].

Upádhána

Upa + ádhána. Its etymological meaning is “that which gives shelter nearby”; its colloquial meaning is “pillow” [bálish]. The word bálish is common in both Bengali and Maethilii. During the Mughal era different varieties of páshbálish were called masland. At one time very high quality maslands were produced in Bengal’s 24 Paraganas and Midnapore districts. At one time Bengal’s silk and velvet maslands were famous throughout the world.

Pásh-bálish is called “bolster” in English and from this come the words balástár, bálistár, balistárá which are prevalent in various parts of northern India.

Upádhyáya

Upa + adhyáya. Upádhyáya means “assistant professor” or “lecturer”. Upádhyá → uájhjháya → uájhá → ojhá → jhá. That is, the meaning of ojhá or jhá is “teacher”. Cat́t́opádhyáya cat́t́ojhjhá → cát́ujhajhá → cát́ujje. Due to mispronunciation it became “Chatterjee” in English. It is completely unwarranted to use the word “Chatterjee” in Bengali. If the word is to be used then either Cat́t́opádhyáya or Cát́ujje can be used according to one’s choice.

Uluka

The meaning of the root verb ul is “to be improperly ostentatious about oneself” or “to improperly think great things about oneself”. Ul + uka = uluka. The etymological meaning of the word uluka is “one who is desirous of improperly and ostentatiously promoting oneself”. Its colloquial meaning is “owl” or Indra [king of the gods]. During the day the owl makes its home in the dark hollows of trees. According to some people’s conception, the owl thinks: “Now that I am taking rest in the hollow of my tree the other birds and animals can move about without being afraid. At night, when I go out, they all go into their respective holes out of fear of me. Oh, how cowardly they are! How courageous I am!”

According to one story in the Puranas, Indra also used to think great things about himself. After taking the help of the blessings of Brahmá, Viśńu, Maheshvara and the other gods to kill the demons, he used to boast of what he had accomplished. Thus another meaning of the word uluka is Indra.

One thing you should keep in mind is that you should not spell uluka with a double la, that is ulluka, even by mistake. Ulluka means the clever, cunning, red-faced monkey. They are similar to human beings in many ways. People who put on monkey dances generally use these ullukas for their dances and games. It is much more difficult to put on such exhibitions with other varieties of monkeys.

The feminine form of uluka is ulukii. One meaning of ulukii is “female owl” and the other is Indráńii. A woman can be called ulukii both as a form of praise and as a form of slander. In other words, ulukii can mean “ugly as an owl” or “as beautiful as Indráńii”. One will have to get the meaning from the context of the situation.

Although the two words pecaka [owl] and uluka have the same colloquial meaning, their etymological meanings are different. The etymological meaning of pecaka is “that which expands”. One meaning of the root verb pac is “to expand”. By adding the suffix drt́ (drk) we get the word pecaka. The other colloquial meanings of the word pecaka are “elephant’s tail”, “cloud”, and “bed”. All of these expand, so pecaka refers to all of them.

Footnotes

(1) The name of the opening instrumental section in north Indian classical music.

(2) Roughly speaking, this river-basin has two parts: Monghyr District’s Khaŕgapur (Habeli), Tarapur and Saḿgrámpur tháná [administrative area covered by one police station], and Bhagalpur District’s Belhar tháná. The Belharnii River forms the border between these two districts in most places. During the time of the Santhal Rebellion in 1855 there was a great battle between the British and the Santhals in this river-basin’s Saḿgrámpur. Hence the name Saḿgrámpur [battle city]. At the beginning of the war the British were losing the battles. On one side the Santhals entered the city of Bhagalpur and on the other side the cities of Suri and Rajnagar. The Divisional Commissioner of Bhagalpur was killed in the battle. Still today one part of the city of Bhagalpur bears the name of the leader of the rebellious Santhals, Tilakámájhi.

(3) The people of Burdwan, Hoogly and Howrah have yet to forget the destructive Damodar flood of 1912. The Tárakeshvara temple was on the verge of being completely submerged in that flood. Calcutta was also mostly under water. In order to save Calcutta, the British managed to divert the greater part of the Damodar’s waters into the Dvarakeshvara (Rupanarayana) via the Begorhana-Mundeshvari rivers. After that the Damodar lost its force as it headed downstream in the Begorhana, that is, in the Amta, Bagnan and nearby areas, and Calcutta was thereby saved from the flood.

(4) The quote comes from Shankaracharya, from a passage which describes the transitory nature of existence. –Trans.

(5) This shloka is the “Savitr Rk”. See pp. 98-100. –Trans.

Chapter 4	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Úk/Uk

The suffix úk/uk is used for any particular action, object or thought that is desired. For example, icchuk [desirous] or bhávuk [contemplative]. In olden times this suffix was written with a long ú. In the middle ages both were current. In modern Sanskrit short u is used in all but one or two cases. For example, in olden times the popular word for “owl” was úlúka. In subsequent times both uluka and úlúka were common in Sanskrit, side by side. In this matter it would be better to maintain a uniform standard in Bengali. Since úlúka was used in older spellings what would be the harm if this spelling remained?

Úcca/Ucca

Út + ca = úcca. Ut + ca = ucca. The etymological meaning of úcca is “ascending”, “having upward motion”; its colloquial meaning is “high”. Úcca + lá + d́a = úccala. Here the verbal root lá is used to mean “to hold”, that is, úccala means “one who holds up high”. From úccala comes the medieval Bengali ucala just as the medieval Bengali ujala comes from újjvala.⁽¹⁾ Ucala baliyá acale caŕinu paŕinu agádha jale [“I climbed up a hill thinking it to be very high but unfortunately I plunged into bottomless water”].

Út/Ut

The prefix ut used to be pronounced with a long vowel sound in olden times. After the invention of script it gradually lost its long sound and became transformed into a short vowel. Those versed in the Rgveda are well aware of this fact.

Úta/Uta

The verbal root vein means “to weave”. For example, “to weave cloth”. Vein + kta gives us the word úta which means “that which is woven”. The Sanskrit for “woven cloth” is úta karpat́a.

In ancient society, men and women had equal rights. Later, when some distinguished women such as Gargii, Maetreyii and others excelled their male counterparts in intellect, learning, humanity and power of contemplation, a group of male conspirators started curtailing their rights one after another in order to engender an inferiority complex in their minds. In the varnáshrama [caste] system, women and Shúdras as groups were segregated. That was a dark chapter in human history indeed. Human beings conspired against their fellow humans to deprive them of their legitimate human rights. It can be said that the seeds of exploitation, imperialism and colonialism were sown at that time.

Long before that, weaving was done mostly by women because the capacity to care for minute detail which is so essential for handiwork is found more in women than men. Even today weaving is done by women in many parts of the world. Obviously, when women became segregated, then weaving, too, as a hobby or profession came to be considered inferior. All this happened due to the conspiracies of a few men. Usually people indulge in such acts to revenge themselves on others.

This phrase, “revenge oneself”, reminds me of a story – the story of how King Ballal Sen revenged himself on the Suvarna Vanik [merchants] of Bengal.

The royal treasury of Bengal was controlled by a handful of wealthy merchants. Their principal centre was Suvarnagram. King Ballal Sen was given to much pomp and luxury and was a man of lecherous nature. His son, Laksman Sen, was extremely unhappy with his father. King Ballal Sen often demanded more and more funds from the treasury. Since it was the king’s order, the merchants could not object. But later, when the economy was being terribly affected and still the king did not keep his promises to return the funds, they spoke to Prince Laksman Sen. Through him they conveyed to the king that if he continued to draw funds from the royal treasury, the country’s economy would meet with disaster. King Ballal Sen was enraged by the merchants’ wise advice. He vindictively retaliated and declared the whole community of Suvarna Vaniks – well-educated, intelligent and talented men – as outcastes. Thus he revenged himself against them.

In the same way, a section of selfish men curtailed women’s rights and hatched a conspiracy against women and Shúdras to keep them downtrodden and under their feet forever. From that time another meaning of úta became “movement towards hell”, “ending up in hell”. So just as one meaning of úta is “that cloth which is woven”, its second meaning is “one who is inclined towards hell”, “one who has gone to hell”, or “the lowest level of hell” which is known as raorava or rasátala.

Útámrtatvasyesháno yadannenádhirohati

–Rgveda

[He is the controller of immortality. He has assumed the quinquelemental form for supplying food to the finite beings.]

The word úta is also used in some places in the Rgveda to mean “infernal” or “infernal creature”, but, of course, that usage is limited to a few cases.

Speaking of úta reminds me of something that happened long ago. At that time I used to go and sit nearly every evening on the highest peak of the hills east of my town. I may have told a few people how I met Vireshavijay Vasumallik while sitting on the top of that peak. After sitting alone on the top of the hill for some time I would return home about nine o’clock. I used to climb down from the hills not long after the sun had gone down behind them.

On this day, however, I was a little late coming down from the hills. By the time I reached the bottom it had grown completely dark in all directions. After sunset, a little light would still remain at the top, though it would be completely dark at the bottom of the hills. That day it had become quite dark even in the hilltops so when I reached the bottom it was pitch black. Not only was it a dark night but there was a blackout on in town at that time.

This was towards the end of British rule; the Second World War was in full swing, with the fiercest fighting in Europe and Southeast Asia. Most of Southeast Asia was then under the control of the Japanese. Japan had conquered Burma and the Indian National Army under the command of Subhas Chandra Bose had taken possession of the Andaman and Nicobar islands. Subhas Bose had given them new names. The Indian National Army had entered by then into Manipur (Imphal) by land and the war had reached its final stage, the stage in which one already knew what its outcome would be.

The defence of India was chiefly the responsibility of the British and American armies. They were fighting with tremendous determination and firmness, defying all obstacles. Indeed, their mental toughness at that time was quite praiseworthy, no doubt about it.

The coastal areas of Bengal were fortified so that Bengal could not be invaded either by land from Burma or by sea from the Andamans. Bengal’s clocks were also moved ahead one hour from Indian Standard Time for work convenience. The submarines of the Indian National Army were spotted from time to time off the coast of Orissa. Most of the cycles and boats were removed from the Bengal coast so that the enemy would not be able to make use of them. Although this created difficulties for the common people it was necessary for defence purposes. Bombs were falling on Calcutta and in several other places in Bengal.

Despite the strong fortifications of the coastal area, the Indian National Army was making hectic preparations to wrest control of the coastal areas of Chittagong, Noakhali, and Bakharganj. The INA had nearly surrounded Kutubdia, Sandip and Khulna District’s Sharankhola. That was the military situation of the country.

Blackouts were in force from city to city. In most places there were careful preparations taken against air attacks. Naturally, moving on the roads after dark had become extremely troublesome, so people used to finish work quite early and go home and close their doors and windows. Yes, even the windows had to be shut, otherwise the light from inside the houses would leak out into the streets and make it easy for the enemy to locate the site. People would be back home by dark and crowd together in one room to listen secretly to the radio news about the Indian National Army. Those who didn’t have a radio in their house would go to the house of someone who did, making for quite a crowd, but it wasn’t considered proper to hear the news in this way.

In my town there was a daily blackout. Low-power bulbs had been fitted in the street lights and the lamp covers had been painted black so that the light would not be diffused very far.

Yes, as I was saying, on that day I came down from the hills rather late and started heading for the city. On the way was a huge banyan tree which at that time was extremely tall. Later, the large head of the tree was cut down to make it easier for planes to land. At any rate, I had to pass the banyan tree on my return. On my little finger I was wearing a solid gold ring which had been loose for the past few days. As I was passing the banyan tree the ring slipped off my finger. I couldn’t use a torch to find it because first, it was prohibited and secondly, it would bring the military people rushing to the spot when they saw the torchlight in the distance. Apart from that, I was one of the people responsible for the arrangements against air attacks. Why should I break the rules just to save a ring? So I searched the ground with my hands for some time and then started walking home again.

After I had taken a few steps I noticed a gigantic creature climbing down from the huge head of that enormous banyan tree. His face didn’t look like a man’s but rather more like a forest gorilla. The fellow approached quite close to me. Although he wasn’t touching me, I felt all the while as if he was, and this annoyed me. After walking for a little while, the man started talking to me in Angika. “You are quite angry with me, aren’t you?” he said.

“No, I am not angry,” I replied. “But I am feeling somewhat uneasy. Why are you walking so close to me? You could keep a little distance.”

“No, no. Whether or not you get angry, I cannot let you walk completely alone tonight. For one night I will bear your anger; I am doing so and I will continue to do so.”

What could I do? I kept my mouth closed and kept on walking. The man continued talking. “You are telling yourself that I am certainly not a man. True enough. One cannot think of me as a man. But still, what can I be other than a man? Rather, you should think of me as your shadow. Shadows are very long, aren’t they?”

I didn’t like it, but there was a logic to what he was saying, so I kept quiet and listened as I walked.

“You are thinking that such a stout face cannot belong to a man. True indeed, but oftentimes a shadow becomes quite stout. Isn’t it so? Perhaps you are asking yourself why I am so jet-black. Are fair-complexioned people’s shadows also fair? Milk’s shadow is as dark as a new-moon night. Whatever the case may be, I am walking with you and I will continue to do so. I simply will not let you walk alone, especially tonight.”

“Such a bizarre entity like yourself – I cannot call you a man, nor can I call you a shadow or a ghost, so I call you an entity – what will people think if they see me walking with such a huge entity?”

The fellow kept silent for a while and then said: “You are researching the Vedas, studying the Vedas. Today you were explaining the word úta. Úta means ‘that which is woven’ or ‘that whose movement is towards hell’. Úta means ‘a creature of hell’. What is the problem if you let that creature of hell that you were talking about walk beside you for a little while? I will not let you go now, not even for a moment.”

Those days there was a blackout nearly every night. Here and there around the city were trenches dug for the people to take shelter in case of air attack. Some of these trenches were very deep. Suddenly, while walking along the road, my left leg fell into one of those deep trenches and my right leg became twisted. Just as I was falling headlong into the ditch in unbearable pain, that huge entity caught me and pulled me out. Then he said: “The bone of your right leg has become dislocated. It must be extremely painful. The reason I was walking so close to you was so that you wouldn’t fall into any danger; otherwise I would never have been so impertinent or ungentlemanly as to walk so close to you. Yet it is my great misfortune that despite having done so, your leg has still been injured. Anyhow, I cannot let you walk any further. You are in my care now; I will carry you to your house on my shoulders. No objections now! You are not able to walk properly, and I can’t let any more troubles be added to those you already have.” Saying this, he lifted me onto his shoulders.

“What will people on the road think?” I said. “How they will gossip!”

“I will put you down whenever we get to any place in town that is crowded, and we will cross that place with me holding on to you very carefully. Afterwards I’ll put you back on my shoulders.”

“Okay,” I replied. The fellow hoisted me up on his shoulders and started walking.

It was a dark night and a blackout as well, but lo and behold! It was only nine o’clock but there was not a soul to be seen on the road, not even a dog.

“A few miles east of here is one of the Buddhist era centres of Angadesh, Parsando village. There is a very pious man who lives there; his name is Ramjii Singh. The skill to set dislocated bones has been passed down in Ramjii Singh’s family for generations. In olden times his forefathers used to set the dislocated leg bones of the king’s elephants. Ramjii Singh himself once set the leg bone of the elephant of the king of Monghyr. It will be very good if this Ramjii Singh comes early tomorrow morning and sets your leg bone.”

What could I say! There was nothing to say so I kept quiet. When we arrived at my door this huge entity set me down gently and said in a very modest and gentlemanly way: “I will go now. If you ever need me again, call me mentally and I’ll rush right over.”

“What is your name?” I asked.

“I am your shadow.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near you. But usually I remain on the peak of that mountain or at the top of that huge banyan tree where the ring slipped off your little finger today.” Saying this he put the same ring back on my little finger.

“This is the ring, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied.

I passed the night in great pain. Finally dawn arrived. The pain had increased a little and the area had become swollen also. After breakfast I pulled up a deck chair in front of the house and sat down to read the newspaper; as I was doing so a man hurried up to the house and stopped and stood there. He was staring at me and seemed to be thinking something over. I asked him in Angika: “What are you looking for? Do you want someone?”

“Mr. Sarkar,” he replied in Angika. “I came looking for you.”

I called him over. The gist of what he had to tell me was this: At about 10:00 the night before, after he had finished his evening meal, and just as he was getting ready to go to bed, something strange happened in his bedroom. He saw a huge gorilla standing in front of his cot, a monstrous creature, as black as ink.

“When I saw him I bolted upright in fear,” he said. “The gorilla told me very politely and gentlemanly not to be afraid. ‘I have come about an urgent matter,’ the gorilla said. ‘Mr. Sarkar has just fallen in a trench and his right leg has been badly dislocated. Go right now and set his leg. If you find him sleeping then wait until he wakes up. Don’t wake him up.’ I started right then and there, Mr. Sarkar.

“Before leaving I asked the gorilla: ‘Where is Mr. Sarkar’s house? How will I recognize him?’ ‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ the gorilla replied. ‘When you come to a house and you find that you have stopped walking, then you will know that you are at the right place. You will find Mr. Sarkar in front of that house.’ And just like that, sir, I stopped walking in front of this house. And here I find you sitting and reading the newspaper. I already knew you so I had no difficulty recognizing you.”

“How is it that you already knew me?” I asked.

“I will tell you in a moment,” he replied.

Ramjii Singh took hold of my right leg and very carefully jerked it two or three times. There was a low, indistinct sound, and the bone went back into its proper place. The pain subsided immediately and even stranger, the swelling went down right in front of my eyes.

When I offered him some remuneration he said: “Mr. Sarkar, I walked all night, and for that also you have already given me a reward.”

“How is that?”

“When I was passing that huge banyan tree on the way here a gentleman stepped out from behind it. He looked exactly like you. He was wearing exactly the same glasses, the same kind of blue shirt and a ring on the little finger of his right hand. This gentleman gave me a gold coin and told me: ‘Go quickly. Mr. Sarkar is in a lot of pain. Don’t take any payment from him. I am giving this payment on his behalf.’

“Mr. Sarkar, I don’t understand how you could have been standing under that banyan tree when your leg is in so much pain. How did you go there? My brain just isn’t working. I immediately resolved to give you the gold coin and ask you to use it for flood relief in Monghyr District.”

Ramjii Singh bid me farewell and started back on the footpath towards Parsando village while I remained there, gazing at him as he went.

Úti

Vein + ktin= úti. Úti has two chief meanings for the above-mentioned reasons. The first meaning is “to weave” and the second is “movement to hell”.

Únaviḿsha

The meaning of the verbal root ún is “to reduce”, “to be shortened”, “to be on the path of decay”. It can also be spelled with u but it must be spelled with na. Thus the meaning of the word úna is “less”. The etymological meaning of únaviḿsha is “one less than viḿsha, or twenty”; its colloquial meaning is “nineteen”. Similarly we have únatrisha [twenty-nine], únacallisha [thirty-nine], únapaiṋcásha [forty-nine] and so forth. In rural Bengali it is said: úno bháte duno bal bhará pet́e rasátala. “If one eats less there is an accumulation of energy. If one eats excessively then it causes disease.” Shiva has said: Śaśt́haiṋca pramitáhárah [“The sixth is balanced diet”]. Shiva has also said: Atibhojanaḿ rogamúlam áyúkśayakaram [“Overeating leads to disease and shortening of life”].

Úrjá

The meaning of the verbal root úrju is “to heat”, “to warm up”, “to warm oneself by a fire or in the sun”. Úrju + d́a + t́á = úrjá. Úrjá means “heat”, “vitality”, “thermos”.

Úrńá

The meaning of the verbal root úrńu is “to cover”. It can be spelled with u also, but it must be spelled with ńa. Úrńú + d́a + t́a = úrńá. The etymological meaning of úrńá is “that which covers”. Its colloquial meaning is “wool”. Long ago the Aryans, who were living in Central Asia, used to use woollen garments due to the extreme cold of those regions. From this úrńá comes the north Indian word úńa. Úrńá → úńńá → úńa. Unfortunately, many people use na to spell úńa. No, the correct spelling is with ńa.

That tiny creature that produces a kind of úrńá or web from its umbilical region and lives at the centre of that web is called úrńanábha. Úrńanábha means “spider”. The thread that the spider weaves his net out of is also called úrńá. Another name for the thread of the spider’s web is lútá, or lútátantu.

