EE7.5 - Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

Publisher's Note

On the 8th of September, 1985, the author, and founder of Ananda Marga, Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, began an extraordinary series of Sunday lectures in 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 in 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 wisdom, enriching our experience with new ideas and enabling us to see our human heritage in a way we have never been able to before.

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

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

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

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

The first English publication of the material on the rights of women (in the section entitled Aodváhika) in Discourse 15 of this Shabda Cayaniká Part 3, and the material on purdah in Discourse 17, came in The Awakening of Women, 1995. This material was translated by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta, Avadhútiká Ánanda Rucirá Ácárya and Ácárya Acyutánanda Avadhúta. The first English publication of the story of Arúpratan and Sutanuká which appears in Discourse 17 came in A Few Problems Solved Part 5, translated by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta, and was entitled “River and Civilization”.

The translation of this book by Deváshiiśa was checked by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta, who compared the English line by line with the Bengali original, making the necessary corrections and suggestions, as well as translating the Sanskrit shlokas.

Aoktha/Aokthaka/Aokthika to Aokśa (Discourse 15)

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Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

Aoktha/Aokthaka/Aokthika to Aokśa (Discourse 15)

The Vedas were composed in ancient times by different sages over a period of nearly ten thousand years – from approximately fifteen thousand years ago to five thousand years ago – before human beings became conversant with written script. This is not to say, however, that human beings were completely illiterate during this long period of the composition of the Vedas. They became conversant with the alphabet approximately seven thousand years ago, shortly after the time of Shiva.

Originally, the Vedas could not be written down because human beings had yet to discover writing. Later on, despite having the knowledge of writing, people did not write down the Vedas due to a deep-rooted belief that they should, perhaps, not be written down. Thus those human ancestors did not transcribe them, and for this reason, most likely, another name for the Vedas was shruti, that is, “that which is learned by hearing”. Whatever people considered important during this long period and set to prose or poetry, metre and melody was given the name veda, or “knowledge”, whether it concerned spirituality, devotion, or meeting the mundane necessities.

Preserving this vast wealth of knowledge through memorization was no easy task. Due to the pressure of necessity they devised written symbols, beginning with pictorial script. In the East, this took the form of the Chinese system of pictorial script, and in south Asia and central Asia it took the form of linear script. This linear script, over time, became divided into two main systems. One was written from left to right (the Aryan and Indo-Aryan scripts, such as Bengali and Roman), and the other was written from right to left (the Semitic scripts, such as Arabic).

Written script was indeed discovered, but, due to the influence of blind belief, people were reluctant to commit the Vedas to writing. Because of this a large portion of the Vedas vanished forever behind the curtain of oblivion. Realizing that the Vedas could not be preserved through memorization, they were divided into three parts according to their relative antiquity. The composition of the oldest portion – that which was more than seven thousand years old – began approximately fifteen thousand years ago. It was given the name Rgveda. The main reason why it was given this name was because it abounded in rks, or hymns in verse form. The medieval Vedas were given the name Yajurveda, which was chiefly concerned with rituals and secondly with a blend of rituals and knowledge. The final portion was given the name Atharvaveda because its composition was begun by Maharshi Atharvá (in some people’s opinion, the sage’s name was Atharvas or Atharva).

Even though the preservation of the Vedas through memorization was made somewhat easier by this tripartite division, it was still a difficult matter. Thereafter the song-predominant portions were collected together and arranged according to their relative antiquity. In many cases, in addition to this time-wise division, an attempt was made to classify the songs according to their metres. Despite making it easier in this way to preserve the Vedas by memorization, they were still on the verge of being erased from the canvas of memory. At one point, after close examination, it was found that many important portions had disappeared – permanently disappeared, never to return again. At that time, a group of pandits from Kashmir disregarded their age-old inhibitions in order to save the Vedas from destruction and set them down in writing for the first time in the old Sáradá script of that region.

Now this musical portion of the Vedas, which was known as the Sámaveda (the word sáma means “song”), was also divided into three parts according to relative antiquity. According to some, the name of that portion of the Sámaveda which was taken from the Rgveda is uktha. However, according to many pandits the songs are classified in various ways and the name of a single category is uktha. Whatever the case may be, uktha means “all those portions of the Sámaveda which have been gathered together as one”, whether that be according to time or according to musical classification.

Aoktha means “concerning uktha”. Uc + tha = uktha. The verbal root uc means “to be collected, gathered together”. Aokthaka means “pandit of the Sámaveda” and aokthika means “the rules and regulations concerning aoktha”. In the opinion of some pandits, the words aokthaka and aokthika have the same etymological meaning. There are others who are not prepared to accept the word aokthika as correct. They are, of course, principally from the Rgvedic school. In very ancient times, in north India and Gujarat, there was one class of pandits who studied the Sámaveda and who introduced themselves as aokthaka. Nowadays no one calls each other aokthaka. Although Bengal’s Paiṋcagrámii Ráŕhii Brahmans (Bandyopádhyáya, Mukhopádhyaya, Chat́t́opadhyáya, Gáunguli, Ghośal) followed the Sámavedic system in matters pertaining to the karmakańd́a, virtually none of them studied the Vedas deeply. Their inclination was more towards the Tantra. Thus they were not known by the name aokthaka. In subsequent times, as result of the mushrooming influence of Mahayana Buddhism among them, they drifted far away from the Vedic sphere of influence. The Vedic system of pronunciation was also abandoned.

Because Maharshi Krśńadvaepáyana Vyása divided the Vedas according to their age, he was known among the common people as Veda Vyása.

The word ugra means “supreme”, “acme”, “point of a needle”, “hot”, etc. From ugra we get the noun aogra, and from aogra we get the half-Sanskrit-derived word gargare. For example: “The potato curry was well-cooked and strongly seasoned [gargare] with hot spices. With this carefully cooked curry all the rice will be eaten up.” In old Bengali the word oggara (that is, aogra) was commonly used to mean “hot” or “spicy”. There is a doggerel in old Bengali:

Oggara bhattá, rambháa pattá
Gáikka ghittá dugdha sajattá,
Nália gacchá, muallá macchá
Dijjai kantá khá puńyavantá.

That is – “Hot rice on a banana leaf, with it cow’s ghee and boiled condensed milk, jute leaves and maorla fish. The lady of the house is serving, and you, the virtuous one, just sit and eat.”

Many people believe that in old Bengal biuli pulse (biri kalái) was the only kind of pulse people used. Biuli pulse was a daily staple, thus its name disappeared from the list of desired foods. In many people’s opinion, the Bengalees learned to eat other kinds of pulses approximately one thousand to twelve hundred years ago, nevertheless muggar dal [mung] was most probably taken with oggara bhattá [hot rice].

The substantive form of the adjective ucca is aocca/aoccya. Generally the word aoccya is used for all kinds of height and the word aocca is used for abstract references to height. In Bengali the word uccatá is more common and in Hindi, úcái. Speaking of the Hindi word úcái reminds me of a short story about Aklmand Singh.

I had not seen Aklmand Singh for some time. Then I met him unexpectedly in front of a lassi shop.

“Hello, Aklmand,” I said, “what’s going on? I haven’t seen you for quite some time.”

“Then you must be having a wonderful time,” I said, “listening to good talks, getting advice, listening to explanations of the scriptures, isn’t it?”

“He knows many good things,” replied Aklmand. “I do too. What new good things could he say! Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“What new advice could he give?” he replied. “I’ve already accumulated a mountain of advice in my mind. I’m not getting enough time to put all that advice to use. When I was young I read Sadá satya kathá balibe [‘You should always speak the truth’] in the second part of Varńaparicaya [a child’s primer], but I haven’t gotten accustomed yet to the habit of telling the truth.

“What further explanations of the scriptures could he give,” he replied. “I mean, whether I understand it or not, I’ve memorized all the scriptures.”

“Still,” I said, “these are truly great men. Surely there is something to be gained by being in their presence.”

The meaning of the root verb oj (uj) is “to accumulate vital energy”. By adding the suffix asun to uj we get the word ojasa which means “heat” or “vital energy”, “to radiate light”, “to shine or glitter”. By adding the suffix t́hak to ojas we get the word aojasika whose etymological meaning is “that which is full of vitality”, “that which is colourful” or “that which contains the splendour of colour”. In a special sense, aojasika means “great warrior”. In ancient literature the word aojasika has been used in some places to mean “one who has sacrificed oneself in the interest of others”. Nowadays the word aojasika can be used in place of shahiida [martyr].

The meaning of the root verb od́ is “to pull near”, “to treat with affection”, “to embrace”, “to care for”. Ud́ + rak makes od́ra. That land which cares for its guests with great affection, which draws far-off people to itself, is called the land of od́ra. The stretch of seacoast lying between the mouth of the Mahánadii and Suvarńarekhá Rivers is called od́ra and the coastal area between the mouths of the Mahánadii and the Godávarii rivers is known as Utkala. The name of the entire coastal area from the mouth of the Godávarii to the mouth of the Suvarńarekhá, that is, both Utkala and Odra, is Kaliuṋga. Subjects relating to the land of Od́ra are called aod́ra. The language is called od́rii/aod́rii. The word oŕiyá has come from this word od́rii/aod́rii. The word uŕiyá is not a result of changes to od́rii/aod́rii, rather oŕiyá is, thus it is preferable that the latter be used.

The word otu means “cat”. Things relating to cats are called aotava, in Latin, “feline”.

By adding ań to uttána we get the word aottána. If one lies down parallel to the earth with the navel upwards then this position is called uttána [supine].

Utkrśt́a + ań = aotkrśt́a. Aotkrśt́a means “excellence” (utkarśa or utkrśt́atá). Adding the suffix ań to utkarśa to form the word aotkarśa is a grammatical error because utkarśa is itself a noun, thus adding the suffix ań to form yet another noun will not do.

By adding the suffix ań to the root udyána we get the word aodyána. That branch of knowledge which pertains to making gardens [udyána], that is, concerning vegetables, fruits and flowers, is called aodyána vidyá (horticulture, floriculture and to some extent sericulture also).

In very ancient days, when society was purely matriarchal, women enjoyed full freedom and respect. A distinguished woman would be the matriarch. The members of the clan would introduce themselves using her name. The males would act according to the dictates of the clan matriarch.

Those days passed. The dominance of women ended in most regions of the world and male dominance came to the fore. Society became patriarchal. People began to use their father’s name to introduce themselves. A new system of clans and sub-clans under male dominance became the accepted norm.

Women then became treated as commodities. Their lives were absolutely dependent on the men. The rule of men was introduced in different parts of the world in various ways. Different arguments were put forward in support of the rule of men. The idea of a woman having more than one husband was laughable, yet if a man had more than one wife, that would be considered normal; because a woman was no better than a commodity.

Social disparity reached its climax when the independent identity of a woman became denied in the marriage ceremony. The custom of her father, elder brother or any other male guardian literally “giving her away” in marriage began.

Under the wedding canopy, the roles of bride and bridegroom are just opposite. The groom chants the wedding mantras during the ceremony and the bride sits lifeless as a statue, as though she is some saleable commodity such as rice, pulse, salt or oil. She is not allowed to chant mantras like her male counterpart. Her guardian offers her to her husband just as a householder offers rice and pulses to a beggar. Manu⁽¹⁾ was representative of the exploitative psychology of that age. Of course, I do not mean to say that everything that Manu thought or said was bad, but undoubtedly the custom of giving the daughter away in marriage is bad. By this custom the independent identity of the girl remains unrecognized.

Unfortunately, as a woman was no better than chattel, she had no right to inherit her ancestral property. Women were not considered heirs to the ancestral property. A widow became a burden to her own relatives in her father’s house or to her in-laws in her husband’s house.

Manu did many bad things, but he did at least one good thing. He recommended that the daughter be given away dressed in ornaments and finery. These ornaments were given to her as her personal property, they were considered her personal wealth.

When the society was semi-matriarchal, a woman had the right to inherit her maternal property. Even the court dancers⁽²⁾ were entitled to the property of their mothers. Since then, the property (the ornaments, finery and other valuables) that a woman would inherit was called aodváhika. Ut – vah + ghaiṋ + t́hak = aodváhika.

Udbhid + jan – d́a = aodbhijja. Its meaning is “that which is derived from plants”. By adding ań to the root udbhijja we get aodbhjijja whose etymological meaning is “pertaining to that which is derived from plants”. Its colloquial meaning is “plant salt”.

The etymological meaning of the word udbhid is “that which pierces the earth and rises up”. Colloquially, udbhid means “plant”. By adding the suffix ań to udbhid we get the word aodbhida. Its etymological meaning is “pertaining to that which pierces the earth and rises up”; its colloquial meaning is “pertaining to plants”, or “rock-salt”, or “sea-salt”.

Uddálaka + ań = aoddálaka. Its etymological meaning is “to spin something by holding on to its tail”. In village areas small boys often spin non-poisonous snakes around by holding their tails. He who spins something like this is uddálaka. The name of such spinning is aoddálaka.

That which is produced through pounding or thrashing in an udúkhala [grinding mortar] or a d́henki [husking pedal], such as rice, beaten rice, paddy, ciinákáuna [a small paddy grain], etc. Those things which are made by beating them in a mortar and pestle are also called aodúkhala. The actual meaning of aoddúkhala was ukhuŕi [grinding mortar]. The d́henki was invented by the non-Aryan or Austric clans and the udúkhala by the Vedic Aryans, thus there is hardly any use of the udúkhala in the non-Aryan Austric or Dravidian-dominated south and east India – the d́henki is used. The farther north and west one goes, the more one sees the udúkhala in use.

We get the word aopanyásika by adding the suffix t́hak to the root word upanyása. The word upanyása means “to keep near” (upa means “near”, nyása means “to keep”) or “to place before”. When a gentleman places a file before a magistrate, then in refined Bengali we say “tini file upanyása karen”. The person who places the file before someone else is called aopanyásika. Some people mistakenly call great literary artists or fiction writers aopanyásika. This becomes rather ludicrous. In his personal life, Bankim Chandra was a magistrate, not a file-placer. To call him aopanyásika, or file-placer, is certainly an insult to history.

By adding the suffix t́hak to upanivesha we get the word aopaniveshika. Upanivesha means “to reside temporarily” – to stay in one place for some time out of necessity, and then to leave. In many places, during the paddy harvest, farm hands come from other regions and stay temporarily. Once the paddy has been cut they return home. The place where they come to assist in harvesting the paddy is their upanivesha. People from Midnapore used to cut down certain portions of the Sundarban forest in 24 Paraganas in order to cultivate paddy. They used to go there to harvest the paddy, thus this Sundarban region was their upanivesha. Since they used to go there for cultivation they used to call this area their ábád ainchal [cultivation-area]. Their right to cultivate was arranged according to whatever plots of land belonged to them, thus they also called that region their “lot-area”. In later times, due to growing necessity, they began to reside there permanently. Then it was no longer their upanivesha; it became their permanent abode.

Upa – ni – sad + kvip gives us the word upaniśad. The root verb sad contains dental sa but here the cerebral śa has been substituted after the prefix ni, thus the spelling upaniśad is also correct. Even though one can use either sa or śa, in words such as niśada, niśáda, viśáda, and so forth, according to the original practice (Bengali practice) śa is used. Since in Bengali śa is used in such cases in accordance with the prevalent rule, let it remain so. But in Sanskrit, both sa and śa are fine.

By adding the suffix t́hak to upaniśad we get the word aopaniśadika. Its etymological meaning is “pertaining to upaniśada” or “concerning the upaniśada”; colloquially it refers to certain scriptures.

Upadeva or upadevatá means “near a god”. Upadeva + t́hak = aopadaevika. Many people also call ghosts upadevatá but this is incorrect. The proper word for ghost is apadevatá. In the same way, many people use the word bhaotika to mean “concerning ghosts”. Bhúta + t́hak = bhaotika. This word means “physical” or “material”, that is, concerning the five elements. The word bhúta, which is used in the sense of “ghost” or “spirit”, is a native Bengali word, thus the word bhaotika cannot be created by adding the suffix t́hak. If we say bhaotika káńd́a, it does not mean “ghostly affair”, but rather “material affair”. Thus it is better not to use the word bhaotika to mean “concerning ghosts”. What we call bhúta in Bengali is called preta in Sanskrit. From preta one gets the word praetika, although its use is extremely limited.

This reminds me of a story from the old days. No one should call it a bhaotika story. Whether or not anyone wants to call it a praetika story is for him or her to decide.

It was nearly fifty years ago. I was in the Jamui Road station waiting-room, having come to Jamui to play football in a competition between the high schools of Monghyr District.

The Jamui Road station was a few miles from the city; the surrounding area was called Malaypur or Mallepur. I was sitting in the waiting room, waiting to catch the train for Jamalpur. There were two of us sitting face to face on either side of a table – myself and Chandan Mitra.

Having some free time on our hands, we were discussing various subjects. Chandan was as sharp when it came to external knowledge as he was good at sports; he had an uncommon thirst for knowledge. Even at such a young age he had acquired a lot of knowledge about different subjects, especially spirituality and a few other complex subjects. His elder brother, Chinmaya, also studied with us, but he was a homebody. He didn’t have any other life besides staying at home with his textbooks.

During the course of our discussion Chandan hit upon a painful matter and then and there our discussion ended. A short while later the train for Kiul arrived and we had to catch it because we needed to be in Kiul right away. The train for Jamalpur would be along in ten minutes.

Now let us move ahead fifty years. I was staying in the West German village of Timmern. The villages there were villages in name only; they had all the conveniences of cities. Even the bathrooms had hot running water.

Those were happy days. Golden days like these pass on and are lost forever, I know, but their golden memory still remains. The East German border was a short way away from that lonely village. It was quite open in that direction – there was an open field and a few trees. After going for an evening walk, I sat down under a tree. The sun had set but some twilight remained. I could see deer rushing freely back and forth from West Germany to East Germany, and East Germany to West Germany. No one said anything to them. They didn’t require the curse of visas or passports because people had faith in them. They didn’t know how to cheat anyone and they didn’t accept the imaginary border. They didn’t play fast and loose with either their own minds or anyone else’s. Perhaps for this reason people had not set up any system of passport or visa for them.

Then I remembered what had happened fifty years earlier. I was there with Chandan Mitra and many others. A short way from the city was a mountain and some vegetation as well. Then also we saw some deer rushing back and forth in the same way. Deer in Germany are not so afraid of people because they know that people will not kill them, that people are not their enemy. People allow them the opportunity to play in their natural environment, but what I saw in Jamalpur was a different affair altogether. There the deer flee in fear when they see people, even from a distance, because they know that people may capture them or kill them. They fear people even more than tigers. People both uproot their forests, leaving them homeless, and recklessly exterminate them.

While sitting there under a tree in West Germany, the image of that far-off day came floating before my eyes. Chandan and I stood silently under the shelter of a tree watching the deer rush about. We didn’t approach them because if we did they would flee in fear.

I got back to Timmern a little late. After washing my hands and face I sat down to eat.

The person who was serving offered me some cheese and said: “One gentleman just came from Holland and brought this cheese for you. He said that he hoped you would eat it. He wanted to give it to you to eat today.”

“The gentleman was in quite a rush,” he replied, “so there wasn’t a chance to ask him his name. He said he would meet you as soon as possible.”

The taste of the cheese was incomparable. The cheeses of Italy, Spain and Holland are renowned throughout Europe. I could see that this cheese was completely different, incomparable both in taste and smell. Most people are probably aware that when it comes to animal husbandry Holland is right there at the top in the world. You will find very few countries on earth where the dairy products of Holland are not available in the marketplace. In India also, during British rule, when one asked for dairy products in the market it was understood that one meant dairy products from Holland. The people of that land are not only skilled in animal husbandry, they also have boundless affection for their cows. The country has such a high standard of cows, but you will not see a single one in the streets. There the cows remain in dairy farms – in selected grasslands within those dairy farms. The cows there have to be seen; they are beautiful, happy and healthy. I came to know that they gave large quantities of milk.

Who was that gentleman from Holland who brought cheese for me, and who left so quickly before I could even meet him?

Lost in thought, I continued eating and shortly after finishing my meal I went to bed. Here there was no need to bolt the door from the inside before going to bed. There was no worry about thieves. The people’s moral standard was very high. If anyone loses anything in the street and someone else finds it they will deposit it in some convenient place nearby. When the real owner comes looking for it he can find it easily and in good condition.

Personally, our experience was of West Germany and Switzerland. The people of those two countries are quite advanced, both in their sense of morality and in their social consciousness; it is quite nice to see. There are no hand-pulled vehicles such as rickshaws, nor will you see any vehicles pulled by animals. I didn’t see ox-carts in any European country. I only saw horse-drawn carriages in Spain, in the city of Valencia. With the simplicity of a wax-doll, a certain roving vegetable seller with her horse-drawn cart offered me a cabbage and said: “You must take one. Although I am poor, I would also like to offer you a gift.” I also saw horse-drawn carts in the nearby Spanish city of Barcelona. All this said, the number of animal-driven vehicles there is negligible.

Yes, let me come back to that old story. I closed the door without bolting it and went to bed. I had walked a little too much and within a short time my eyes succumbed to sleep. I couldn’t say what time it was but all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the sound of a violin came floating to my ears. But what is this! An Indian melody was playing, the áshvárii (áshávarii) that I knew so well. There was no end to my surprise. It was áshvárii in my very own style, a style known to only two people on earth – myself and Chandan Mitra.

Could it be that Chandan Mitra had returned to my room after all these years, playing áshvárii on a violin? I couldn’t see anyone in the room. The door was still shut as I had left it. Suddenly I heard soft, sweet laughter behind me. I looked and saw that self-same Chandan Mitra, violin in hand. The Chandan Mitra of my childhood was now a mature gentleman.

“I knew that you keep the door open when you go to bed,” he said, “so I came into the room quietly and closed the door gently behind me. Then I started to play áshvárii in your favourite style.”

“Can music ever be forgotten? Once a person has cultivated the practice of music his entire being becomes one with the vibrations of music. His sense of existence and sense of aesthetics can no longer be separated. You used to tell me those very words.”

“Try me and see. I may not remember everything you told me, but see if I don’t remember most of it!”

“I won’t waste time testing you so late at night, rather tell me about yourself. Bring me up to date with your history. Starting from the distant past right up until this very late night hour.”

He told me many things. He said that he had lived in Scotland for some time, more or less as a permanent resident. Thereafter… thereafter… well somehow, something transpired. His new residence was in Holland, that country which goes by two names, Holland and The Netherlands.

“At one time Holland had a close relationship with Bengal. At the end of the Mughal era, the Dutch came to Bengal’s Hooghly District for trade purposes. They gave the name ‘Chinsurah’ in their language to the trade centre that they established on the banks of the Ganges. Its original pronunciation was ‘Shanshurah’. Gradually its Bengali pronunciation became cuncuŕá; today we call it cuncŕo, though what is the trouble in pronouncing it ‘Chinsurah’!