Úrda/Úrdva

It can be spelled with the va either added to the consonant or left out. Úrda means “that which is above”. One should know the difference between úrdva and úrdhva. With úrdhva the va must be retained whether or not a da is joined to the dha. Similarly, both spellings are correct: úrvara/urvara, and úśá/uśá.

Úlúpin/Úlúthin

The meaning of the word úlúpin is “porpoise”. This aquatic creature was a land creature in prehistoric times. Long ago it became impatient with the tyranny of other land creatures and became an aquatic creature but it is still not able to breathe in water naturally. Thus from time to time it must come up to the surface for air before it can dive again.

Úśara

The word úśara means “that land which has become infertile because its salt content has increased due to the influx of salty water”. It should be kept in mind that land which has become infertile for any reason other than an increase in its salt content is not called úśara.

Úh

The meaning of the verbal root úh is “to marry”. Thus the meaning of the word úha is “marriage”. Long ago there used to be a popular and interesting folktale. In very ancient times, as with other animals, there was no custom of marriage among human beings. As far as it can be ascertained, this situation certainly continued until the middle of the Rgvedic age and likely until towards the end of that age. It was said during that time that there was once a five-year-old boy, the son of a certain sage, who became perplexed when he saw his mother going off with another man and asked his father why his mother was going off with that other fellow like that. The sage answered his son: “That’s the rule. Any woman can stay with any man whenever she likes. She can also leave him whenever she likes. In the same way, any man can go off with any woman at any time.”

The sage’s son asked: “Then what will I do?”

The sage replied: “Children who are breastfeeding will stay with their mother. Once they become too old for that they can stay wherever they like. Wherever they stay they have to make arrangements for their food in exchange for labour.”

“But that’s no good!” the sage’s young son exclaimed. “No good at all.”

In most cases, it was generally seen that the father did not bear the responsibility for the maintenance of their offspring or any other kind of responsibility towards them. All responsibility fell on the mother’s shoulders. For this reason wicked men used to put straightforward-natured women into extreme difficulty. The womenfolk used to spend their time under great duress. If not all, at least most of the men did not shoulder any responsibility for their offspring. Most of them were libertine. This is not to say that there were not any libertine woman, but the number of such women was less. Moreover, the affection they felt towards their children was a very strong bond of attachment which they could not easily break. This situation among humans, which was similar to that of animals, had been going on for approximately one million years, that is, human beings appeared about one million years ago.

Then Shiva made his appearance. He helped human beings to flower and blossom and put forth new leaves of welfare, expression, sweetness, developed thinking, spiritual awakening, and humanity. He became the chief resource of the human soul, a necessary part of everyone’s journey, regardless of their greatness or smallness, the luminous polestar of their life’s progress. The same Shiva who applied a healing balm to human beings’ external life by inventing medicine and the science of healing also regulated all levels of human life and gave humanity the top rung as the supreme and final achievement.

The women of that day stood at Shiva’s door and said: “O Sadáshiva, save us from this beastly, distressful condition. There is no man or woman strong enough today to lay down rules in this matter and to put them into practice with a firm hand.” Shiva’s heart melted; he understood their pain. He introduced the custom of marriage and firmly fixed the rights and responsibilities of the father. For the first time human beings felt the contact of a peaceful environment in social life.

Still some wicked-natured men remained and some libertine women as well. Then, with the help of his followers, Shiva obliged those wicked men to marry by punishing them with the rod and rope. Just as there were libertine men, there were also some libertine women. This libertine group became greatly frightened of Shiva. Seeing the terror of the anti-Shivaites, the devotees of Shiva added the portion dańd́apáshásipáńaye [“to Lord Shiva with the rod, rope and sword in hand”] to His prańama mantra [mantra of obeisance]. The followers of Shiva bound the sinners with rope and beat them with sticks.

These sinners used to make úh-úh sounds in pain and tried to flee. There were three kinds of u sounds – short, long, and extra-long. With the invention of script came letters for the short and long sounds, but not for the extra-long sound. The students used to learn from their Rgvedic or Sámavedic teachers when and where the extra-long pronunciation should be used (the extra-long u is virtually non-existent in the Atharvaveda and the Yajurveda). While writing, they would write ú. In olden times many sounds were pronounced as ú that with the passage of time became shortened to u. The prefix ut is one such sound; in olden times it was út. The followers of Shiva forced the makers of this úh-úh sound to marry and to accept the responsibility of caring for their offspring. Over time this úh came to mean “to marry”.

In today’s society also there are a few of these wicked-natured men. The leaders of the society or the state should make them utter this úh sound by creating the requisite circumstantial pressure. However, I must point out in unambiguous terms that making legal declarations against these rogues will not create the necessary circumstantial pressure to make wicked-natured men say úh.

Úd́ha

Úh + kta = úd́ha. The meaning of the word úd́ha is “married”. Vi – úd́ha = vyúd́ha, that is, one who has married in a special way, in a socially accepted way by informing at least five people. From the word avyúd́ha [unmarried] we get the spoken Bengali word áibuŕo. Michael Madhusudhan has mistakenly written in his poetry áibaŕa – it should be áibuŕo. Following an old custom of our Calcutta area, the pákasparsha⁽²⁾ (in spoken Bengali bao-bhát) used to be celebrated after the marriage and the avyúŕhánna (in spoken Bengali áibuŕo-bhát [feast before marriage]) was celebrated before the marriage.

Shiva was the first married man in human history. He had three wives: Párvatii (Aryan), Kálii (Dravidian) and Gauṋgá (Mongolian). There is a folk-verse in rural Bengal:

Vrśt́i paŕe t́ápur t́upur nadey ela ván
Shiv t́hákurer viye hacche tin kanye dán

[The rain fell pitter-patter, the river flooded; Shiva married three girls.]

Shiva was the first man to marry in earnest so the people of that time called him vyúd́ha out of respect. This vyúd́ha Shiva in later times, and in modern Bengali, became buŕo Shiva. This word buŕo has not come from the word vrddha [old] – it has come from the word vyúd́ha. Of course, the word boŕo shiva has come from the Bat́ukabhaerava or Bat́ukashiva of the Mahayana Buddhist era. Vat́uka → vad́ua → vaŕuá → boŕo. Shiva saved the womenfolk from complete ruin. He also saved the men from cultural degradation. For this reason every person in the world is indebted to Shiva; women as a whole are especially indebted to him. The unmarried girls of today still worship Shiva with devotion carrying on the traditions of that long-past event.

Footnotes

(1) Ujar in the languages of Bihar. The meaning of the word ujar is “white”. While the words ujar or ujal are no longer used in modern Bengali, they were quite common usage seven to eight hundred years back.

(2) Feast to celebrate the coming of the new bride to her husband’s house. –Trans.

Chapter 5	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Rk

Rc + kvip = Rk. The meaning of the verbal root rc is “to glorify” (through song or through ordinary language). Rk means “hymn”. In ancient times, with the beginning of civilization, the sages used to look upon the various manifestations of nature as the play of one God and they composed hymns for that god. When they used to sing in the name of Úśa, Indra, Parjanya, Mátarishvá, Varuńa, that singing was called sáma. At that time script had not yet been invented, so the disciples used to learn by listening to the verbal teachings of the guru. These were all words of truth, words of knowledge and since they were words of knowledge, since they elevated the uncultured human beings towards the light of culture, they were called veda, or knowledge.

The meaning of the verbal root vid is “to know”. The word veda is derived by adding the suffix al to the verbal root vid; it means “knowledge”. Seeing the written form of the word veda many phoneticians are of the opinion that it is derived with the suffix ghaiṋ; nevertheless it is derived with the suffix al and it is masculine. And due to the fact that there was no script and it had to be learned by hearing it from the mouth of the guru, its other name was shruti (shru + ktin). The verbal root shru means “to hear”. One meaning of the word shruti is “ear”; its other meaning is “that which is learned by hearing with one’s ear”, or veda. Each shloka of the oldest portion of the Vedas was called a rk. When many rks were collected together to create a certain idea or expression, it was called súkta. Many súktas together would comprise one mańd́ala.

Rgveda

The Rgveda is very old. Moreover, it is certain that Krśńadvaepáyańa Vyása had divided the Vedas into three separate parts – the oldest portion, the middle-age portion, and the late-era portion – well before the Jain era. Here I use the words “well before the Jain era” because the Vedas are mentioned in the Jain scriptures, which were written in the Prákrta language. The propounder of the Jain religion, Varddhaman Maháviir, was born a little over 2500 years ago, and the Prákrta language originated between four thousand and five thousand years ago. Thus, whatever portion of the Vedas is considered to be the most recent, it is certainly more than five thousand years old. And in regard to the Jain scriptures, certain portions of it were composed before the era of Varddhaman Maháviir by certain other Jain saints; still they are in no way more than five thousand years old.

The time of the composition of the Rgveda was approximately between fifteen thousand years ago and ten thousand years ago, that of the Yajurveda between ten thousand years ago and seven thousand years ago, and that of the Atharvaveda between seven thousand years ago and five thousand years ago. The Sámaveda is not a Veda at all. The word sáma means “song”. The Sámaveda was made later on from the music portions of the three Vedas, that is, the Sámaveda is found within the Rgveda, Yajurveda and Atharvaveda. When the Vedas were first divided they were divided into the Rk, Yajuh, and Atharva – these three parts. But the Sámaveda is mentioned in the Jain scriptures, that is, the Vedas had already been divided into three parts at the time of the origin of the Jain scriptures, and the Sámaveda had already been created from the music portions of the three Vedas. Just as the Vedas could not be written down due to the lack of written script, it may also be that the early Jain saints, however old they may have been, were not able to record their teachings through the medium of written script. Varddhaman Maháviir’s time was after the discovery of script, thus in his time the Jain scriptures were written down and they were written down in the Prákrta language of that time.

Varddhaman Maháviir’s birthplace was Vaeshali in eastern India. Magadha and Rarh are the lands of spiritual propagation. Thus, it is an easily discovered fact that whatever he spoke or wrote was in the prevalent Mágadhii Prákrta language of the day. So it will not be enough to say that the language of the Jain scriptures was Prákrta – there were seven main Prákrta languages. The language of the Jain scriptures was one among them, that is, Mágadhii Prákrta.

There was no script during the time of the Rgveda, so it was not written down. Nor was there any script during the time of the Yajurveda, so it could also not be written down. Written script was invented during the time of the Atharvaveda. But since the Rk and Yajuh portions of the Vedas could not be written down, during the time of the composition of the Atharvaveda, that is, at the time of the composition of the last portion of the Vedas, people thought that the Vedas should perhaps not be written. Thus the Atharva portion remained unwritten like the Rk and Yajuh portions.

The Atharvaveda’s ádarsha puruśa (the first propounder or main propounder was called ádarsha puruśa at that time) was Brahmarśi Atharva. He was most likely from Central Asia, but this is not to say that one can say for certain that he was not an original inhabitant of India. Still, there is no doubt that the propounders of the later portions of the Atharvaveda were inhabitants of India, especially Maharśi Vaedarbhi because Vidarbha was the name of a settlement in the central-western portion of India.

Krśńadvaepáyańa Vyása is renowned as Vedavyása for having divided the Vedas into three main portions (Rk, Yajuh, and Atharva). There is a great difference of opinion about this word vyása. There are many historical figures named Vyása, however, careful observation shows us that Vyása is not a name; it is a hereditary title. Vádaráyańa Vyása, Saiṋjaya Vyása, Vivasvata Vyása – their titles were all Vyása, not their name.

The name of the Vyása who divided the Vedas was Krśńadvaepáyańa Vyása. He was born in a fisherman’s family (Kaevarta [a fishing caste]) on a blackish island⁽¹⁾ that rose out of the waters of the confluence of the Ganges and the Yamuna at Prayag, and for this reason the people gave him the name Krśńadvaepáyańa.⁽²⁾ This Krśńadvaepáyańa or Vedavyása was the composer of the Mahabharata. The Mahabharata was composed long, long, long after the Vedas, but nonetheless it is undoubtedly more than three thousand years old.

Although the Rgveda is mainly concerned with hymns, it also contains various tales and anecdotes. While not all of these stories and tales carry equal spiritual value, they are representative of the cultural heritage of those ancient humans. They paint a portrait of the gradual advancement of human thinking and the structure of society. When considered from this point of view, the language, literature and expression of the Rgveda is of special value to the world. While it is true that there was no script during the Rgvedic age, phonemes and phonetic expression as well as the order of the sounds, interpolation and placement (the method of arranging the sounds) were in existence. The different Rgvedic styles of pronunciation for the various letters were in vogue which the followers of the Rgveda would learn orally from the guru in subsequent times. I have talked about this to some extent here and there in our language books. If time permits I will discuss the subject further at a later date.

In the Vedas, especially in the Rgveda, a special rule can be seen for the naming of the rks and súktas. Normally the rk is named according to the name by which the Supreme Consciousness is addressed. Where the Supreme Consciousness is not addressed by any particular name, then that súkta, or in certain cases that rk also, is named with the help of the first word. The third characteristic is that in most cases the rks were composed in certain metres.

There are seven main metres: gáyattrii, uśńika, triśt́upa, anuśt́upa, brhatii, jagatii and paḿkti. Besides this, because there was no authoritative grammar in that language (that is, the Vedic language) whereby differences between the metre and the prevalent unwritten grammar of the day could be resolved according to rules, the custom was in vogue of violating the grammar according to one’s convenience by cutting, reducing, increasing or even changing sounds in order to keep the metre intact. One accepted name of the rk 310/62 that we generally call the gáyattrii mantra is savitr rk – not gáyattrii mantra. Gáyattrii is the name of a particular metre, not the name of a mantra or a rk. In the concerning rk, Parama Puruśa is addressed as “Savitá” (the word is derived by adding the suffix trń/trc to the verbal root sú). Thus the rk’s name is “Savitr Rk”. At the beginning of one súkta in the first mańd́ala of the Rgveda we find:

Násadásiinno sadásiitadániiḿ;
Násiidrajo na vyomá paro yat.

At the beginning of the súkta the word násada has been used, thus the name of the súkta is násadiiya súkta.

The aforementioned “Savitr Rk” has been composed in the gáyattrii metre. Each line of the gáyattrii metre contains eight syllables. It has three lines, thus it is composed of twenty-four syllables. The rk is as follows:

Tatsaviturvareńyaḿ
Bhargo devasya dhiimahi
Dhiyo yo nah pracodayát

[The Supreme Father who did create the seven strata of manifestation – we meditate on His divine effulgence so that He may guide our intellect towards the path of blessedness.]

If we analyse the rk we find eight syllables in the second line: bhar, go, de, va, sya, dhii, ma and hi. In the third line there are: dhi, yo, yo, nah, pra, co, da and yát. But in the first line we see only seven syllables: tat, sa, vi, tur, va, re and ńyaḿ, that is, it is one syllable shorter. Thus, in this case, at the time of pronouncing it, the pronunciation of that time, and of today also, will be in violation of the current unwritten grammatical rules of that day – tat, sa, vi, tur, va, re, ńi and aḿ.

At the beginning of the mantra, (৺)oḿ bhúrbhuvah-svah (৺)oḿ is added and after the mantra (৺)oḿ is again added. These are not originally from the Rgveda; they are from the Atharvaveda. The mantra is the collective expression of the seven-layered manifestation of Parama Brahma – bhúrbhuvah-svah-maha-jana-tapa-satya. But where the crude, subtle and causal worlds are used as a short form of the seven lokas then only bhúrbhuvah-svah, the names of these three lokas are used; for them the word mahávyáhrti [supreme utterance] used to be used. They are not a portion or a part of the original Rgvedic “Savitr Rk”. For purposes of practice the pronunciation of the “Savitr Rk” is:

(৺)oḿ bhúrbhuva-svah (৺)oḿ tatsaviturvareńyaḿ
Bhargo devasya dhiimahi
Dhiyo yo nah pracodayát (৺)oḿ.

By adding this mahávyáhrti the meaning of the “Savitr Rk” is strengthened. It was added for this reason. By adding the mahávyáhrti the meaning of the mantra becomes clearer. “In this bhúr-bhuvah-svah, that is, crude, subtle and causal worlds, we are meditating on the excellent effulgence of Savitá, or the father, so that he might guide our dhii, or intellect, to the path of truth.” Awakening the inspiration to get spiritual direction from Parama Puruśa with the help of this mantra is called “Vedic initiation”. Later on, when the person gets proper instructions in spiritual practice for moving on the spiritual path then that is called “Tantric initiation”.

The Rgveda was considered the chief Veda in ancient times, not only because of the value of its antiquity, but because Vedic initiation was more or less based on the “Savitr Rk” of the Rgveda, although as regards the adjustment between the spiritual world with the material world for a spiritual aspirant, the Yajurveda surpasses the Rgveda in importance. In terms of pronunciation and phonetics the Yajurveda is quite different from the Rgveda. The Yajurveda had closer contact with Tantra. And the Atharva was mixed with Tantra at nearly every step. At one time the orthodox priests declared the followers of the Atharvaveda to be socially outcast; they said atharvánnaḿ má bhuiṋjiitháh, that is, the food of the followers of the Atharvaveda should not be accepted.

Rktha

By adding the suffix thak to the verbal root rc we get the word rktha. The etymological meaning of the word rktha is “one who is praised by people repeatedly”. Colloquially rk means “transferable wealth” – “gold”. Gold is also a transferable, highly praiseworthy form of wealth. For this reason rktha also means “gold”. Pitrrktha means “paternal wealth”. The etymological meaning of rkthásiina is “one who is sitting on money”; its colloquial meaning is “one who possesses much wealth but does not engage in charity and meditation, who does not want to be generous even in regards to his own needs”. It is as if one had taken the vow: “hands closed forever, open-handed never, never, never.”

The word rkthásiina reminds me of a small anecdote. There was a certain Shethji [merchant] who suddenly started suffering severe stomach pains. At the time he was seated on his gaddi [cushion] (in business gaddi means “the establishment’s throne”). He called his scribe [munsii] and said: “Munsiji, my stomach aches terribly. Munsiji, mar gayo, mar gayo, mar gayo [dying, dying, dying]. ”

Munsiji replied: “Shethji, why are you saying: ‘Munsi, mar gayo’? I am not dying; you are dying. You should say: ‘Shethji, mar gayo, mar gayo, mar gayo’.”

The wealthy Shethji then said: “Munsiji, what should I take to get some relief from the pain?”

“Drink a bottle of soda water,” the Munsiji replied.

“How much will a bottle of soda-water cost?” asked the Shethji.

“Twenty-five paise,” replied the Munsiji.

“I won’t drink the bottle, just the soda-water,” said the Shethji. “How much will that cost, I mean if I don’t take the bottle?”

“It still costs twenty-five paise,” replied the Munsiji. “You have to return the bottle.”

“What if I pour the soda-water into a cup and drink it, what then? Then I hardly keep the bottle for even a second. Will it still be twenty-five paise?”

While the Shethji was discussing the price of the soda-water the pain in his stomach increased even more.

The Munsiji said: “Shethji, with the condition you’re in now you will have to call a doctor. The soda-water won’t do now.”

“If I call a doctor,” asked the Shethji, “how expensive will it be?”

“It costs ten rupees for the visit plus the cost of the medicine, let us say five rupees. Fifteen rupees, more or less.”

“How expensive will it be if I die?”

“Let me see. Four rupees for the wood, two rupees more for the pot, pitcher, rice and sesame, again two rupees for bamboo, rope and all that, about two rupees, let us say, for the burial ground assistant – about ten rupees in all. The bearers won’t take any additional fee.”

“So if we call the doctor,” the Shethji said, “it will cost about fifteen rupees. And if I die it will cost about ten rupees, which means a savings of five rupees. I’m a businessman. What I understand is profit, the rise and fall of prices, so Munsiji, please arrange it so that I die.”

What the Munsiji arranged after that, nobody knows. For such a type of Shethji we can easily use the word rkthásiina.

Rju

The meaning of the verbal root rńj is “to move straight ahead” or “to move with ever-accelerated speed”. By adding the suffix uku to rńj we get the word rju. The meaning of the word rju is “one who moves straight ahead” or “that which is straightforward”. If a room has a window in the eastern wall and directly across from it is a window in the western wall, then we say that the two windows are rju-rju. In many places in Bengal rju-rju is pronounced “roojoo-roojoo”. This is not a mistake. The Atharvavedic pronunciation of the letter r is “roo”. Thus it is not to be condemned if one writes rju-rju and pronounces it “roojoo-roojoo”. But there is no need to spell it ruju-ruju; it can be spelled rju-rju.

Rju path means “straight path”, one that does not bend right and left. In yogic sádhaná [spiritual practice] rju-márga also means suśumná-márga.⁽³⁾ Among the three principal nad́iis [psychic-energy channels], the suśumná is straight while the two on either side of it, the id́á and the piuṋgalá, curve right and left. Just as in practical life, a straight life, a rju life,⁽⁴⁾ is beneficial and leads to welfare, in spiritual life also the straight path is the path of welfare. This straight path is the suśumná márga. The curved motion of the id́á and the piuṋgalá cannot ultimately help the spiritual aspirant to move upwards. Sarahacharya, a Bengali poet of the Buddhist era, has written:

Ujure uju cháŕi má leu re báḿka;
Niaŕi bohi má jáu re láḿk.

[Do not leave the straight path and take the crooked one. When the pond is nearby why do you go far?]

Here uju means rju. Rju/ruju/uju. This verbal root rńj also used to be written with the long rr in ancient times, that is, both rrnj and rńj were correct.

Rńa

One meaning of the verbal root rńj is “to move with increasing speed”. Rńj/rrńj + kta gives us the word rńa. The etymological meaning of rńa is “that which entangles a person in net after net in each moment”; its colloquial meaning is “debt”. One who gives a loan is called uttamarńa (uttama + rńa) and one who takes a loan is called adhamarńa (adhama + rńa). In ancient times rńa used to be spelled with a long rr but both spellings are correct.

According to the scriptures there are four kinds of debts which cannot be paid back. They are: debt to one’s father, debt to one’s mother, debt to one’s ácárya and debt to one’s guru. The debt of affection that binds a person to his or her father as the source of his or her birth and as the person who rears them cannot be discharged. The saints and sages have said: “If one dedicates oneself to the welfare of every man on earth then the debt to one’s father can be paid back a little, but not completely. Similarly, if one dedicates oneself to the welfare of every woman on earth then one’s debt to one’s mother can be paid back a little, but not completely. If one tries without discrimination to bring knowledge to all human beings then one’s debt to one’s ácárya⁽⁵⁾ can be paid back a little, not completely. As regards one’s debt to guru, if one tries to propagate spiritual ideology amongst all people of the world then one can, to a very small extent (like a bubble in the sea), pay back one’s debt to the Tantra guru⁽⁶⁾ from whom one has received instructions in the path of spiritual sádhaná.” This debt is almost completely non-dischargeable. Bengal’s poet, Satyendranath, has written at the end of one of his poems:

Milaner mahámantre má nave diikśita kari dhiire;
Mukta haiba deva-rńe morá muktaveńiir tiire.

[I initiate humanity steadily into the great mantra for union with the Supreme; I will free myself from my debt to the guru and attain salvation by the bank of the river of liberation. ]

Rta

The meaning of the verbal root r is “to move rhythmically”, “to advance without resistance”. By adding the suffix kta to r we get the word rta. Rta means “influential”, “enriching”, “revealing the fact”, “truth”. That over which the influence of vyathá [pain] has spread is vyathá + rta = vyathárta. That over which the influence of shoka [grief] has spread is shoka + rta = shokárta. That over which the influence of vanyá [flood] has spread is vanyá + rta = vanyárta.

In the opinion of the yogic scriptures there is an ideological difference between rta and satya. That which is a fact, which has happened or happens, is called rta. And the ideation used for the welfare of the people is called satya. Parahitárthaḿ váunmanaso yathárthatvaḿ satyam. “Using one’s mind or speech out of a spirit of welfare for others is satya.” It is said that one should take the shelter of satya, not rta. If a person takes shelter in your house out of fear of a wicked person and afterwards that wicked person comes up to you and asks: “Is that fellow here?”, in that case, an innocent person’s life is endangered. Here, if one is to follow satya then one will have to say: “No, he is not here.” In this way an innocent person will be saved from being murdered or tortured at the hands of a wicked person.

If, by dint of sádhaná, a person can elevate his or her unit existence and bring the crude, or conscious mind to the level of the subtle, or subconscious mind, and thereafter, going even higher, elevate the subtle or subconscious mind to the level of the causal, or unconscious mind, then in that condition the person gains full awareness of the past, present and future. This experience or realization in the path of sádhaná comprises a state similar to the stance of the supreme attainment of intuition. About this state it has been said: rtambhará tatra prajiṋá.⁽⁷⁾ I have just said that this state is very close to the state of supreme thought, supreme ideation. In this supreme state all mind, all consciousness, is merged in the Supreme Cognitive Force [Citishakti]. They become one. This state is the supreme attainment, the supreme stage, or unbounded conciousness.

Rta is spelled correctly with a short r, but both short r and long rr were used to spell naerta [southwest], that is, both naerta and naerrta are correct. According to a old Puranic tale, Naerta was the name of a demon.

Rtu

By adding the suffix tu to the verbal root r we get the word rtu. Generally, words derived with the suffix tu are masculine. The import of the word rtu is “one who comes in one’s own rhythmic motion, in one’s self-rhythm, whether others want it or not”. Thus the etymological meaning of the word rtu is “any characteristic division of time”, whether it be age, year, season, month, fortnight, week, day, hour, minute or second. But colloquially, rtu means “that measure of time which is distinguished by specific characteristics” such as griiśma rtu [summer season], varśá rtu [rainy season], and so forth. Generally, in the equatorial and tropical regions of the earth one rtu [season] is two months.

Rśi

The verbal root rś has many meanings, one of which is “to rise upwards”. This verbal root rś is used for moving up from one floor of a house to one above it. By adding the suffix in to the verbal root rś we get the word rśi whose etymological meaning is “one who rises upwards”; its colloquial meaning is “a person of elevated mind, elevated intellect, elevated thought”. Although the feminine form of the word rśi is rśyá, the word rśi can also be used as common gender. That is, a woman can be called rśi just as a man can. And rśyá can also be used. Persons of elevated consciousness have been called rśi since Rgvedic times.

Just as every mantra is composed in a certain metre, and just as most of the mantras address Parama Puruśa with a special name, similarly each mantra had its draśt́á-rśi [seer-rśi]⁽⁸⁾ who, after realizing the truth in his or her sádhaná, or meditation and concentration, would then teach it orally to his or her disciples.

Since the Rgvedic age, rśis have been mainly divided into four categories: maharśi, devarśi, rájarśi and brahmarśi. Those persons who executed their worldly duties as required and at the same time cultivated meditation, concentration, sádhaná, philosophy (árańyak and upaniśad) and so on in search of a higher world, and having attained perfection in that spiritual path, would do service to the world, were called maharśi (for example, Maharśi Vishvámitra).

Those who, having taken birth in the race of devas (Nordic, Alpine and Mediterranean sub-races and the Caucasian race), had established themselves in spiritual consciousness through sádhaná, were called devarśi (for example, Devarśi Nárada).

Those who had to take care of great social responsibilities (such as a king) but at the same time were able to saturate the urges of their heart and their intellect with spiritual consciousness were called rájarśi (for example, Rájarśi Janaka).⁽⁹⁾

Those who infused their existence with a current of spiritual inspiration throughout their lives were called brahmarśi (for example, Brahmarśi Kańva, Brahmarśi Atharva).

During the time of the Atharvaveda, its propounder or originator (in the Vedic language ádarsha puruśa), Atharvá, was honoured as brahmarśi. A number of rśis were revered as maharśi, some of whom deserve special mention. They were Maharśis Atri, Aungirá, Aungirasa, Pulaha, Pulasta, Satyaváha, Vashiśt́ha and Vaedarbhi. Those who believe that the Vedas were composed entirely outside of India cannot go unopposed. At least not in the case of the Atharvaveda. There is clear proof that the rśi named Vaedarbhi was a man of Vidarbha, that is, the Nagpur-Amaravatii region. It is hard to imagine Maharśi Vaedarbhi travelling all the way to Central Asia and staying there to compose the Atharvaveda. On the other hand it may well be that the entire Atharvaveda was not composed in India. Maharśi Atharvá was the ádarsha puruśa of the Atharvaveda. He was also respected as an elderly person. Even today we say about very aged people: “He has become Atharvá.”

Bear in mind that rśi and muni are not the same thing. I have already said quite a lot about rśi. The word muni has two primary meanings. One meaning of muni is “contemplative entity”, or “intellectual”. The second meaning of muni is “one who has dissolved one’s mind into Parama Puruśa”. Na munirdugdhabálakah munih saḿliinamánasah. (Muni does not mean “small child”; muni is one who has merged his or her mind in the Macrocosmic mind.)

Rkśa

Another meaning of the verbal root rś is “to scratch”, “to bite”, “to cut into pieces”. By adding the suffix sa to the verbal root rś we get the word rkśa. Its colloquial meaning is “bear”. If we climb a mountain which is bare, or bereft of plants and trees, and full of stones, then we will scratch and cut our hands and feet. Thus another colloquial meaning of rkśa is “mountain”. If any particular country is cut and bitten until it sheds blood and is forced to the brink of destruction, then we can say about that country: “At one time this was a golden land but nowadays it is destitute, ruined, rkśa.” It is only fitting that every righteous person in the world make efforts to increase the wealth of the world’s rkśa countries.

Footnotes

(1) The alluvial land of the Yamuna is a little blackish in colour and the alluvial land of the Ganges is yellowish.

(2) Krśńadvaepáyańa means “coming from a black island” – Trans.

(3) The central nad́ii or psychic-energy channel through which the kulakuńd́alinii passes. –Trans.

(4) Yá buddhih shreyaskárińii sá buddhih muktidáyińii [“The beneficial intellect which runs after the Divine bestows liberation”]. Its reverse is Yá buddhih preyaskámińii sá buddhih práńaghátinii [“The intellect which runs after mundane pleasure is harmful”].

(5) Colloquially, one who taught the alphabet, phonetics, understanding of sound, and etymology used to be called ácárya; etymologically, ácárya meant “one who teaches others rightly through the medium of their own conduct” – Ácarańát pát́hayati ya sa ácáryah [“One who teaches by one’s exemplary conduct is an ácárya”].

(6) A Tantra guru also used to be called a kulaguru. The sádhaná in which the kulakuńd́alinii is raised and which establishes a person in the knowledge of Brahma was called kulasádhaná or kaolasádhaná. One who taught this kulasádhaná or kaolasádhaná was the kulaguru. In this case kulaguru does not mean “family preceptor”.

(7) “At that point there is omniscience.” This comes from Patanjali’s Yoga Sútra. –Trans.

(8) Originally there was no alphabet. Since there was no script, one did not say lekhaka-rśi [writer-sage] but rather draśt́á-rśi, that is, “that rśi who has seen the truth in his or her meditation”.

(9) Hrdá maniisá manasá bhiklrptah [“saturating the heart and mind in consciousness”].

Chapter 6	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Eka

The word eka is derived by adding the suffix kan to the verbal root in. The meaning of the verbal root in is “to advance obliquely or tapering to a point, while moving quickly”. Tiryak → tirachaa → teracha → tirachá / terachá / terechá. Where multiple ideas or propensities or purposes become pointed like a needle, become centered in a point, while moving in rapid step, then the verbal root in is used for that style of moving. That is, the etymological meaning of the verbal root in is “to become pointed”, “to arrive at a single point after abandoning multiplicity”. Thus the verbal root in implies leading the many forward on the path of synthesis. By adding the suffix kan to this verbal root in we get the word eka. The etymological meaning of the word eka is “the point of a needle”. Since the point of a needle cannot be many, cannot be two-three-four-five, its colloquial meaning is “one”.

This word eka, derived from the verbal root in, is originally Rgvedic. In this world there are a great many languages descended from Vedic. Latin and its European descendants are all Vedic. The northern languages of Central Asia are descended from Vedic. The languages of south and southeast Asia are either descended from Vedic or have vocabularies which are rich in Vedic words. From the Rgvedic word eka we get the old Persian word iyak which carries the same meaning. From this word iyak, in later times, comes the word ik in several languages, and from the numerical adjective ik we get the words ikái, ikká and so on.

There are many words used in Vedic which come from eka such as ekadá, ekaka, ekákii, and many others. Eka + ka = ekaka [solitary] which means “where work and business are centered on one”. Ekákii [alone] means “absence of multiplicity”. Ekadá means “once upon a time”. By adding the suffix dác to the root eka in the nominal inflection we get this word ekadá which means “at one certain time”. By adding the suffix dhác to the root eka we get the word ekadhá which means “to flow in a single stream” or “to proceed with a single inspiration”. The suffix dác is generally used to signify “temporal succession” and the suffix dhác “continuity”. Shatadhá [hundredfold] means “to be carried in the flow of shata [one hundred];” similarly, bahudhá [in many ways] means “to advance in the flow of bahu [many].” I wanted to explain the meaning of a few words derived from eka.

Roughly speaking, the languages descended from Vedic include the majority of the European languages, the Middle-East’s Turkish language, Armenian, Farsi, Uzbeki, Tazaki, Kazaki, Pashtu, Kashmiri, Pahari or Pahari Punjabi, Dogri, Punjabi, Sindhi, Multani, Hariyanwi, Hindustani, Marwari, Dhundharu, Miwati, Haraoti, Mewari, Malwi, Kacchi, Kathiawari, Gujrati, Marathi, Khandeshi, Niwari, Barari, Konkani, Garhwali, Kumayuni, Brajabhasa, Awadhi, Bundeli, Bagheli, Chattisgari, Halwi, Bhojpuri, Magahi, Nagpuri or Sadri or Sadani, Sambalpuri, Oriya, Bengali, Singhali, Angika, Maethilii, Gorkhali (Nepali) and Assamese.

Besides the languages descended from Vedic, there are many languages in the world which are not Vedic in origin but which contain a great number of Vedic Sanskrit words. In some cases the number is greater than that of some Vedic descendants. For example, among the Dravidian languages (drámil → drávil → dráviŕ → támil), the proportion of Sanskrit words in Malayalam is greater than that of the pure Vedic language Kashmiri. There is also a great abundance of Sanskrit words in Telugu and Kannad. In both the Thai and Indonesian languages, there is such an abundance of Sanskrit words that it exceeds that of Pashtu,⁽¹⁾ a direct descendant. Those languages which are not descendants of Vedic or Sanskrit, but which contain a great abundance of Sanskrit or Vedic words, we can call snigdha tadbhava [adopted descendants]. Each member of the Malay group of languages of southeast Asia (Malay, Sumatran, Balian, Javan, Tagalog, etc.) is an “adopted descendant”. The amount of adopted descent among the Indo-Burman languages is not equal in each case; the greatest affinity to Vedic among these languages is found in the Thai language (Siamese). There is no other language existing outside of India that has such a large Vedic and Sanskrit vocabulary.

Although there is some small Chinese influence in the pronunciation of the Siamese language and dialects, the influence of the Gaod́iiya (Bengali) style of Sanskrit pronunciation is significantly greater. The reason for this is most likely because a prince of Rarh, Sahasrabahu, founded his kingdom there in ancient times. After conquering parts of Thailand and Malaysia, he annexed them into his own kingdom and named his capital Singhapur (Singapore) after the capital of Rarh.⁽²⁾ Since the country was always shyámala [green] he named it Shyámadesh. In recent times the name of Shyámadesh has been changed, of course, but the word shyáma⁽³⁾ is still quite current in the people’s daily life there.

Anyhow, Sahasrabahu’s conquest of Siam took place approximately two thousand years ago. While staying in Thailand this fact especially attracted this writer’s ear. Many words that were used in the Bengali of that time (Eastern Demi-Mágadhii) still survive today in their original form in the Thai language. As a final word I will add that without the proper cultivation of the Sanskrit language, it is impossible, not only in the field of the science of language, but also in the world of psychic expression, to be considered a true scholar or learned person. The cultivation and teaching of Sanskrit is indispensable in the world of education. And although it is a little off the subject, it is good to mention here that as far as race or community or nation goes, while the Bengalees are Austrico-Mongolo-Negroid with little Aryan influence, the Bengali language is of pure Sanskrit lineage.

Ekarśi

Ekarśi. Eka + rśi = ekarśi. Ekarśi is the name of a kind of fire which was considered very sacred by ancient people. In the Vedas it is written:

Vrátyastvaḿ práńasya rśirattá vishvasya satpatih;
Vayamádyasya dátárah pitá tvaḿ mátarishva nah.

In the Atharvaveda, the word Práńa is frequently used for Parama Puruśa. For Paramá Prakrti the words Rayi, Rayá and Raye are used. In this shloka it is said, “O Práńa, O Parama Puruśa, You are a high, great object, as sacred as the ekarśi fire. Conversely, You are a very ordinary object like any other object. This universe is finally dissolved in You.” (Attá means “eater, devourer”.) “O Parama Puruśa, we offer ghee and many other objects for Your satisfaction. You are the very dynamism, the mobility, inherent in the existence of all entities.”

In prehistoric days, human beings did not know about fire. Prehistoric human beings used to live on fruits, roots, tender green leaves and raw meat. Those places where the Aryans used to live were also teeming with white bears, wolves and other animals. The Aryans would fall prey to attacks by these animals, but they also used to kill them with the help of their stone weapons. The raw meat of the animals they killed, especially the liver, spleen and heart, was their favourite food.

They knew neither how to light a fire, nor the use of fire. Out of fear and devotion they used to venerate Agni [fire-god] as their deity. They used to be afraid of lightening and believed that when the earth shook it was because it was afraid of lightening, that the earth was terrified. Indra, the king of this lightening was the absolute authority, so he was the best of all. One root meaning of the word indra is “best”. To them Indra deserved worship. The god of snow-storms, Marut [the wind], was another venerable entity to them. The huge waves of the sea brought terror to their minds, thus Varuńa, the god of the sea, was another of their chief deities. Agni, Marut, Indra, Varuńa and the rest stood out before these prehistoric humans as their chief gods. Behind these powerful, mighty, variously-manifest entities was another solitary entity. Those who searched for Him were the rśis of that initial era. With this search the first dawn of the Vedas filled humanity’s eastern cultural horizon with its crimson light.

The days passed. A few thousand years went by. They used to wear animal skins, not to cover their shame, but rather to save themselves from the cold’s fierce grip (for this they used the verbal root úrńu). Such was the condition of the humans of those days. Language was still undeveloped and they had yet to discover script, but they used to band together and live in mountain caves, and they used bone and stone implements. With the help of these implements they would draw pictures depicting their prehistoric thinking and experiences. These were the oldest examples of their art.

Time continued its inexorable march. Human beings discovered fire. The discovery of fire, or better to say, the invention of fire, marked the most significant day in human history. After the invention of fire, people began to use it. It took a few more centuries to refine the uses of fire. Gradually, people learned to use fire properly. They learned to eat roasted meat instead of raw meat and to make other kinds of food much tastier by partially cooking them.⁽⁴⁾ They learned the use of salt. Earlier they used to satisfy their bodies’ need for salt by licking salty earth. Ultimately, with the help of fire and other means, they were able to produce salt and learned how to use it.

We can look at this special stage of human civilization as the time when prehistoric humans stepped into the periphery and power of history. After the terrifying night of their dark caves, the first dawn of optimism started to peep over their eastern horizon. The crimson dawn was another of their gods.

This first moment of the invention of fire distinguished human beings as the greatest of living creatures. Through the use of fire, sky-kissing civilizations were built that could give everything to humankind – everything, that is, except life’s deeper beatitude. One of the contributions civilization did make was to give humans an engulfing, domineering pride over all life. This pride may one day tumble them from the highest peaks down to the ground and turn them into dust.

Fire is indispensable. Humans cannot survive without fire. Metallurgy, and the manufacture of wheels, vehicles, weapons, agricultural tools and weaving machines, are all by the grace of fire. It is not an easy task to prepare fire. In the initial stage, they produced fire through the frictional heat of rubbing two pieces of flint together. Fire could not be kept by just anybody. A few rśis [sages] were designated to keep fire.

In those days, people lived mainly in the forests, constructing shelters in tall trees in imitation of birds’ nests, or in mountain caves. Gotra [which also came to mean “clan”] was the Vedic word for both “mountain” and “large forest”.