“The Dutch brought with them to this country a kind of bent legume, very like kaŕái shuńt́i. The Bengalees also started cultivating it, especially those from Hooghly District. Khadina, near Chinsurah, was then a farming village. Its farmers were the first to start cultivating this legume. I have heard that the very first farmer to grow this legume was named Caturbhuj Mańd́al.

“People from Holland are known as ‘Dutch’ – in old English they were also called ‘Hollandus’. The Bengalees of Chinsurah turned this word, Hollandus, into olandáj, and the kaŕái shuńt́i-like legume that the olandáj brought with them they gave the name oŕandá shuńt́i. Some oŕandá may still be found in the villages of Hooghly. It is not bad at all if you eat it with muŕi [puffed rice]. The Dutch Villa building may still be standing in Chinsurah.”

“If you still feel drawn to Holland then surely I can still hope that you might come there again for a few days,” he said.

“Do come,” he said. “I will be looking for you. I have come here to invite you to Holland.”

“Look,” he continued, “I have to leave rather quickly. I have to be in Holland before sunrise. When you come there I have something very important to tell you.”

Chandan left the room. A few days later I arrived in Holland. My programme to stay there was not fixed in advance so I couldn’t inform him of my arrival. Had I been able to do so, he would have certainly come to meet me in the airport.

From the airport I went to the place where I would be staying. On one side was a dike and on the other a verdant field of grain. Holland is a little low – some parts are even below sea level – so along the seashore there are huge dams to ensure that the country isn’t harmed by flooding from the sea. Such dams are called “dikes”. I recall that a certain kind of very tall dam was erected in Burdwan, Hooghly and Howrah Districts also to protect the land situated on the banks of the Damodar River, but these dams did not prove very successful. Due to the dams, the flood-water could not enter the surrounding land areas during the rainy season. As a result, sand and alluvium accumulated in the riverbed which gradually raised its level. It became evident that the dams had to be raised even higher to deal with the situation, but that wasn’t a real solution to the problem. Consequently, if ever the dam broke (as it did in the year 1943), it would submerge the vast, verdant farmlands of Burdwan, Hooghly, and Howrah Districts under flood-waters and cover the incredibly fertile soil with a thick layer of sand which would then require a great deal of labour to render it fit for cultivation. That is what came to pass in the flood of 1943, but such was not the case with Holland. The level of the sea-bed did not rise so drastically after the construction of the dikes. If, unfortunately, it does rise, however, the dikes would have to be made higher. There is no other recourse.

The dikes have another benefit. Gales and storms from the sea strike against the walls of the dikes, and the power of the wind can then be easily harnessed to drive windmills, and this power from the windmills is transformed into electric power. Such windmills can be run at the mouths of Bengal’s rivers and in the coastal areas of Midnapore, 24 Paraganas, Khulna, Barishal and Chittagong Districts, especially the coastal areas near Contai and Diamond Harbour. This is an excellent source of electric power.

As I was saying, there was a dike on one side of the road that I was travelling, and green fields of grain on the other. Off in the distance I noticed a small irrigation ditch running parallel to us. The land could be cultivated all year long – there was no lack of water. Not an inch of land was lying fallow. You had to praise the industriousness of these people. They made full use of both sea and wind power, and they had established a firm economic base through agriculture and animal husbandry.

Certain parts of Orissa, Kerala and Bengal bear strong similarities to the natural environment of Holland. The people of those areas have much to learn from the Dutch.

Nowadays, the country is better known as The Netherlands, but the name “Holland” is also common. As regards the name “Holland”, some people claim that it comes from “Hollow Land”. “Hollow Land” means “full of holes” or “empty”. In this sense, Holland means “empty land” or “land of holes”, but not everyone agrees with this. They say that Holland is a country of lowlands, but there is no proof that it is hollow, that is, empty or full of holes.

We kept on driving. My driver’s name was Govinda. He was not so proficient in English but he knew French and his mother tongue, Dutch. Nevertheless, he had no real difficulty conversing in English and we had no problem understanding him. He told us that although he himself did not know so much English, he was very proud that his seven-year-old daughter who was studying in elementary school knew very good English. As we went on, evening closed in. Everything was quite visible in the brilliant moonlight so we had no difficulty seeing the sights around us. Though I didn’t know why, it felt as if someone was drawing my sight away from the dike again and again, and towards the farmland. I realized why a short while later when I saw my very close friend, Chandan Mitra, standing by the side of the road with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. I told the driver to stop the car.

Chandan rushed up to the car and said: “Before you say anything I want to show you something.”

He took a couple of steps ahead and I followed right behind. The distance between us was filled with a sweet stillness. We went on a way until Chandan came to a grave and stopped beside it.

It was an ordinary grave, not the grave of a king or some royal personage. There was no mosaic over it, no tomb. What was there to see? A common person’s grave. One of those who utter a few cries when they are born and spend their entire life weeping, but when they leave this earth there is no one to cry for them. But since it was Chandan asking, I should have a look.

It was the grave of an unknown person. His corpse had washed up from the sea and gotten caught near the dike. No one knew what country he was from. If he had had any passport with him it had been taken by the sea, so there was no way to identify him. They had laid this man of unknown ancestry to rest here in this bed of earth. I told Chandan: “Did you invite me here to show me this grave! Well, tell me!”

Chandan didn’t reply. I looked at him and saw him fading into the moonlight. Where was Chandan? Where was he? Where did he go? The bouquet of flowers that he had held fell and rolled onto the grave. It seemed as if, under the weight of those flowers, the grave was unable to fade into the moonlight.

Then I remembered what had happened nearly fifty years before, when I had gone to Jamui to play football. Chandan and I had been seated on either side of a table in the Jamui Road Station, facing each other. He had a strong desire to know many things; his inquisitiveness was irresistible. His zeal for abstruse subjects like spirituality and spiritualism knew no bounds. He had also acquired a lot of knowledge. Speaking of which, on that day also he asked me: “You know, I am thinking about something. Do you know what I am thinking about?”

“I am thinking,” he replied, “that if I die before you, then I will find some way or other to communicate with you.”

“Why are you saying such an inauspicious thing?” I asked. “You are only fifteen years old. Are you old enough to be thinking in this way?”

“It’s not exactly that,” he replied. “I just want to know whether or not you’ll be afraid if I communicate with you under those circumstances.”

Then fifty years passed. Standing there on Dutch soil, I told Chandan mentally: “No Chandan, I wasn’t afraid at all.”

The etymological meaning of the word urabhra is “that which travels in far-off lands”. Its colloquial meaning is “sheep”.

By adding ań to the root urabhra we get the word aorabhra which means “the thick, rough wool of the common sheep”, or blankets and mats made from ordinary quality, thick, rough wool, or ordinary wool or woollen products. Both the spellings aorabhra and aorabhrya are correct. Aorabhrya refers only to thick blankets.

Asitagirisamaḿ syát kajjalaḿ sindhupátre
Surataruvarashákhá lekhanii patramúrbii
Likhati yadi grhiitvá sáradá sarvakálaḿ
Tathápi tava guńánámiisha páraḿ na yáti

“O Shiva, if the goddess of knowledge wrote for all eternity with an ink tablet the size of the Himalayas, an ink-well the size of the ocean, a branch of the tree of heaven as a pen, and the vast lithosphere for paper, still she could never finish writing your qualities.”

Úrńá + ań = aorńa. Aorńa means “woollen” or “concerning wool”.

The general meaning of the word urińa is “reptile”, specifically “serpent” or “snake”. Moving in a serpentine motion is called “zigzag” in English; in common Latin, “serpentine”; in Sanskrit, sarpila. The word aorińa means “zigzag” or sarpila.

The etymological meaning of the word usira is “the base of the tail”; its colloquial meaning is “the base of the tail of the yak family of bovines”, which are found in cold countries. By adding the suffix ań to the root usira we get the word aosira which means “that which is produced from the tail of the yak”, that is, cámara [a kind of brush-fan made from the yak’s tail].

Uśńa + ań gives us the word aośńa. One of its meanings is “vitality”; its other meaning is “calorie”.

One of the meanings of the root verb uś is “to make warm”. Uś + tha = aośt́ha. The general meaning of the word ośt́ha is “both the upper and lower lips”. Specifically, it refers to the upper lip and adhara to the lower lip. Ośt́ha + ań gives us the word aośt́ha which means “concerning the lips”. Aośt́ra means “concerning the camel”.

In the old Vedic language, bulls were called ukśa (in Sanskrit the word ukśa can be found in certain places, perhaps for the sake of the metre). In very ancient times the Aryans came into contact with the first domesticated animals – sheep (urabhra), horses (haya) and dogs (shva) – and tamed them. Later on they came in contact with yaks (ushira).

In the pre-Vedic era, the cow was a forest animal. They used to wander in the large grassy forest lands, not in the deep forest. The bison’s (forest buffalo) situation was similar. The relatively gentle-natured forest buffalo used to live near ponds in the grassy forest lands. We can call them “water-loving bison”. The bison and water-loving bison used to stay far away from human beings. But if they found themselves in a tight spot they would chase them away. Cows (gavii – in Bengali some people mistakenly write gábhii; this practice should be stopped) did not remain in herds, but rather in a disorderly fashion. They did not have a developed capacity for self-preservation, and so, in subsequent times, they took shelter with human beings, became domesticated, and thus preserved their existence. In the days when cows were forest-dwellers the male animals (bulls) would generally move in circles around the herd to save the cows from attack from the outside. Those bulls were called ukśa. Aokśa means “concerning bulls” and the large herd of bulls was called aokśaka. Today forest-dwelling cows, while not completely non-existent, are very rare (the Zebu or Zebu Indica, Nhebu and Rhebu disappeared from the earth over one thousand years ago). Those few that remain can be differentiated from domesticated cows in three notable ways. First, they are smaller in size than domesticated cows; second, they produce much less milk and their milk is sweeter and has a stronger scent; and third, they are fast runners. Their dung is also a little spongy, a little like bull’s dung.

Though it is somewhat off the subject, it is worth pointing out that the buffalo came under man’s control a few thousand years after the cow was domesticated. The pure bison variety of buffalo is resistant to domestication, but the water buffalo, because of its lack of speed, has accepted man’s dominion for the sake of self-preservation. Since fondness for water is inherent in this variety of bison, their original instinctive tendencies awaken if they see water nearby. In the burning heat of summer, cart-pulling buffalo also will forget their sense of responsibility and take a dip, cart and all, if they see a pond – such happenings are not rare.

Just as buffaloes don’t want anything else if they get water, cows are just the opposite. If you spray a cow with water it will jump away and flee. In this respect its nature is similar to that of other forest creatures. Since they prefer to remain far from water, their bodies are subject to attacks and pestering from different types of insects (such as ticks), but the bodies of buffaloes suffer very little attacks from insects.

The cow is completely a land animal. Like other land animals, the cow also shows a lot of affection towards its young. And thus, if it suffers an untimely separation from its young, the cow slowly stops giving milk. The buffalo is both partially aquatic and partially a land animal; thus in regard to one of the various characteristics of land animals, it shows somewhat less affection towards its young, and so, if it suffers an untimely separation from its young, its milk-giving capacity is not greatly affected.

Pictures of bulls are found among ancient cave paintings – not of oxen. The practice of using oxen for cultivation came much later. “Ox” in Sanskrit is baliivardda.

At any rate, aokśa means “concerning bulls” and aokśaka means “bull-group”. Subjects pertaining to bulls are called aokśava – in Latin, bovine. Similarly, cow-related subjects are called vaccine. Thus inoculating (t́iiká) cows against pox used to be called vaccination.⁽³⁾

(1) Manu was the author of the Manusmrti, an authoritative collection of social rules, customs and etiquette for Hindus. He lived about two thousand years ago. –Trans.

(2) The court dancers were a special class of women partially holding positions of respect for their talents and partially enslaved as courtesans. –Trans.

(3) T́iiká means “explanatory appendix”. Ceremonial smearing of the body (t́ip or tilak sign) is also called t́iiká lepan.

Ka to Kandara (Discourse 16)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

Notes:

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

Ka is the first consonant of the Sanskrit alphabet. All the languages of the world which are descended from Sanskrit use ka as their first consonant. All those languages which are adopted-descendants, that is, those which are not directly descended from Sanskrit, but whose vocabulary is full of Sanskrit, also use ka as their first consonant. Both Sanskrit and the world’s phonetic science are arranged in such a way that if ka is used as the first consonant it is very convenient, and if not, then quite troublesome. If ka is not the first consonant, then not only practical difficulties arise but also grammatical difficulties. It becomes impossible to achieve a well-knit system regarding grammatical aphorisms, rules and decisions if ka is not the first consonant.

The special facility that results in the use of Roman script due to the lack of consonant and vowel diphthongs, that is, due to the system of consonants not being written improperly side by side, can be lost if the arrangement of letters does not follow Sanskrit practice.

Sanskrit does not have its own script. In the first half of the Vedic era, Sanskrit literature was composed without script. The invention of script was in the latter half of the Vedic era, but despite the lack of script in the first half of the Vedic era, alphabetic classification existed, and thus when script was invented it was also arranged according to the existing practice of alphabetic classification.

The Sanskrit language was first written in the Bráhmii and Kharośt́ii scripts, which were approximately seven thousand years old. Both these scripts were arranged according to Sanskrit phonetics. In subsequent times, the scripts that arose chiefly from Bráhmii, and secondarily from Kharośt́ii, that is, India’s original Sáradá script (the original mother of today’s Kashmiirii, D́ogrii and Punjabi Sáradá scripts), Nárada (the mother of today’s Gujarati, Nágrii, Devanágrii, Moŕii, Curuválii, etc. scripts) and Kut́iilá (Bengali) script, are arranged according to those phonetic rules.

Sanskrit does not have its own script. Wherever it was written or studied or taught, it used to use whatever script was prevalent in that country at that time. Keeping practicality in mind, if Sanskrit is written nowadays in Roman script, its phonetic practice should be according to its own alphabetic system, that is, the letters should be arranged ka, kha, ga, gha, una… in this way.

Nowadays several languages descended from Sanskrit are written in Arabic script (Farsi script) for various historical reasons. Those languages are: Sindhii, which is descended from Saendhavii Prákrta (the name of its original script is Láhándei), the Páshcáttya Prákrta-descendant Kashmiirii (the name of its original script is Sáradá – Kashmir’s Sanskrit books and birth records are still written in this script), Peshawar (Puruśapur) and Afghanistan’s (Gándhár) language (this language is also descended from Páshcáttya Prákrta – páshcáttya → pashto. Its original script is also Sáradá), Farsi (its original script also came from Bráhmii). In addition to these, there are the Sanskrit adopted-descendants, Baluchi (it is Baluchistan’s original language belonging to the Dravidian branch), and Bráhoi (it is also a language of the west bank of the Sindhu river-basin. It is also of Dravidian origin as well as being an adopted descendant of Sanskrit). The other important language of this group is Malay (it is the original language of Malaysia and Singapore. It is included within the Malay family of languages and its original script is Kut́iilá (Bengali)). Although Malay is written nowadays in Arabic script for historical reasons, this Sanskrit adopted-descendant has no relation to the Arabic branch of languages. Still, it contains many Arabic words.

All those Sanskrit-descended languages and Sanskrit adopted-descendants which use ka as their first consonant may encounter difficulties at every step in the construction of grammatical aphorisms and the composition of phonetic rules. The śa rule, ńa rule, and system of conjuncts are all unscientifically and disorderly formulated. In many cases, there being no possible formula to apply, it is said: “that’s the way it’s been done”. I say, even if Roman script is used for convenience in the world of grammar, its alphabetic system must be arranged according to Sanskrit rules. Otherwise it will have to suffer the results of its own errors. Thus ka is the first consonant of the alphabet of Sanskrit-descended languages and adopted-descendants.

One meaning of the word ka is “water”. That which is covered by ka, that is, water, (which is kena in the sense of being covered by water) is kaccha. In ancient times that portion of western India which is situated at the northwest corner of the Táptii river-basin and the southeast corner of the Sindhu river-basin fell below sea level due to a terrible earthquake of volcanic origin. Sea-water inundated the land of that region and the area became surrounded by water. From then onwards it was called kaccha. There is another place a short distance from there which became partially inundated with sea-water. That area, which was under the moral supervision of Maharshi Bhrgu, was given the name Bhrgu Kaccha (Bharoca). Since that region was situated between Gondawanaland and the ancient Báluca-Áráballii mountain range, the entire area was transformed into sargasso sea according to the laws of nature. Thus, as a result of being inundated by sea-water, there remains the possibility of finding mineral oil in the water beds of this area, or beneath the soil where there is no water.

Our well-known kalmii [a leafy vegetable similar to spinach] grows in ka, that is, water, floating on the surface until it becomes very long. If you catch hold of one part and pull it, the distant portion will also be raised. Thus, the name of kalmii shák in Sanskrit is kalambii sháka. Actually, the word kalmii is derived from the Sanskrit word kalambii.

When manifestation first sprouts within the vast scope of the unmanifest, the Cognitive Faculty is bound by the Creative Faculty. This bound entity is known in Buddhist philosophy by the name of saḿvrttibodhicitta. In theist philosophy it is given the name káryabrahma. At that time one portion of the Cosmic Mind becomes the objective counterpart and one portion becomes the subjective counterpart. If there is no object there can be no subjectivity. Thus, since the unmanifest has no object, it has no subject either. In the manifest state the object exists so the subject also exists. Ka is the acoustic root of the objectivated counterpart of the Cosmic Mind, that is, ka signifies saḿvrttibodhicitta, or káryabrahma. And that portion of the Cosmic Mind which is the witness of the acoustic root ka has om as its acoustic root (a + u + m). Bear in mind, the acoustic root of the causal factor of the Cosmic Mind is not (৺)om but om. (৺)om refers to the unmanifest Cosmic Entity, regardless of manifestation or non-manifestation, beyond the phenomenal world or within it. Thus we see that another meaning of the word ka is “objectivated Cosmic Mind”.

That ka is the acoustic root of the Cosmic Mind transformed into object was certainly known to some few people during Vedic or ancient times. Thus they used a vertical mark to stand for the ka sound as a symbol of Parama Puruśa, and as a symbol of the binding force or Mahámáyá they drew a [[horizontal]] line. In order to signify the Cosmic Mind which has been transformed into the Cognitive Entity due to the bondage of Prakrti, they drew a plus sign [+] as a combined mark with the line signifying Prakrti over the line signifying Puruśa. In the process of writing this combined mark quickly without lifting the hand, it has taken on the form k: [ka] in modern Bengali. Because all sounds in the practical world are based on the objectivated Cosmic Mind, ka is the first consonant.

Since the letter ka is related through the system of mutual replacement to the sound ca, ca becomes the first letter of the second varga⁽¹⁾; and since t́a has a relationship of mutual replacement with the sound ca, it becomes the first letter of the third varga. Since ta has an acoustic and lightness⁽²⁾ relation to t́a, it is the first letter of the next varga. Since the ka, ca, t́a and ta vargas are grouped among the long sounds, pa becomes the first letter of the following fifth varga. Since there is no opportunity for a varga system beyond the fifth varga, the acoustic root of destruction, ma, has been kept as the last letter of that varga. Besides these, the remaining letters are either antahstha varńa (vowel conjuncts) or uśmavarńa [aspirates]. These aspirated sounds are known as uśmavarńa because at the time of pronunciation the air of the vocal cavity becomes heated. Thus we see that if ka is kept as the first consonant, then acoustic consistency is preserved. Thus, ka is the first consonant of the alphabet.

The meaning of the verbal root kań/kan (kańi/kani) is “to shine”, “to create sound”, “to groan”, “to be injured, or to run away for fear of being injured” or “to go quickly”. Although in the Vedic language this verbal root is mainly constructed with ńa, in Laokika (comparitively recent) Sanskrit both ńa and na are used. “That which shines” or “that whose attraction is desired” is kań + da = kanda. All those plants which yield their crop below ground (tuber crop), such as potato, red potato, yam, shánkalu [a conch-shaped tuber], ol, arum, are called kandashaka.

People care for the potato plant and desire it, not for the plant itself, but for its subterranean crop. This is equally applicable to all below-ground crops, thus all those crops which are produced below ground we call kanda.

“That which shines” or “that which is desired” – while using the word kanda in this sense, the people of that time came into contact with such objects whose attraction was irresistible to them. They also used to use the word kanda for those objects. Often, due to some extra attraction, the sound was doubled or lengthened (prśi diirgha) in accordance with the natural law, thus in those cases also the word kanda became kakanda. The first consonant, ka, was doubled. Kakanda means “gold”.

When the people of the prehistoric era came into contact with gold they became fascinated by its colour and gave it the name suvarńa. The etymological meaning of this word is “beautiful colour”. Its colloquial meaning is “gold”. When the Aryans entered India they came to Jambudviipa and found traces of gold particles in the rivers there. Because they found gold particles in the rivers of Jambudviipa they gave that land another name – Jámbunada (jambunada + sńa).

“Wheat” in Sanskrit is godhúma. Its etymological meaning is “that thing which gives rise to a pleasing vibration in the tongue”. I have said several times in the past that the original Persian language is a descendant of Sanskrit. From this word godhúma we get the word gondúma in old Persian. In various Indian languages we get the words gehun, gahum, gahun, gehuma, gohun, gaham (in Rarhi Bengali and parts of Orissa), gam, etc. from this godhúma. When wheat matures its colour becomes somewhat golden. Thus wheat also used to be called kakanda or kańaka in old Sanskrit. Wheat is also called kańaka in the Paeshácii Prákrta descendant, Punjabi.

Earlier I said that kanda can be spelled with either ńa or na if its meaning is “to shine”, “to create sound”, etc. For this reason both spellings, kanda and kańda, are correct. Na and da are dental letters, thus no difficulty arises if we write nda, but according to the conjunction rules of linguistic science, a dental letter cannot be combined with a cerebral letter. Thus the conjunction ńa with da is not allowed. Kanda must be spelled with nda. Nowadays the spelling of kanda with na is prevalent. In the Vedic era, however, the letter ńa was much more common. Thus the word kańd́a was also used to mean kanda or “gold”. The meaning “gold” for the word kańd́a has disappeared.

Etymologically, kaga signifies two things. Ka means saḿvrttibodhicitta [the bound Cognitive Faculty]. With this meaning “movement towards saḿvrttibodhicitta” or towards crude thought is called kaga (ka + gam + d́a = kaga). The other etymological meaning of the word kaga is “one whose movement is towards ka”, that is, water. For “movement towards water” or “descending into water” there is also the Vedic verbal root il. Il + ac gives ila which means kaga. If we take the word ka to mean water then one colloquial meaning of the word kaga is “buffalo”. If a buffalo sees water it cannot resist taking a dip, thus a synonym for “buffalo” is kaga.

The root verb kac means “to shine”. The etymological meaning of the word kaca is “shining” or “luminous”. Colloquially, it refers to the guru of the gods, Brhaśpati’s son, Kaca. Some of you must have read the story of Kaca-devayánii.