In the beginning, a head woman would be the leader of each gotra. She was the gotramátá [matriarch]. Later came the age of male dominance. The head of the gotra would then be a male rśi. His followers took pride in the rśi, who was designated to keep the fire. That fire-keeping sage was called a ságnik or ágnihotrii. He would worship fire as a holy god. He would offer sumptuous foods into the fire for the satisfaction of Ágni, the fire-god. This was called havana. The general term for these offerings and sacrifices was yajiṋa. The word yajiṋa (yaj + na) means “action”, a special type of action, an auspicious action. The root verb yaj means “to do a work”. Yaj + ghaiṋ = yága. When a ságnik fell ill or was absent, his patnii [wife] or son would protect the fire and provide it fuel. In this connection, I would like to discuss something about the meaning of the term patnii.

Prior to Lord Shiva, there was no institution of marriage in human society. As fathers and mothers were not bound by the ties of duty, the innocent children suffered tremendous hardship. The mothers had to bear a great burden as they had to shoulder the entire responsibility of rearing the children. The result was that the women’s progress in different spheres of life was thwarted. Shiva, through the application of logic and strength, forced husbands and wives into a social bond. That was the first time social marriage took place in this world. The system that Shiva introduced has continued in different ways throughout the world into the modern age.

After Shiva’s time, opportunistic men divided the social status of women into various categories. We can roughly analyse the following levels:

Patnii: A patnii enjoyed equal religious and social rights as her husband.⁽⁵⁾ Her children were entitled to all religious and social rights as their inheritance.

Jáyá: A jáyá was deprived of the religious rights, but was entitled to the social rights of her husband. Her children were entitled to the religious and social rights of their father.

Bháryá: A bháryá was not allowed any of the religious or social rights of her husband. But as the marriage was recognized, her children were entitled to the religious and social rights of their father. A bháryá was married only to perpetuate the lineage, not to give the woman dignity. That’s why it was declared: Puttrárthe kriyate bháryá [“A bháryá is taken on only for the sake of male children”].

Kalatra: Some time before the Buddhist age, the system of kalatra was introduced, but it did not receive encouragement in the Buddhist period. It remained in an obscure form, but later gained ascendancy in the post-Buddhist age. In this husband-wife relationship, the wife did not enjoy the religious and social rights of her husband. The children were also denied any of the paternal religious or social rights; they inherited their mother’s gotra, caste and social rights according to the system of anuloma and pratiloma.⁽⁶⁾ For instance, if the father was a Vipra, an “intellectual”, and the mother a Shúdra, their child did not receive its father’s caste; that is, the child was not a Vipra, but was put into the caste of its mother, that is, was treated as a Shúdra. Or suppose the father belonged to the Bharadváj Gotra. His child did not necessarily belong to the Bharadváj Gotra. For instance, if the mother’s gotra was Káshyapa, then her child belonged to the Káshyapa Gotra. If, furthermore, the marriage was not socially recognized, the children were not entitled even to their mother’s gotra and caste. They were vrátya [outcaste].

The word vrátya occurs in the shloka in the earlier part of this essay. That is, in the period when this shloka was composed there was a rejected fifth caste suggested by this word vrátya.

Although kalatra means “wife”, it is neuter gender. It will not be declined as kalatrah or kalatrá but as kalatram. (Yad bharttureva hitamicchati tad kalatram [“One who wishes the welfare of her husband is kalatra”].)

(Similarly, the word dára means “wife”, but it is in masculine gender and plural number. So its declension will be like that of nara [“man”]. That is why when it is declined in the first case, it will always be dárá. When it is used in a sentence, dára is changed into dárá. But as the original word is dára, the Sanskrit expression is dára parigraha [“to take a wife”], not dárá parigraha when used in the sense of a man’s marriage. A widower will be called mrtadára, not mrtadárá, a bachelor is akrtadára and not akrtadárá.)

Needless to say, as the children of kalatras were not entitled to paternal religious and social rights, they were not permitted to keep fire either. If a kalatra marriage was socially recognized, the children were entitled to the maternal religious and social rights. Only if their mother was permitted to keep fire did her children inherit the right to keep fire.

Niyoga custom: When the kuliina [high born] system abruptly burst forth like a meteor or comet, cursing the whole society, its corollary, niyoga, spontaneously burgeoned.⁽⁷⁾

It was extremely difficult for the kuliinas who married so many women to maintain them all with food and clothes. Some of the wives stayed in their husband’s house and the rest of the wives would remain in their fathers’ houses. In many cases, even though a child of a kuliina wife was recognized as the legitimate child of its mother’s lawful husband, usually it was the offspring of a socially unrecognized mate of the wife. These socially unrecognized mates were called niyoga pati [niyoga husband]. The children would call that particular man niyoga pitá [niyoga father], and the children were niyoga putra [niyoga sons]. The Pandava brothers of the Mahábhárata were the niyoga putras of different fathers. Society somewhat accepted this system. Although the children inherited the gotra and caste of their mother’s legitimate husband, or even his social and religious rights, they did not inherit the natural inheritable qualities of their fathers, as there was no blood relation between the husband and the niyoga putras. In this niyoga system, the number of kuliinas increased by leaps and bounds, but the standard of quality could not be kept. The inevitable result of this ugly system was that the intellectual level of the kuliinas gradually declined. The children of the niyoga pitá could inherit the social and religious rights of their socially-accepted father, but were not authorized from the paternal side to keep fire. Most of them were not born or brought up in the paternal home, rather they would stay with their maternal uncles.

Pratiloma: In the cases where the father was of an upper caste and the mother was of a lower caste, the offspring born under such an anuloma system were entitled to their father’s gotra and caste but not his religious and social rights. (This was the case in the patriarchal social system. But in the matrilineal social system the children would inherit the mother’s gotra, caste and social and religious rights.)

But if the marriage took place under the pratiloma system, the children were only entitled to their father’s gotra, but not his caste nor any other rights whatsoever. Nor were they entitled to their mother’s gotra, caste, or social and religious rights. Hundreds of castes and sub-castes were created due to the children born out of this socially-unacceptable pratiloma system.

In Bengal also, many small castes and communities were created, and they exist to this day. Needless to say, none of these castes had the right to keep fire.

You can easily understand from these events and various marriage systems that women were merely playthings in the hands of a group of opportunistic, capricious men. Today their position has changed on paper, but the actual position remains virtually the same as before. People guided by righteous intellect should be vocal against these ugly customs and injustices to women. Further, they should work to abolish these things without any more delay. The path which Lord Shiva showed for social emancipation should be adhered to by His followers. The path should be made wider, paved well, and made easily accessible, instead of making it more thorny.

What I have said about the preservation of the sacred fire was the norm but there were some few exceptions. There were even some rśis who did the various works for preserving the fire by themselves such as the fire rituals, feeding it with wood and so on. They did not even take the help of their sons and wives. A fire that was preserved and tended by one such rśi was known as ekarśi. An ekarśi fire was considered extremely holy. The shloka which was quoted at the beginning refers to Parama Puruśa as being as ordinary as an outcaste and also as holy an entity as an ekarśi fire, that is, He is the best of the best and the commonest of the common, the supreme of the supreme and the lowest point among all low points.

In ancient times there was the custom of interring a person after death or floating the body on water. After the discovery and invention of fire people considered it proper to burn the dead body. Thus in the pre-Vedic and at the beginning of the Vedic era the prevalent custom was to bury the body. In later times, much later times, the system of cremation came into vogue. When the system of cremation became common people used to think: This rśi who tended, preserved and meticulously served the fire throughout his life with the help of orally-pronounced mantras will no longer preserve the fire with the help of those mantras. Thus, at the time of offering his dead body to the fire, the ekarśi fire should first touch his mouth one last time; then let the burning grass or hay consume the rest of him. This custom of touching the mouth with the ekarśi fire gradually became transformed into a social tradition. Those who did not maintain the ekarśi fire also had fire put into their mouths. The rule was even introduced for those who had nothing to do with the fire at all. What was tradition became a compulsory social observation.

When superstition entangles a person it likes to tie him up thoroughly, step by step. This fire-in-the-mouth ritual became one such type of thing. The priestly tradition also devised a new mantra to accompany this putting of fire in the mouth; this mantra has no relationship with the ekarśi fire of ancient times. I do not even like to think about the abominable way we put fire in the mouth of our recently departed loved ones at the time of performing their funeral rites. The mantra also is also unusual. The common people either do not understand the mantra or recite it out of fear; it bears no relationship whatsoever to the original ekarśi fire.

The mantra goes like this:

Krtvá tu duśkrtaḿ karma jánatá vápyajánatá;
Mrtyukálavashaḿ prápya naraḿ paiṋcatvamágatam.
Dharmádharmasamáyuktaḿ lobhamohasamávrtam;
Daheyaḿ sarvagátráńi divyán lokán sah gacchatu.

That is: “This deceased being may have committed bad actions, knowingly or unknowingly. Today he has been swallowed by death; today he has reached the state of dissolution into the five elements. In him was righteousness and unrighteousness. He was enveloped by greed and attachment. Now let his entire body be consumed by the fire. May he go to heaven.” Anyhow, whoever likes it, let them recite it, but superstition-free human beings act with due reflection and thought.

At one time people supported the inhumanness and cruelty or irrationality behind the practice of sati by using the scriptures as a pretext. Later it was seen that that scriptural support was not authentic. Wise and learned men should think carefully just how far this practice of putting fire in the mouth is desirable. This practice may not be as terrible as sati, but that it is an abominable practice there is little room for doubt.

The ekarśi fire that was put into the mouth of the munis was the fire that they themselves preserved. Today the fire that is put in the mouth is the fire that is produced from a match (deshlái).⁽⁸⁾ Is this not a mockery of history?

Women were considered unfit to maintain the fire; then why should fire be put in their mouths? This is yet another glaring example of illogic. Anyhow, I talk about it to bring it to the attention of all people of developed wisdom and intellect.

Ekaváhana

The word váhana means “that which, by riding, one goes from one place to another”, in English “vehicle”. There was an ancient conception that the gods and goddesses used certain animals as vehicles. Of course, in those days there were no planes or trains or rockets. If we take the case of a person using a vehicle – let us say a thousand people are riding the train from Calcutta to Delhi – these one thousand people will be called one another’s ekaváhana (co-passengers).

Ekaváda

[The following section was also printed separately as “The Science of Instrumental Music Has Multifarious Expressions” in Saḿgiita: Song, Dance and Instrumental Music. This is the Saḿgiita: Song, Dance and Instrumental Music, 1st edition, version.]

Eka + vad + ghaiṋ. That musical instrument which produces sound in harmony (mutually related notes of the scale) is called ekaváda. Among the musical instruments familiar to us, the harmonium and the tamboura fall into this category. Among insects and animals, the cricket, owl, frog and jackal follow to some extent this same system [producing sound in harmony]. The donkey, cuckoo and Indian nightingale follow it to a limited degree. The sitar or esraj do not fall into the category of ekaváda. Some people think that ekaváda means ekatárá [a one-stringed instrument]. No, the Sanskrit word for ekatárá is samaváda, not ekaváda.

The subject of ekaváda brings back a forgotten memory. At that time myself and Prasenjit used to go to the hills every evening to practise the esraj [four-stringed bowed instrument]. The esraj belonged to Prasenjit. I was trying to see if the esraj could be played as an ekaváda or not; and, if it could, how would it effect the surasaptaka [musical octave]? In what measure would it produce major and minor notes? Things sound very different under ordinary conditions and ekaváda conditions.

Every evening, after we had been practising for a little while, we seemed to be hearing someone playing an unknown rágińii [musical tunes] on an unknown instrument coming from the distant hills. Both of us would listen for some time. We couldn’t see anyone. Sometimes we would think that we were hearing the echoes of our esraj but after a few moments we would realize our mistake because how could the echoes of the esraj last so long? And moreover what we were playing was not the rágińii we were hearing in the echo. But there was no instrumentalist, no instrument that we could see anywhere. After spending some time in that astonishing environment, we would again come down from the hills. When we would get down to the plain at the bottom, that music would disappear over the horizon.

On this particular day it had gotten quite late. Why Prasenjit hadn’t come I didn’t know. Normally he would come first and I would come later.

I was sitting there alone when that intoxicating melody, that rapturous sound, came floating over the forest of shál [Shorea robusta] and palásh [Butea monosperma] trees. I thought to myself: As long as Prasenjit is not here, nor his esraj, why don’t I go on ahead a bit and look for that unknown, unfamiliar instrumentalist.

I started climbing. The moon had come out and everything was clearly visible. After the hill where I was there was a huge, uneven plateau filled with pebbles and broken stones and a catechu jungle. A few jackals sitting under a plum tree eating plums fled when they saw me coming. A little further on I saw three or four hyenas (gobághá, háṋŕol, tarakśu) sitting quietly; when they saw me they first tried to guess whether I was their friend or foe. After they saw that I wasn’t moving in their direction they continued sitting where they were. A bárshiuṋga deer appeared, running swiftly from north to south; perhaps a tiger had been chasing him.

I went ahead, on and on and on. The melody came in waves, sometimes clear and sometimes faint, sometimes close and sometimes far, very far. A little farther on I came to a small piyáshál (piyál – a kind of shál) jungle; the shál flowers were then in blossom, full of intoxicating nectar.

The music grew even clearer. Everything was glittering in the moonlight. I went ahead. The sound now seemed to be quite near. I came to a palásh jungle and started reciting a poem to myself:

Kiḿshuk bane áji nirjane ke tumi viińá bájáo
Dekhá dáo more dekhá dáo.
Aḿshuk-sama ujjval mane mádhurii chaŕiye jáo.
Cáoná to tumi kichu kakhano, hayto neiko prayojan kono
Bháver atiite vijane nibhrte e kii váńii shońáo
Ámár maner rikta nilaye, dhará deve ki ná-bale, ná-kaye
Jyotsná-snáta prayáta pradośe asiimer gán gáo.⁽⁹⁾

[Who are you, playing the viińá today, alone in the kiḿshuk forest?
Show yourself to me, show yourself.
Scatter the radiant, moon-like sweetness of your mind.
You never want anything, perhaps you have no need of anything.
What a message you play, beyond thought, in this lonely, solitary place.
In this empty abode of my mind, will you let me catch you without speaking?
Sing the song of endlessness in this late evening bathed in moonlight.]

The blooming flowers of the palásh trees looked as if they were lit with fire. In the middle of the jungle, in a place where the trees were sparser, I saw a young man about my age, nineteen or twenty, seated on a mound. His body was like a motion picture, a play of light and shadow. His face was bright and he was wearing an ornament in his ear and glittering bangles around his wrists. In his hands was a stringed instrument and he was playing according to his inspiration. When I approached he stopped playing, stood up and said to me in Sanskrit: “I’ve been waiting for you – for ma-a-a-ny days now.”

“Yes, I’ve often heard you play,” I replied. “What is that instrument you have?”

“It’s an ancient viińá, viiń in the spoken language. Seven or seven and a half thousand years ago this was the only musical instrument in the world. When Shiva first started his musical sadhana then he had to do it with this viińá. Can you tell me how long ago that was?”

“That was 7500 years ago,” I replied.

“Yes, I also guess it to be the same. I’ve been playing this viińá for the last 7500 years. For a long time I’ve had the desire to play once for you. This viińá is a quite simple stringed instrument. You must have heard its harmonies.”

“Certainly,” I replied.

“Over time,” he continued, “this viińá changed into different kinds of viińás and viińs, the sitar, esraj, tamboura, violin and so many others. Some of them had frets and others not. Just think of it! Shiva had to make practically superhuman efforts with this primitive viińá. He had to invent the scale. He had to string his instrument very carefully to get the proper sound. It was Shiva who made the rágas and rágińiis. He introduced soul-stirring modulation into them. He felt the need for musical metre – without metre and tempo there could be no song. To maintain the rhythm he invented the horn and the d́ambaru [a small drum shaped like an hourglass]. In the post-Shiva, Vedic era this tabor and horn took the form of the mrdauṋga. That was during the end of the Yajurvedic era and the beginning of the Atharvavedic era. From the original mrdauṋga developed in later times the Benares mrdauṋga and the Bengal mrdauṋga or khola (the Vaeśńavas also sometimes call it shriikhola). The mrdauṋga and khola, however, are not identical, so their sound is also not the same.

“Our tabla is a metamorphosed form of this mrdauṋga. Some people believe that the tabla came from Persia but this is not the case; the tabla originated in this country. From Persia we have gotten the sitar and the gazal, from Turkey, hává-gazal. Although the viiń originated in this country and has been here since the time of Shiva, we have gotten its descendant, the violin, from Italy. This viiń that I am holding fell out of use nearly six thousand years ago. I was thinking that I should play it for you, so I’ve been sitting here, day after day, night after night, playing it. I haven’t slept but neither my body nor my mind has become tired. I am a sound wave, the musical modulation in the minds of human beings.”

“I wasn’t able to hear the entire melody of the piece you were playing,” I said. “If it’s okay with you would you play once more?”

“Why just once? I’ll play a hundred times! The only reason I came to this shál-palásh forest was to play for you.”

He started to play. His fingers were remarkable, the way they danced over the strings. After he stopped I asked: “Was that the very ancient sindhubhaeravii that has disappeared?”

“You are quite correct. That was sindhubhaeravii.”

“Now I must go.”

“Okay. I’ll accompany you to the edge of the mountains.”

I started heading back with that extraordinary genius by my side. After a little way I stopped and asked: “Those luminous bodies⁽¹⁰⁾ who used to cultivate music were called gandharva. Those who used to cultivate various things in subtler spheres were called vidyádhara and those who were skilled in dressing or enamoured of beauty were called kinnara. Which of the three are you?”

He kept quiet. The luminous face of his luminous body glittered even brighter as he smiled and remained silent.

I kept on walking with him alongside me, that original viiń still in his hands.

“Do you know?” he said. “The world of music today is like a person without a proper guru or proper training. People want to show they can play without having paid their dues. They are selling themselves for gold without realizing that the real value of music is being lost thereby. Gold is becoming even cheaper than glass. Whenever a rágińii is a little difficult they only show that they can play the notes without going deep into the music. There is no way of doing this with sindhubhaeravii, the same with múltánii vasanta (not vasantabáhár), so you no longer hear either one of them.”

“You are right,” I replied. “I don’t hear anyone play sindhubhaeravii, nor múltáni vasanta any longer. I have heard one or two pieces going by the name of sindhubhaeravii. One or two songs also. But judging by the scale I could see that they were not sindhubhaeravii. They were different local styles of darvárii.”

“Right you are, quite right. That’s just what I wanted to say. You must have noticed that in sindhubhaeravii one must pay special attention to ascending and descending in the scale. Since such profound attention makes it difficult to articulate the notes, singers nowadays don’t want to take the risk.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Quite right.”

“It would be great if you would compose a song in pure sindhubhaeravii.”

“If I have sufficient time and capacity then I will try but I cannot give my word on it; I love music, you see, but I am not well-versed in it. Now, you didn’t tell me whether you were a ghandarva, vidyádhara or kinnara, but I can tell that you are one of them because you have a light-body.”

He smiled even more and said: “I am none of these three.”

“Where do you live? Do you live in this palásh forest?”

“I don’t live in the forest, I live in the mind. I’ve been living in your mind for these past seven thousand years.”

We reached the end of the mountains. I looked at him and suddenly saw his body slowly begin to dissolve into the moonlight; as it did I heard the sound of music floating over the top of the palásh forest. This time it wasn’t sindhubhaeravii; it was meghamallára. From the northeast I noticed a wisp of cloud in the sky.⁽¹¹⁾

The next evening I went back to the hill and heard again the same sound wave floating to my ears. Prasenjit hadn’t shown up the day before; who knows why, but again today he hadn’t come. The reason for it I couldn’t fathom. He was not like that. Whenever he couldn’t come for some reason he would inform me the day before.

Suddenly I saw Prasenjit rapidly approaching, esraj in hand. I said in a half-laughing, half-annoyed tone of voice: “What’s the matter? Yesterday you didn’t come and today also you are late. This isn’t like you.”

“You really upset me yesterday,” he replied. “I thought perhaps that you might drop by our house today knowing how much you upset me, so I waited for you for some time before starting off. That’s why I’m late today.”

“What did I do to upset you yesterday? Can you give me the details?”

I smiled a little.

“Is it a laughing matter to cause pain to another person?” he replied.

“Then I’ll say it in all seriousness. What did I do to upset you?”

“First you showed up just when I was leaving with the esraj to come here. Why couldn’t you have come a little earlier? Why couldn’t you have informed me earlier that you were coming? What objection did you have to taking a snack at my house?”

I was astonished. I kept quiet.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked.

“Say what you have to say,” I replied. “List your complaints.”

“You came into my house,” he went on, “but you wouldn’t sit down anywhere, neither on the cot, nor on a chair, nor even on a mat. Is that proper, I ask you, to remain standing like that when you visit someone’s home.”

I kept quiet.

“So you still have nothing to say? No answer at all. What’s going on with you?”

Again, I held fast to my silence.

“You picked up the esraj and started playing a strange rágińii. I asked you its name many times but you wouldn’t answer. If you had told me while you were playing perhaps I could have picked it up. But you told me much later, after I could no longer remember what I had heard.”

“Do you remember what name I told you,” I asked.

“Certainly I remember,” he replied. “You told me its name was sindhubhaeravii, and that it was a 7000 year old rágińii which has been lost nowadays. There were also some Sanskrit songs composed at one time in this rágińii but these songs have also been lost. You said that one must pay special attention to ascending and descending in the scale in sindhubhaeravii and that most singers are not prepared to take such a risk; for that reason the real sindhubhaeravii has disappeared. It has mixed with the moonlight and fled into the unknown.”

“And what else made you get upset?”

“The way you left so suddenly; it seemed to me as if you too had gotten lost in the moonlight. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find you. I could only hear a vague melody floating in the air. It seemed to be meghamallár. And then a steady rain started falling.”

“Didn’t you get wet while you were walking home,” he asked.

“No, I didn’t get wet,” I replied.

I started listening attentively and Prasenjit as well, but that day we didn’t hear any rága or rágińii floating in from the shál-palásh forest.

I had listened to what Prasenjit had to say and it left me dumbfounded. I had no answer to give.

Where had that unknown player gone? Had he gotten himself lost in his own shál-palásh forest? Perhaps he really had gotten lost and with him the grandeur of so many unknown, unplayed, unsung melodies. Or perhaps he hadn’t gotten lost. Perhaps he was just waiting for the right persons capable of bringing to life again the world of melody, infusing it with the vital energy of the rágas and rágińiis.

Prasenjit and I climbed down from the hills. As we did an indistinct music seemed to start up, floating towards us from hidden recesses of the shál-palásh forest. I listened closely; it seemed as if someone was playing múltáni vasanta.

[end of section that was printed separately as “The Science of Instrumental Music Has Multifarious Expressions”]

Ekasharańa

The meaning of the verbal root shrr or shr (shar) is “to move while piercing something”, “to give shelter to someone”, “to get shelter”, “to deliver a blow”. Those who have one guru, one Iśt́a, one goal, or who are racing towards one shelter, are one-another’s ekasharańa.

Ekasarańa

Sarańa means “road”. All those people who move ahead while taking the same path, or a great procession which goes along a single path, or all those people who take part in all such processions, or all such processions, are called ekasarańa. The word ekasarańa can also be used for such a procession. Several persons are moving side by side along a single path. They are one-another’s ekasarańa. Another meaning of ekasarańa is “fellow traveller” – in Hindustani hamráhii.

Ekáuṋga

We get the word auṋga from the verbal root anj. The meaning of the verbal root anj is “of some portion going out or advancing from the original structure”. For this reason hands and feet and so forth are called the auṋga of the body. Thus, etymologically, one who has only one auṋga is ekáuṋga; its colloquial meaning is “the planet Mercury”.

In most cases planets are those heavenly bodies that revolve around stars, such as the earth, Mars, Mercury, Saturn and so on. When several or more stars collectively resemble a certain animal or some other figure, and if they rest within the orbit of the sun and moon or other planets of this solar system then they are called “constellation”(ráshi). A star or group of stars located in any of the portions of a constellation is called nakśatra. The smaller heavenly bodies that revolve around planets are called “satellites”, that is, the heavenly bodies that revolve around stars are called planets (graha) and the heavenly bodies that revolve around planets are called satellites (upagraha). For example, the earth’s satellite is the moon; Mars’s satellites are Deimos (daetya) and Phobos (bhaya). Because of the proximity of Saturn’s satellites from one another they appear to form a ring. Thus Saturn has a ring of satellites revolving around it. In ancient times astrologers were unable to find any satellite of Mercury so they gave it the name ekáuṋga.

When stars move in circum-rotarian fashion while remaining in a liquid or gaseous state then small portions of these stars shoot off and go into orbit around them. These portions of stars that break off and go into orbit around them are known as planets. It is not that a large portion always breaks away from the parent body; small and extremely small portions also break away. Some of these small or extremely small portions return to the parent star and some go into orbit around the newly-created planets. Those that go into orbit around planets become satellites.

It often happens that a newly-created planet has circum-rotarian motion. All newly-created planets revolve around stars but some revolve circumrotarian-wise and some do not. The earth does and for that reason it has both day and night. Those that do not revolve in such fashion remain in either eternal-night or eternal-day. When planets which revolve circumrotarian-wise remain in a gaseous or liquid state, portions of their body also often break off and go into orbit around them. These are also satellites. It was the opinion of ancient astrologers that the moon was formed in this way, that is, a certain portion of the earth broke away and went into orbit around it. It was the conception of those ancient astrologers that there was a great pit left in that portion of the earth from which the moon broke away, and that pit was the Pacific Ocean (the largest and deepest ocean). The old Sanskrit name for the Pacific Ocean was kśiiraságara or kśiirodárńava. Thus we even find in the moon’s dhyána mantra:

Divyashaunkhatuśárábhaḿ kśiirodárńavasambhavam;
Namámi shashinaḿ bhaktyá shambhormukut́abhúśańam.

[The divine, snow-coloured conch born of the Pacific Ocean.
I salute the moon with devotion, the one who adorns the crown of
Shiva.]

If any smaller star, planet or satellite falls on a larger star, planet or satellite then that smaller falling star, planet or satellite is called ulká [meteor]. A meteor need not be the entire body of a star, planet or satellite; it may also be a fractional portion of that structure. As a result of collision with a falling meteor, deviation of orbit sometimes occurs, or can occur. As a result of this deviation of orbit it is natural that a change occurs in the daily or yearly motion as well. In the last few thousand years certainly, and even in the last few hundred years, it is only natural that the earth’s daily and yearly motion has undergone some change, thus it is incumbent upon the astrophysicists that they recalculate the exact time of the earth’s daily and yearly cycles each year, or if this is not possible then at least every few years. Otherwise, we will be forced to carry the burden of our mistaken measure of time in many diverse spheres of life, and that is not at all desirable.

It will have to be carefully investigated if it is possible or not for any living being, microbe, living seed, plant or vegetable seed to travel from one planet to another through the medium of these falling meteors. Some people are of the opinion that the people of ancient times used to address as deva those beings who had arrived from other planets. The truth of their opinion should be carefully verified.

In many people’s opinion, if a powerful heavenly body or meteor approaches close to a star then often a loose portion of that star will separate from the original body and go into orbit around it. They are also planets and normally other small portions of the star do not break away along with them. And because the newly-created planet itself is not always in a gaseous or liquid state no satellite is produced from its body. Planets created in this way remain alone; they are ekáuṋga. Mercury is such an ekáuṋga planet, thus in the language of the ancient astronomers ekáuṋga meant “Mercury”. You can also use ekáuṋga to mean “Mercury” in Bengali. Budhavár [Wednesday] can also be called Ekáuṋgavár.

Footnotes

(1) We get the word pashtu from the Vedic word páshcáttya which means “native of the west”: pashcát + tyauṋ. It must have two “ta’s” plus y added to the consonants.

(2) Singur in present-day Hoogly District.

(3) Siam is the English corruption of shyám. –Trans.

(4) Warming up. For this they used the verbal root urju.

(5) Each member of the society of that time had rights to a certain specified degree of participation in different social and religious functions. Those rights correlated with the person’s social level. –Trans.

(6) A man marrying below or above his station, respectively, according to caste hierarchy. While anuloma was not encouraged, it was somwhat acceptable, but pratiloma was never condoned. –Trans.

(7) The niyoga custom originated long before the kuliina system as a means of producing offspring. A man would be given permission to mate with a deceased or sterile man’s wife. For example, in the Mahábhárata, King Dhritarastra, King Pandu, and the Pandavas, as well, were the offspring of such unions. –Trans.

(8) Diipashaláká → diiashaláá → diiyáshaláy → deshlái.

(9) This song is composed by the author in Madhumálaiṋca, Kolkata on 6/12/85; Prabhát Saḿgiita No. 3242. –Trans.

(10) Luminous bodies are entities which do not have a physical body made of five fundamental factors, but rather a structure comprised of three factors only – luminous, aerial and ethereal – in which the mind functions. –Trans.

(11) Megh means “cloud”. –Trans.

Chapter 7	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Aekya

Eka + śńa = aekya. Its etymological meaning is “the state of one” (ekasya bhávah). If five or ten people get together and say: “We are one; no external force can destroy our sense of oneness,” then one can understand that among them there is aekya. Eka means “unit” and its abstract noun is “unity”, in ordinary English “oneness”. The words ekatva and ekatá have this etymological meaning of aekya; the first is neuter in gender and the second feminine.

If many entities think “we are one”, then we say aekya. Similarly, if we see that many people are of one opinion [mata] or of equal opinion then we say aekamatya, and for those individuals among whom there is aekamatya we use the adjective aekamata.

Aecchika

The verbal root iś + sha (sa) + t́á gives us the word icchá. By adding the suffix śńik we get the word aecchika. Where one or more is chosen from among many objects according to one’s will then this is called aecchika (optional). Doing something according to one’s will or one’s fancy is also called aecchika. The root verb “opt” means “to select something according to one’s liking”. According to the rules of linguistic science, if “t” is pronounced at the end of a root verb and “ion” is added to it then the proper pronunciation becomes “tee-un”. For example, since “t” is at the end of the root verb “quest”, meaning “to search”, then when “ion” is added to it the proper pronunciation becomes “ques-tee-un”. “Option” is an exception to this. The pronunciation of “option” will not be “op-tee-un” but “op-shun”. Where the freedom is not there to choose between one or more among many, that is, where there is compulsion, aecchika is not used but rather bádhyatámúlak (compulsory).

Aetihya

Itiha means “coming along in a particular way”. From itiha comes the noun aetihya [tradition]. In Sanskrit it is pronounced aetiha-i-ya (aetihya). In Bengali the pronunciation of hya becomes like that of jhya. This does not present any practical difficulties because there are virtually no words where ya is joined to jha. If there had been cases of ya being joined to jha then the pronunciation of hya as jhya could have led to spelling problems. Although spelled sahya, lehya, dáhya and so forth in Bengali, they are pronounced sajhya, lejhya, dájhya and so forth.

Aetihásika

Iti + has + ghaiṋ = itihása. The meaning of the root verb has is “to laugh”, “to be expressed in a particular way”. In Sanskrit hasati means “laughing”. It is both spelled and pronounced without a candrabindu.⁽¹⁾ In Hindi hánstá hai means “laughing”. It is spelled with a candrabindu, or half-na, and pronounced the same way. In Bengali it is spelled hásche but pronounced hánsche, that is, it is spelled without the candrabindu, or half-na, but pronounced with it.

The etymological meaning of itihása is “that which has been particularly expressed in this way”. I have said before and I will say again that the English synonym for itihása is not “history”, nor is the French synonym histoire. The proper Bengali synonyms for the English word “history” and the French word histoire are itikathá, itivrtta, purákathá, and purávrtta.

All those educative subjects that we find in the succession of past events we call aetihásika. It should be borne in mind that something is aetihásika, or about itihása, to the extent that it is educative. That which has less educative value will have to be called itikathá, not itihása, that is, a factual chronicle of events we call itikathá, whether or not it contains something of instructional value. But when we look towards the past and we are unable to discover a continuity of facts, or to put together a respectable portrait of reality, then we call it prágaetihásik (prák + aetihásik), or prehistorical or prehistoric. It is also worth remembering here that while it is true that we call prehistoric those temporal events for which we are unable, at present, to discover a historical continuity or common thread due to a lack of adequate research, if in the future, as a result of adequate efforts, we discover that continuity or get hold of the missing link, then we will no longer be able to call them “prehistoric”. They will then pass from prehistory to history.

In Sanskrit the word prák is used to mean “pre” in regard to time, and the word uttara is used to mean “post”. For example, that which precedes itihása is prágaetihásika and that which comes after it is itihásottara. In the same way we get prák-baoddha [pre-Buddhist] and Baoddhottara [post-Buddhist].

Dharmárthakámamokśárthaḿ niitivákyasamanvitam;
Purávrttakatháyuktam itihása pracakśyate.

“We will call that part of history itihása which imparts moral education, and by the study of which one attains the caturvarga – dharma, artha, káma, and mokśa.” We should not call the history of England or the history of India that is taught in educational institutions the itihása of England or the itihása of India, but rather the itikathá of England or the itikathá of India. It is also worth remembering in this case that words formed with the suffix śńik have short i such as aetihásik, kálik [pertaining to time], yántrik [mechanical], and daeshik [pertaining to space]. And in the case of nominally inflected words ending in the suffix iin there will be a long ii, for example, káliińa [of a particular time]. But with the suffix in, in the sense of transformation, it is short i, for example, malina [dirty].

Aetareya

Itara + śńeya = aetareya. In Bengali the word aetareya has lost its honourable lineage. Many people think that itara means “low; of a inferior level”. For this reason the word itarámi is used widely as an insulting expression. Actually the word itara is not at all bad. Itara means “common people”.

Yad yadácarati shreśt́hastattadevetare janáh;
Sa yat pramáńaḿ kurute lokastadanuvarttate.

“The common people behave in the same way that their seniors behave. The common people accept as a proof or as a standard as it is declared by the great personalities.” Furthermore there is the popular saying, Miśt́ánnam itare janáh [“The common people expect sweets after marriages”].

When we say itara we mean “masse”. In spoken English, of course, we write “mass” but in literary English, and especially in French, it will not do to write “mass” because then its pronunciation becomes “mah”, For example, if we do not add the final “e” to “en masse” then its pronunciation becomes “ahn-mah”. Similarly if we write “en clave” then its pronunciation will be “ahn-clahve”, not “en clave”; if we write “en route” it will be “ahn-route”, not “en route”.

“That which is created for the needs of the common people”, or “that which is told for the common people” – we get the word aetareya from these meanings. The word aetareya should not be abandoned. Aetareya is the name of one of the Upanishads of the Vedas. There is much in it that the common people can put to use.

Aerińa

The etymological meaning of the word ira or irá is “that which is fluid”; its colloquial meaning is “water” or “knowledge”. Thus irá also means “the goddess of knowledge”, or Vágdevii. Irávatii means “river”. Irávat means “sea”. The meaning of the word aerińa is “honey” or “wine” or “salt water”.

Seas located in torrid zones are more saline in accordance with nature’s law. The very salty water that collects in the depths of the ocean sometimes reaches extreme levels of salinity. As result of plutonic earthquakes in prehistoric times, land rose out of the sea and as the extremely saline water on the surface of that land gradually became calcined, it became trapped between the sand or sandy soil or loamy soil at the surface and the rising hard land from below. With the passage of time that extremely saline water congealed and became transformed into subterranean salt-hills. Since these hills originated from the bottom of the ocean or the sea they used to be called saendhava páháŕa [sea-hills] and the salt was called saendhava lavańa [sea-salt]. This salt obtained from deep seawater is thus naturally very rich in calcium and iodine and its colour becomes somewhat red. The salt which is artificially produced by evaporating or distilling sea water is generally called karkaca salt.

Since ancient times this karkaca salt has been produced in the coastal areas of the country. In Bengal it has been made since olden days in Khulna, 24 Parganas, Howrah District’s Shyampur area and Midnapore District’s Tamluk and Contai subdivisions. It has been produced extensively in India in those areas near the port of Tutikerin. At the beginning of the British period, those ships which would sail to Britain laden with raw materials from India used to return filled with salt from that country. Raw materials have less value and take up more space. Thus salt also has less value and takes up more space. For that reason the Indian government at that time was not eager to allow salt to be produced in this country, because if there was no demand for British salt in this country then what hopes would the ships have of returning laden with salt?

In my childhood days I have seen a certain type of mud-coloured salt produced from the local salt water and salty soil in South 24 Parganas. It was called bádár salt. Its colour was somewhat muddy, that is, there was a little admixture of sodium chloride produced from earth. It was, however, not exactly the same as what we call karkaca salt. By comparison, this bádár salt is much tastier than karkaca salt, even though it does not look as good. And the deep sea-salt [saendhava lavańa] is nearly two or three times as tasty as this bádár salt. On the western borders of India on both sides of the Aravalli mountain range, especially in the rain-shadow area on the other side, this salt used to be found in abundance. Parts of Rajasthan, Sindh and Gujarat used to remain at the bottom of the sea. Because a particular portion of this region was sargasso sea at that time, there is also a likelihood of finding mineral oil there. I would venture also that some saendhava salt-hills can still be found below ground in the northwest portion of Rajasthan. Saendhava salt makes the bones and bone-marrow strong; according to áyurveda it also protects a person against attacks of goitre and throat ulcer. At any rate, the use of saendhava salt or aerińa, where available, is preferred. In olden times physicians used to arrange for this. Keep in mind that aerińa refers to saendhava salt, not any other kind of salt.

Aereya

The word irińa means “wine”, “honey” and “salt water”. Aereya refers to a specific kind of wine. In ancient times, when people first started to drink wine they drank fermented wine, not distilled wine. Thus, during the first part of the Vedic era the various words for wine, such as mada, ásava, ariśt́a and so forth referred to fermented wine. In the second half of the Vedic era the Aryans learned how to distill wine. It appears that the inventor of the process of distillation was the guru of the Asuras, Shukracharya. Legend has it that distilled wine was first used during the war between the gods and the Asuras to keep the Asuras maddened with battle. Later the gods also learned the process of distillation from the Asuras and became addicted to drinking wine. Devásuraeryuddhakále shukreńa parinirmitam. Shukracharya first made wine during a war between the gods and the demons. Understanding the evils of wine the wise forbade drinking it except for warriors at the time of battle – injunctions were set out. But wine is such a deadly thing that a person becomes addicted to drinking it within a few days, so in subsequent times the sages forbade drinking it in all circumstances. Human beings’ greatest wealth is their intelligence, their learning. Wine destroys the intellect. It is imperative that people stay away from objects which destroy their greatest wealth – their intellect and learning.

While it is true that people learned how to distill wine, they had not yet invented a machine (distilling retort) for doing so. Long after the process of distillation was devised, the Buddhist sannyási Nagarjuna invented the first distillation flask.⁽²⁾

Any starchy substance under certain conditions and in certain environments will ferment and turn into fermented wine. For example, fermented date or palm juice becomes táŕi. Táŕi is a fermented wine. Stale rice also ferments under certain conditions and becomes wine; if that is distilled it makes rice-wine [dheno mad] (in drinker’s language dhányeshvarii). Our well-known ámáni is also a kind of mildly alcoholic fermented rice-wine. There are various words in Vedic and Sanskrit which were used to refer to rice-wine. There are also many words in Vedic and Sanskrit for wine made from grapes – ásava, ariśt́a, sudhására, surására, madhusára, madya, madirá, and so forth. Somarasa referred to a type of fermented wine which was mixed with extract of somalatá.⁽³⁾

People during the Vedic era were not used to drinking wine during the time of sacrifices, but at the end of the sacrifice, when they used to make revelry and festivities, they would drink a special kind of wine prepared from barley and while making the wine they also used to add extract of somalatá. This barley-wine mixed with somalatá extract which was used at the end of sacrifices was called aereya. It is worth remembering here that the accepted Ayurvedic elixir or spirit for reviving the dead is a type of distilled wine. There is a difference of opinion among scholars whether this life-giving elixir or spirit was invented by Shukracharya or afterwards by the mendicant Nagarjuna, but it is clear that the scale tips in Nagarjuna’s direction.

Aeshvarya

The etymological meaning of the word aeshvarya is “concerning Iishvara [Supreme Consciousness]”. Its colloquial meaning is “worldly wealth”, “mundane wealth”, “super-mundane wealth”, and “occult power”. By “occult power” we mean those powers which people obtain by dint of practice of a cult. According to most scholars these occult powers are eight in number and their combined name is aeshii siddhi [the eight occult powers]. They are ańimá, laghimá, mahimá (garimá), iishitva, vashitva, prápti, prakámya, and antaryámitva. Some people do not accept occult powers such as káyavasáyitva, moving from one body to another, entering another’s body, telepathy, clairvoyance, hypnotism, mesmerism, etc., as aśt́asiddhi; they say that these are included within one or the other of the accepted eight occult powers.