Kaca + purii = kacapurii → kacaurii → kacaorii → kacurii. Bear in mind, in Sanskrit the word purii is sometimes used to mean “city” or “town”, but it does not refer to the entire town, but rather a specific part of town, such as Daetyapurii [demon-town], Yakśapurii [ghost-town], Shatrupurii [enemy-town]. The word purii, from which kacurii has come, is not a pure Sanskrit word. It is a north Indian Hindi word. When nuchis [a deep-fried unleavened bread] are fried in pure ghee then they are called shakkulii or shaḿkulii or shaḿkhulii. In Bengali both luchi and nuchi are equally correct. When the dough for these nuchis is mixed with some ghee for leavening and fried in a pan of ghee, it is called somáliká in Sanskrit and purii in north India. If it is fried in oil, whether it is deep-fried or fried with sprinkled oil, it is not considered nuchi – it is called purii. For example, d́álpurii which is fried in oil. We won’t say d́álluchi, we say d́álpurii.

“Bread” in Sanskrit is rot́iká. In any case, that purii which is fried in pure ghee and shines, that is, becomes tempting, was kacapurii → kacurii. Many are of the opinion that approximately five thousand years ago in old Tamil (dramil), the word kaoccesa was prevalent, meaning “small” or “immature [kaci]” or “tip”. In its corrupted form we get the words kocce/koce which mean “small” or “tip”. Similarly, we get the word kocin, meaning “small island”. A small boy we call kaci chele. The word kaci in Bengali comes from old Tamil. A newly-developed tip of a pumpkin [láu] vine we call kaci [láu] d́agá. So, in some people’s opinion the word kacaorii has come from koccepurii (koccepurii → kocceurii → kacaorii → kacurii).

Kad + jala = kajjala, that is, where water expands and takes the form of vapour or clouds. Thus kajjala signifies “cloud”. Bear in mind, here va is not adjoined to ja. Kat + jvala = kajjvala. Kat means “ugly”; kat means “black”. “That black-coloured object which shines” is kajjvala. Kajjvala means “collyrium”.

The meaning of the root verb kat́h is “to be in difficulty”; “to dry out and become hard”; “to remain in a confused state”; “to groan”; “to be hurt” or “to flee in fear of being hurt”; “for green grass or plants to turn yellow and become straw”. The root verb kat́h has been used a little to mean “to move forward”. From the verbal root kat́h plus ac we get the word kat́ha. Etymologically kat́ha signifies “that which is deluded or which deludes”, or “which is hard-earned”. Colloquially, kat́ha signifies:

1) A part of the Vedas – Kat́hopaniśad.
2) Kat́ha was the name of a certain Vedic rśi.
3) Kat́ha means “dry wood and stone”.
4) Most of the Brahmans of that time used to be poor and needy,
thus kat́ha generally signified Brahman.
5) Kat́ha means “that work which is difficult to do”.
6) Kat́ha means “that knowledge which is difficult to master”.
The words kat́hii or kat́hánii means bráhmańii [female Brahman
or Brahman’s wife], not Brahman’s daughter; the word kat́há
means Brahman’s daughter.

Kat́h + inac = kat́hina – “that which is by nature hard or troublesome”. In Rarhi Bengali and Shershahabad Bengali, some people say about naughty or mischievous boys: baŕá kat́hin cheilye go [what a naughty boy]. They use the word kat́hin with its proper meaning.

The word karttiká used to be used at one time for “that which survives even when cut up”. Karttiká → kattiká → kaiá → kai. Some people believe that even if the kai fish is cut up into small pieces, each of those pieces stays alive. For this reason the fish was given the name karttiká. The Maethilii word kavai has come from this word karttiká. It also means kai fish.

The root verb kad means “to swell up or expand”, “to be deluded”, “to create delusion”. Kad + ambac = kadamba. Etymologically, the word kadamba means “that which has created attraction”, or “that which has expanded”. It has several colloquial meanings:

1) The kadam flower, whose other name is niipa. Its original home is India and Southeast Asia. Although there are several varieties, both large and small, there are two main varieties. The first is a small-sized flower which is also used as a food when mature for making chutney, pickle, and ambal [a sour broth used as a condiment]. The second variety is a large flower – although not as tempting as a food, it has a pleasant smell. The blooming of this flower during the rainy season has been alluded to in various ways in ancient literature.

2) The second meaning of the word kadamba is dudhiya grass, a grass which grows well in temperate climates. It grows nicely in the plateau climate of Ranchi so the nearby cowherds and sheep-tenders take their animals to these areas to graze during spring and summer.

3) A third meaning of the word kadamba is “green turmeric”, that turmeric which is found in clusters at the base of the turmeric plant. This green turmeric is a cure for skin disease, but since it is a little poisonous it is not edible except as medicine. Shunt́ turmeric [dry turmeric] is prepared by boiling this green turmeric and drying it in the sun. This shunt́ turmeric is used in cooking. Since this green turmeric had the capacity to eliminate the causes of diseases, people in olden times used to smear their bodies with green turmeric paste and bathe before weddings and festivals in order to prevent the outbreak of disease during large gatherings. This festival is still celebrated to some extent and is known as gátraharidrá [gátra means “body” and haridrá means “turmeric”]. Green turmeric is also a cure for eczema. One small measured teaspoon of chopped green turmeric mixed with one or two drops of pure honey and one tulsi leaf, taken with an empty stomach, is considered a medicine for eczema.

Turmeric leaf is called parńa in Sanskrit. The word parńa means “any mature leaf”. Immature, red leaves are kishalaya. Green leaves are patra and in the turmeric plant they were called parńa. The third meaning of parńa is páń [betel leaf] (Its Sanskrit name is nágavallarii). Támbula does not refer to betel leaf but rather to any table spice. In this respect, betel leaf belongs to the category of támbula. According to tradition, when Párvatii was performing austerities she used to wear clothes made of turmeric leaves stitched together. Thus her name then became Parńashavarii.

4) Another meaning of the word kadamba is “turmeric-coloured mustard”. Indian mustard is of roughly three varieties. All three varieties of mustard go by the name kat́ugandhabiija. (not kat́ubiija; kat́ubiija means “chilli” or “black pepper”). In olden times kat́ugandhabiija oil used to be called kat́utaela, that is, kat́utaela means any kind of mustard oil. Thus today also mustard oil is called kaŕuyá in Bihar and certain other parts of India. Kat́u → kad́u → kaŕu. Kat́u means “spicy hot”. Mustard oil is somewhat spicy and pungent, hence the name.

a) Rái mustard [rapeseed]. Its seeds are small and blackish-red. The plant is small, less pungent, and has less chaff. Its chaff is used as manure and as feed for animals. The chaff yields a higher ratio of oil. Its seeds should be sown at the end of early autumn in paddy land when the land is a little muddy, as part of the pigeon-harvest.⁽³⁾ When the paddy is cut, the tips of the mustard plants also get cut, and as a result the mustard plant gives off new offshoots. Due to the many offshoots, the plant produces more flowers during winter season, and a greater yield as well. Its greens are less caustic.

In land where other crops cannot be cultivated during winter due to a scarcity of water, farmers can also cultivate peas, grams, khesari [a variety of pigeon-pea] and other small lentils as a part of the pigeon-harvest. In order to plant for the pigeon-harvest, the soil should be well-turned and it is good if a little extra liquid fertilizer is used.

Some people prefer to grow rapeseed alongside wheat. This is not bad, but still one should bear in mind that wheat can be sown until the seventh day of the solar month Paośa (Bengali Paośa) [late December] but if rapeseed is sown so late it may yield less, so those who wish to get a mixed harvest with rapeseed and wheat should sow an early-season variety of wheat.

b) T́oŕi/t́aŕi: This is grown just at the end of early autumn or beginning of late autumn in sun-harvest land or in yellow-coloured soil mixed with a little ash. The land is tilled and then the seeds are sown. Those who don’t like to use chemical fertilizers can allow castor-oil plant fertilizer[reŕi] to decompose and use that in the soil (it is better if cultivated reŕi chaff is used in place of wild reŕi chaff). In land which suffers from scarcity of water at the end of winter season, it is profitable to cultivate t́oŕi in place of other sun-harvest crops or yellow mustard.

The t́oŕi plant is a little bigger than the rái plant. Its seeds are reddish and a little bigger than rái seeds. It gives a somewhat greater yield and comparatively more oil than rái. Its chaff is more valuable as animal feed and manure than rái.

c) True mustard, or yellow mustard. It can only be cultivated profitably in land which remains moist at the time of flowering and which does not dry out altogether when the pods are produced. Its seeds are sown in land tilled for the sun-harvest. It gives a good yield if the land has been fertilized either with chemical fertilizer or decomposed, cultivated reŕi chaff. It is considered true mustard in regards to taste, colour, smell and quality. The plant is large and gives a good yield. Its greens are extremely caustic. With a little irrigation the cultivation of this variety of mustard is the most profitable. This mustard does not like wet climates. At one time it was cultivated throughout Bengal and its seeds used to be exported to different countries. Although today its production has decreased as a result of a lack of proper agricultural practices, if sincere efforts are made then an increase in its production would not be impossible or unachievable.

Yellow mustard flowers carry honey (floral nectar) and also have different kinds of medicinal value. Kadamba refers to this variety of mustard.

5) The word kadamba also means “collection”, “large cluster”. If a large number of bamboo plants grow together in a cluster then we can use the term veńukadamba [veńu means “bamboo”].

The verbal root kad means “to create delusion”, “to be deluded”, “to swell up and expand”. Kad + ac = kada. Its etymological meaning is “that which is deluded, or is deluding”, or “that which has expanded”. Colloquially, kada means “vapour” or “cloud” because water expands to produce vapour or clouds. That vegetable which is watery, that is, which has expanded due to water, is kadu or kaduka. Kadu means “round láu” [gourd] (alábu means láu of any shape). The word kadu in Bengali is borrowed from Sanskrit. The word láu is a Sanskrit-derivative; the original word is alábu. “That plant which is watery”, that is, which has become expanded due to water, is kadala (kad + alac). That is its etymological meaning. Its colloquial meaning is “banana tree”. Kadali/kadalii means “fruit of the banana tree”. Generally, kadali/kadalii refers to any variety of banana or plantain, but to refer specifically to ripe bananas the word rambhá must be used. In Bengali káṋcá kalá [green banana] and káṋcakalá [green-banana] are not identical. All kinds of bananas, such as cáṋpá, káṋt́áli, martamán, are called káṋcá kalá when green and páká kalá when ripe – káṋcakalá refers only to the plantain varieties of banana which are used as vegetables in vegetable preparations.

O Gańesher má, kalá bauke jválá dio ná
Eke kalá táy abalá káncakalá bai phale ná

[O mother of Gańesh, please don’t make any trouble for Kalábau (Gańesh’s wife). She is a mere plant, and a weak plant besides. She only produces green banana.]

Earlier I said that kad means “to delude”, thus kada means “that which deludes” or “that which is deluded”. Before India attained independence, some of the railway timetables were extremely delusory. This kind of timetable used to be called kada. They used to delude others, and others – that is, us – were deluded by them. Thus we were also kada. Whether or not the present-day railway timetables are kada, I cannot say, but I would guess that they are either not kada or are making efforts not to be.

During those days I once had a true experience regarding the kada meaning of the railway timetables, while travelling on the BNWR (Bengal and Northwestern Railway).

The BNWR line extended roughly from Katihar to Kanpur. Its head office was in Gorakhpur and it was managed by the company. After nationalization, the line’s name became OTR (Oudh-Trihut Railway). After independence, when the railways were reorganized, it was given the name NER with its head office in Gorakhpur.

I was travelling to a district headquarters of north Bihar. First I had to go by the EI Railway (EIR – now ER) to a dock on the Ganges. From there I had to cross the Ganges by steamer and pick up the BNWR at its docking line on the other side. This train would take me a few miles to a junction station on the BNWR main line. There I would have to change trains and get down a few miles later at yet another junction station, that is, I would have to change trains in that third junction station in order to reach my final destination some forty miles away, that is, the concerned district headquarters. Altogether, the distance travelled was only about eighty miles, but the journey required fourteen hours.

I left home towards dawn and after overcoming various hindrances I reached the third junction at six in the evening and waited in the waiting room… waited and waited. There was a large table in the waiting room and a few chairs. The table was tepáyá. Tepáyá means that it was not three-legged by birth. At one time it had had four legs but in some prehistoric era one leg had broken off and it had not been repaired since. Of the two chairs, one had both arms broken off, and the other was missing the right arm while the left arm was loose. I didn’t feel safe sitting in the chair with the loose arm so I sat in the chair with no arms. I didn’t have any work with me so I read over their timetable to help pass the time.

It was a memorable evening. While I was there a well-known person appeared in the waiting room. I was speechless, and he was also speechless. Finally I broke the silence and said: “Hey, Aklmand! What are you doing here?”

With a wide grin, he said: “Perhaps you didn’t know, but nowadays I am a Travelling Ticket Examiner for this railway.”

“Sit down, sit down,” I said. He pulled up the rickety old chair and sat down. The chair welcomed him with a creak and a groan.

“Sit carefully,” I said, “otherwise it will tip over. Don’t hold on to the arm. It’s loose and moreover, it’s covered with betel nut stains.”

“Hey Aklmand,” I asked, “you’ve come rather unexpectedly to this rustic little hamlet. What’s up?”

“In order to come here I had to pour oil on the feet of many a big boss, pure kaŕuyávilás oil.⁽⁴⁾ For three long months I had to put in a lot of nerve-racking effort; only then was I able to come here.⁽⁵⁾ When I came, though, I was completely surprised; my eyes went wide as a kite.”

“One day I was coming from Jaynagar to Samastipur,” he said. “It was a winter night; the doors and windows were open – ‘First class compartment, but pitch dark’.”

“Some unknown person had taken away the doors and windows long before. The lights were off because the bulbs were missing. Previously, the railway officials had the bulbs stamped BNWR in white letters to prevent them from being stolen, but when that didn’t stop the thefts, they started printing ‘stolen from BNWR’ on the bulbs. The idea was that if the thief was not completely shameless, then he would be too embarrassed to use it at home, because if any relative or friend would see it they would know that the head of the house had stolen the bulb from the BNWR. But since even that didn’t prove any obstacle to the thievery, railway officials of late had stopped putting in bulbs. So there was nothing left to do but sit in a dark compartment. People travelling during the dark fortnight had started carrying torches with them. Of course, during the bright lunar fortnight they didn’t need to; the inside of the compartment was illumined by the moonlight.

“With some apprehension, I examined one person’s ticket. He grimaced and scolded me: ‘I am travelling standing up. And you want to see a ticket also?’ Another person was sitting on the floor. I said: ‘You are sitting on the floor of the train. Show me your ticket.’ He showed me his ticket. ‘But this is a third class ticket,’ I exclaimed. ‘In first class people sit on cushions,’ he replied, ‘therefore the extra fare. I’m sitting on the floor of the train, not on any cushion. Why should I pay the first class fare?’ ”

“You see,” he replied, “the train was impossibly crowded. Everyone was going to Simaria Ghat to bathe in the Ganges. I bowed my head before his logic. After that I didn’t have the confidence to look at anyone else’s ticket. I took my life in my hands and got down at Samastipur. Then I thought to myself: ‘So be it, for today at least, I survived. I got out of a real spot.’ ”

“So tell me,” I said. “You must have had some different kinds of experiences getting here.”

“One time, I was going to Raxaul from Simaria Ghat, via Darbhanga. The train was incredibly overcrowded. It was even overcrowded on top of the train, that is, on the roof. There was even a crowd on top of the luggage wagons. Guys were crowded together on top of the train, playing cards. If I wanted to check their tickets I would have had to climb on top of them. That didn’t agree with me much so I got into a passenger compartment, a first class compartment.

“There were two differences between these first class compartments and those of other railways that I particularly noticed. The first was that the cushions that were laid out on the wooden seats could be removed as one pleased. That is, if the railway officials wanted, they could remove the cushions as they needed and transform first class into third class, and third class into first class. And so, this cut down on expenses for the railway.

“The second difference I noticed was that the word ‘toilet’ was written in large letters on the washroom door. Nothing was written there at all in third class. Anyhow, I got into the first class compartment and asked to see the ticket of a certain passenger. He showed me a third class ticket. ‘What is this,’ I said. ‘You are sitting on a first class, cushioned seat and you’re showing me a third class ticket! This is against the law; it’s intolerable. It cannot be put up with.’

“Suddenly all the passengers on the bench jumped up. I retreated a couple of steps out of fear. They wouldn’t attack, would they? Then I took a good look and saw that not one of them had their fists clenched. I regained my composure. No, they weren’t going to beat me.

“In a shaky voice, I asked them softly: ‘Why did you all get up? I didn’t ask you to get up. I only wanted to see your tickets.’

“ ‘Sir,’ they replied. ‘We all accept that it is wrong to sit in first class with a third class ticket, but look! We’ve taken off the cushions and put them on the floor. Now the bench is a third class bench. Certainly you can’t have any objections now. We are sitting in third class now, with third class tickets.’

“Perplexed, I stammered: ‘What are they doing? What are they saying?’ At the same time, from all sides the passengers on the other benches shouted out in a single voice: ‘Put the cushions back where they were. Put the cushions back where they were.’

“I was stupefied. Amazed, I asked: ‘What is it, what is it?’ All together the other passengers started saying uriish, uriish, uriish.⁽⁶⁾”

“One smart passenger said: ‘I don’t know what’s hidden beneath the other cushions, but from the cushions that they were sitting on I’ve just counted the denizens who have been there for ages together – of course, according to the last census report – 555,555 uriish. Now that the cushions have been removed all those bugs have become refugees, so they are running amok, rushing around, looking for shelter. It’s the law of nature that they take refuge in our cushions and make life miserable for us by biting us and sucking our blood. Ticket Examiner, sir, you certainly wouldn’t want us to be subjected to such a hideous situation. So our request is that you don’t scold the travellers sitting on that bench over their tickets, but rather tell them to put the cushions back in their rightful places and clear the way for the uriish to go back to the holes where they were living.’

“There was nothing I could say or do. Helplessly, I jumped down from that doorless compartment onto the station platform. I say ‘jumped’ because there wasn’t a single wooden footboard left. People had ripped them out to light their ovens.

“Looking out, I suddenly saw a bridegroom party sitting in a row on the platform. The bride’s people were feting them on beaten rice, yoghurt, peŕa [a sweet] and jalebi.

“ ‘Why are you sitting here and eating?’ I asked them. ‘Which train are you waiting for? To where?’

“I came to know that we had the same destination. ‘What time will the train leave from here?’ I asked.

“ ‘Why, on that line there is a train that will leave for there at nine o’clock,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you take that one?’

“ ‘That we can’t say,’ they replied, ‘but the stationmaster told us to take the ten o’clock train. It takes two hours to arrive, which means that it arrives at midnight. We’ve learned that it is running two hours late, which means that it will arrive at two in the morning, which will be too late for us to eat, so we are finishing our feast here.’ ”

I asked Aklmand: “Hey, can you tell me why the stationmaster advised them to take the ten o’clock train when there is a nine o’clock train?”

“The ten o’clock train is a fast-passenger,” Aklmand replied. “It will make the forty mile journey in two hours. If it’s late, it will take at most another two hours, but the nine o’clock train is a passenger train. It takes at least five hours to travel those forty miles. If it’s late, you see, it can take another three hours, which means that by the time it arrives it will be five in the morning, so the wise thing to do is to take the ten o’clock train.”

“Have you never gone from Khulna to Bagerhat?” Aklmand continued. “In the narrow rail train?”

“Khulna is not very far at all from Bagerhat,” Aklmand replied, “but once I boarded that 9 P.M. train and didn’t arrive in Bagerhat until nine in the morning. Moreover, according to the timetable it was supposed to arrive at 11 P.M.”

“I wanted to see if the timetable was kada or not,” he replied. “Furthermore, the train’s advertisements deceived me. In the station it was written: ‘Come, come along. Take our train to Bagerhat. Once you have ridden in this train you will want to ride it over and over again. If there is any need to use the bathroom, we assist you in stopping the train.’

“Inside the train it was written: ‘If a storm comes, open the windows on both sides of the train. The storm will enter in one window and blow out through the opposite window. If the window on one side is open and the other side closed, then there is a possibility that the train will tip over.’

“As far as I know, the passengers found out from the stationmaster when they arrived in the station what time the nine o’clock train would leave.”

I listened to Aklmand’s story and then I asked him: “Then, do you also advise me to take the ten o’clock train?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “I will give you also the same advice – not once, but a hundred times over.”

“The sister of the nine o’clock train guard’s father-in-law arrived today to visit her son-in-law after a long absence.”

“When she arrived she told her son-in-law: ‘I’ve come after a long absence so don’t go out on duty today. Stay home so we can have a chat. I’ve brought náŕu from Maner and khájá from Silai for you. Stay at home, and eat and enjoy them.’

“For this reason the guard won’t go back on duty. He won’t come back, so the train won’t budge. Under these conditions what other choice do you have but to take the ten o’clock train.”

“Didn’t you protest,” I said, “that as a result the guard is creating a big mess and putting so many helpless passengers to trouble?”

“How could I dare to put up a protest?” replied Aklmand. “I also do such things from time to time.”

Aklmand began telling the story. “Once there was a chubby, jet-black goat-ghost. He used to stay in the raorava section of hell [the lowest stratum of hell], in a seventh floor flat which often gave him trouble due to a lack of water. He used to quarrel and feud twice a day with the other tenants and the owner. One day the ghosts from the building approached the other ghosts of hell and informed them of this. Hell’s ghosts thanked them many times over and said: ‘We haven’t eaten goat-flesh for ages. Since we’ve become ghosts, we’ve lost count of how long we’ve been here in hell. We haven’t had a single chance to eat goat-flesh since we’ve come to hell, because even though cow-ghosts arrive now and then, not a single goat-ghost does. The goblins in the wood-apple trees on the road that leads from earth to hell reach down and pull them up and cook them in the portable stoves they keep in the tree branches, so they can have goat-meat curry simmered with Ganges water along with their rice and ghee.

“ ‘You won’t find a single goat-ghost who has had the chance to make it all the way to hell. Now that we’ve learned that a goat-ghost has come to your place, our joy knows no bound. Shut off the tap-water in your building. Cut the electricity. When he comes downstairs to quarrel with you we will pounce on him and take him away with us.’

“While the ghosts were discussing this among themselves in the building a cow-ghost overheard them. He went to the goat-ghost and informed him. The goat-ghost didn’t waste any time, but ran breathlessly away until he had crossed heaven’s border. There was some dispute over his passport and visa, to be sure, but when heaven’s border-guards heard his sad story, they were overcome with compassion and let him enter heaven. After entering heaven, the goat-ghost approached the gods and lodged a complaint against the ghosts of hell. He said: ‘Tell me gods, how can one possibly remain in hell with such worries?’

“ ‘Everything about the ghosts is a mess,’ said the gods. ‘They conspired to eat you without even considering the day or date, didn’t they?’

“ ‘Therein lie our differences with the ghosts,’ said the gods. ‘If we are going to eat you we’ll choose an auspicious day for it. We’ll bathe you in the Ganges on the new moon, apply vermilion to your forehead, that is, you understand, we’ll do everything according to the rules.’