Ańimá: This word comes from the word ańu. Here the word ańu signifies “small”. Reducing one’s sense of existence or mental arena to smallness with the help of the mental force born of spiritual practices, and thereby being able to enter within another entity and know everything about that entity, is called ańimá-siddhi. It is considered the first of the eight occult powers because it is attainable in the first level of occult pursuit. One may attain it in both Vidyá Tantra and Avidyá Tantra but if an aspirant who resorts to Avidyá Tantra remains engaged in using this ańimá-siddhi then his or her mental faculties gradually degenerate and he or she becomes crudified. Aspirants of Vidyá Tantra do not perform any special practice to attain this power, but if this power develops in a person as a result of natural elevation through spiritual practice, and if that individual possesses mental restraint, then he or she does not use it externally and continues to advance step by step in the path of sádhaná. If any aspirant of Vidyá Tantra uses this power externally then he or she will also become crudified. Lesser powers such as hypnotism, clairvoyance, mesmerism, telepathy, and so on, all fall within the category of ańimá-siddhi.

Laghimá: The word laghimá comes from the word laghu. Laghu means “light”, in Prákrta lahu.

Sinca bhikkhu imaḿ navaḿ;
Sittá te lahu messati.

[Drain out, O Bhikkhu, all the unnecessary water from this boat and it will become light.]

Being able to enter the intra-molecular spaces of any entity by concentrating one’s mental faculties, and directing that entity according to one’s desire, is called laghimá. It is possible to rise into the atmosphere and fly about by virtue of a state of lightness, thus this is called laghimá-siddhi. With this siddhi an individual can direct an entity according to his or her desire from any place at all. Generally this siddhi is not attainable in Avidyá Tantra. In Vidyá Tantra sádhaná this power arises spontaneously in some practitioners when they reach a certain stage. If an aspirant uses it in the external world he or she becomes maddened by it and as a result he or she degenerates. An aspirant of Vidyá Tantra must proceed with great caution at this stage and it is considered inopportune to give any indulgence at all to worries and anxieties. He or she should also not be concerned whether or not this siddhi arises in him or her.

Mahimá: The word mahimá has come from the word mahima. Another name for it is garimá. The result of this siddhi is gained through making oneself vast through mental concentration or by unfolding the inherent ubiquitous force of latent human qualities. When the sense of mahimá awakens in an entity or individual after having had this experience then it can be considered that one is completely established in mahimá-siddhi. This is also not attainable in Avidyá Tantra. In Vidyá Tantra this siddhi arises naturally in certain persons, or may arise. It is not proper for any spiritual aspirant to use this siddhi knowingly because while the world may gain something from its application, the world can also be harmed by its misapplication. If a person is influenced for even a short time by malice or jealousy then he or she can do great harm with this siddhi. Thus a spiritual aspirant should shun this many-thorned siddhi.

Iishitva: The meaning of the verbal root iish is “to rule”; engaging one’s supra-mental and spiritual force for the welfare of the outside world is iishitva. Although this is attainable in Vidyá Tantra, if it is used for self-propagation then the spiritual aspirant stays where he or she was. True, he or she does not degenerate, but his or her advancement is blocked. Thus one must also proceed with caution in its application. It is considered forbidden for the spiritual aspirant to become concerned or worry excessively over whether or not they have acquired iishitva-siddhi.

Vashitva: The word vashitva means “to bring under control”. The person who has perfected this siddhi can bring under his or her control any entity or factor. Just as any person driven by crooked intellect can be directed to the proper path by virtue of this ability to bring under one’s control, one can also make another person engage in bad action according to one’s desire. Thus vashitva-siddhi is more deadly, by comparison, than iishitva-siddhi. In ancient times, those who were established in vashitva-siddhi were called vashiśt́ha.

Prápti: Through this siddhi the spiritual aspirant can visualise any factor of the psychic world within himself or herself. Such an individual can know the original substance or the essence of any factor without having to go through books or resorting to some other medium. Omniscience is one branch of this prápti-siddhi. The practice of this prápti-siddhi generally instills a harmony between the crude world and the psychic world; thus, even though the misuse of this prápti-siddhi is considered somewhat harmful, roughly speaking there is no great harm attached to it. Still, in the life of a spiritual aspirant one should also shun this thorny siddhi.

Prakámya: The word prakámya comes from the verbal root kám; its etymological meaning is “to get what is desired”. Just as a person can amass wealth in the physical world by means of this prakámya-siddhi, he or she can also do the same in the sphere of intellectuality. He or she becomes skilled in all knowledge as well as all scriptures. Filled with love, he or she can become one with Parama Puruśa in the spiritual world. This is called madhura bháva or madhura sádhaná in Vaeśńava Tantra. By means of this prakámya-siddhi a supreme fulfilment descends in the life of a spiritual aspirant who, forgetting both the physical and psychic worlds, flows his or her mind only towards Parama Puruśa… In this lies the supreme success in the life of a human being or any living being. In the absence of mental restraint this siddhi can push a person towards crude enjoyment and crude mental pabula, so here also a spiritual aspirant should proceed with caution.

Antaryámitva: Filling another’s mind-stuff with one’s own mind-stuff and thereby knowing every iota of their ectoplasmic vibration, that is, knowing all of a person’s mind or thought is called antaryámitva. The ability to enter another’s body was considered partially prakámya-siddhi and partially prápti-siddhi in ancient times. The power to curse (where the curse one gives bears fruit), this vocal siddhi, was considered a part of prápti-siddhi as well.

The collective name of these eight occult powers, ańimá, laghimá, mahimá (garimá), iishitva, vashitva, prápti, prakámya and antaryámitva, is vibhúti or aeshvarya. Vi – bhú + ktin gives us the word vibhúti, which means “to be established in a special condition or state or quality”. In spiritual life as well as in ordinary life, if one retains simplicity it is helpful for the attainment of God; through this one’s life and mind become filled with the effulgence of Parama Puruśa. This is the supreme attainment. Spying out every nook and cranny of the eight occult powers is another name for stupidity.

The first human being in history to become established in the eight occult powers was Sadáshiva, so out of respect people used to call him Vibhútinátha or Vibhútibhúśańa. Lest others, seeing Shiva’s supernatural endowments, rush after the attainment of these occult powers, they covered Him with ash to restrain or check such kind of thinking, so that the people would understand that this master of the eight occult powers, Shiva, wished to say that the occult powers were no better than ash. Although the etymological meaning of vibhúti is “supernatural power” or “supernatural siddhi”, its colloquial meaning is “ash” as well as “occult power”. Thus in the sense of ash also, Shiva was Vibhútinátha [Lord of Vibhúti] or Vibhútibhúśańa [Adorned with Vibhúti].

There is a funny, popular story about the practical value of the eight occult powers. Once upon a time a man renounced his worldly life and accepted the life of a wandering mendicant. When he returned home after twelve long years his younger brother asked him: “Dádá, after doing sádhaná for so long what powers have you attained?”

The elder brother said: “Come to the river with me. I’ll show you there.” When they reached the bank of the river the older brother walked on the water to cross to the other side, and from there he shouted to his younger brother: “You see! This is my laghimá-siddhi. I made my body so light that I can walk on water.”

Then the younger brother called a boatman and hired his boat to cross to the other side. “Look Dádá,” he said when he arrived. “This is my laghimá-siddhi and I only had to give the boatman one paisa. So this laghimá-siddhi of yours that you spent twelve years to get is worth just one paisa.”

This discussion of aeshvarya reminds me of a heart-wrenching story. It was at the end of the cold season and a fluttering breeze was blowing but there was still a mild touch of cold in it. Sometimes I would wear a warm shirt but then I would start sweating and tell myself that this warm shirt wouldn’t do. That evening also I climbed into the hills as I had done the previous days. This time I sat down in a somewhat more distant spot, at the edge of the shál grove. A little to the east was the palásh forest.

It was the full moon in Phalgun that day, with bright moonlight and charming natural surroundings, just what the heart desires. Prasenjit had yet to arrive; perhaps he was still in the harisabhá [religious congregation] eating malpoa [sweet fried cakes] – it was festival time, you see. I was sitting facing north. The polestar wasn’t visible that day because of the moonlight. Normally the Himalayas were not visible, but on that day you could make out their white peaks in the distance.

Even though I was sitting in the physical world I was much more in the psychic world. The wild mountain mango trees were all abloom and the palásh trees were in flower. The natural surroundings drew my mind inward and I remembered some lines in Punjabi about Holi.⁽⁴⁾

Áyii vasant dii bahár;
Ámbe maole t́esu maole, maol rahii kacnár.

“The beauty of spring has arrived. The mango trees are in blossom. The palásh trees are in blossom. The káiṋcan trees are filled with buds”.

Situated between two hills was a plateau sloping more or less from south to north. A little ways beyond the edge of the plateau lay the Ganges. The plateau was covered with shál, kendu and palásh forest, interspersed with shiyákul thickets, and for the most part was full of smaller and larger pebbles. In these areas farmers would come during the rainy season and cultivate late-spring pigeon-peas. The pigeon-pea plants take nearly the entire year to grow. The harvesting of the pigeon-pea plants would start after this Phalgun full-moon. In the local language pigeon-pea plants are called lyáret́há. This lyáret́há is used for making houses, thatching roofs, making fences, and of course as cooking fuel. But above all, these late-spring pigeon-pea fields give good shelter to smaller animals from attacks by larger animals. If they are chased by bears, tigers or wolves, the smaller animals hide in these pigeon-pea fields. Once they make it there it becomes impossible to find them.

While I was walking I noticed several hares and small deer coming out from a pigeon-pea field. Realizing that I wasn’t an enemy they started wandering happily here and there. I walked past them in a manner befitting a friend and went ahead. The spot I selected to sit that day had a large shál tree to one side and a muddy pond to the other.

As I just finished saying, there was a soulful harmony between the natural surroundings and my mental feeling on that day. My mind was full of joy. Suddenly I heard in the distance the extremely loud barking of a domesticated dog. Normally dogs do not make such a loud noise. Furthermore what would a domesticated dog be doing so deep in the forest! Certainly there are dogs living in the forest but those are wild dogs. Although their barking is somewhat like that of domesticated dogs, it has character all its own. Their sound is somewhat sharper. Besides that, they move in packs and because of this they are very courageous. If a tiger encroaches on their territory they will chase after it as a group and irritate it with their barking. Unable to put up with the disturbance the tiger will lose itself in the deep forest.

The dog is a sharp-snouted member of the canine family and the tiger is a round-snouted member of the feline family. There is an inherent hostility between these two. According to biologists, members of the canine family are sharp-snouted, carnivorous, swift runners, make noise when they run, and have a strong sense of smell (the alsatian is an exception). They also display a good deal of affection towards their young. The largest animal in this group is the maned lion, native to Africa. In addition, there is the medium-sized maned Indian lion,⁽⁵⁾ the maneless Indian lion or gurjar lion, the wolf (vrkavyághra), alsatian,⁽⁶⁾ the ordinary domesticated Indian dog, the wild Indian dog, the jackal (shrgála), the fox (ulkámukhii), and so on. In addition there are many kinds of short-haired and long-haired dogs differing from country to country and variety to variety. Some people are of the opinion that while the dog no doubt belongs to the canine family, it is not an original species but rather a cross-breed – the wolf is its father and the jackal its mother – this was the ancient conception.

Although dogs live in groups, different members of the canine family do not mix with each other. For example, wolves and lions are not on good terms with each other. Wolves will chase a dog if they see one and will kill it, whether or not they eat it. Dogs will also chase jackals if they see them.

The tiger, however, is a different class of animal, a feline. The largest member of this family is the kundobágh or royal Bengal tiger. In addition there is the South American jaguar, the black tiger, the leopard,⁽⁷⁾ the panther (mudrávyághra), the hyena (tarakśu), polecat,⁽⁸⁾ civet-cat (pherú – pheu), wildcat, leopard-cat, and our common domesticated housecat (hulo cat or meni cat).

Members of the feline family do not remain in groups. They are extremely greedy and self-seeking. The father does not show one iota of affection towards his progeny and often kills them. Members of this family suffer great pain at the time of dying. Even though the father does not feel any affection for his progeny the mother does to a great extent. Female cats and tigers raise their young with a great deal of affection and even cry for a long time if their offspring die.

Aside from the canine and feline families, another of the carnivores we are familiar with is the kakt́esiyás family, which includes the man-eating crocodile, the alligator of South America and the riverbanks of the Hoyangho in China, our native fish-eating crocodile (ghaŕiyál), the iguana (godhá or godhiká), lizard (krkalás), takśak⁽⁹⁾ [a kind of venomous snake], the large t́ikt́iki [a house lizard] (white and mute), the small t́ikt́iki (black and quite noisy), and áiṋjuni.⁽¹⁰⁾

They are extremely carnivorous – all are hatched from eggs, are brave, and are extremely vicious. They are all land creatures; some go into the water in search of food and some do not. All more or less have the inborn ability to hypnotize their victims.⁽¹¹⁾ Among them, only the iguana is timid and averse to fighting. Indeed, they not only flee in fear when they see people, they also avoid fighting with other animals. They climb trees to eat bird’s eggs but they do not fight with the birds. The birds flee in fear when they see them. Some iguanas are even bigger than crocodiles. Most of them live in Southeast Asia. Large-sized iguanas are found in Bengal’s Sundarban forest.

India has chiefly two types of iguana – the black iguana and the golden iguana. There are a few communities that eat iguanas. One can see from the Bengali literature of the middle ages that some groups of people used to roast and eat iguanas. Although these creatures come in different sizes and colours nowadays, their ancestors were huge-sized kakt́esiyás creatures from the prehistoric ages.

But what could be the source of danger for the dog? In our forest there was no such kakt́esiyás creature that could attack a dog. But there were such animals from the feline and canine families. A dog can be attacked by wolves and he can also be attacked by a tiger.

I thought to myself: Let me go up there and see if anything can be done to save this dog. I started walking quickly in the direction where the sound was coming from. It wasn’t right to delay because then I might not be able to save the dog.

I plunged into the shál forest and headed towards the palásh forest, leaving the pigeon-pea fields behind. Flashes of red started peeping through as I entered the palásh forest. A verse came to mind:

Pháguner águn-lágá palásh bane ke eseche;
Dekhe yena hay go mane cini cini cená áche.

[Who has come to this palásh forest lit like fire in the month of Phalguna? When I look it seems as if I recognize him.]

I kept on going and going and going. The palásh forest was not as close as I thought it had been from a distance. After walking for a while, I came to a halt at one spot. To my left was a somewhat deep ditch where a dog had fallen in. He was still barking faintly in between pauses. I realized that this middle-aged creature had come to the last limits of his short life.

What an awful thing! Who could have done such a cruel deed? The dog showed no sign of any injury, that is, he hadn’t been attacked by any animal. If a tiger had attacked it would have seized him or her by the throat or the neck. That is the way that felines attack, from the tigers of the Sundarban jungle to the domesticated housecat. Even a common cat catches rats and mice in that way. A wolf would have attacked the stomach or the back which is how canines attack, from the lion to the fox. When kakt́esiyás creatures attack, however, they attack from the tail end. Their nature is to attack other animals from behind and swing and shake them about.

The dog appeared completely uninjured. From looking at him, it appeared as if some unnatural means had been used to arrest his blood circulation and bring him seemingly to the point of death. Almost as if someone was rapidly squeezing the last drop of its life’s essence. After a few minutes navel-breathing began. His dog-life did not have long to go. There was no water nearby. If it had been rainy season then some water could have been found in puddles and holes, but it was now the end of the cold season and water was getting scarce. There was none to be found anywhere. Alas, I thought, if I could just put a few drops of water in his mouth, his throat would not be dry during his last moments.

The dog looked at me with sorrowful eyes. Suddenly my eyes fell on a hillock directly across from the ditch, what we call d́uḿri in Rarhi Bengali. In Rarhi Bengali we call a large mountain páháŕ, a smaller, medium-sized mountain páháŕii, a smaller hill d́uḿri, still smaller t́ilá, and even smaller d́hibi. When I looked closely, I could see a motionless, imposing naked human figure.

I started moving slowly in his direction. After I had gone a little ways I noticed that he was sitting absorbed in meditation in the siddhásana posture, completely motionless. He seemed to be an extension of the hill itself. The only difference between the two was that the hill was reddish yellow and the human figure was bright and fair-complexioned. I crossed a vaenci-shiyákul thicket, approached very close to him and saw a Tantric sadhaka sitting in a bhaeravii cakra yantra.⁽¹²⁾ My curiosity was aroused. I went even closer, close enough to touch him, and took a good look. What did I see, to my amazement, but someone well-known to me, Khagen… Khagendranath Ghosh.

I had known Khagen since I was a child. His parents lived in Chakradharpur and he used to attend school in my town. After he finished his studies he left that area. I had heard from his father that the two of us were born on the same day. I was born most likely under the constellation of Vishákhá and he was born a few hours later, most likely under the constellation of Anurádhá. He was one class behind me in school.

There was a hereditary inclination towards spiritual practices in his family. His grandfather, father and uncles all followed the path of sádhaná. I remembered many years before, when he was studying in standard nine, and he had asked me what the eight occult powers were and what special practices existed by which one could attain them. I explained to him as much as I knew at the time and pointed out that these were dangerous things and that it was better not to tread that path.

Kśurasya dhárá nishitá duratyayá durgaḿ pathastat kavayo vadanti.⁽¹³⁾

[The path is as sharp as a razor’s edge, difficult to tread. It is an intractable path. So realized persons say.]

Looking at his face back then I thought that he seemed to be devising a plan. I explained even more carefully the dangers associated with it and counselled him to shun that path. Sádhaná should be done only for the attainment of Parama Puruśa, not for any second thing. He asked me how it would be if he did the sádhaná for attaining Parama Puruśa along with the sádhaná for attaining the eight occult powers.

I told him: “Do you know how it would be? It would be just like eating bitter curry with sweet rice.” He fell silent.

Now I understood what kind of plans he had been hatching deep inside. I could see with my own eyes the fruits of his plans.

Khagen was totally absorbed, like a tree immersed in meditation. He didn’t blink at all or move even a finger or a toe so I kept quiet for some time and remained standing there, not disturbing him. At one point, I looked over at the dog and saw that he had died. His tormented eyes seemed to be looking in my direction, as if they were saying: “I am innocent, without fault. Why should a person have removed me from the earth in this way without any reason? Will you not redress this?”

I looked again at Khagen and saw his fair-complexioned body gradually start turning red. It stayed that way for a short time and then slowly turned jet-black. I watched for some time longer until he gradually turned pale, anaemic. Then I touched his body; it was as cold as ice and harder than iron. A human corpse will turn cold but it never becomes that hard. I was considering what to do or not to do, and then I remembered that in such cases the body should not be cremated for eighteen hours; one must wait. If it didn’t return to a normal state within eighteen hours then one could begin cremating. I thought about returning to town and letting someone know what had happened and then returning, but I realized that it would take at least two hours to go and come and in the meantime some wild animal might come and eat him, thinking him to be dead. Finally I decided to keep watch over the body throughout the night and then return to town in the morning to let people know. There would be little possibility of a wild animal showing up there during daylight hours. I remained standing there, looking now at the unfortunate dog and now at Khagen.

Suddenly I saw a point of light exit from Khagen’s third eye and enter into the third eye of the dog. Then an even more amazing thing happened. Could it really be? The dog’s tail started to move slowly two or three times. Then again quiet. As it had been.

A short while later, the dog’s tail again started to move slowly back and forth, and some barks came from his mouth. What an amazing sight! Then again everything was quiet, silent, still, not even a quiver.

Again, moments later, the dog’s tail started to move. From its mouth came a few soft barks. This time the dog seemed to be trying to stand up. It rose to its feet then and fell down again. Then it was na yayao na tasthao [“it remained in the same condition”]. Again the dog’s tail moved a few times and again it barked a little. This time it stood up, looked here and there, and then started climbing the hill.

It approached us and then started circling around Khagen like a machine with someone at the controls, like an ox with blinders tracing fixed circles around the oil-mill. The dog didn’t enter the bhaeravii cakra, but stuck close to its outer edge as it circled around. It was easy to understand what a dreadful state it was in; it had no fear, no thought, perhaps not even a sense of existence. It was a crude flesh-and-bone machine, a mindless, energy-driven body. And in whose hands was the switch for turning on the energy that drove him? You could not say that it was living because behind it there was no independent unit mind at work – it was acting at the urge of some other entity’s mind.

I understood that this was all Khagen’s affair. He had mastered the skill to kill an innocent creature and drive its body. It made no difference whether the dog was alive or not because it didn’t have any independent individual existence. Its existence was actually just like that of a puppet.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. Such misuse of the human being’s hidden internal powers would not help to elevate the human race. Rather it would bog down one’s hands and feet in the quagmire of power and bring stagnancy into one’s forward movement.

I grabbed a fistful of hair and slapped him in the face; his body fell over, just like a large, precariously balanced rock topples at the slightest touch. His body was not a living body; it was like a huge puppet carved out of a piece of hard iron. As Khagen’s body fell from its seat another astonishing thing occurred. A point of light exited from the third eye of the dog and entered into Khagen’s third eye. The dog uttered a cry and collapsed on top of a rock. It was dead once again.

I looked over at Khagen and saw him slowly trying to open his eyes. He looked at me and started to cry. Then with a weak voice he whispered: “I have committed a great injustice, a great injustice. I didn’t listen to you. Please forgive me.”

I stretched out a hand and pulled him up. “You were studying in high school then,” I said. “I told you these things were deadly, that this was not a path to tread. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

He started sobbing and said: “I have done wrong, very wrong. Please forgive me.”

Khagen wasn’t able to stand properly. His vocal cords were also not functioning properly. I helped him to put his clothes on. At first I had to use my arms to help him, but after a little while he told me that he could walk by himself.

He started walking by my side but very slowly. I did not scold him any more along the way because he was not in a normal state. He was somewhere halfway between life and death. When I got to the edge of the muddy pond where I had been sitting, I saw that some black figure was standing beside the pigeon-pea field right behind me. His body was not luminous but rather fashioned from a black shadow. Lest Khagen be disturbed or feel worried, I didn’t say anything. I pressed his elbow and gently made him sit down. “Take some rest now,” I said, “then we’ll go on some more.”

He started crying and said: “I have committed such a great sin, yet you still love me so much. I disobeyed you, yet you still don’t hate me.”

“That may be so,” I said, “but you’re my childhood friend. Don’t forget that.”

The black shadow figure by the side of the pigeon-pea field gradually started becoming pointed like a needle and a blue light came out from that needle-like portion. I realized that Khagen might perhaps be creating another disturbance here.

“Are you practising márańa tantra [death-tantra]⁽¹⁴⁾ while you’re sitting there,” I asked. “And was that the Avidyá Tantra practice for entering another body that you were doing while sitting on the hill?”

“Yes,” he said, sobbing. Then he cried out: “Forgive me. Help me to forget all these things.”

“I also want that,” I replied. “Come on, let us return to town.” We continued walking side by side. I kept hold of his left elbow with my right hand and pulled him along in a fashion. Glancing behind, I noticed a point of light following us. Since I was looking at the point of light, Khagen also glanced in that direction. He shivered and said: “That dog, again that dog, again that dog is chasing me.”

“Wipe that dog out of your mind,” I said. “Repeat your Iśt́a mantra.”

“I am trying,” he said. “But I am not able to.”

“Think of me for a little bit,” I said. “Think that I am pulling you along by the hand. Then, while thinking of me, fix your mind at your Iśt́a cakra. Try it. Then you’ll be able to do it.”

I took a few steps forward and saw that the point of light had disappeared into the void. Khagen cried out again, sobbing, and said: “I have left that path, I have left that path. I don’t ever want to return to it again.”

A few years later I was once again sitting in that same place at the dead of night bathed in moonlight. With the change in time comes a change in place and person as well. And so it was, though it wasn’t a great change. I remembered the incident of Khagen and the dog on that full-moon night in Phalgun. Neither of the two was present.

During the day I asked the local villagers for news about Khagen. “Yes, yes,” they said. “Sometimes we see a half-mad fellow wandering the jungle paths at the edge of the hills. He often goes around barking as if he thought he was a dog. Whenever he sees anyone with glasses he rushes after them, grabs them and says: ‘Prabhat, you have come. I have left that path, I have left that path, bark, bark, I have left that path, but that dog won’t leave me alone. Whenever I want to meditate or to repeat my Iśt́a mantra that dog comes into my mind and starts barking mercilessly. What can I do, tell me! It would be better to die.’”

Aeśamasya

The verbal root mas means “to measure”. By adding ghaiṋ to mas we get mása whose etymological meaning is “a measurement of time” or “a period of time”. Thus mása in this sense means “era”, “lunar year”, “lunar month”, “lunar day”, “solar year”, “solar month”, “fortnight”, “week”, “solar day” or ahorátra (from sunrise to sunrise), prahara (three hours), hour, minute, second, fraction-of-second and so forth – all of these. Its colloquial meaning is “solar month” (30, 31 or 32 days), that is, the amount of time it takes the sun to pass through one sign of the zodiac (the time it takes the sun to pass through the sign of Aries is the solar month of Vaeshákha), or “lunar month” (28, 29 or 30 days), the amount of time it takes the moon to pass through the twelve signs of the zodiac.

Eśa mása means “this month”. The word mása ends with the suffix ghaiṋ and is masculine, thus eśa, the masculine, first person, singular form of the word etad [this] is used. Eśa mása means “this month”.

The verbal root má also means “to measure”. By adding the suffix asun to the root má we get the word más. Its etymological meaning is also “that which is measured”. Its colloquial meaning is “the amount of time the moon takes to measure the earth once while passing through the twelve signs of the zodiac”, or “lunar month”. There is no reason not to use the word más colloquially for “solar month”. That is, why will we not use más for the amount of time it takes the earth to revolve around the sun and return. Etymologically, of course, when it takes the earth one day to rotate on its axis then we can also call that más. Still, practically speaking, it would be incorrect, since by this rotation neither the earth nor the sun can be completely measured. Furthermore the polar regions stand in a different relation to the sun by virtue of their differing course, so a proper picture of the sun cannot be had through them.

At any rate, the spelling of the word for the Bengali month [lunar month] and the solar month, más, is more correct if it is spelled más. Moreover, in practical cases it can create problems if there is more than one current spelling for the same word. In this regard there is nothing to say if one adds a hasanta at the end of the word más. So if one says eśa más also, it means “this month” or “in the concerning year”.

By adding the suffix kvip or d́rń to the verbal root mas we get the word mas. The etymological meaning of the word mas is “any period of time” – from era or year to fraction-of-a-second; the colloquial meaning of mas is “year”. Eśa mas means “this year”. Eśa mas means “this time” etymologically and “this year” colloquially. From eśa mas we get the word aeśamasya which means “during this time” or “in this year”. “I am not speaking about another year, I am speaking about this year.” We can also rephrase this sentence as “I am not speaking about another year, I am speaking of aeśamasya.” “I am not speaking about earlier times, I am speaking about the present time.” This sentence can be rephrased as “I am not speaking about earlier times, I am speaking of aeśamasya.” “I don’t know how cold it was here in other months but this month is really cold.” Instead of saying this, we can say: “I don’t know how cold it was here in other months, but aeśamasya it is really cold.”

You can use this word, aeśamasya, at your convenience in Bengali or any other language. With it you can save ink, paper and time.

Aekśava

Ikśu + śńa = aekśava. Its etymological meaning is “concerning ikśu”. Ikś + u = ikśu. The verbal root ikś means “to handle” or “to chew”. Thus etymologically ikśu means “that which, when seen, gives rise to a desire to handle or a desire to chew”. Its colloquial meaning is “sugar cane”. The colloquial meaning of aekśava is “sugar cane juice or molasses or raw sugar or sugar”.

Páinc pańe páinc ser kiniyáchi ciinii
Anye hale bhurá dey bhágye ámi cini.

[I have bought five kilos of sugar at five times twenty paise. Because I am familiar with bhúra [dry molasses] the shopkeepers could not deceive me.]

Molasses is gotten by boiling the juice and raw sugar is gotten by refining the molasses, but in modern times raw sugar and sugar-cane juice are refined and the smell eliminated through modern processes to yield coal sugar. Since they all come from sugar cane, aekśava refers to all of them.

The process for refining molasses and eliminating its smell was first discovered in China. The Indian people learned it from the Chinese several thousand years ago. Since it was learned from China, sugar became known as ciinii. We get the word ciinii by adding the suffix nak to the verbal root ci and then applying prśi diirghah; its etymological meaning is “that country which collects things with great care or which is produced from a collection of good qualities”. We get the word ciinii from the meaning “concerning China” or “produced in China”. Both ca and na can take long ii. The old Sanskrit word for sugar was sharkará. The words “saccrum”, “sacrites”, “saccharine” (all from Old Latin), “sugar” (English), sucre (French), shákhar (Tamil, Gujarati, Marathi), sakkar (Hindustani), and so forth, have all come from the word sharkará. All of them mean aekśava. Aekśava sugar is also called khańd́a in Sanskrit. The word kháṋŕ in Punjabi, which means “sugar”, is derived from khańd́a.

Here one should keep in mind that people learned to make sugar from sugar beets during World War I. In English, aekśava sugar is called “cane sugar” and sugar extracted from sugar beets is called “beet sugar”. Needless to say, beet sugar or other beet products cannot be called aekśava.

The words currently used for sugar cane in India, whether Sanskrit, indigenous or foreign, are: ikśu (Sanskrit), kusheriká (Sanskrit), ákh (Bengali), kushiyár (Maethilii, Bengali, Assamese), kushyer (Bengali), kushur (Bengali), ketárii (Nagpuri, Magahi, Angika), ketáŕii (Angika), uṋkh (Bhojpuri), ikh (Hindi), and ganná (Urdu).

And so, whatever the people in a particular place make with this sugar cane can be given the name aekśava. In some places paper is made from sugar-cane husk through a modern process. This kind of paper can also be called aekśavapatram in Sanskrit and aekśava kágaj in Bengali. In spoken Bengali we say ekho guŕ [cane molasses]; an eloquent way of saying the same thing in literary Bengali would be aekśava guŕa.

Formerly ciinii was mistakenly spelled cini [I recognize]. Cini go cini tumi videshinii. Here the word cini has a double meaning. One meaning is: “O foreign lady, I recognize you.” Another meaning is: “Hey, sugar, you have come from overseas.” During the first part of the British era, when insufficient coal sugar was being produced in this country, sugar was imported as required from Batavia in Indonesia. During my childhood, this sugar was known as bát́áciinii in the markets in Calcutta. The name bát́áciinii came from the name of the capital city Batavia. The Sanskrit name for the city of Batavia is Vátáviipura. The large-sized lemon that the Dutch brought to this country from Batavia, which has since become practically native, is still called bátávii lemon.

The original home of sugar cane is southeast Asia. Sugar cane likes hot weather and lots of water. Southeast Asia is still the largest producer of sugar cane in the world. Guŕ [molasses] is a very old Vedic word. There tends to be some difference of opinion whether or not the Vedic Aryans cultivated sugar cane or were familiar with sugar cane, but there is no doubt that they were familiar with sugar-cane molasses. It is not known whether they produced this sugar-cane molasses themselves or imported it from southeast Asia. The Vedic Aryans used to use honey for their religious rituals, but it was also the system that molasses could be used in place of honey as required when the supply of honey was insufficient. Madhvabháve gud́aḿ dadyát [“In the absence of honey, molasses (gud́a) can be offered to the deity”]. Here, of course, gud́a means aekśava guŕ.

Footnotes

(1) The candrabindu (  ঁ ), written in Bengali as a dot (bindu) with a crescent or semi-circle below it (candra), nasalizes the vowel to which it is attached. –Trans.

(2) He was at once a philosopher, scientist and Buddhist mendicant.

(3) A type of leaf similar to pán which grows abundantly in Bengal.

(4) In the Punjab, Dolyátrá day is called Holi. And the day after is called Holá. The word “Holi” has come from the name of Hirańyakashipu’s sister – according to some, from the name of Kansa’s sister – Holiká Rákśasii. According to the Puranic story, Holiká Rákśasii used to eat one person a day and the kingdom supplied her meal. After this Holiká Rákśasii was killed the people burned her corpse at the crossroads and celebrated the occasion with a festival. This “Holi” has come from the burning of Holiká. The burning in effigy of Holiká that is performed on the night before Dol is known as cáncar in some places, in others nyáŕá-poŕá, and still elsewhere jáŕábuŕi and sambat or sambar.

(5) About eighty to ninety years ago these medium-sized maned Indian lions used to be found in western Rarh but they were wiped out due to the atrocities of human beings.

(6) Strictly speaking, it would be better to classify the alsatian not as a dog, but as a somewhat different variety.

(7) Citravyághra [leopard] – In some people’s opinion the real leopard has become extinct and can be found today only in pictures. What is taken for a leopard nowadays is actually a panther.

(8) In spoken Bengali we call the polecat katásh or khatásh. It is said that in the middle of the British period, when malaria was sweeping the country, many areas were decimated; it was especially bad in west Bengal’s Burdwan District, north Bengal’s Rajshahi District, east Bengal’s Maymansingh District and central Bengal’s Jessore District. Except for one Narail subdivision, practically all of Jessore District was turned into a graveyard. Many rich settlements were abandoned and reverted back to jungle. The Bangaon and Magura subdivisions of that time were affected by both malaria and black fever. In many parts small villages were deserted and the jungle overtook them. Polecats then started taking up residence there in large numbers. There is Bengali adage that was made at that time which says: “The polecat is the king of the wild village”.

(9) This creature, which makes its home in the hollows of trees, is also called guisáp in some parts of Bengal.

(10) It lives in the corners of the house and the space between bricks; it is half red, half golden.

(11) The t́ikt́iki does not fly but beetles do. When they are mesmerised by the t́ikt́iki they fly near their mouths.

(12) A six-pointed star shape used in certain Tantric practices. – Trans.

(13) Kat́hopaniśad. –Trans.

(14) Tantra is primarily divided into two: Vidyá and Avidyá. Vidyá points humans towards the path of shreya sádhaná; Avidyá Tantra takes humans onto the path of preya. In ancient times Vidyá Tantra was divided into two branches, Gaod́iiya (Bengali) and Káshmiira, and Avidyá Tantra was divided into four branches, Gaod́iiya (Bengali), Kámárpiiya, Kiḿpuruśavarśiiya (Tibetan) and Chinese.

Chapter 8	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

Vargiiya Ba and Antahstha Va

In Bengali script, vargiiya ba and antahstha va have been separate letters since olden times, but in the last one hundred years or so the character for the two letters has become the same. However their pronunciation is completely different. It has been difficult, not only for children but for adults also, to know from the spelling of a word whether vargiiya ba or anatahstha va was being used; as a result, the separate pronunciation of the two letters has gradually been lost and errors in pronunciation, as well as spelling, have crept into the Bengali language. In English “b” should be written for the letter vargiiya ba and “v” for the letter anatahstha va. Body, because, bell, buoy, but, beacon, big, bag, beach, biija, bit, ban, beans, beet, bat, beam, etc., should be written in Bengali with vargiiya ba. Becál, beháyá, besharam, betár, bekár, becárá, bejár, bed́hap, benámá, etc., should be written with vargiiya ba because they are all pronounced like the English sound “b”. Bálaka, bálá, budha, buddha, baŕa, brhat, bandhana, bándhu, báddha, bándh – these words should also be spelled with vargiiya ba because they are pronounced like the English “b”. Vote, value, valve, very, valley, van, veto, vapour, and so forth, should be written with antahstha va. Their pronunciation has no relationship with the English “b”. In order to eliminate the current spelling and phonetic difficulties in the Bengali language it has become imperative to re-introduce the letter b with a line through the body of the letter. Moreover, if there is no separate character for vargiiya ba and anatahstha va in Bengali then the proper teaching and learning of Sanskrit becomes impossible.

Sanskrit does not have its own separate script, that is, there is no Sanskrit script. Traditionally, Sanskrit has been written in the local script. In the land of Bengal, Sanskrit has been written since ancient times in the Bengali script, thus distinct characters have to be maintained for ba and va.

“Gauhati” is spelled incorrectly in English; it should be “Guvahati”. In Bengali it is written guváhát́i. The word guvá [betel] has come from the accepted Sanskrit guváka. In old Bengali the word guvá was used; supári [betel nut] was not taken. The word supári is originally Hindustani; it has come into Bengali in modern times. In old Calcutta there was also a locality called Guvábágán (Goyábágán). The Urdu word for guvá is kasheilii – in certain places d́áli is also used.

Áya rauṋga hát́e yái;
Guvá-páń kine khái.

[Come with me to the market and buy some betel there and eat it.]

Fiiryá áisyá bandhu ámár guyá-páń kháio;
Náo laiyá sháon másere bandhu náiyar laiyá záio.

[When you return, my friend, enjoy some betel leaf and betel nut. Come in your boat in the month of Shrávańa and take your daughter to father’s house. ]

Qua (ক়): This is pronounced like the English “q”. The sound is somewhat similar to the raven’s call. It is pronounced keeping one’s mind on the kúrma nád́ii situated in the throat. The sound is also close to kva. This sound is not found in Sanskrit and pure Bengali, but it is found in Hebrew, Arabic, Farsi, English, French, Latin, and many languages descended from Latin. This letter is indispensable for indicating the proper pronunciation of the words used in Bengali which are taken from these languages. Without this letter we would not be able to properly write qasim, Koran, qutabuddin, question, quest, shark, hawk, haquikat, fakir and so forth. Thus this letter needs to be introduced into the modern Bengali script considering the needs of the modern era. The letter is not one of the acoustic roots.

Qhua (খ়): This letter is pronounced somewhat like “qh”. This sound does not exist in Sanskrit and pure Bengali, but it is found in Hebrew, Arabic and Farsi. Khájá should be spelled with this “qh”.

Za (জ়):The sound is similar to the English “z”. This letter is found in Hebrew, Arabic, Farsi, English, French, Latin and most of the Latin-group languages. If words from these languages are to be written in Bengali script then this letter is indispensable. We are compelled to use this letter to write words such as gázi, ázim, “zig-zag”, “zeal”, “zoological”, “zodiac” and so forth. Otherwise there will be confusion in pronunciation.

In English, its pronunciation is not “ij” but “iz”.

Ŕa (ড়): This is not a separate acoustic root. According to Sanskrit rules, the letter d́a is pronounced d́a at the beginning of a word and ŕa in the middle or at the end of a word. For example, d́ambaru and d́auṋká but áŕambara. Although it is not accepted as a separate form from the Sanskrit d́a, it is desirable that it have a separate character due to the difference in pronunciation, and so it is in Bengali. The letter should be formally accepted.

Ŕha (ঢ়): This is not a separate acoustic root. According to the Sanskrit rule it is pronounced d́ha at the beginning of a word and ŕha in the middle or at the end of a word. For example, d́hakká but áśáŕha. As this letter has a separate pronunciation and a separate character in the Bengali script, it should be accepted as a separate letter.

T (ৎ):This is not a separate acoustic root. Actually it is ta with the a dropped. For a long time in Bengali there has been the custom of writing t rather than ta with a hasanta after it. Wherever ta is written with a hasanta beneath it, t can be written in its stead which takes less time. Thus t should be kept and given formal acceptance.

Fa (ফ়): This is not a separate acoustic root. Its pronunciation is similar to the English “f”. This sound is enunciated by filling the mouth with air and creating pressure against the lips with that air from inside the mouth, then expelling it outside while opening the mouth. This sound does not exist in Sanskrit and pure Bengali; what exists is the pha sound. Its name is phańii which should be written in English as “phani”, not “fani”. This sound is found in Hebrew, Arabic, Farsi, English, French, and the majority of the Latin languages. This letter is needed to indicate the correct pronunciation of words such as farukh, fazal, fir, fer, fryát́ár, fan, fair, frequent, fire, far, father, feyár and so forth. If this letter is introduced into the modern Bengali script, then we will be able to indicate the pronunciation for words which we are unable to at present. We should write “Fazl-ul-Haque” but we write incorrectly “Phajl-ul-Hak”. I do not consider this mistake excusable. By introducing the letter fa, this long-time error can be rectified.