“The goat-ghost smelled danger and rather than waste any time, he fled to the Creator, Brahmá. With great trouble he slipped the security net and entered Brahmá’s chambers.

“ ‘What is wrong, goat-ghost?’ said Brahmá. ‘Why are you panting so hard?’

“ ‘Look sir,’ said the goat-ghost. ‘I was in hell but the ghosts didn’t let me stay there. They plotted to cut me up and eat me. Fearing for my life I came to heaven, but when I arrived here I also saw the gods looking at me and licking their chops, so I came here to ask you for shelter.’

“ ‘Do what I say,’ replied Brahmá. ‘Leave at once. My mouth is also watering seeing your lovely succulence.’ ”

Aklmand said: “So you see, even though I know that the guard was doing wrong, it wasn’t possible for me to protest. My situation on that day was just like that of the Creator, Brahmá. I’ve also done the same thing the guard did today now and again, so can I oppose what the guard is doing and still save face?”

“Still, it is true,” said Aklmand, “that this train’s timetable is completely kada. I should tell you about one incident that concerns this. It happened four or five days ago. A gentleman from a nearby village was travelling somewhere on the main line train. He arrived at the station and asked the station master: ‘Stationmaster sir, can you tell me how many minutes late the number seventeen train is?’

“ ‘How many minutes late!’ the stationmaster replied. ‘That train is coming ridiculously late today.’

“The village gentleman thought: ‘If the train is going to be so late then let one thing be done. The Ganges is only four kilometres from here. Let me go and take a bath in the Ganges to earn some religious merit, then I’ll put on the tilak [religious mark] and sandalwood, eat some beaten rice, yoghurt and peŕá, and then return to the station. Since the train is so late, I’m sure I’ll get back to the station long before the train comes.’

“The gentleman had just left when he suddenly saw the train he wanted heading towards the station. He rushed back to the station and asked the stationmaster: ‘Stationmaster sir, just a little while ago you told me that the train was very late today, but now I see that the train has arrived right on schedule.’

“ ‘Look here,’ the stationmaster replied, ‘what I said was quite correct. This is yesterday’s train; it’s twenty-four hours late.’”

“Seeing all these things,” Aklmand continued, “I was struck with amazement. I felt like a pápaŕ bouncing in a frying pan, dazed and bewildered… a Siŕir naŕu with crispy puffed rice.”

The word kandara means “cavern”.⁽⁷⁾ In Rarhi Bengali the word kandara has become slightly altered and taken the form kándara or kándara.

(1) The letters of the Sanskrit alphabet are divided into related groups of letters, called vargas. Certain letters are replaced by certain other letters under specific conditions, such as in the formation of compound words, thus determining the composition and order of the vargas. –Trans.

(2) Letters or sounds in Sanskrit are further classified according to their lightness or heaviness in pronunciation. –Trans.

(3) Crops in India are traditionally grown and harvested at certain times, and in certain ways, and each of the different harvests has a different name, such as the “sun-harvest”, the “pigeon-harvest” (see Discourse 17: Kapota), etc. –Trans.

(4) Kaŕuyá oil means mustard oil. Because it is especially aromatic, the word kaŕuyávilás has been respectfully used.

(5) These two lines imply a lot of efforts and playing up to important people in order to get the job. –Trans.

Kakubh to Kavaśńa (Discourse 17)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

The root verb kak means “to feel pride… to consider oneself to be someone”. By adding the suffix ubhac to kak we get the word kakubh. The etymological meaning of the word kakubh is “that which, when focused on, people feel pride… thinking oneself an important person”. The word kakubh is feminine in gender. The colloquial meanings of kakubh are:

1) A particular fraction or arc of the horizon. For example, east, west, northeast, southwest, etc. Of course, what we call “the eastern horizon” is where it seems to us that the eastern sky meets the earth, but, if we say “eastern horizon” it can refer to the entire eastern sky. However, in Bengali we say púrva kakubh for where the eastern sky meets the earth – for which we have the expression “eastern horizon” in English; similarly, iishán kakubh [northeast], agni kakubh [southeast], and so on. You can use this word freely.

2) If many flowers bloom together in a cluster on a tree then that is also called kakubh, or if many flowers are made into a single bouquet or garland then that is also called kakubh.

3) The third meaning of the word kakubh is “where many kańakacánpá [kanakacampaka] flowers bloom together in a single bunch on a tree”; that is also called kakubh. Kakubh can also be used for a bouquet of [kanakacampaka] flowers, that is, if we say simply kakubh rather than [kanakacampaka]-kakubh, it means a bunch or cluster of [kanakacampaka].

4) If any song remains confined within the notes of a particular scale (the gat⁽¹⁾ created from it) then the scale (gat) of that song is called kakubh.

5) Kakubh is also the name of a recognized rágińii. This rágińii is included within the Kakubh raga. The Kakubh raga is masculine.

6) The word kakubh means “beauty” or “fascination”. For example, this flower-garden’s kakubh is captivating.

7) The seventh meaning of the word kakubh is “abundance” or “uncommonness”. For example, at that time the kakubh of the agricultural wealth of the Damodar river-valley was unparalleled in the world. It had no equal anywhere in the production of paddy, cotton and sugar cane. This can be deduced from various clues from the time of Emperor Akbar. Actually, it is perhaps for this reason that some people used to think that because of the area’s gradual increase of kakubh it became known by the name of Varddhamána [Burdwan].⁽²⁾

8) The eighth meaning of the word kakubh is “loose hair”. In olden times, loose hair was often considered a sign of beauty in women. This loose hair is also called kakubh as an expression of praise.

9) The ninth meaning of the word kakubh is “loose hair which has been decorated”, that is, the hair is loose, it has not been braided or plaited or bound in tresses, but different kinds of decorations have been put in the hair – this kind of loose hair is also called kakubh.

Ka means “water”. Ka + skubh +ac = kakubha. The dropping of the sa leaves kakubha. The word is masculine in gender. It is also worth noting that there is no hasanta⁽³⁾ at the end of the word. The etymological meaning of the word kakubha is “that which is obtained when water is stirred or agitated or put to work”. It has many colloquial meanings. For example:

1) The tree we get when we soak the ground with water; kakubha means “tree”.

2) The material produced from trees is wood. Thus wood furniture is called kakubha, such as “chair”, “table”, “stool”, “wooden box”, and the small, forward-sloping table in grocery shops which can be used as both a table and a box.

3) The word kakubha can also be used for wooden pots and pans such as khorá [a large cup without handles], ket́ho [wooden vessel], varakośa [serving tray], etc. The half-portion of the coconut shell which is used in housework is called kakubha.

4) Water vessels made of wood (such as wooden glasses) are also called kakubha. The word gelás which is prevalent in Bengali has come from the English “glass tumbler”. Actually, “glass” means káca [the material glass]. That water vessel which is made from glass is a glass tumbler. The word [glass] is fundamentally incorrect, so it is not bad at all if kakubha is used for “water-glass”.

5) Any kind of water vessel, or something that can be sipped from (such as a saucer, water-pot, etc.), is called kakubha.

6) One of the names of the kamańd́alu [a traditional water-pot used by mendicants and students] that students and renunciants used to use in olden times is kakubha. This kamańd́alu generally used to be made from wood or from the shell of a ripe gourd.

7) The covered water container which was used out of necessity in olden times for travel to far-off countries, and is still used today (such as a canteen or such types of things), is also called kakubha.

8) Those wooden vessels which are hollow, or have cavities, and are covered with skin for producing sound, such as tabla, d́ugi, mrdauṋga, d́hol, d́hák, d́holak, jayd́hák, dámámá, mádal, khol, and so forth, are also called kakubha.

9) The instrumental system known as jaltarauṋga which works by producing sound waves from water-filled vessels of either wood, glass or stone, is also called kakubha. The special vessel which is used is also called kakubha.

10) The dry shell of a ripe gourd which used to be used, or still is, as part of a stringed instrument is also called kakubha. In olden days, the bitter gourd shell was generally used. The bitter gourd used to be called kat́utumbi.

12) The ripe gourd shell which forms part of the ektárá [a one-stringed instrument] is called báis or báyes in certain parts of Bengal; its refined Bengali [or Sanskrit] name is also kakubha.

13) The hookah which is made from coconut shell with holes in it and used for smoking tobacco, and which is called dábá or dábáhunká in Bengali, is also called kakubha in the refined language.

Although kadara is certainly a Sanskrit word of Vedic origin, it is also a Persian word of Vedic origin. When the word is in the form of the Persian word of Vedic origin then its meaning is “proper assessment” or “proper evaluation”. For example, if we see a talented, educated person being insulted then we tell them: “Don’t listen to them. They are uneducated people; jiṋánii-guńiir kadar bujhbe ná [they can’t understand the kadara of the well-educated]”.

In the Vedic language we get the word kadara from the stem ka and the verbal root dr. One meaning of the word kadara is “vakul flower”. The vakul is an Indica variety of forest tree, that is, its original home is in the vast forests of this country. The flowers of this very tall tree are, however, extremely small. In spring and summer mornings this sweet-smelling flower drops to the ground at the base of the tree. Because the flower has a natural hole in it, it is easily strung for garlands. Itár [essence] and a fragrant oil are made from its extract. Its fragrance helps to maintain mental equipoise. Although the use of its fragrance is forbidden for renunciants, it is not forbidden for family people because it is sattvaguńii [sentient] in nature.

The vakul fruit has been used as a food since ancient times. It has small seeds, and the oil obtained from its seeds is suitable for cooking, but since there are insufficient quantities available, it is not used for cooking. This oil is, however, used in the family cooking pots in those village areas in forest surroundings where there are sufficient numbers of vakul trees.

In northern India vakul is known by the name of maulshrii. In Rarh the vakul flower is called vaul or bol. The word bolpur has come from vakulpur.

The third meaning of the word kadara is cáltá [an edible acid fruit, or its tree]. In some people’s opinion, this fruit came from southeast Asia, while others believe that it came from South America or South Máyádviipa. As far as I can tell, their assertion is not correct. Since there is a Vedic word, kadara, for cáltá, it means that the people of India were familiar with it since very ancient times, that is, the statement that it arrived in India at the end of the Pathan era is incorrect. This Liliam indica variety of fruit stimulates the appetite, and in small quantities it is good for the liver and kidneys. However, in greater quantities it can lead to an excess creation of bile. In cases of insanity the cáltá fruit should be avoided.

The cáltá likes humid air, thus it is usually seen within one hundred and fifty miles of the sea. The cáltá grows, or can grow far from the sea, but in that case it grows on the banks of ponds or reservoirs. In one riddle it is said:

“The cáltá shell, that is, rind, is a food and what is inside it is fit to be thrown.”

In general parlance kadara also refers to the barley spike, as well as to the top portion of the spike of any crop. The top of the paddy spike we can call vriihi-kadara.

The fifth meaning of the word kadara is “hand-saw” or “saw”. Although generally kadara can mean any kind of saw, it also refers more specifically to that small kind of saw that cuts on both sides, such as a conch-saw. This kadara variety of saw has an inseparable relationship with the conch-craft industry. The conch shells that come from that part of the Bay of Bengal which is near Shri Lanka are of the highest quality. The conches that come from the central part of the Bay of Bengal are not such a high quality. Because high quality conch shells are in short supply nowadays (red and white), girls are using them less, and as a result, the conch-crafts industry is in peril. The Shánkáris [Hindu caste specializing in conch-shell crafts] and conch traders are practically out of work these days. In olden times, three places in Bengal – Dhaka, Murshidabad and Bankura – were famous for their conch-shell crafts.

The sixth meaning of the word kadara is laohashaláká – “iron rod”. The word shaláká is also used to mean “stick” (in Rarhi Bengali, kháŕá). Diipashaláká → diiashaláá → diiyáshaláy → deshlái [matchstick].

The seventh meaning of the word kadara is auńkusha [prod]. Most of us are familiar with the object called aunkusha with whose help a small human being is able to make a huge and powerful animal like an elephant sit. In old Sanskrit the word kadara was more common than the word aunkusha, but in the Sanskrit of subsequent times, especially the Sanskrit of the Buddhist era, the use of the word kadara decreased significantly. We see the word aunkusha used in all cases for the weapon in the hand of the Buddhist gods and goddesses; the word kadara has not been used. About the Buddhist Tantric goddess, Śod́ashii, it has been said:

Páshánkushasharacápadhárińii
Shivá Śod́ashiirúpá shivabhávinii

[The Operative Principle, in the form of Śod́ashii, the consort of Lord Shiva, holding pásha [binding rope], aunkusha, shara [arrow] and cápa [bow].]

The eighth meaning of the word kadara is “purdah”. The word pardá [purdah] is of Persian origin. “Purdah” means not only a curtain on the window or over the door, it means a piece of cloth covering the head and face of a woman (i.e., a veil); it means that a woman must not move freely outside the house; it also means keeping the women covered in burkas.⁽⁴⁾

The purdah was not in use among the ancient Aryans. It was originally a Semitic concept. Indian women did not use the purdah before the Pathan rule.⁽⁵⁾ The Sanskrit word avaguńt́hana [“veil”] is not an ancient word. (The Hindustani word ghunghat́ [“veil”] was used in the olden days in the sense of covering.) In those parts of India where the Pathans were not firmly established, for instance in south India and Maharastra, the veil was not introduced at all; to this day there is no such custom. Married women in ancient Maharastra never used to veil themselves – it was optional. Widows did not need to use a veil if they chose not to. Even where the Pathans were firmly established, the aborigines living in the hills and forests did not use the purdah. Today as well there is no custom of veiling oneself among the tribal women of Bengal and north India. Although the Santhals of Bengal are now totally identified with the Bengali mainstream, Santhal women do not use veils to this day.

Although the burka or veil was not in use in ancient times, and women were not prohibited from leaving their own houses, the system of using purdahs on doors and windows has been customary since ancient times.⁽⁶⁾ In those few pictures as well that remain in existence from the pre-Pathan era, purdahs can be seen on the doors and windows of the royal palaces. In Sanskrit, as well as in old Bengali, the word kadara was used for the purdah over doorways and windows. In Bengali you can quite properly use this word kadara. You can use it because, as I said, while purdah refers to this living-behind-the-purdah, kadara doesn’t – it only means the English “curtain”.

The ninth meaning of the word kadara is “miserly” or “follower of undesirable nature”. Among the several meanings of the Sanskrit word kadarya, the two most important are: (1) “one who maintains an undesirable nature”; and (2), “miserly”. The word had two prevalent forms: one was kadarya and the other was kadariya, or kadara. In this case also, one meaning of the word kadariya or kadara was “miserly”.

Akkodhena jine kodhaḿ asádhuḿ sádhuná jine
Jine kadariyaḿ dánena saccena aliikavádinam.

You defeat another’s anger through your non-anger; you defeat another’s wickedness through your piousness; you defeat another’s miserliness through your generosity; you defeat another’s dishonesty through your honesty.

The colloquial meaning of the word kandarpa is “the god of love”, that is Madana, or Atanu – Cupid in western mythology. The word’s etymological meaning is as follows: The meaning of the word kam is “worldly desire” – getting name and fame, or realizing different other types of worldly desires. Worldly desire creates heat in a person’s brain and that heat afflicts the mental body as well; much of the person’s potential is thoroughly wiped out. Excessive fascination with matter destroys the vast potential of human beings. There was one famous Bengali philologist who was ruined by drinking too much wine; there was a famous poet who lost the vibrational power of his brain through excessive attraction to matter. This dwelling-on-matter thrusts the human being down the path of destruction; dwelling on matter engulfs one’s entire existence in flames and puts an end to it.

Kam + darpa = kandarpa. Kam means “the desire to obtain something worldly”; the verbal root drp means “to burn furiously”. By adding the suffix ac it becomes darpa. Thus the etymological meaning of the word kandarpa is “one who burns up their entire existence through worldly thinking”.

Paiṋcashare dagdha kare karecha eki sannyásii,
Vishvamaya diyecho táre charáye.

Paiṋcashare bhasma kare karecho eki sannyásii
Vishvamaya diyecho táre charáye.

[What have you done, O Lord Shiva, by burning him [the god of love] with your five arrows and scattering him throughout the universe. / What have you done, O Lord Shiva, by reducing him to ashes and scattering them throughout the universe.]

Kam + thác = kanthá. Its etymological meaning is “that which, when wet, gets thoroughly soaked”; its colloquial meaning is kánthá [a patchwork cotton sheet]. Another meaning of the word kanthá or kanthiká is “veil”, or that which is used to cover the body. As you all are certainly aware, that region which at one time was covered with a veil of knowledge was called kanthiká in Sanskrit. From this word kanthiká we get the word kánthi which is a subdivisional town in present-day Midnapore District.

The meaning of the root verb kand is “to wallow”. We get the word kanduka by adding uk to kand or adding u + ka to kand. Its etymological meaning is “that which rolls”; colloquially it refers to “ball” – a ball rolls.

It should be remembered that the kanduka originated in this country. Originally, balls used to be made from cloth, but since cloth balls did not last very long people in ancient Bengal started making balls from the shoots of young bamboo. The well-known modern game of polo originated in Manipur’s Kobe Valley. After the defeat of Tikendrajit, when Manipur became a tributary state under the British, they included the Kobe Valley in the then British province of Burma. After the British left Burma and India, the Kobe Valley remained a part of Burma. Nowadays the part of Manipur which is accepted as Indian territory is a state in India, but the Kobe Valley is part of Burma. Originally, only royal princes used to play the horse-riding game of polo. For that a very hard ball was needed. The kind of bamboo that was used, used to grow in the eastern portion of Rarh in slightly salty soil. Still today the best bamboo for making polo balls grows in the Uluberia subdivision of Howrah District and in Midnapore District’s Tamluk subdivision.

In olden times, when those people who lacked vitality or spirit, or who were somewhat spineless, would jump at the beck and the call of others, the people used to say about them: “the fellow has no self-initiative; he’s someone’s game-ball.”

Kanduka means “ball”, but kendu means gáb [a kind of tree or its fruit]. In Bengali a large-sized gáb is called gáb and a small one is called kend.

The meaning of the root verb kand is “to roll” or “to move about”, either transitive or intransitive. That boiler or steamer which pushes or pulls something and makes it move about is also called kanduka in correct Sanskrit.

Ka means “water”. Kam means “to water”. “That which holds water” is called kandhara in this sense, thus the word kandhara means “cloud”. Kandha also means “cloud”.

Kam means “water” or “to water”. Kam + dhá + ki = kandhi. Kandhi means “sea”. The word is masculine.

By adding ac to the root verbs kap/kamp/kapi we get the words kapa and kampa. The etymological meaning of both words is “to move about” or “whose nature is to jump”. However the word kampra, derived by adding rak to kamp, is used for one who moves about by nature. For example: kampravakśa, kamprapada, kamprakara. The etymological meaning of the words kapa and kapála is the same. Colloquially they refer to: (1) raven, (2) fate, (3) skull or cranium, and (4) a large body of water, or reservoir. In this case ka means “water”. Both the words kapála and kabandha can be used for “large body of water” or “breakwater” (in Rarhi Bengali, bándh) or “reservoir” or “barrage”. In Bengali the word kapála is used to mean “forehead” [lalát́a]. In Sanskrit, if we say kapála, we do not mean exactly the same thing as when we say lalát́a. However the word lalátalikhana is used to mean “destiny” or “fate”. In Hindi also, the word kapála is used to mean “fate”, not lalát́a. However, in Bhojpuri the word kapála (the pronunciation will be kapára) is used to mean “head”. For example, to say “I have a headache” in Bhojpuri one says: kapála vyathatá. Here kapála means “head”, not “forehead”.

“Ámi yái Vaunge, kapál yáy saunge” [I am going to Bengal and my destiny goes with me]; in Hindi it becomes Ham jáy nepál, sáth cale kapál.

While discussing destiny, or decree of fate, I still vividly remember an old story which is still vibrating my mind. I went to Allahabad to deliver a lecture on Indian philosophy in response to an invitation from the university. Usually I don’t accept such invitations, but this particular case was a little different and more significant for me. First I knew many of the university administration and teaching staff, and secondly the university of Allahabad was highly reputed and influential. My lecture was complete by evening and I left Allahabad city without delay for Muzaffarpur, where I had some important work. Suddenly, at the waiting room at Rambag railway station I happened to meet Sutanuká and her son Himaván. She was delighted to see me and exclaimed joyfully, “Elder brother, what a surprise! I would never have dreamed that I would meet you here.”

Sutanuká Mitra is my cousin. I had last seen her fifteen years before at Chandannagar at the marriage of her younger sister. Her husband Arúpratan Mitra was a veteran military officer who earned a name for himself during British rule. I met him for the first time during that marriage at Chandannagar (Boŕo Káliitalá.)

“Since we are meeting after such a long time,” I said to my cousin, “why don’t you come with me to Muzaffarpur? From there you’ll be able to go directly to Burdwan.”

“Well, I was thinking to visit your place during the winter holidays,” she replied. “Himaván has to go to college, and Arúpratan will be landing at Dumdum airport the day after tomorrow after his trip to London. He’ll be going straight to Burdwan from the airport. Our house is locked up, so if we get home late, he’ll be greatly inconvenienced.”

I realized her difficulty. We decided to travel together in the same compartment to Varanasi by narrow gauge railway and exchange stories. On reaching Varanasi I would take the narrow gauge on to Muzaffarpur and Sutanuká would take a train to Burdwan, arriving there either late at night or before dawn. It was expected that Arúpratan take a local train from Calcutta to Burdwan and reach home at about 10 A.M. the same day. That was finally decided. It had been a long time since Sutanuká and I had seen each other.

Though Sutanuká and her family were living at Burdwan they originally belonged to the Mitra family of Konnagar. Towards the end of Pathan rule, an intellectual society grew up in Hooghly District on the west bank of the river Bhágiirathii. Konnagar was one of the intellectual centres. In those days the Ráy Mitras of Konnagar were the landlords. Konnagar was considered as one of the most cultured and well-educated villages of Hooghly District of Rarh. Moreover it was one of the most famous places in the whole of Bengal. Its original name was Karńanagar. The people said that in Bengal if there was only one nagar or town it would be Karńanagar. That is why the town’s name could often be heard during a conversation between intellectuals. If anyone was asked, “Which is the best town to go to?” he or she would reply, “There is only one town. Why should you ask ‘Which town [Kon nagar in Bengali]?’ – There is only one town: Konnagar.” And that is how the place became known as Konnagar.

I said to Sutanuká, “The name of the city we’re about to leave is known as Allahabad city, but formerly it was called Prayága. It’s a fact that Prayága is older than Konnagar. It was built towards the end of the Yajurvedic period six thousand years ago. But Burdwan is even more ancient than Prayága. During Pathan rule Prayága was renamed Allahabad (Abode of Allah). Since then its popularity has been increasing. The Shia Moslems named the city Illahabad, but during the Mughal period, the prosperous growth of the city was checked. Thereafter, the city again began to flourish towards the end of the British rule when it became the capital of the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh (UP for short).

“In the pre-Buddhist era Burdwan was the capital of Rarh. In the Buddhist and Jain era it remained Rarh’s capital. During the Mughal period (during the reign of Akbar) Burdwan was the capital of Suba-Bángal. But Konnagar had no such royal glamour. It was just a cultured village of Burdwan District (the district of Hooghly was not created then). Iishan Chandra Ghosh, the renowned Bengali scholar of medieval Bengal; Rama Chandra Ghosh, the illustrious logician and author of scriptures; Práńatosá Biswas, the most erudite Sanskrit and scriptural scholar; and Dr. Krśńadhan Ghosh (Aurobinda’s father), the first Bengali District Medical Officer (DMO) and Civil Surgeon, were all born in Konnagar.” Then I turned towards Himaván and said, “Your father was born at Konnagar but you belong to Burdwan.”

He pointed out, “You told us a little while ago that Konnagar was within Burdwan District.”

I said, “That’s a hundred per cent true.” We were travelling from west to east – from ancient Brahmávartta or Brahmarśidesh to the ancient Káshii kingdom. That part of the Gangetic valley is considered as the middle part of the Ganges river civilization. The Prayága area is considered as the upper part of the Ganges river civilization. The area stretching from Prayága to the confluence of the rivers Shone and Ganges is the middle part of the Ganges river civilization. And the area from the Shone-Ganges confluence to Sahebganj is considered as the Gaod́á part of the Ganges river civilization. The area from Sahebganj, where the Ganges starts flowing southward, to Gangasagar is known as the final part of the Ganges valley civilization or Gaod́iiya civilization. The Gaod́iiya civilization is most developed where the rivers of Rarh – carrying with them the local cultural specialities of Rarh civilization – and the Brahmaputra river, coming from the northeast – carrying with it the flow of Mongolian civilization merge into the Ganges. The part of the Ganges valley civilization which was the home land of the pre-Gaod́iiya and Gaod́iiya civilization cannot be called the Aryan civilization in the proper sense of the term. Actually, it is the east India civilization or extended Ganges delta civilization.

So the area from Allahabad to Káshii or Gańd́akii (here Gańd́akii means Náráyańii-Gańd́ak – not the Buŕi Gańd́ak of Muzaffarpur and Samastipur) is part of the pre-Gaod́iiya civilization. Burdwan can be considered as the nucleus of Ráŕiiya civilization, and Konnagar as the main source of the Gaod́iiya civilization which is itself based on the Ráŕiiya civilization. “So you see, Himaván, your Burdwan and your father’s Konnagar are both bathed in the light of the same golden moon.”

Himaván was a B.Sc. student, but I was amazed by his ardent interest in river-valley civilizations. Even though he was a young boy he had an unusually keen interest in the origins of civilization. He asked me, “Uncle, different species of plants, trees and animals and a particular human civilization have followed the Ganges downstream from its source in Gauṋgottarii. Similarly, other species of plants, trees and animals as well as a different human civilization have followed the banks of the river Yamuna downstream from its source at Yamunottarii. What is the result of the merging of the two rivers, the Ganges and Yamuna, at Prayága?”

I answered, “That’s a good question. Just as the river Ganges has brought with her saffron-coloured clay, special types of flora and fauna and its own alluvium, the river Yamuna has also carried her own distinct characteristics down from her source. A little further downstream, another river, the Charmánvatii or Chambal, carrying the special characteristics of the western Indian civilization of Málava and Bundelkhańd́a merges into the Yamuna. In this area a new mixed civilization occurred which can be called the Baghelii civilization. The Yamuna carried this mixed civilization, and merged its black waters into the Ganges at Prayága. So, the middle stage of the Gangetic valley civilization starts from Prayága.

“The Gangetic river valley civilizations upriver and downriver from Prayága are not the same. The middle stage lying to the south of the Ganges continues up to the Ganga-Shoń confluence at Patna, and that lying to the north continues up to the Ganges-Náráyańii confluence near Hajipur. After that the pre-Gaod́iiya civilization starts there. Comparatively speaking the Austric influence is comparatively less than the Mongol-Tantric influence. This area has been known as Trihotriiya Bhúmi since ancient times. On the south of the Ganges, after the Ganga-Shoń confluence, the Pre-Gaod́iiya civilization starts no doubt, but there the Mongol-Tantric influence is less than the Gondawana influence.

“From the ethnological point of view, there is a difference between Trihotriiya Bhúmi and Magadha Bhúmi. In the physical structure of the people of Trihotriiya Bhúmi the Austric influence is less than the Mongolian influence. Black people are few in number. From the complexion of the people in Magadha it is evident that the Mongolian influence is almost nil. Flat-nosed people are very few. There are many black-complexioned people but with aquiline noses.

“Although Trihotriiya Bhúmi (Videha or, Mithilá) and Magadha belong to the same language group, the Mágadhii Prákrta group, the Maethilii language belongs to the Eastern Demi-Mágadhii group, and the Magahii language belongs to the Western Demi-Mágadhii group. The difference in intonation of the languages is particularly discernible, yet both languages belong to the pre-Gaod́iiya Gangetic Civilization, is noticed in Anga Bhúmi, where the Trihotriiya and Mágadhii cultural characteristics have blended into one. These characteristics came in contact with the Gaod́iiya civilization.

“This Gangetic valley civilization has been transformed into pure Gaod́iiya civilization or deltaic civilization where the River Ganges and the Vindhya Range have come closest to each other near Sahebganj in Angadesh, and from that point the Ganges flows southwards.”

Himaván said, “ I want to do research on the subject when I’m grown up. But from my conversation with you I can clearly understand that this sort of research cannot be done sitting at our Borehat residence in Burdwan or at the Shyampur residence in Calcutta; rather we have to move a great deal in the fields and along the banks of the rivers.”

I said, “You are right. This type of work cannot be done theoretically or half-heartedly. One hundred per cent sincerity is required for this sort of task, and then one will achieve one hundred per cent success.”

Sutanuká said, “Well, brother, I think we have now almost reached Káshii. After a while we’ll reach Benares city by narrow gauge. I’d like to know how deep the Vedic influence was in this area which you describe as the second part of the Gangetic Valley civilization.”

I replied, “Look, as far as I understand, the land of Rarh is the land where Sanskrit originated. But the ancient language which we describe as the Vedic language came to India from the northwest along with the Aryans. The Aryans first migrated to the Sindhu-Saoviira, and the land of Sapta-Sindhu, the Seven Rivers (Sutlej or Shatadru, Bias or Vipásha, Ravi or Irávatii, Chenub or Candrabhágá, Jhelum or Vitastá, Kabul and Sind). These seven rivers together are known as the Sapta-Sindhu. Later on the land became known as the Punjab, that is, the land of five rivers. The names of two rivers have been dropped, so there remain only five.

“This is the first phase of the Vedic influence in India. In the second phase the Aryans moved further southeast: their influence pervaded in the northern part of the Yamuna valley. That area was known as Haritadhánya or the ‘Land of Green Vegetation’ (Haritadhánya → Hariahánna → Harihána → Hariyána).

“Then, in the next phase, the Aryans reached Prayága around the Ganga-Yamuna valley. This we can describe as the third phase of the Vedic influence. Then they moved farther east, and their influence extended to the Gańdákii river on the north and the Shon River on the south. This can be called the fourth phase of the Vedic influence. In this area was situated the ancient Káshiirájya or Kingdom of Káshii. We are now journeying through the Káshiirájya. One thing to be noted here is that in the first phase, the Vedic language left two daughters behind: Páshcáttya and Paeshácii Prákrta. In the languages born out of this Páshcáttya and Paeshácii Prákrta (for example, Pashto, Punjabi, etc.) there is a multitude of derived words from the Vedic language. In the second phase, that is, in the Hariyánavii language, the percentage of Vedic-derived words is somewhat less. In the third stage, the percentage of the Vedic-derived words is still less, for instance in languages like Máŕoyárii, Haŕaotii, Bundelii, Bághelii, Avadhii, and Vrajabháśa, etc. And in the languages of the fourth stage, like Bhojpurii, the percentage of Vedic-derived words is still less. But no one should misunderstand that in the fourth stage the Vedic influence was nil. No doubt the direct Vedic influence in the fourth stage was nil, but the indirect influence in pre-Gaod́iiya and Gaod́iiya civilizations was tremendous, and that influence still persists even today.”

Sutanuká said, “I’ve noted with interest that in the fourth stage the external appearance of the people and the size of the cattle are quite different from those of the pre-Gaod́iiya and Gaod́iiya civilizations.”

Then I said, “You’re right in your observation. The structure of the human skull of people in this area is different from that of the people of the area of pre-Gaod́iiya civilization. But the human skull of the people of Angadesh is almost the same as that of the people of the Gaod́iiya area; the difference is hardly discernible.”

Káshii is not very far from Allahabad. After a short while we reached Benares city station by narrow gauge. Himaván said with a choked voice, “Uncle, now we must get off. I don’t know when we shall meet again. It was a very lively and interesting discussion.”

Both Sutanuká and Himaván were repeatedly requesting me to visit them at Burdwan: they complained that I had forgotten Burdwan. I protested, saying “No, I haven’t forgotten it – I have so many pleasant memories of Burdwan, so many songs of sweet love filled with joys and sorrows associated with Burdwan.”

They proceeded to the city centre. My private secretary approached me and said, “My in-law is sitting in the next compartment – he’s going to Chápra.” I said, “When your in-law is sitting nearby, why don’t you go and have a chat with him for a while? I won’t mind. Tomorrow morning there is an auspicious occasion of holy bathing in the Ganges, so most of the passengers are bound for Benares. There will be relatively few passengers from Benares to Muzaffarpur. Perhaps I will be the only passenger in this compartment.”

My private secretary went to the next compartment to talk with his in-law. I supposed he was enjoying a hearty meal of lit́t́i [a type of fried unleavened bread] soaked in ghee. The train left with a whistle, and the wheels started moving. Suddenly, a handsome gentleman dressed in a military uniform came running up, and, gasping for breath, entered the compartment. Immediately he approached me with rapid steps. After a while, when I looked closely at him, I was amazed to see that he was none other than my brother-in-law, Arúpratan Mitra, Sutanuká’s husband, whom I met about fifteen years ago at Boŕokáliitalá at Chandannagar! I requested him to take his seat beside me, and said to him, “How are things going – why are you running, gasping for breath? Why are you coming to meet me at 9:00 at night in this empty compartment? I’m on my way to Muzaffarpur; where are you going?”

Arúp said, “About fifteen minutes ago, at a quarter to nine, my mind suddenly became restless and agitated with so many thoughts and feelings. I thought to myself, ‘However possible, and as fast as possible, I must come to you immediately.’ It is my firm conviction that this restlessness, this agitation, will be put to rest as soon as I come near you. I now desperately need peace… only peace. I don’t want happiness, or prosperity – I don’t want the least amount of wealth or jewels of this vast world – I want only peace. ”

Arúp sat down. He was still gasping for breath. I asked him, “When your mind became restless, where were you then?” He replied, “I was far away from here… on the shore of a sea.” I said, “If you were so far away from here, then how could you come here in fifteen minutes?”

With a glimmer of a sweet smile on his lips he replied, “I came very fast, so I am gasping for breath. Immediately after reaching you, my mind has become peaceful. Now I feel a deep tranquillity within.”

I said, “Unrest or peace are all in the mind. Well, let us talk for a while.”

Arúp said, “Some time ago I heard from someone that you have already addressed a few symposia on river valley civilizations. I couldn’t realize what it was, but I guessed that you might have said something about how at the different stages of rivers the patterns of civilizations vary.”

He answered, “Yes, I was,” and said, “Perhaps you know that Great Britain is a small country; the distance from any part of Britain to the ocean is not more than fifty miles. So naturally in that country there cannot be any large river: the distance between the source of a river and the ocean cannot be very great. Yet if we move along the banks of certain rivers, there is a difference between the civilization of the upper areas of the river and the lower ones, and there is also a variation in language.

“Take for example the case of the river Thames: it is not a big river, either in width or in breadth. The part of the river Thames where the ships sail is not really a river, it is only an estuary of the sea, just like the Mátlá river near Canning. Many people think that the Mátlá is perhaps a wide and large river. They may think that in olden days the southern branch of the river Yamuna (Vidyádharii) emerging from the Ganges at Trivenii, moved southwards, and then it and the southeastern tributary of the Ganges (Piyálii) both flowed separately for a certain distance and then joined together to form the Mátlá river. Though this is a fact, yet the collective waters of these two combined rivers is quite small. In fact, the Mátlá river is nothing but the estuary of the sea entering into the land.

“The deltaic portion of the river Thames is somewhat similar. The more one proceeds down the river from the source of the Thames, the greater is the Anglo-Saxon and Norman influence. If one moves from the southern bank of the Thames towards the Straights of Dover, there is still a tremendous Norman influence, like a subterranean flow. If one moves from the northern side of the river towards the port of Grimsby on the delta at the coast, there is a greater Anglo-Saxon influence than Norman influence. If one moves towards the coast, the Norman influence becomes negligible. Where there is Norman influence, there are large numbers of Latin derivations in the spoken language. Where the Anglo-Saxon influence is predominant, the number of Latin derivative words is comparatively little. The difference in intonation in the respective areas, too, is quite discernible.

“If one moves towards the opposite part of the Thames river, or towards Wales in the west, the ancient Briton influence is not negligible, even in the spoken language. This is the reason why, though Welsh is a language of a small country, yet it has certain specialities of its own. Even the difference in people’s external appearance, though not very prominent, is not negligible either.”

I said, “You are right, Arúp, in your observation. I notice that both you and Himaván are equally interested in river valley civilizations. I was not aware of this before!”

Arúp blushed and smiled faintly. He said, “Perhaps you once said that in our land of Rarh, on either bank of the Bakreshvar river in central Birbhum, there is a local civilization which, though small in area, has its own speciality even in the style of its temples and also in its terracotta works. There is also a difference in the use of verbal forms in the spoken language of that area. Similarly, in southern Birbhum also, there is a small river called the Kopái (Kupita or ‘angry’) in whose valleys there is also some sort of local civilization. As far as I remember, someone said that the water of the Bakreshvar valley is one of the best for it is full of sulphur. But the water of Kopái valley, though it is as good as that of many places in Bengal, is not as good as that of the Bakreshvar valley. The two small rivers, with their own distinctive streams of water, flow from the west to the east, carrying the rhythmic songs of the most ancient human civilization, in cadence with the dancing rhythms of the land of Rarh. When the two rivers meet at Melanpur (meaning ‘meeting place’) at one end of the area under the jurisdiction of the Nanur police station, they are known as Kuye, and at that point both their local civilizations become blended. Melanpur really joins the two rivers in all respects. If one listens intently to the local dialect, one will hear a particular drawled intonation which is lacking in west Birbhum. Besides this, other local variations also came into being there.”

I said, “You are right, Arúp. Really I am delighted by your description. The specialities of the river valley civilizations are very distinct in our Birbhum. In the upper reaches of Birbhum, the spoken language has no drawled intonation: it is one of the flawless branches of the Rarh language. But in the lower reaches of Birbhum, the same Rarh dialect has a local drawl – have you noticed it?”

Arúp said, “Yes, I have. This subtle difference in intonation between the area of the Khayrásol police station and the Lábpur police station, and again, between the Khayrásol police station and the Mayureshvar police station, can be easily discerned only by listening to it.”

Arúp said, “Though it is not directly concerned with culture, still it is a funny story…”

Arúp said, “At Khayrásol in the upper reaches of Birbhum, there is a widespread use of poppy seed, whereas in the lower reaches, the use of poppy seed is less by five to seven per cent. That is to say, in the upper reaches there is an empire of poppies, and in the lower reaches there is merely a kingdom of poppies!”

Arúp burst into laughter. I too joined in his laughter. To continue, I said, “The other symbols of Rarh culture – like d́iḿle [a type of pumpkin], kheŕo [another type of pumpkin], green gram, jhumur dance are equally popular in both the upper and lower reaches.”

Arúpratan smiled, and said with a voice growing in excitement, “Yes brother, I’ve noticed that too. You see, although I live in Burdwan in central Rarh, I was actually born in Konnagar in the low-lying area of Rarh. In our place also, pumpkin and green gram are very popular, and people can hardly live without poppyseed.”

“By the way, Arúp”, I said, “you rushed into this compartment at exactly nine o’clock. How long were you able to speak with Sutanuká and Himaván on the platform?”

Arúpratan exclaimed in wide-eyed amazement, “What! Did Sutanuká and Himaván come here?”

“Don’t you know that?” I asked. “They accompanied me in this very compartment from Allahabad City and got off the train in Benaras. They were in a hurry to get to Káshii where they were planning to catch an evening train which would get them to Burdwan by dawn on Wednesday morning. They told me that you were expected to land at Dumdum airport at around the same time, and that you would take a local train from Howrah to Burdwan, reaching there at about ten the same day. They have the keys of the house, so if you were to arrive there before them you would be put to great trouble. They knew they had to reach Burdwan by dawn on Wednesday by any means.”

“No, I didn’t see them,” said Arúpratan. “I missed them at Benaras railway station. But what you said was correct: I was expected to arrive at Burdwan at ten on Wednesday morning.” He paused for a while and then continued. “They shouldn’t catch any train which will get them there late at night or at dawn – I apprehend some danger.”

“If you sense some impending danger, under no circumstances should they catch any Burdwan train at that particular time. You should get off the train at the next station and find some way to go to Káshii.” And I advised him, “You’d better go to Káshii and look for them in all the probable places. They have to be prevented from taking any of those Burdwan trains.” He said, “That’s a good idea. That’s a good idea.”

The train slowed down. We were approaching a station, no doubt. Arúpratan jumped to his feet, rushed to the door, and, looking like a bird ruffled by a raging tempest, leapt onto the platform without waiting for the train to stop. He had reason enough to be worried.

As soon as the train stopped my private secretary hurriedly entered my compartment. I guessed he had just finished his dinner of lit́t́i [a type of fried, unleavened bread] with his in-law. Perhaps his in-law had also served him kaŕiibaŕii [a type of dumpling made of chick-pea flour and served in yoghurt water] and mákhána kśiir [a type of sweet rice] for dessert. My private secretary sat beside me and asked me if I had been inconvenienced in any way. I said I hadn’t. Our train was moving from west to east across the border of the ancient Káshii state. I had told Himaván that this was the last area to come under Aryan influence. In the fourth phase of the Aryan invasion of India, Káshii can be regarded as a border state of northern India (Áryávartta). The River Sarayu not only carried the Aryan influence along its banks but also Mongol and to some extent Austric influence as well. That is why its eastern bank was considered as non-Aryan land. Later on this boundary was further extended to the River Gańd́akii (Náráyańii Gańd́ak). The Kányakubja Brahmans of those days did not like to cross the River Sarayu. As the land on the other bank was non-Aryan it was considered unholy. They were afraid they would lose their Aryan purity. Those Kányakubja Brahmans who dared to cross the river, being lured by the fertile land of the trans-Sarayu area, were declared outcastes. They lost their identity as Kányakubja Brahmans and became known as Sárayupárii Brahmans.

During Pathan rule, the last boundary of Áryávartta was the present Ghazipur District. In those days north India consisted of three Subas [administrative divisions]: Suba Bángál on the east, Suba Punjab on the northwest and Suba Hindostan between the two. Even today, the people of Bengal and the Punjab call the inhabitants of the middle part of northern India “Hindustani”. Some people are of the opinion that Hindustan means the whole of India and thus why should the inhabitants of a small part of India be called Hindustani. But this is wrong, because the term “Hindustani” is used for the people who were once the inhabitants of Suba Hindostan, and not in the sense of Hindustan as being the whole of India. During the Mughal period when Akbar divided his empire into fifteen subas, the name of the northern part of Suba Hindostan was Oudh and the southern part, Suba Agra. Ghazipur District was the last boundary of Suba Agra. On the east of Ghazipur District lies Balia District. Previously it was only a subdivision of Ghazipur District. Similarly, there was no Deoria District in those days. It was only a subdivision of Gorakhpur District.

The British occupied both Agra and Oudh Subas and made one administrative area out of them – the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh (UP for short) with its capital at Allahabad. In the last part of British rule, the capital was moved to Lucknow. Anyway, there was a marked influence of Mongol and Austric cultures on the Aryan society inhabiting the Sarayú river valley. Later on many Aryans crossed the Sarayú river and declared the banks of the Gańd́akii as the boundary line of Áryávartta. The area lying on the west of the Gańd́akii valley was called Shákyárańya and the area on the east was called Videha or Mithilá. This latter area was not considered as an Aryan colony. I personally consider it as part of the area covered by the pre-Gaod́iiya Gangetic valley civilization.

King Mithi occupied Videha. To sanctify the land he held a Trihotriiyá Yajiṋa [a big sacrifice presided over by three priests]. It was then declared sacred. The land sanctified by the performance of a Trihotriiyá Yajiṋa was named Trihut. The land of Shákyárańya, although not widely valued by the Aryans, was respected by the Buddhists. Lord Buddha visited it a couple of times. Later, it became known as Shárańa (Shákyárańya → Shákyárańa → Shárańa). In later years it was wrongly spelt as Sháran.

On the north of Shákyárańya was the ancient and famous place, Champakárańya. A reference is made to it in the Rámáyańa [one of the two great Sanskrit epics] (Campakárańya → Campárańya → Camparań). Shákyárańya and Campakárańya are situated in the Náráyańii-Gańd́aka valley. On the eastern bank is Videha or Mithilá or Trihut, the land which was occupied by King Mithi. Mithi + lá [holder] + d́a [suffix] + á [feminine suffix] = Mithilá. In the Buddhist period one of the famous villages of Shákyárańya was Hatthiigrám (Hastiigráma in Sanskrit). Buddha visited this place a couple of times. It is now known as Háthoyá. During British rule the Háthoyá estate was one of the biggest estates in India. Then came the river Gańd́akii – Náráyańii Gańd́aka. The biggest cattle fair in India, known as the Hariharkśetra fair, is held once a year on the banks of this river. Nearby is the Shońpur railway station.

Immediately after crossing the Gańd́akii river bridge at Shońpur we reached Mithilá. During the Mughal period and the early part of British rule, the Mithilá division of Bengal Presidency consisted of three districts: Trihut, Champaran and Shárań. The district headquarters of Champaran was Motihári, that of Shárań was Chápra, and that of Trihut was Muzaffarpur. This latter district was named after Muzaffar Shah. It covered a wide area and until the early part of the British period its fertile soils were thickly forested. The forests contained abundance of numerous species of flora and fauna, notably tigers, antelopes, crocodiles, panthers and deer. The lake on the ancient river course of the river Lakhandei covered a larger area in those days and was surrounded by extensive forest full of abundant flora and fauna. A major part of the forest was part of the king of Darbhanga’s estate. Some of it was within the Shúraśańd́a kingdom, and some part belonged to the estate of the Bettiah king. People today, out of necessity, but also out of immense greed have destroyed most of the forest, particularly in Trihut District.