Ya (য়): This is also not a separate acoustic root. Padánte padamadhyasthe ya-kára ia ucyate, that is, if ya is at the beginning of a word, then is pronounced as a light ja; and in the middle and at the end of a word it is pronounced as ia, but it will be easier to recognize when it should be pronounced as a light ja and when it should be pronounced as ia if a dot is placed beneath the Bengali character [ya] for the ia sound. In the Bengali language, this ya with a dot below it has already been in use for a long time. It should be allowed to continue. Sanskrit does not have a separate form for ya when it is pronounced ia, but it is good that it remain in Bengali.

Lra (ল়): This letter is not found in Bengali, Assamese and Hindustani, but it is found in Sanskrit, Marathi, Gujarati and the alphabets of south India. In north India, it is present in the pronunciation of the common people although there is no separate character for it. The rule is that whenever la is present in the middle or end of the original verbal root, then it will be antahstha la (lra), and if it is at the beginning of the original verbal root then it will be ádi la (la). If it is present in the radical of a compound word derived from the verbal root, or after the prefix, then this antahstha la (lra) will not undergo any change in either form or pronunciation. Similarly, if a root word contains ádi la, and it is present in the radical of a compound word made with that root, then that adi la will not undergo any change, for example, shriilatá, shriilekhá, sulekhá, puśpalatá, and so forth. All those suffixes which contain la have adi la, such as alac, ilac and so on.

Without this antahstha la (lra) in the Bengali language, the proper teaching and study of Sanskrit is not possible; it should be part of the Bengali script. Otherwise Bengali-speaking students of Sanskrit will pronounce it incorrectly. The difference in pronunciation of words such as latá, phalra, kamala, kálrakálra, etc., will go unrecognized if the letter lra is not introduced. If, while reading the Vedas, we read agni miilre as agni miile it will be incorrect, so the letter lra should have a place. There is a great abundance in Bengali of words borrowed from Sanskrit which contain antahstha la (lra), such as kálra, khalra, vimalra, samalra, amalra (not kamala), tálra, tálrii, dalra, palra, kalryáńa, kapálra, bhálra (in the sense of forehead) – it would be an error to spell these with adi la.

Just as there is a need for the letters qa, qha, za and fa for writing words of foreign origin such as fazl, “hawk”, haqiikat, qhájá sáheb and so forth, there is an undeniable need for the letter lra for writing Bengali and Sanskrit words properly. For the same reasons, the letters rr, lr and lrr require a place. Although there are far fewer words in Bengali written with long rr (naerrta), lr (saḿklrpta, abhiklrpta), lrr (lrrt́) in comparison with the abundance of words containing lra, they are necessary for the Bengali-speaking students of Sanskrit, so they should also be given a place. Otherwise Bengali-speaking students will be hampered in the arena of pronunciation. So I will reiterate the need for qa, qha, za and fa for indicating the proper pronunciation of English, Arabic and Farsi words, just as there is a need for the letter lra for indicating the Sanskrit letter.

Aṋ (অঁ): In Sanskrit the candrabindu is not a full vowel but a special form of half-vowel, that is, although it is a ayogaváha,⁽¹⁾ it is not a complete ayogaváha. The candrabindu is not accepted in Sanskrit spelling but it is accepted as a sound. Tán + te is spelled táḿte but its Vedic-style pronunciation will be tánḿste. Tán + tathaeva is spelled táḿstathaeva but is pronounced tánḿstathaeva. If the candrabindu is pronounced, then why should it not be written? The following words would be completely unacceptable if the candrabindu was left out: phánká, áiṋcáno, áiṋcala, ánjalá, ánt́á, ánsha, kándá, khándá, gándá, cándá, chánda, jhánjha, d́ánt́á, cánda, páiṋca, phánda, bándha, bhánotá, yántá, shánsa, and many more. Hence the candrabindu should be fully accepted as a letter in the Bengali script.

Oka

The meaning of the Vedic verbal root uc is “to be gathered together”, “to be assembled”. By adding the suffix ghaiṋ (some say ka) to uc we get the word oka whose etymological meaning is: “all those entities which are together or form a group”. One of its colloquial meanings is a certain type of tree found in temperate and cold climates [oak]. This Vedic word oka is now quite common in many of the world’s languages. Indeed, the tree which we know nowadays as “oak” grows in large groups. The oak tree is comparatively tall. Some varieties are taller, others moderately tall and bushy. People believe that the pores of the oak’s leaves attract distant clouds. It is perhaps for this reason that in olden times people used to plant oak trees around their houses and villages. As a result the entire village would be turned into an oak grove. As I said, the meaning of the word oka was that they grew in groves.

There are three main varieties of oak tree which are well-known in the world. One of these is the red oak. Its original home was Britain, Ireland, Holland and nearby areas. People believe that the red oak has the greatest capacity to attract clouds. The second variety is the green oak. Although it doesn’t grow in hot areas, it does grow in somewhat warm areas and its original home was north of Eurasia’s Tropic of Cancer and south of the Tropic of Capricorn. The third variety of oak is the silver oak. It generally does not like predominately hot climates. While it is true that it is able to survive if planted in predominately hot regions, its growth is stunted. Its original home was also in the north-central areas of Eurasia.

Oak wood is somewhat light. It does not make very good furniture and is used more as firewood. The sap and juices of the oak have medicinal qualities. At one time during the prehistoric age there was a huge oak forest by the Barak river-valley, that is, modern-day Manipur, the northern part of Tripura, Kachar, Kaminganj and certain parts of Silchar. That special variety of oak whose descendants are found today was known by the name manipurii oak. One of its branch varieties is also a type of creeper. Because of people’s shortsightedness the manipurii variety of oak has been nearly wiped out. Still, with proper forethought, new forests can be planted and with the judicious use of this forest wealth, paper of a high grade can be produced. People also believe that this oak is especially capable of attracting clouds. As I was saying, in prehistoric times there was a vast forest of a now-extinct variety of oak in the Barak river-valley, so by searching this region a light variety of coal may be found.

Oka

Another colloquial meaning of oka is “home”. Oka means “home” in the sense of people living together. We can easily use oka as a synonym for words such as “hostel”, chátrávása [student’s home], áshraya [shelter], sadana [residence] and so forth. Chátráoka can be easily substituted for chátrávása and chátraoka for anáthálaya [orphanage]. A rest house can be called vishrámaoka. Etymologically, there are three words used for a creature which makes its home in water – jalaoká (in feminine gender t́á), jaloká and jal-uká. All three mean “leech”.

Okana/Okani/Okanii

By adding the suffix lyut́ to the verbal root uc we get the word okana. Okani and okanii have the same meaning. The etymological meaning of okana is “those who remain together”; its colloquial meaning is “louse”, which we call d́yáuṋgara in spoken Bengali when it is large-sized; the ordinary louse and its egg is called niki.

D́yáuṋgar-ukun-niki kare kilibili;
Kot́i kot́i káńkot́ári cale ilibili.

[Large or small, lice wiggle; millions of them go on wiggling together. ]

The colloquial meaning of okana is “bug”. Ud́d́iisha also means “bug”. The derived form of ud́d́iisha in Bengali is uŕisa or uŕiisha. The word uŕisha is used in some parts of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa.

Okas

By adding the suffix asun to the verbal root uc we get two words: okas and ucas. The etymological meaning of the word okas is “that which invites another to take shelter”; its colloquial meaning is “big house”, “student’s home”, “orphanage”, “traveller’s home”, “large hotel” and so forth. In Bengali also the word okas can be freely used to mean chátrávása [student’s home], ashrama, anáthálaya [orphanage], vishrámagrha (resthouse or retiring room), yátriinivása (waiting room), and so on. This saves time, paper and ink. For example, rel-okas can be easily substituted for “retiring or waiting room”.

Ojas

By adding the suffix asun to the verbal root oj (uj) we get the word ojas; its etymological meaning is “that which increases vitality” or “that which makes lustrous”. The colloquial meaning of ojas is “warm being” or “living being”. Ojasvin means “that which is full of life”, in feminine form, ojasvinii. Ojas can also be spelled with a visarga, that is, it can be spelled either ojas or ojah.

Otu

Uv + tuk (tu) = otu. The verbal root uv means “to be ready to flee” or “to flee suddenly”. The etymological meaning of the word otu is “that which is always ready to flee” or “that which flees suddenly”. The colloquial meaning of the word otu is “cat”. If a cat successfully gets into the kitchen or storeroom and is eating the milk or fish, it will flee through the window or any other opening the moment someone enters there. For this reason its name is otu.

Odana

The verbal root und means “to soak or drench with water”. By adding the suffix lyut́ to und we get the word odana; its etymological meaning is “that which is soaked in water” or “that which has been softened” and its colloquial meaning is “cooked rice”. Cooked rice is prepared by putting it in water and boiling it. For this reason it is called odana. The food [anna] of a person who earns his money by virtuous means is not called pápánna [sinful food] because his food is pure. The type of person in whose house one can easily eat his food, we can call shuddhodana.

The word bháta [cooked rice] comes from the Prákrta word bhatta. In old Bengali both bhatta and bhattá were common. The word bháta has also been used throughout eastern India for the last nearly one thousand years. In Hindustani the word bháta is masculine, but in Hindustani the word cával [rice] is more common. The word cával is used for both raw rice and cooked rice.

Om

A + u + m = Om. The sound a is the seed of creation. So a is the first sound of the world and of the universe. A is called the first acoustic root, thus at the time of arranging the alphabet a was placed first. The sound á consists of two a’s side by side so it was given the second position. In most of the alphabets of the world a is the first letter and the first in alphabetical order – aliph, alpha, “a” and so on. The sound a signifies the union of the introversial consciousness and the extroversial consciousness, thus a signifies the complete expression of the play of creation.

The sound u signifies the action of “preservation”, “maintenance” or “attendance”. Whatever has been created or manifest in the universe, whatever wave has begun to be sounded in the firmament, is living or preserved within certain fixed limits of time. Static entities are, for the time being, comparatively more permanent, and dynamic entities are comparatively shorter lived, but all are circumscribed by temporal limits. As long as the created being, object or wave remains within its temporal limits then that abiding form is sounded and maintained by the seed of preservation and existence. The same is true for each and every entity of the universe, that is, what is created by the seed a abides in the seed u, thus creation and abiding, a and u, gives us a + u = o.

When the rotation is circular the expressed entity gets an opportunity to return to its original cause. If that entity is ensconced in the ideation of its original source then there is nothing to add. But if that circular course continues to emerge out from the original source, still it has no other option but to return to that original source. Where the emanated entity advances on the path of diffusion, and that movement remains under the control of the nuclear force, then it is bound to return; it will one day merge in the nucleus. One day, under the inspiration of that preserving entity situated in the nucleus, the chapter of its return begins, and its culmination is in the nucleus – the end of all its peregrinations.

This return is called prańásha [annihilation]. The word násha has come from the verbal root nash. The root nash means “to be destroyed”. When this násh achieves completeness then we call it vinásha. And when this násha signifies the return of an entity to its original state then it is called prańásha. That which is created in the journey by the sound a and preserved by the sound u meets its prańásha in the sound ma. Thus, this dissolution is not a terrible or dangerous thing; it is not death. Although the scriptures call it “the great death”, it is really a return to the original entity or original force. That state of the Supreme Force or Parama Puruśa which is signified by the sound a and which remains engaged in the action of creation is called Brahmá. That state which remains engaged in the action of preservation or maintenance is called Viśńu. And that state which remains engaged in withdrawal or prańásha is called Saḿhartá, or Maheshvara. This a + u + m gives om. Om means the expressed Brahma, or Saguńa Brahma, comprised of creation, maintenance and dissolution.

The sphere of action of this Saguńa Brahma is limited to the expressed universe. Although this expressed universe is extremely vast, from the philosophical point of view it is limited, because whatever shape the five fundamental factors take, it is still bound by limitation, caught in the bonds of existence. This expressed or manifested universe is a finite island in an ocean of infinity.

The nirguńa state is beyond thought. It cannot be expressed through language or through written symbols. Thus there is no other means but to use a dot for it, although a dot is incapable of fully conveying its significance. And so, in ancient times people saw no other means but to use a vertical line to indicate the Supreme Cognitive Force and a horizontal line to indicate the Supreme Operative Force (Paramá Prakrti), and for the expressed universe, that is, for the Cognitive Force bound by Prakrti, they used to draw a plus mark (+).

In the expressed universe ka is indicative of the seed of the stage-wise introversial movement. Thus, ultimately, this plus sign becomes the symbol of the sound ka. So in the Brahmii script the character for ka is a plus sign. In the expressed universe the fundamental dynamic entity is om (a + u + m), but beyond it is an unexpressed ocean of consciousness. For that there is nothing we can use besides a dot. We use a crescent line (náda) as a symbol of the state that relates this dot with the om. The two of them together are known collectively as nádabindu. Although it looks somewhat like the candrabindu, the two are not identical. The curved portion below the dot is not exactly like the curve of the candrabindu; the tail end curves up more, a little like a check mark. Thus this dot and crescent line, and with it om, forms the collective symbol of Nirguńa as well as Saguńa Brahma.⁽²⁾

It is said in the Vedas: Tatte padaḿ saḿgraheńa braviimyomityetad. That is, I have uttered this word oṋm for attaining the supreme stance of Parama Puruśa.

Ora

Ora is a very old Bengali word which means “end”. The word ora also exists in old Shaorasenii Prákrta where it means “direction”, in Farsi tarph (is tarph, us tarph [this direction, that direction]). Thus one can say uskii or in Hindustani for “in his direction”. “In the country’s direction” will be deshkii or, but in Bengali ora has a different meaning. I have already said that ora means “end”. Two hundred years ago, the word ora was quite common in Bengali in this sense. Today this word is fast disappearing. In the Váramásyá [Bengali epic poem] we find:

Jaśt́imáse śaśt́hii bát́á bándhe jaśt́ir d́or;
Áśáŕhete rathayátrá náiko loker or.

[In the Bengali month of Jyaeśt́hi, Śaśt́hii is worshipped. The holy thread of the month is tied to the hands of all. In Áśarh, in the car festival, there is an endless crowd of people. ]

One hundred years ago people would say grámer ore [at the end of the village] rather than grámer sheśe. Nowadays, you will hardly ever hear anyone say this.

Ośt́ha

The verbal root uś means “to heat”, “to light”, “to burn”, “to warm up”, “to handle”. Uś + tha = ośt́ha. Etymologically ośt́ha means “that which handles”; colloquially it means “lip”. Generally it refers to both the lower and upper lips, but specifically it refers to the upper lip and adhara refers to the lower lip. A + (nain) + dhr + ac = adhara.

Ośadhi

The verbal root uś + ghaiṋ = ośa +dhá + ki = ośadhi. The verbal root uś means “to heat”. That which heats food we call uś + lyut́ = ośańa (úśańa is also correct). This ośańa or úśańa means “spice”. Hot spice is called śaŕúśańa (śat́ + úśańa). Ośadhi means “that which brings the warmth of life into the body” – which, by reviving, energy comes. Thus one colloquial meaning of ośadhi is “medicine” or “medicinal herb”. Uś + na = uśńa; uśńa means “hot”.

Another meaning of the word ośadhi is “all those living beings or plants where the mother rushes towards death as they are being born”, or “those progeny whose birth is also the cause of the mother’s death”. In the plant kingdom the plaintain group is of this type so it is classified as ośadhi. Some people also like to consider the grass family of plants as ośadhi. They claim that when the seeds of these plants (rice, wheat, etc.) mature then the mother, that is, the grass plant, dies. This is not so. Grass-family plants are not ośadhi, the reason being that while the seeds are technically the progeny of the plant, as long as they have not sprouted one cannot accept that any progeny has been produced. The seeds of grass family plants only get a chance to sprout long after they have matured. For this reason the grass-family plants, such as rice and wheat, cannot be called ośadhi.

According to some people there are a certain few living beings who die when the children are born. In this regard, they talk about the crab. They say that while the baby crabs are in the mother’s womb they eat at her flesh and finally, only after having exhausted all her flesh, are they are born, thus crabs are also ośadhi. Because they are matricidal, travellers used to consider bananas and crabs as inauspicious for journeys, that is, no one would ever take bananas or crabs with them to distant countries. In ancient times, a distant land was reckoned as that land which it took a lunar day or more to reach. In former times Midnapore was also a distant land from Burdwan. Today, even the moon is not a distant land from the earth.

Ośadhipati

The quality of ośadhi or medicinal herbs varies according to the different lunar days. In olden times people used to think that the qualities of edibles also varied with the different lunar days, thus they declared that on such-and-such day brinjals were forbidden, on others palm, brhatii [a large variety of brinjal] or gourd. Because the quality of medicines varied according to the lunar day, that is, according to the position of the moon, the moon was called Ośadhipati [Lord of Medicine].

Footnotes

(1) A letter that cannot stand on its own: ḿ and h. –Trans.

(2) Strictly speaking, nádabindu is not represented in romanized Sanskrit. Candrabindu, which is similar, is represented by ṋ. So the “collective symbol” – dot and crescent together with om – is sometimes rendered as oṋm (which before a consonant, for the sake of euphony, becomes oṋḿ). See also p. 35 and p. 99. –Trans.

	Shabda Cayaniká Part 2

ÁCÁRYA m. or ÁCÁRYÁ f. Spiritual teacher qualified to teach all lessons of meditation.
ÁJIṊÁ CAKRA. See CAKRA.
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, ÁTMAN. Soul, consciousness, PURUŚA, pure cognition. The átman of the Cosmos is PARAMÁTMAN, and that of the unit is the jiivátman.
AVADHÚTA m. or AVADHÚTIKÁ f. Literally, “one who is thoroughly cleansed mentally and spiritually”; a monk or nun of an order close to the tradition of Shaeva Tantra.
AVIDYÁ. Ignorance; centrifugal, or extroversial, force; force of repulsion from the Nucleus Consciousness; aspect of the Cosmic Operative Principle which guides movements from the subtle to the crude. See also VIDYÁ.

BRAHMA. Supreme Entity, comprising both 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.

DAKŚIŃÁCÁRA TANTRA A school of Tantra that attempts to control MÁYÁ through propitiation or appeasement.
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.

GUŃA. Binding factor of principle; attribute; quality. PRAKRTI, the Cosmic Operative Principle, is composed of: sattvaguńa, the sentient principle; rajoguńa, the mutative principle; and tamoguńa, the static principle.

IŚT́A. Goal; one’s personal deity or goal in life.
IŚT́A CAKRA. The CAKRA used for concentration in the practice of IISHVARA PRAŃIDHÁNA.
IŚT́A MANTRA. The mantra that leads the aspirant to his or her goal.
IISHVARA. The Cosmic Controller; literally, the “Controller of all controllers”.
IISHVARA PRAŃIDHÁNA. Surrender to the Cosmic Controller through meditation; a lesson of Ananda Marga meditation.

JIIVÁTMAN. See ÁTMAN.

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.

MAHÁBHÁRATA. “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.
MÁYÁ. Creative Principle. One aspect of Máyá is the power to create the illusion that the finite created objects are the ultimate truth.

NIRGUŃA BRAHMA. BRAHMA unaffected by the GUŃAS; Non-Qualified Brahma.

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, PARAMASHIVA. The Nucleus Consciousness, the witness of saiṋcara (extroversion from the Nutcleus) and pratisaiṋcara (introversion to the Nucleus).

RÁGA or RÁGIŃII. Scales or modes for improvization in Indian classical music; pieces or compositions based on those modes.
RARH. The territory, mostly in Bengal, stretching from the west bank of the Bhagirathi River to the Parasnath Hills.
RŚI. Sage; one who, by inventing things, broadens the path of progress of human society.

SÁDHANÁ. Literally, “sustained effort”; spiritual practice; meditation.
SAGUŃA BRAHMA. BRAHMA unaffected by the GUŃAS; Qualified Brahma.
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).
SHÚDRA. Written as shúdra, a person of bread-and-butter mentality, a member of the worker social class; written as “Shúdra”, a member of the lowest caste in India.
SIDDHI. Self-realization; spiritual attainment; one of the eight occult powers.
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 tanmátra 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.

VAESHYA. Written as vaeshya, a person of acquisitive mentality, a member of the capitalist social class; written as “Vaeshya”, a member of the second-lowest caste in India.
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; centripetal, or introversial, force; force of attraction to the Nucleus Consciousness; aspect of the Cosmic Operative Principle which guides movements from the crude to the subtle. See also AVIDYÁ.
VIPRA. Written as vipra, a person who controls others by his or her wits, a member of the intellectual social class; written as “Vipra”, a member of the highest caste in India.

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