At Vaeshali⁽⁷⁾ in Trihut District Vardhamána Maháviira was born into a Vaeshya family. His father’s name was Siddhártha and his mother was called Trishalá. The Trihut District as well as Mithilá were located partly in the Náráyańii-Gańd́aka valley and partly in the Buŕigańdaka and Lakhandei valleys. There was more Gaod́iiya influence here than in Aŕyávaŕtta. The Bengali script is used here. It is to be noted that both Buddha and Maháviira were born in a place where there was less Aryan influence in comparison.

Trihut District was quite large in area. The British divided it into two parts: Muzaffarpur District in the west with its headquarters at Muzaffarpur, and Darbhanga District in the west with its headquarters at Laheriasarai village (which has since become so large that it almost touches the city of Darbhanga. The old Muzaffarpur District is now divided into three districts: Sitamarhi, Muzaffarpur and Vaeshali (Hazipur). This is the same Muzaffarpur which was considered as one of the most cultured places in the whole of the then Suba Bángál. The old Darbhanga District has since also been divided into three districts: Madhubanii (a place where there is an abundance of forest honey); Darbhanga, named after the famous Dáŕibhangá Shah (In Maethilii the town is called “Daiŕbhanga” but spelt Daŕibhangá); and Samastipur, named after Samasti Náráyan Ray).

The Maethilii branch of the pre-Gaod́iiya valley civilization was enriched by the Mongol-Tantric civilization that flourished in the Náráyańii Ganges, Buri-Gańd́aka, Lakhandei, Bágmatii, Kamalábálán and Koshii valleys. King Prthvii Náráyan Shah established the Gorkha empire in Nepal at this time. The Gorkhas occupied Tirhut District and advanced up to Hazipur. Thereafter they were defeated by the British (The British commander-in-chief was General Octorloney in whose name the Englishmen living in Calcutta built a war memorial. In recent times, the leaders, ignorant of history, have changed the name of the Octorloney Memorial to Shahiid Minar [Martyrs’ Column]) and were forced to sign the Treaty of Sugaoli (Champaran District). According to the terms of the treaty, the British got possession of Garhwal and Kumayun regions from Nepal, which was included in the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh, and they also reclaimed a major portion of Champaran and Trihut Districts. Part of the northern portion of Trihut was left in Nepal and is still part of Nepalese territory. The former capital of Mithilá, Janakpur, is situated in that area. Many people of Bengal know the famous Janakpur catachu.

I got off the train at Muzzafarpur and spent two days of intense activity there. I arrived home about a week later, my mind full of pleasant memories. Waiting for me on the table was a letter from Himaván, sent from Burdwan, in which he wrote: “Dear Uncle, We had an unforgettable experience on our return to Burdwan. We left Káshii late Tuesday evening and were sure that we would reach home either late Tuesday night or Wednesday morning at dawn. Late into the night, mother and I were discussing river-valley civilizations when we suddenly heard a huge crash and felt a severe jolt. I don’t remember ever having heard such a loud noise in all my life. In a fraction of a second the train seemed to be smashed into pieces. There was commotion all around – people were screaming – chaos reigned everywhere. Mother and I were violently thrown out of the derailed compartment. Pieces of train and the passengers’ baggage were scattered here and there. We realized we were the victims of a tragic accident – who knows how many were lying dead. Both of us were violently thrown towards part of the derailed train, screaming desperately. Suddenly both of us perceived my father (Sri Aruprathan Mitra) rushing towards us. He grabbed each of us by the hand and pulled us out of the wreckage, saving us from the jaws of inevitable death. What happened next we cannot say, for we both became unconscious.

“When the rays of the rising sun fell onto our faces we regained consciousness and, looking around, discovered that we were lying on a hay-stack on the edge of a paddy field beside the railway line. As we had fallen onto hay our injuries were not severe – just a few bruises. A crowd of villagers had gathered around us. We saw the wreckage of the train in the distance and heard the pitiful screams and lamentations of the seriously wounded. The local people were very kind, as the people of Burdwan usually are. On seeing the slightest hardship of others, tears come into their eyes. Those people standing around us desperately wanted to help and kept asking what they could do to make us feel more comfortable. They were prepared to do anything to help. We asked them to look for my father and to bring him to where we were lying. They searched everywhere for him, but without success. ‘There’s no one called Arúpratan Mitra here,’ they said. They helped us get to our feet – which we could only do with great difficulty – so that we could also look for him. But our search was also unsuccessful – he was not to be seen anywhere. By that time the railway auxiliary van had arrived from Burdwan. We approached the authorities and with their help returned to Burdwan. The site of the accident was near Burdwan so we didn’t have much difficulty getting home.

“Well, uncle, how were we saved? Is it called ‘fate’ or is it perhaps the work of destiny?”

I was utterly shocked by what I read. Himaván wrote further: “Father has not yet arrived in Burdwan. We went to the airport to make some enquiries about him and learnt that the plane he was supposed to take still hadn’t reached Dumdum airport. The ground staff informed us that they had received no news as to the plane’s whereabouts, nor was it possible for them to find out for reasons of military security. The plane was carrying a military cargo and the passengers were military personnel. As a result, the military department was trying to black out all news about the non-arrival of the plane.”

No sooner had I finished reading the letter than I heard an announcement on the radio news. The news bulletin disclosed that there was a serious plane crash somewhere along the Mediterranean coast-line last Monday at 8:45 P.M. Due to certain military reasons the exact details could not be disclosed. All the passengers died in the crash. From the passenger list provided at the airport it appears there were twenty Indian passengers. Their names and addresses have been confirmed, but the dead bodies were so severely burned that identification is impossible. The names of the Indians are 1)… 2)… 3)… 4)… Among the passengers there was a man from Calcutta, a Sri Arúpratan Mitra.

I was speechless. I pieced all the events together and concluded that it was indeed at 9 P.M. on Monday that Sri Arúpratan, gasping for breath, rushed into my compartment at Benares railway station. He told me that he had been feeling considerable mental unease for the past fifteen minutes, since 8:45. His mind was terribly restless. He had come to me in quest of peace. He had travelled a long distance and that is why he was gasping for breath.

After hearing the news I was so bewildered that I was unable to decide what to do. How should I reply to Himaván’s letter, I thought.

This word has an unusual origin. Ka means “water”, pr means “love” or “affection”, and da means “one who gives”. That compassionate entity who easily melts like water, loves, and grants boons to his devotees is called kaparda. Colloquially, kaparda means “Sadáshiva”. Another meaning of kaparda is “Shiva’s matted hair”. The third meaning of kaparda is “a medium of exchange, or buying and selling”, or “coin”. A fourth meaning of kaparda is t́yáná, nyákŕá, káni, nyátá [rag]. A rag is a torn piece of cloth that poor people use as clothes. In earlier days it used to be said: Jeler parańe t́yáná Nikáriir káńe sońá [“The rags worn by the fishermen are gold in the ears of the Nikarii fish merchants”]. The people who went out in the burning sun and the rain to catch fish had to spend their entire days wearing rags, while the people who sold the fish became rich and wore ornaments in their ears.

Ekt́i muśt́i bhikśá cáile lát́hi niye jeta teŕe
ádh pet́á kheye tyáná pare t́áká mát́ite rákhta geŕe

[If anyone ever asked for a handful of alms they would chase them with a stick. He would subsist on scanty meals and wear rags but he would keep his wealth buried in the ground.]

In northern India t́yáná is called cithŕá, in most parts of Bihar it is called nuḿgá–taniigo nuḿgá dastarkhán. Nyákŕá means “a piece of cloth”. Káni has the same meaning. The word nyákŕá comes from the word nakartta, and the word káni comes from the word kańiká [particle], that is, vastrakańiká [vastra means “cloth”]. Nyátá also means a piece of cloth which is used for scrubbing or for cleaning with cow-dung. A duster which is used for wiping up something is also called nyátá in Bengali. It should be borne in mind that netá [leader] and nyátá have different meanings as well as different spellings. We should not let them become one. In Sanskrit nyátá is potanii. From this potanii has come the word potan/potaná which is used in some parts of Magadh, Rarh and Angadesh.

By adding ka to the word kaparda we get the word kapardaka. Kapardaka means “the smallest medium of exchange, or buying and selling”. In ancient times people used to use cowrie shells as a means of exchange; thus the colloquial meaning of kapardaka is “cowrie shell”. If we say that someone is kapardakahiina [without kapardaka] it means that they are penniless, or else it means that they don’t have any rags at all.

By adding the suffix i to the end of the root verb kap (kapi) we get the word kapi whose etymological meaning is “that which continuously leaps”. Colloquially it refers to all those creatures whose lymphatic glands are somewhat strong, or the monkey family of animals. Thus kapiindra [lord of the monkeys] or kapirája [king of the monkeys] means “Hanuman”.

Kapi + sha = kapisha. The meaning of the word kapisha is “monkey’s body-colour”. The colour of a monkey’s body is generally brown, thus the colour kapisha means “the colour brown”.

That person whose flag or banner contains the insignia for monkey, or kapi, is called kapidhvaja. Arjuna’s banner used to bear the monkey insignia so one name of Arjuna was “Kapidhvaja”. Similarly, one name of Rama was “Kapiratha” in the sense of one whose chariot [ratha] is driven by a monkey.

Kapi + sthá + d́a = kapittha. Its etymological meaning is “that which is dear to monkeys” or “that in which monkeys reside”. The colloquial meaning of the word kapittha is “stone-apple” (Feronium elephantum). In the opinion of some scholars, the original home of the stone-apple is Southeast Asia; others believe that it comes originally from South America (southern Máyádviipa). Although their opinion may be partially correct, it may also not be because the kapittha has been found in this country since ancient times. Numerous references to it are found in Sanskrit literature. It is true that mango has been in this country since ancient times, and today also it is a forest tree. Although it is only one of a number of examples demonstrating the ancientness of the mango in this country, according to ancient Sanskrit descriptions Hanuman crossed the sea and brought the mango here. Based on this one can venture a guess that the mango came here from across the sea, but there is no such example in Sanskrit literature concerning the kapittha, or stone-apple. Rather references to the stone-apple are seen in small incidents. For example, gajabhuktakapitthavat. In the Goládhyáya it is said: Kapitthaphalavat vishvaḿ dakśińottarayoh samaḿ. That is, the earth resembles the stone-apple except that in the south and the north it is a little compressed.

Pickle is made from the half-ripe stone-apple. Ambal or chutney is made from ripe stone-apple. In small quantities the stone-apple stimulates the appetite; in larger quantities the stone-apple is caustic. The stone-apple is not only liked by monkeys; it is a favourite food of elephants as well. The stone-apple tree can sometimes grow very high. The juice of the stone-apple’s leaves is a medicine for remittent fever.

Ka means “water”; pota means “ship”. That which does a ship’s work at the time of crossing a large reservoir, lake or sea is kapota. That is its etymological meaning. The colloquial meaning of the word kapota is “dove” and “pigeon”. In olden days, when the roads were not well-developed, people used to send messages to distant lands with the help of trained pigeons or doves. Generally a letter used to be attached to one of the bird’s limbs. Once those trained doves or pigeons arrived at their destination they would carry back a reply also. This system of mail delivery with the help of these kinds of birds was prevalent for many years on the battlefield. Pigeon-post was even used in some places in India during British rule. From this word kapota or kapotara we get the word kabutara (in Mymensingh Bengali, kaetara). However, for “pigeon” the word páyrá is better than the word kabutara because páyŕa has come from the Sanskrit word párávata. [Párávate → páráa → páyra.] Párávata refers only to “pigeon” and not to “dove”, but kapota means both “pigeon” and “dove”. The feminine form of kapota is kapotii; another meaning of kapotii is “a small, ocean-going vessel”.

The original home of our well-known golá pigeon is Bengal but the lakśa pigeon came here from outside. The Dodo bird, which disappeared from the earth approximately one hundred years ago due to the malevolence of human beings, evolved from this golá pigeon.

People scatter kernels of grain in front of pigeons, or in their usual path, for them to eat. This scattering is called “pigeon-feeding”. At the end of autumn, when the paddy fields are somewhat muddy, kernels of grain are scattered in those paddy lands where it is not possible to sow seeds for cultivation in the winter season, or where those seeds will not sprout in the dead of winter, even if sown, for lack of water. These kernels of grain sprout and grow into plants in the spaces between the paddy. When the paddy is harvested, the tops of these plants are also cut. As a result, more offshoots grow and at the end of the cold season they yield a generous amount of flowers and pods. This type of seed-scattered crop is called the “pigeon-harvest”. Small lentils, thikre gram or the blackish-coloured small gram, thikre pea (blackish-coloured, small pea), rapeseed, khesári or teoŕá (trikut́i or tripurii) – these crops are generally produced as part of the pigeon-harvest. In most parts of Bihar the pigeon-harvest is called páyruyá. In land where there is no system of irrigation, or where the soil becomes hard or cracked at the end of winter, the produce from the pigeon-harvest is of great benefit to the farmers. Moreover, this pigeon-harvest increases the soil’s power of production, or fertility. As to the surplus, the stalks, pod husks and chaff make excellent bird food and cattle fodder. If mustard is planted it yields khail which can be used as both fertilizer and bird food.

Although it is a bit off the subject, it is worth mentioning that, as far as possible, it is better not to feed pigeons by scattering wheat berries, because in many people’s opinion, pigeons may contract dysentery if they eat too much wheat berry [gam]. Godhúma → gohúma → gaham → gam. The word gaham is prevalent in western Rarh and Orissa. That river-water which is transparent like the eyes of a pigeon is called kapotákśa in masculine gender and kapotákśii in feminine gender. Michael Madhusudhan Datta was born in Sagardanri village which is situated on the bank of the Kapotákśii River in Jessore District.

Just as the suffixes “kin” (mankin), “let” (armlet, anklet, rivulet), etc. are used in English as diminutives, in Sanskrit the suffixes ru, raka, ruka, etc. are used. For example, a small mánava [human] is a mánavaka, small niihára [snow or ice] is niiháraka, a wild ucche [a bitter-tasting vegetable] is a utsaka, a small dviipa [island] is a dviiparaka (dviiparaka → dviiaraa → diiyárá), a small govatsa [calf] is a vatsaruka (vatsaruka → vaccharua → vácharu → váchur – in Angika, leru/leruyá). Thus, ordinarily, the meaning of kapotaka becomes “small pigeon” or “small dove”. Yes, the word kapotaka can certainly be used to mean “small pigeon” or “small dove”, but its principal meaning is what we call in English “antimony”, in Sanskrit, rasáiṋjana, in spoken Bengali, rasána – some people also call it ghámtel. There are different varieties of antimony. Some are used as medicine. Some use it as collyrium for the eyes. For all of these there is the same word, kapotaka. In ancient times the central portion of Bengal, especially the northern part of Samatat, that is, Bagri-Murshidabad, Jessore, Nadia, Kust́hia, and Faridpur contained garjan forests. Garjan oil used to be called rasáiṋjana. While making idols, the craftsmen used to use this rasáiṋjana to give them lustre.

That was a short aside about the sweet soil of the central Bengal region. In the southern portion of central Bengal where the soil is more saline, that is, in the areas of 24 Paraganas, Khulna, Bakharganj, Calcutta, and so on, there was hardly a single garjan tree; instead one found the forests of saline climates – betel, areca, mangrove, and hentál or hintál [a tree similar to palm] (The old name of that village which was established by cutting down the hentál jungle was Hentálii or Hintálii. This part of Calcutta is nowadays called Entally). Another particular name of the garjan tree or garjan wood is kapotaka. Its juice or sap can also be put to various uses. Garjan wood does not decay easily, thus a great deal of wood used to be exported from the mangrove swamps of Uluberia and north Calcutta to Bengal and north India. Like sundari wood, garjan wood is used in the construction of boats and local ships.

Aloe juice is a medicine. Dried aloe sap is called musabbar in Arabic. A type of rasáiṋjana also used to be prepared out of aloe sap, or musabbar, which was used as medicine – it was used to treat blood pressure and insanity due to gall bladder disorder. Consequently, another name of aloe became rasáiṋjana in Sanskrit, or kapotaka.

The first of the three fundamental elements that maintain the health of the living being is váyu, the second is pitta, and the third is kapha. I have already discussed the five internal and five external váyus. The pitta element is the principal helping factor in the digestive mechanism. As a result of it, the seven formative body elements are created. The third health-determining element is kapha, or the liquid, viscous portion of the body. Excess kapha creates spontaneous heat within the body which manifests externally as fever. In traditional Muslim medicine, of course, blood is also considered a fundamental, health-determining element, but this is not so in ayurveda. The word kapha is old Vedic. Through Latin we also get the word kapha (cough) in modern English.

Ginger is the enemy of kapha, the destroyer of kapha. Thus one name of ginger in ayurveda is kaphári. Similarly, arum or elephant root is the destroyer of arsha [piles] so arum in Sanskrit is called arshári or arshaghnii.

Ku + aka = kabaka [mushroom]. Ku means “soil” or “earth”. That which penetrates up through the soil is called kabaka in Sanskrit. In certain parts of Bengal, kabaka is called bhuiphonŕ.⁽⁸⁾ They are members of the fungus family of plants. Mushroom is a favourite food in Rarh. The qualities and harmful effects of mushrooms are equivalent to that of meat, hence it is a támásik food. Thus, for intellectuals and those who are cultivating their intellect, mushrooms should not be eaten.

In the ordinary language of Rarh, mushrooms are called chátu. That which grows in hay or straw [poyál] is called poyál chátu; that which grows on anthills is called ruichátu, and that which grows at the end of the rainy season or at the end of the month of Áshvin, when the water has cleared, is called durgá chátu. The gubre chátu that grows in decomposing cowdung is not edible.

People eat some mushrooms, but others they don’t because they are poisonous. All those mushrooms whose upper portion decays easily are called vyáunger chátá [toadstool] in the spoken language. That fungus which is known as “toadstool” is not called kabaka. It also cannot be eaten by people. In English kabaka is called “mushroom”.

Water which is kept in some kind of vessel and sunwarmed is called kavaśńa water. When children are massaged with oil and then bathed in sunwarmed water it increases their vitality. Sunwarmed water is also beneficial for older people, however for older people it is not good if the temperature of the sunwarmed water is greater than the temperature of the body. Ko + uśńa = kavaśńa.

(1) The cardinal notes of any particular scale in the Indian musical system. –Trans.

(4) The custom of purdah includes confining women to a section of the house. Burkas are the head-to-foot outer robes used in Muslim countries. The face is also covered. A thinner gauze is used at the level of the eyes for seeing, or in some cases one or both eyes may be uncovered. The Bengali word ghomt́á means the end of the sari pulled over the head. It has been translated in this section as “veil”. –Trans.

(7) Vaeshali was the land of the Licchabis; it was the oldest republic in the world. –Trans.

(8) In Bengali bhui means “earth” and phonŕ means “penetrate”. –Trans.

Kabandha to Karashiikara (Discourse 18)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

Etymologically, ka means “head”. Actually, ka does not mean exactly “head” – the name of that bony receptacle inside the head in which the brain resides is kabandha (cranium). Still, in common parlance kabandha refers to the head in Sanskrit. Ka + bandh (badhi) + ac = kabandha. Etymologically, the condition that is created when ka is bound and injured, or decapitated is kabandha. Colloquially, kabandha means:

1) A headless body, or torso. In spoken Bengali the imaginary headless ghost, or kabandha ghost, is called kandha-kát́á ghost. In this case the word kandha-kát́á has come from the word skandha-kát́á, that is, one whose upper portion of the skandha [shoulder] has been cut. Ordinarily the covering, as well as the ornament, of the trunk of the body, or kabandha, is called dhaŕá,⁽¹⁾ and the covering, as well as the ornament, of the head is called cúŕá. Both together become dhaŕá-cúŕá.

2) Kabandha is the name of a rákśasa [demon] – according to the Puranas, the one that Rama killed.

3) If we take ka to mean “water”, then the meaning of kabandha becomes “dam” or “barrage”. Ka, or water, is certainly held back by a dam or a reservoir, but the main purpose there is to create a reservoir, while the main purpose of a barrage is to hold back the water. Thus, while kabandha can be used correctly to mean “dam” or “reservoir”, it is more correctly used to mean “barrage”. Thus we can call a barrage kabandha or jala-bandha [jala means ka, or “water”]. In ancient times when Rarh contained large forested areas there was also more rainfall. Still, then also the kings used to build huge reservoirs in years when there was little rainfall in order to save the paddy from withering. In the common language of Rarh, these extremely large reservoirs used to be called bándh, and still are. For example, Bankura District’s Samudrabándh, Bhagaladiighi, and Ráńiibándh, Dumká’s Baŕabándh, Purulia’s Sáhebbándh, Dántan’s Sarashauṋká, and so forth. For such types of bándhs we can use the word kabandha.

4) The pure Bengali word for the cloth tie that people used to wear around their neck in ancient times as symbol of dharma is kabandha. The muffler or scarf or comforter that is worn around the neck to protect the head, or ka, from cold or attacks of kapha can also be called kabandha in refined Bengali [and Sanskrit].

5) The Ketu [dragon’s tail] of the Puranic stories we can also call kabandha. According to the Puranic tale, the asuras [demons] wanted to deprive the gods of the nectar of immortality that was produced from the churning of the sea by the gods and demons. One asura secretly swallowed it, and as a result he started to become immortal. What a problem, the gods realized! An asura is becoming immortal. Thereupon they cut off his head with the Viśńucakra [the discus of Viśńu]. The name of the decapitated head of that asura is Ráhu and its torso’s name is Ketu. Thus, another meaning of the word kabandha is Ketu. According to the story, at the time of the lunar or the solar eclipse Ráhu swallows either the moon or the sun. Vidhurapi vidhiyogát grasyate Ráhunáhasao [Even the moon is eclipsed by Ráhu, this is the providential decree].

But Ráhu’s neck is cut. Thus, shortly after Ráhu swallows either the sun or the moon, they come back out through the cut neck. The sun or the moon gets liberated from the swallowing of Ráhu. In ancient times, in accordance with their beliefs, people used to bathe in some holy body of water and used to call this bath the “liberation bath” [mukti-snán] Actually, Ráhu and Ketu are successively umbra and penumbra, and for this reason, in the opinion of the astrologers, ketu would be found in the seventh sign from whatever planet in which ráhu was found. Thus, if the moon would enter the seventh astrological sign from whatever sign the sun was in then there would be a lunar eclipse.

Ye ye máse ye ye ráshi tár saptame tháke shashii
sedin yadi hay paorńamásii avashyai ráhu gráse ási

[The moon is found in the seventh house from the sign of whatever month; on that day, if there is a full moon, then certainly Ráhu will come devouring.]

Neither ráhu nor ketu is an actual planet or satellite. They are, in any one set of circumstances, two kinds of umbra. Thus in the astrological scriptures they are called “shadow-planets”. According to the Puranic conception, Brahmá is the father and Umbra is the mother – this is how Ráhu is known. According to a Puranic tale, the name of one of Brahmá’s wives is Cháyá [umbra] and the name of the sun’s wife is also Cháyá. Here the progeny’s name is Shańigraha [Saturn] (both the spellings Shani and Shańi are correct), thus another name of Shani is Cháyáputra [putra means “son”]. Since another meaning of the word ka is the bony receptacle situated inside the head – or cranium – many people mean ráhu when they say ka. There is no objection if someone uses ka to mean ráhu, but it is not correct if some wishes to use kabandha to mean ráhu; kabandha means ketu.

7) The retention-of-urine ailment that results when the movement of the urine is obstructed is also called kabandha. The water from soaked fenugreek, fresh date juice, palm juice, and shánkhálu [a conch-shaped esculent] are medicines for this disease.

The meaning of the root verb kam is “to want”. Kam + at́ac = kamat́a. The etymological meaning of the word kamat́a is “one who desires” or “that which is desired”. If kam is taken to mean “water”, then the etymological meaning of the word kamat́a becomes “that which is involved in matters related to water” or “one in whose matters water is involved”. Colloquially kamat́a means:

1) Bamboo shoot. Just as with the banana tree, where the young plant grows from near the roots, bamboo shoots spring up near the base of the tree. In ancient Bengal people would often place an earthen pot over the bamboo shoot. The young shoot would then wind itself into the pot, continuing to grow. When the shoot would fill up the pot they would cut the shoot off and take the shoot-filled pot away. They would crack open the pot and use this bamboo shoot, which was now rounded and crimped like a cabbage, as a cooking vegetable. It made for a very tasty dish. If a little breeze would come along while it was still in its pot-bound condition then the pot would tremble.

Kap + i = kapi. The etymological meaning of the word kapi is “that which moves or jumps” (for that reason another name for monkey is kapi), thus the round-shaped bamboo shoot inside the clay pot used to be called bándhákapi [bándhá means “bound”] or konŕakapi [konŕa means “shoot”]. In subsequent times, when cabbage and cauliflower, etc. arrived in Bengal they were also given the Bengali names bándhákapi [cabbage], phulkapi [cauliflower], olkapi [arum] and so forth. In Sanskrit, then, bamboo shoot is called kamat́a; konŕakapi is also called kamat́a.

2) Kamat́a also means “[water] turtle”. There are generally two types of turtles, the land-dwelling turtle, or tortoise, and the water-dwelling turtle. The tortoise is very long-lived. They live on grass and leaves. The [water] turtle is also long-lived. In some people’s opinion, the tortoise lives up to nearly five hundred years in age, while the turtle can survive up to three hundred years.

The water turtle is highly carnivorous. The water turtle also comes onto land, however, in order to lay its eggs. It removes some sand or soft earth and lays its eggs in that depression. Afterwards it covers the eggs back up and returns to the water. With the help of the internal heat of the sand or earth the young burst their shell and come out. The moment the young are born they run right for the water. Normally most of the young turtles are eaten by birds or other carnivorous creatures before they can make it from land to water. While the tortoise also lays its eggs underneath sand or earth, it remains nearby so less of its young die. The water turtle lays a great quantity of eggs while by comparison the tortoise lays much less. People eat both kinds of turtle eggs. A perusal of old Bengali literature shows that the Bengalees of that time used to eat turtle eggs with bitter greens [a bitter vegetable green]. Not all water turtles are edible.

According to differences in size and nature turtles are known by different names in Bengali, such as kacchap, ket́ho (“hard as wood”), káut́há, bárkol, and so on. All kinds of turtles are called kamat́a in Sanskrit and refined Bengali.

4) The fourth meaning of the word kamat́a is what we call in Bengali jag [jug]. The type of water vessel from which water is poured into a glass, or kakubha, is nowadays called a jag. The actual Bengali, as well as Sanskrit, word for jug is kamat́a.

5) The fifth meaning is “water full of high waves”. Just as water with few waves is called kamala, the same water with many waves is called kamat́a.

6) The shark is called kamat́a in Sanskrit and refined Bengali. Those sharks which are large in size and live in the ocean are normally called háuṋgar in Bengali, and those sharks which live in coastal rivers or backwaters or estuaries, are called kámat́a in spoken Bengali. They are somewhat smaller in size than the háuṋgar. At one time there were a great number of kámat́as in the rivers of Midnapore, 24 Paraganas and Khulna Districts. Taking bath in those rivers was dangerous at that time. The oil of these kámat́a sharks has medicinal qualities. As the cod fish began disappearing, shark oil began to be used as a substitute for cod liver oil, and from that time also the kámat́a species started to be wiped out. Nowadays the number of kámat́as has greatly diminished.

Kam + alac = kamala. Kam means “desired” or “wished for”. Thus etymologically kamala means “that which people like”. The la of the suffix alac is ádi la, thus it is also at the end of the word – it is kamala, not kamalra. Colloquially, kamala means:

1) The lotus flower. The lotus flower is called kamala because its beauty and grace are quite attractive. Bees, hornets and other insects are attracted by its smell – people as well.

Medicine is made from lotus petals. The lotus, especially the stamen of the white lotus, is a medicine for poisonous snakebite. Lotus seeds are a very tasty food. Certain types of small worms grow in the lotus’s stem or stalk (mrńál or mrnál) – especially during the rainy season. That same kind of small worm also grows in the stalk of the kalmii and tálmákháná plants.⁽²⁾ These worms are favourite foods of certain long-lived fish, such as the kai, mágur, siuṋgi, etc. Lotus nectar has been valued as an excellent medicine for eye disease since ancient times.

2) The lotus does not grow in water that has too many waves, that is, in rivers with strong waves. Thus kamala also is used to mean “that water which has few waves”.

3) That water vessel which people use so extensively for carrying or keeping water, that is, a bucket, is also called kamala. The Bengali synonym for the English word “bucket”, bálti, is a very recent word; it is of foreign origin. If one says ek kamal jal áno [bring a bucket of water] instead of ek bálti jal áno it will be good Bengali.

4) The kamańd́alu [a water pot with religious significance in India] that people used to use in ancient times to keep water was generally made out of the shell of a ripe gourd. In some places coconut shells were also used for carrying water. Thus kamala also means “coconut-shell” or “gourd-kamańd́alu”.

5) That particular kind of deer which is found in watery or damp places, and which goes by the name of kákar-hariń in Bengali, is also called kamala. Like the wild boar, this kákar-hariń is also a favourite food of the Royal Bengal tiger. Human beings have nearly killed off the kákar-hariń. Some provision needs to be made for their preservation without any delay.

6) The colour of copper is attractive; its lustre is also attractive. And as a water vessel it comes just after gold and silver pots in quality. Thus copper is also called kamala. If one wishes, one can also call a copper pot, kamala pot.⁽³⁾

7) Medicine cures the diseases of living beings. It brings out the beauty of the body, or often medicine becomes very attractive to the sick person. In this sense kamala also means “medicine”. Bear in mind that the highest quality waters which are effective against disease (such as the Bakreswar kuńd́a or the Siita kuńd́a, etc.) are thus called tiirtha kamala in Sanskrit [tiirtha means “place of pilgrimage”].

9) The bladder of a football is also called kamala. In order to eliminate confusion, the football can be called kanduka-kamala (kanduka means “ball”).

10) The words kamala or nimnakamala can be used for “urinary bladder” or “kidneys”.

Some people believe that the word kamalinii means “small kamala” or “small lotus”. From the grammatical point of view, the word kamalinii can be used to mean “small lotus”, but in customary usage kamalinii does not refer to a small lotus – it means a collection of loti, that is, when there are many loti blooming together at one spot in a particular reservoir or pond, then that bunch of loti, or that lotus grove, is called kamalinii. In the same way, if many sháluka or kumuda (lily) flowers (in certain parts of Bengal it is also called sháplá) are blooming together at one spot in a reservoir or pond then we can also call that kumudinii. Kumuda means “sháluk flower”. While it is correct from the grammatical point of view to use the word kumudinii to mean “small kumuda”, it is not used that way in practice.

The English for kamala is “lotus”; its plural form is “loti”. The English for kumuda is “water-lily”. The lotus maintains a relationship with the sun while the water-lily has a relationship with the moon; for this reason, moonlight is called kaomudii. The kahlára flower [white water-lily] (dhyanp flower or bhent́ flower) is smaller than the sháluk. If many of these flowers are blooming at one spot then that can also be called kahlárińii. Although kahlárińii can also be used in the grammatical sense to mean “small kahlára”, it is generally used to mean a bower of kahlára flowers. The stalk (mrńál) of the kamala has thorns while the stalks of the kumuda and the kahlára do not. The seeds of the kumuda and the kahlára flowers are food for human beings, just as kamala seeds are. Náŕus [lád́d́us – a popular variety of Indian sweetmeat] are prepared from them by first parching the ripe dhyánp or bhent́ seeds in a pan with sand to make khai [a type of puffed grain, usually prepared from rice] and then mixing it with either sugar or molasses water; this type of náŕu generally goes by the name of dhyánper or bhent́er náŕu. This náŕu is somewhat similar to the rámdháná náŕu of northern India. The dhyánper or bhent́er náŕu has little food value to speak of, but it is easily digestible. For this reason, it is fed to sick people and children. Because it has so little food value there is a common saying in Bengali:

Anyhow, you have certainly understood the proper usage of kamalinii, kumudinii, and kahlárińii.

If we use the word kamala in feminine gender then we get two additional meanings. Kamala + t́á = kamalá. Kamalá means:

2) A refined, polite and gentle-natured lady. If we take the word kamalá in this sense then we can call any lady with a praiseworthy nature, Kamalá.

The meaning of the root verb kap/kamp (kapi) is “to tremble”. Kamp + ac = kampa. Kampa is a masculine word which means “that which trembles” or “the state of trembling”. But by adding rak to kamp we get the word kampra which means “that which naturally trembles”. Dvidháy jaŕita pade kampravakśe namranetrapáte [In confusion, the feet tangled up, a trembling breast, eyes downcast]. This is very sweet to the ears but defective from the grammatical point of view. Grammatically speaking, kampavakśe would have been better. If the breast trembles out of fear or confusion then we will not say that it is naturally trembling. We will only use kampravakśe for someone whose breast naturally trembles. Perhaps the poet used the word for the internal rhyme with namra, or to give it some alliterative sweetness.

Kam + balra = kambalra. Etymologically, kambalra means “that which covers the upper portion of ka, or the body”. Colloquially, by kambalra we mean:

1) A soft, high-quality woollen shawl which is used to cover the body, or as dress. Generally, a rough, low quality kambalra is called aorabhra.

2) The second meaning of the word kambalra is “throat-covering”, that is, “muffler”, “comforter”, “scarf”, and so on. These also cover the upper portion of the body, or ka.

3) The third meaning of the word kambalra is “throat-ornament”, that is, “necklace”, “chain”, hár [a kind of necklace], shelii [a necklace], hánsuli, [a crescent necklace], etc.

4) The fourth meaning of the word kambalra is a certain kind of very furry deer. The fur from this deer was used to make various kinds of woollen garments in cold countries during ancient times. Unfortunately, human beings have practically wiped out this kind of kambalra-deer out of their greed for its meat.

5) The fifth meaning of the word kambalra is a certain kind of insect belonging to the grasshopper family which generally lives underground. However, on rainy evenings, if the rain stops and they see a strong light, then they rush towards it. In Calcutta everyone calls this creature of the grasshopper family, ucciḿŕe.

6) Kambalra also means “upper-body clothes” such as “undershirt”, “shirt”, and so forth.

7) The seventh meaning is “tea”. In ancient times tea used to grow wild in the eastern Himalayan regions, as it does today. However tea was not cultivated there like it is today. The Chinese were the first to cultivate tea. India learned tea cultivation from the Chinese. The inhabitants of China drink both leaf tea and green tea but it seems that green tea is a bigger favourite. The Chinese people like to drink tea with butter, salt and honey. The people of ancient India used to boil the wild tea leaves in salt water, that is, they used to drink it salty, and this tea’s name was kambal. The word kambal is masculine in gender.

8) The eighth meaning of the word kambalra is “salt water”. The word is neuter in gender, that is, in the first person singular we don’t say kambala, but rather kambalam. Among the many names for water, such as niiram, toyam, udakam, vári, and so forth, one of them is kambalam. The poet Kabir has said:

The verse has two meanings. One meaning is: Saltwater is raining from the sky, everything is getting wet. The other meaning is: The spiritual aspirant is sitting with their two hands cupped in their lap and tears falling from their eyes from the thought of God (tears taste salty). The leaves of the hands, or the hands, are getting wet. If this kind of condition occurs the person gets Parama Puruśa.

The root verb kamb means “to move”. Kamb + u = kambu. The etymological meaning of kambu is “that which moves”. The colloquial meanings of kambu are:

2) A trumpeting elephant. The specific name of the sound that the elephant makes is brḿhańa and kambu means “an elephant that is engaged in brḿhańa”.

3) The third meaning is “a body ornament that moves” (such as bangle, anklet, ankle bells) or “that which creates attraction through its colourful lustre.” For that reason kambu means “a ring inlaid with jewels” – a ring set with diamonds or pearls or any other kind of inlaid jewels.

4) Kambu means “an ornament for the area lying between the wrist and the elbow” – especially a bracelet. One specific name for bracelet is karakambu. If we say only kambu then it means a jewel-inlaid finger-ring, and to differentiate a bracelet from a ring the word karakambu is used, although kambu means “bracelet”.

5) Another meaning of the word kambu is the same kind of spot that one finds on a conch. In ancient times such a conch-like spot on someone’s neck was considered a mark of beauty. A person with such a spot on their neck was called kambugriiva in masculine form and kambugriivá in feminine form.

6) The sixth meaning of the word kambu is “water with medicinal qualities” (medicated water), or “liquid medicine”. The water of certain places is very good for health due to the presence of different kinds of mineral salts. These waters have their own particular taste as well. Such water is called kambu. Often medicine is used in liquid form; this is also known as kambu.

Kambu + ka = kambuka. Kambuka means: 1) a trumpeting elephant, (2) conch, and (3) a person engaged in an unclean or low-level profession. “Unclean” or “low-level” profession generally referred to four kinds of professions in ancient times:

a) Religious merchant, that is, those who earned their living by capitalizing on the religious sentiment of the people.

c) Dispute-mongers, that is, those who earn their money by creating disputes among people.

d) Death professionals, that is, those who earn their money from the dead, such as cańd́áls [a low caste traditionally entrusted with the disposal of corpses], cremators, professional eulogizers, agradánii [Brahmans who receive alms for offering prayers for the departed soul], mad́uipod́á [a Brahman caste involved with the cremation of unrelated corpses], and so on.

Kamb + u’s = kambú. There is a big difference between kambu and kambú. The meaning of the word kambú is “one who steals from others”, that is, “dacoit”, “pickpocket”, “pilferer”, “burglar”, “one who accepts bribes”, and so on. Those who don’t understand the difference between u and ú should take a close look at the difference between kambu and kambú.

Kr + ac = kara. The etymological meaning of the word kara is “one who does”. In certain cases kara means “one with whose help something is done”. For example, one who does magic (bájii) is bájiikara.

Man-gariiber kii doś áche
Tumi bájikarer meye shyámá
Yeman nácáo temni náce

[Where is the fault in this poor mind? You are the magician’s daughter; mind dances as you make it dance.]

Another meaning of the word bájii is “horse”. In ancient times those people who used to catch wild horses and train them until they were fit for use were called bájiikara. Sometimes, in olden days, if there was a dispute between people as to who was the victor and who was the vanquished, the two people in question would then catch two horses in order to reach a decision. The winning horse would demonstrate who was the victor. That bájii won outright.⁽⁴⁾

1) Hand. 2) Ray of light – for example, súryakarojjvala [sunlit]. 3) Duty – for example, government tax, water tax, road tax, etc. 4) Kara means “concerning profession” – for example, bájikara [magician], bájiikara [horse trainer], arthakara, [meaningful], rucikara [appetizing], and so forth.

5) Another meaning of the word kara is “proboscis” – elephant’s trunk. In the elephant’s trunk, or kara, is hidden its speciality, thus one name for elephant is karii. There is that riddle:

It resides in the kamala [lotus] but in the saroja [lotus] its touch is missing.

No matter how much Maheshvara [another name of Shiva] calls it cannot be caught.

Kamala and saroja, karii and gaja, Krttivása and Maheshvara – all these pairs of words have the same meaning. The answer of the riddle is ka because there is no ka in the words saroja, gaja, and Maheshvara. There is a similar riddle about the letter ra:

Kr + ac + ka = karaka. The etymological meaning is “that by which work is obtained”. Its colloquial meanings are:

1) One name of the water vessel or kamańd́alu that renunciants and students used to use when they were going to distant lands or to school is karaka. (kam + ańd́ac + lá + u = kamańd́alu)

2) The name of the gourd shell or coconut shell that was used in ancient times as a water vessel for carrying water is also karaka.

3) The third meaning of karaka is a certain type of bird from cold countries that normally comes to India from the end of the month of Karttik [late Autumn] to the end of the month of Mágh [winter] and makes temporary nests in the areas near different reservoirs and ponds. These bird-guests usually make their nests in the tall trees near reservoirs and ponds. They are the old inhabitants of northeast China, Siberia, Russia and Tibet, but due to the oppressive cold in those lands during wintertime it becomes impossible for them to sustain themselves. It is extremely cold, and moreover there is a scarcity of food. Thus they come to India and other hot countries during the winter and stay there for a few months. During this time they lay their eggs, and after their young are somewhat grown they teach them how to fly and the process for gathering food. Then, when the hot winds begin to blow they return to their homeland. They return to exactly the place they had come from, and each year they also come back to the same place. It has been demonstrated by attaching a marker to their legs, or through other means, how unbelievably developed their intuition and ability to recognize these places is. Great crowds of them gather during the winter in Calcutta Zoo, 24 Paraganas’ Sandeshkhali, and Bharatpur’s bird sanctuary. At one time great numbers of them used to come to Dimdiha village in Purulia District. Since they came to lay their eggs [d́im] the name of the place became Dimdiha. They can be seen in the marshlands of Bengal during wintertime. Among these birds is a bird of the Flamingo family. Karaka refers to the birds of this flamingo family.

4) The fourth meaning of the word karaka is “sweet drinking water”. The water of the western portion of Bengal’s 24 Paraganas District is salty, so if we call it kambalram, then the sweet water of Bankura and Purulia Districts we can call karaka.

5) The fifth meaning of the word karaka is “city-tax”, what in Farsi is called cungii. In many large cities of ancient India travellers who were entering the city used to have to pay a city entrance-tax at the time of entering. This city entrance-tax still exists in certain forms in certain parts of the globe. It is called karaka.

6) The sixth meaning of the word karaka is what is called in English “green vegetation”. In Sanskrit the words shaśpa or dhánya are prevalent. Although dhyánya also means “paddy”, in ancient Sanskrit dhyánya meant “green vegetation”. A lodhra-tree forest is called lodhradhánya → lodhdhahánna → lodhiháná → ludhiyáná.⁽⁵⁾

Dhárá yantre snáner sheśe dhúper dhonyá dita keshe
lodhra phuler shubhra reńu mákhta mukhe bálá.
Kalagurur guru gandha lege thákta sáje
Kuruvaker parta chúŕá kála kesher májhe.

[After taking a bath in the fountain and scenting her hair with incense, the girl would daub her face with the white powder of the lodhra flower. She would have the wonderful scent of black sandalwood on her dress and flakes of red amaranth in the middle of her black hair.]

Similarly, haritdhánya → hariahánna → hariháná → hariyáná. Another word for green vegetation in ancient Sanskrit was shaśpa. The word karaka was used for green vegetation, or can be used.

7) The seventh meaning is “large tree”. We can easily call the banyan tree bat́akaraka.

8) The eighth meaning of the word karaka is “pomegranate tree”, or dáŕimba vrkśa. If someone says “the tailor bird is sitting in the karaka tree,” then it will have to be understood that the tailor bird is sitting in a pomegranate tree because tailor birds don’t sit in banyan trees or very large trees. From the Sanskrit dáŕimba has come dáŕim in Maethilii and d́álim in Bengali. The word ánár used in Hindustani is of foreign origin. In olden times the bedáná [a high quality pomegranate] came into being as a result of scientific research on the pomegranate. As far as size goes, there are three different varieties of pomegranate – small, medium and large. The bedáná is medium-sized. The rind of the pomegranate is somewhat reddish while the bedáná’s colour is catechu, or pale-yellow. The pips of the pomegranate are red while bedáná pips are light-rose or purple-rose. The pomegranate is sour, or sweet-and-sour in taste while the bedáná is normally sweet. Although both the pomegranate and bedáná have food value, the bedáná has more. The bedáná is suitable as a diet for convalescing patients. The bedáná’s Sanskrit name is dáŕimba.

Kr + ka = karka. Etymologically, karka means “one with whose help action is accomplished”; colloquially it means:

1) Kuiṋjo (water vessel). The actual name of the water vessel we call kuiṋjo is not kuiṋjo. The middle portion of this water vessel resembles the waist of a person who is hunchbacked (kuiṋja), thus it goes by this name. The Hindustani for kuiṋjo is suráhii – in English, “pitcher”. The kuiṋjo’s own name, or real name, is karka.

The English word for kuiṋjo, “pitcher”, reminds me of a riddle. A triangle has three sides, a hexagon has seven sides. Can you say how many sides there are in a pitcher? The answer is: A pitcher has two sides – inside and outside.

5) The fifth meaning of the word karka is “praiseworthy” – “that which is praised” or “the language of praise”.

6) The sixth meaning of the word karka is “silk-cotton flower”. After the silk-cotton flower falls off, a fruit is produced, and after that fruit matures a type of cotton comes out from inside it. This cotton is used for stuffing pillows and a kind of bright material is also made from it which is like silk – it used to be quite common at one time. Because this bright white cotton is inside, the silk-cotton flower is called karka. Its Sanskrit name is shálmalii and in north India siimar.

7) The seventh meaning of the word karka is “very beautiful” or “good-looking”.

8) The eighth meaning of the word karka is “a furiously burning fire” or hutáshana [a sacrificial fire] which is the best example of the form of fire.

9) The ninth meaning of the word karka is “that which serves as a medium to observe one’s beauty”, or “mirror”.

10) The tenth meaning of the word karka is “large-sized crab”. Some people use the word kuliira or kuliiraka in this sense. However, the word kuliiraka is generally used to mean “sea crab”.

1) Karkat́a refers to all kinds of crabs. 2) The sign of the zodiac, Cancer. 3) The very long fruit of the cucumber family which grows abundantly in Bihar and which is known as kánkŕi.

4) The disease that is called “cancer” in English; in Bengali it is called karkat́a roga.

When we say kot́ika-family birds, what is generally seen in Bengal is the pánkaoŕi [similar to a cormorant]. At one time the pánkaoŕi used to be found in good numbers in the large reservoirs and ponds and marshlands of Bengal. This tri-habitat bird (aquatic, terrestrial and aerial) is similar in nature to the swan, or goose. Its body-colour is blackish. Like the foreign birds, they are seen in good numbers in Bengal during winter season, but they are also there at other times. This writer saw flocks of pánkaoŕis in Murshidabad District’s Hizalbil during the winter of 1942. One hears that there are not so many pánkaoŕis nowadays. They have been, and are being, slaughtered by human beings.

According to the Puranas, just as the mount of the goddess Gauṋgá is the makara [a mythological aquatic creature], similarly Yamuna’s mount is the pánikot́ik, or pánkaoŕi. According to some of the Puranas, the god of machines, Vishvakarma’s mount is also the pánkaoŕi. However there is a difference of opinion about this.

Kr + at́ac = karat́a. The etymological meaning of the word karat́a is “to move while engaged in work”. Colloquially karat́a means:

1) Raven; the raven is continually going about in search of one kind of food or another. When it doesn’t find any food in the vicinity, or doesn’t have any other work, then rather sitting and remaining silent, it makes a ka ka sound.

2) The second meaning is “crane”. This long-billed crane is found nearly every place in the world regardless of whether it is predominantly cold or hot. Only in those times and places where the water freezes does it not stay around because then there is a shortage of food there. If it sees the probability of water freezing in a place then it abandons that place just prior. It does so with the help of its rather advanced deductive powers. Thus, if in any particular land it is seen that the cranes are leaving, then it can be deduced that very cold weather is coming in the near future, just as it can be known that the rainy season is imminent when the swallows can be seen flying westwards at the end of the hot season.

The rainy season begins a day or two after the rain clouds reach the Bengal coastal region from the Bay of Bengal. The swallow is native to Africa. In the spring it crosses over the Arabian Sea and the southern peninsula and enters Bengal. It stays in Bengal during the summer. Once the monsoon starts it heads westward, crosses the Arabian Sea and returns to its home country, Africa.

As with the crane, this deductive power is highly developed in the egret. Some people call it intuition. Be that as it may, the crane is native to this country.

3) People affectionately caress the cheek of young children with their hand. But no one caresses an elephant’s cheek. This elephant’s cheek is also called karat́a.

4) Unclean or inferior professions are also called karat́a. What is meant by “unclean” or “inferior” professions has already been well-explained during the discussion about kambuka.

5) Those funeral services [shráddha] that people perform for the satisfaction of the departed soul of their ancestors or relatives, especially those services following the initial service, are called karat́a.

6) You must have seen cows that chase people or kick them if one tries to milk them. This kind of bad-natured cow is called a márkáńd́á cow in some places. This márkáńd́á cow is called karat́a. If this márkáńd́á cow is fed fodder mixed with mustard chaff before dawn then its affliction will be alleviated, that is, its temper will be calmed. Often this kind of cow kicks its own calf and chases it away, that is, she doesn’t allow it to drink her milk. So that these calves don’t die for a want of food during infancy, they can be fed pure roasted gram flour dissolved in water; then their life can be saved.

7) The seventh meaning is “atheist” or “crude-minded person”. This is used in masculine gender.

8) The eighth meaning is the “kalke flower”. The fruit of the kalke flower is poisonous. There is some poison in its root as well, but there is none in its nectar. Medicine is prepared from the kalke’s poison. The ancient kalke flower was yellow but nowadays it is also found in pink and white varieties.⁽⁶⁾ If the red and white kalke flowers are seen from a distance they are often confused with oleander.

Kr + lyut́ = karańa. The etymological meaning of the word karańa is “that by which work is done” – that which aids in work, either directly or indirectly. Colloquially karańa means:

2) The tools or implements for practising one’s profession, such as ironsmith’s hammer, cutters, goldsmith’s small hammer, a cook’s cooking utensils (ladle, tongs, spatula), potter’s wheel, and so on.

4) Another meaning of the word karańa is “nerve fibre” or “nervous system”.

5) Another meaning of the word karańa is “the total network of nád́iis functioning in the body”.

6) Another meaning of the word karańa is “the collection of veins and arteries”.

7) Another meaning of the word karańa is “the five sensory organs (eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin)”.

8) Karańa means “the five motor organs (vocal cords, hands, feet, anus, and urinary organ)”.

9) Karańa means “mind” or antahkarańa [literally, “inner-instrument”]

10) Karańa also means “instruments of external expression”, that is, bahihkarańa.

12) Those who don’t accept mind as the eleventh organ still accept citta, ahaḿttava and mahattattva as the antahkarańa.

18) Karańa means brahmakśatriya, or in this sense, káyastha (In the Prákrta language sadbaoddha-karańa-káyastha-t́hakkur: ci + ghaiṋ + sthá + d́a = káyastha → káyattha → káyet).

19) Karańa means vrátyakśatriya, or in this sense, káyastha [a Hindu caste].

20) Karańa is a particular branch or family name of the Káyasthas. Within the twelve branches of Chitragupta Káyasthas, Karańa is one branch (Ambaśt́ha, Bhat́t́anagar, Sakhasena, Shriivástava, Máthura, Gaoŕa, Súryadhvaja, Válmiiki, Kalashreśt́ha, Aśt́háná, Nigama and Karańa).⁽⁷⁾

23) Karańa also means “ministers” or those who take care of matters of state both in war and peace, or Káyasthas.

Krt + aka = karttaka. Etymologically, “that which is used to cut”. Colloquially, “knife”.

The word means “scissors”. The word karttárikii is used for “small pair of scissors”.

The root verb kard (krd) means “to make an unpleasant noise” (crunching, slopping through mud, etc.). By adding the suffix amac to kard we get the word kardama. We also get the word kardama by adding ma to the word karda. The etymological meaning of kardama is “that from which an unpleasant noise is produced”. One colloquial meaning of kardama is “slime”; another meaning is the son of Brahmá, Kardama. According to the Puranic tale, Kardama’s father’s name was Brahmá and his mother’s name was Cháyá. According to a Puranic story Súrya’s wife’s name was also Cháyá. The father was Súrya, the mother was Cháyá and the child’s name was Shanigraha. Thus Shani [Saturn] is a son of Cháyá [umbra]. (In olden times both the spellings, Shani and Shańi, were used.)

Karapatriká generally means “water-sport”; specifically it means “water-polo”. Spraying water like a fountain is also called karapatriká.

The meaning of the word karapála/karavála is “scimitar”, but the meaning of the word karapaliká/karaváliká is “dagger”. The word churiká is used for “small dagger”.

Dvithriḿshakot́ibhujakharakaravále [with the swords flashing from the hands of 32,000,000 people].

One meaning of the word kara is “elephant’s trunk”. When an elephant takes a bath or plays with water it draws the water up through its trunk and then sprays it like a fountain. This is called karashiikara. Shiikara means “fountain” or “bathing-fountain”. You can quite properly call a bathroom shower a shiikara. A bathing-fountain is also called karapatriká.

Sadyasnánasiktavasaná cikanashiikaraliptá [with her clothes wet immediately after a shower in shining water].

(1) In Oriya “white” is called dhaŕá. This has come from the word dhavalra. From the word dhavalra comes the Bengali word dhalo and the Oriya word dhaŕa or dhaŕá. Actually, the correct spelling of the Oriya word dhaŕa is not with ŕa but rather with antahstha lra. In Bengali also, kálo-dhalo is common [black and white]. In Bhojpuri “white” is dhaoŕá (dhavalra). For example, Dhaoŕii (dhavalrii) gáy caratiiyá, that is, “a white cow is grazing”.

(2) For this reason people don’t eat the kalmii during the rainy season. Even if people are made to understand by reason, oftentimes they don’t want to understand or accept. Thus, in order to cause fear, it is said that Jagannath has fever from sojáratha day until ult́oratha day. He is lying on a bed of kalmii leaves. And so, at that time kalmii should not be eaten; it is a sin to eat it.

(3) Támra → támba → támbá → tánbá → támá. The támbá form is prevalent in northern India. In Bengali, both tánbá and támá are correct although the tánbá form is more faithful to the original Prákrta. For example, both ánb and ám [mango] are correct, but ánb is more faithful to the original Prákrta.

(4) The word bájii is of Farsi origin. In Farsi the adjectival suffixes gar, var, and dár are used. For example, jádugar [magician], jánavar (not jánoyár [beast]), dukándár [shopkeeper]. Bear in mind, it is jádu, not yádu, and jádugar, not yádukar.

(5) Lodhra → lodhdha → lodh. In ancient India girls used to use the pollen of the lodh flower as face powder.

(6) The author’s garden contains both the pink and white varieties of this flower. Moreover, there is a variety of kalke brought from Cyprus which is halfway between the kalke and oleander.

(7) According to a Puranic story the twelve classes of Káyasthas came from the lineages of the twelve children of Chitragupta. The names of his twelve children were: Cáru, Sucáru, Citra, Citracáru, Aruńa, Atiindriya, Himaván, Matimán, Bhánu, Vibhánu, Vishvabhánu and Viiryabhánu. Apart from these twelve classes of Chitragupta Káyasthas, there are six more classes of Káyasthas. They are: (1) The sun lineage king, Ashvapati’s descendants – Pattanprabhu Káyastha; (2) The moon lineage king, Kámapati’s descendants – Damanaprabhu Káyastha; (3) The devotee king, Dhruva’s descendants – Druvaprabhu Káyastha; (4) Upakáyastha (Bengal’s Kumár or Kunyár Káyastha, Kerala’s Náyár and Tamil nadu’s Pillái groups); (5) Purkáyastha (Purkáit); and (6) Bháńd́árii Káyastha. Although the Bháńd́árii Káyasthas are Káyastha by caste, they have taken on the Brahman’s profession. Due to their social relationship with the Buddhist Chakravarttiis during the Buddhist era, the other Káyasthas don’t especially like them. Today caste differences and caste divisions are fading out. What I have just related is a Puranic story of the old days.

Karpat́a to Karśú (Discourse 19)

Published in:
Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

By adding the suffix at́ac (at́an) to krp we get the word karpat́a. The meaning of the Vedic root verb krp is “to possess the ability to do some action” or “to be capable of doing something”. The word krpá has come from this root verb krp. Many people think that the root verbs krp and day (from which we get the word dayá [compassion]) have the same meaning. Many mix up karuńá with dayá/krpá. No, these three are not the same. Although the word karuńá has been used since ancient times, we find it used most frequently in Buddhist literature and philosophy. The actual meaning and significance of the word karuńá is “being overcome with affection for others after seeing their ignorance or reluctance in the spiritual sphere, and giving them help, either mentally or physically, or showing them compassion”.

The couplet is ambiguous. Its literal meaning is that a boat named karuńá has been filled with gold so there is no room there to keep any silver. The inner meaning is that the formless Supreme Entity (in Buddhist thought, naerátmadevii) has filled the boat of my existence, so there is no room for the different inferences, such as form, etc. One is floating onward, from the world of forms to the world of the formless, and the binding saḿskaras [reactive momenta] from the cycle of birth and death will not be able to bind them.

So you see, the word karuńá is an odd kind of self-contained word. The word dayá, which comes from the root verb day, means “to melt when seeing someone’s pain and to remove that pain – to be conscious of it”, in English, “kindness”, “grace”.

The word krpá, which comes from the root verb krp, means “to be capable of doing something for someone”. Weak people want krpá from strong people because the strong have that capacity; untalented people want psychic krpá from talented people because talented people have that capacity. Both the words krpa and karpa come from the root verb krp – both words mean “hardy, capable.”

Karpat́a → kappad́a → kappaŕa → kápaŕá/kápaŕa. It is kapaŕa in the languages descended from Shaorasenii Prákrta, kapaŕa in the languages descended from the Western Demi-Mágadhii branch of Mágadhii Prákrta, and kápŕa in the languages descended from Eastern Demi-Mágadhii. The etymological meaning of the word karpat́a is “that which gives shelter or which covers”; its colloquial meanings are:

2) The second meaning is “a thick patchwork mattress which is capable of warding off the cold or which can be used as bedding”.

3) The third meaning of the word karpat́a is “a worn-out, torn piece of cloth”, what we call nyákŕá or káni or t́yáná [rag] in spoken Bengali. In Bihar we say nuḿgá, and in north India, cithŕá.

5) Another meaning of the word karpat́a is “a rag which is used for wiping something without water”, what is called a “duster” in English. The word karpat́a can be used for the dry rag that is used to wipe a blackboard.

Anyhow, you should not confuse the two words nyátá and netá. In the word nyátá the attachment of the y is a must. I have seen some people write the word netá without the y to mean nyátá.

The root verb krp is of Vedic origin. The word karpat́a is also Vedic. After coming to Europe, especially in English, the word karpat́a has taken the form of the word “carpet”. The carpet which is decorated with various kinds of handiwork is called gálicá (in spoken Bengali gálce). The word gálicá is of Persian origin.

By adding the suffix in to the word karpat́a we get the word karpat́in. Its etymological meaning is “one whose profession is associated with karpat́a”. Colloquially karpat́in refers to:

3) A Brahman who solicits donations, such as an Agradáni, a Brahman counsellor who takes donations for funeral services, those who take eclipse-donations for solar or lunar eclipses.

4) Those Cańd́als, or persons of inferior professions who take the clothes or bedding of the deceased as donations.

By adding the suffix arac/arań to krp we get the word karpara. The etymological meaning of the word karpara is “hardy”; its colloquial meanings are:

1) Human skull [narakapálra] or cranium. The nerve centre of the body… the brain is situated inside the skull. The brain needs a strong container, thus the skull or cranium must be hardy, that is, strong. Bear in mind, that in this case that kapálra [skull] means “skull of the deceased” in Sanskrit, not “forehead”. Of course kapálra-likhana means “destiny” in both Bengali and Sanskrit. In Bhojpuri the word kapálra (pronounced kapár) means “head”.

2) The second meaning of the word karpara is “that bony framework situated in the skull which serves as the receptacle of the brain” – what is called “cranium” in English.

3) Cát́u [iron pan] (what some people also call tává). The word is adopted from Sanskrit – you are all familiar with the cát́u on which chapatis are cooked. There is a certain kind of cát́u which has a long handle in front which is the colour of iron. One grabs this handle with a rolled cloth or towel in the hand in order to put it on the stove. This handle is called a karpara. The two rings that one grabs on either side of the kaŕá or kaŕái [a wok-like iron pan] (kat́áha → kad́áha → kaŕáa → kaŕái → kaŕá) used in cooking in order to place it on the stove, are also called karpara.

4) You are surely familiar with the yajiṋa-d́umura [a large variety of fig]. Another name for it in Sanskrit is ud́umbara, and yet another name is karpara. Previously, the Aryans used to consider the wood of the yajiṋa-d́umur to be quite hardy, thus during sacrifices (yajiṋa) they would use it as sacrificial wood. Since it was used as sacrificial wood, its name became yajiṋa-d́umur.

5) Another meaning of the word karpara is what we commonly call bhojáli, a slightly curved weapon that is used both as a dagger and as a sword.

Karbu + urac/urań = karbúra. The etymological meaning of this word, karbúra, is “mixed-colour”, “varied nature”, “selfish”, and so on. Colloquially it means:

1) Any bright, yellow-coloured object, such as golden tinsel, golden garments, or any bright yellow thing.

2) The second meaning of the word karbúra is “pure gold” or “unalloyed gold”.

3) The third meaning of the word karbúra is “the all-season cucumber” (Shashaka variety).

4) The fourth meaning of the word karbúra is “the spotted cucumber” (kśiiriká variety). The cucumber is generally divided into two groups: the first, which is somewhat small in size, predominantly green in colour, and which grows chiefly in the rainy season; and the second, which is grown with a scaffold – this rainy season cucumber is called shashakphalam. This shashaka phala is a favourite food of the shashaka (in English, “hare”). For this reason its name became shashaka phala. However, one shouldn’t think by this that rabbits don’t also love to eat cucumbers. Cucumbers which are not grown in the rainy season, but which are grown on scaffolds rather than being allowed to creep along the ground are also called shashaka phala. If this shashaka variety of cucumber is left to creep along the ground then it easily falls prey to insect attacks and its fruit is destroyed. The field cucumber is called kśiiriká. The kśiiriká variety of cucumber is also eaten raw as fruit by people as well as being used as a cooking vegetable.

5) Something whose surface is spotted – spotted clothes, spotted leaves on a tree, and so forth.

6) If it is spelled karbúrii in feminine form then it means Chinnamastá [a truncated form of the goddess Durgá].

8) Another meaning of the word karbúra is the red́i plant [castor oil plant] (erańd́ah → erańd́a → erańd́i → eŕi → reŕi). According to the Prákrta rule where ra takes the place of a and a takes the place of ra, eŕi becomes reŕi. This word reŕi is used in Bengali and also in the languages of Bihar – in Hindi, however, it is áńd́i. There are two main varieties of reŕi. – cultivated reŕi and wild reŕi. The leaves of the cultivated reŕi are deep green and its seeds (castor seed) yield a very quality oil. Its chaff also makes a good fertilizer for mustard fields. Wild reŕi is usually known as bhereńd́á in Bengal. The word bhereńd́á has come from the word bhaerańd́a. The leaves of this plant are somewhat reddish and its fruit is poor in quality. The non-mulberry silk that we get from the cocoons of the silk-worms that grow in the leaves of the reŕi plant is called eńd́i silk. At one time Assam was famous for this eńd́i silk; it still is. If some efforts are made, reŕi can be cultivated nicely in those parts of Bengal, north Bihar and Uttar Pradesh where there is alluvial soil, and eńd́i silk can be produced.

9) Another meaning of the word karbúra is “gnat”. In this case its feminine form will be karbúrá, not karbúrii. Karbúrii means “Chinnamastá”. Both karbúra and karbúrii, however, are spelled with vargiya ba.

By adding the suffix man/manin to kr we get the word karmańa which refers to five kinds of actions:

Each of the above-mentioned actions is classified as pratyayamúlaka actions. Their reaction or redress is direct. There is no reaction or redress for saḿskára-based actions. “Saḿskára-based actions” refers to those actions which occur as a reaction to previous actions, or prárabdha.

Karma + kr + ghaiṋ = karmakára. The etymological meaning of karmakára is “one who is there with work”; colloquially it means: (1) engineer or one who is skilled in technology; (2) blacksmith; and (3) one whose work concerns metal, such as a goldsmith, a brazier, and so on.

By adding ariń to karma we get karmari. It means “that which, when in the hand, facilitates work” or “that with whose help hand-work is done”; colloquially karmari means “bamboo branch”, or kainchi. A bamboo branchlet, that is, an offshoot of a kainchi or karmari is called karmariká (bákhári).

The word karmaraka means “small action”, “inferior action”. The meaning of the word karmiraka is “small plant” or “thicket”.

Kalr + ac = kalra. The meaning of the root verb kal is “to sound”, “to count”, “to measure”, “to weigh”, “to be filled with vitality or keep filled”, “semen”, and so on. The etymological meaning of the word kalevara is “that which arises out of semen”; its colloquial meaning is “living body”. Thus it is said about the human body: Shukrádyah bhasmántakah, that is, it begins in semen and ends in ashes – in the end the body is cremated and turned into ash.

Kalra + ka = kalraka. Etymologically it means “that which makes a kinu kinu sound”. But whether or not it makes a kinu kinu sound, colloquially kalraka refers to the párse fish.

Kalra +trae + d́a = kalratra. The meaning of the word kalra is “sound”. The etymological meaning of the word kalratra is “that which saves by sound”. The colloquial meanings of the word kalratra are:

1) Strong fortress.
2) the town within a fortress.
3) fortress-wall.
4) the fortress in which a king lives.
5) a place during the time that a king lives there (that place
need not be the capital).
6) kalratra’s other meaning is “wife”. A wife may not be
physically strong but in a vocal battle she can free her husband
from danger by defeating the enemy, thus a wife is called
kalratra. When the word kalratra is used to mean “wife” it is
used in masculine gender (kalratrah, like the conjugation of the
word nara), or, rather than feminine gender (kalratrá like the
conjugation of the word latá), it is neuter, that is, the word
is kalatram (like the conjugation of the word phalra). Shiva has
said: Yad bharttureva hitamicchati tad kalatram [One who is
always wishing for her husband is known as kalatra.].

Kalra + amac = kalrama. Its etymological meaning is “one who lets out a sigh while labouring”. Colloquially, kalrama means kalmá or kalmakát́hi dhán [a type of paddy].

Kalr + ambac = kalamba. Etymologically, “that which is joined to a word”; colloquially it means:

3) The stem of the sháluka (In some parts of Bengal the sháluka is called sháplá).

4) Tálamákháná. The tálamákháná is a thorny aquatic plant with black seeds. Khai [a puffed grain or seed preparation] made from its seeds is called mákháná or tálamákháná. A type of small worm which lives in the mákháná is a favourite food of jiyal fish [a variety of barbed fish which includes the catfish], such as kai, siuṋgi, mágur, and so on. Thus, although it is difficult to farm large fish, such as rui, kátlá, kálbosh (in the language of Rarh, kálibáush), mrgel (in Rarh language, mirik), and so forth, in reservoirs and ponds where the thorny mákháná plant grows, jiyal fish live and grow quite well there. They are principally farmed in Mithila. In Maethilii it is called mákhán.

5) The backstroke that swimmers do in the water is also called kalamba-tarańa.

8) Still, the most prevalent meaning of the word kalambii is “the aquatic kalmia plant (kalmii)”. Bear in mind, the aquatic kalmia is called kalambii, not the dry-land kalmia. The dry-land kalmia is called nálitá shák (not náliká shák – nálitá shák is the same as nálte shák).

9) In some places in Vaeshnava literature kalambakuiṋja is used for the kadambakuiṋja [kadamba grove] of Shrii Krśńa.

10) Kalamba also refers to the spits of a stove. The raised metal portion of the stove where the utensils are placed used to be called kalambii. Ka means “head”; lambii means “that which is tall”. Kalambii is used in this sense to refer to the tall part at the head of the stove.

Kalr + ka = kalka. The etymological meaning of kalka is “fickle-minded”. Colloquially, kalka means “wicked-natured person”, “knave”, “social rebel”, “reactionary”. Kalka is a harsh expression, so don’t use the word unless absolutely necessary.

Kal + ki = kalki. The meaning of the word kalki is “omni-integral stance”, or viśńu. In the Dashávatára stotra Kalki Avatára is described as the tenth and final avatar of Viśńu:

Mlecchanivahanidhane kalayasi karaválam
Dhúmaketumiva kimapi karálam
Keshavadhrtakalkishariira jaya jagadisha hare

“You brandish your sword for the destruction of the people who have deviated from morality; you are severe like the comet – terrible! O Viśńu in the form of Kalki, victory unto you.”

Keep in mind that in this case mleccha means “one who has deviated from morality”. It is not in any way used to mean “those who do not follow the Vedas”. Those who use it in that way do so in order to vent their spleen.

Kalp + ac = kalpa. The etymological meaning of the word kalpa is “the state of imagining”; colloquially kalpa means:

2) The collective name of Satya, Tretá, Dvápara and Kali Yugas.⁽¹⁾ The end of one round of the four yugas is called kalpánta. According to the common belief, if a person possesses devotion then they will get liberation at this kalpánta, regardless of whether or not they have any other qualities. A devotee normally remains patient so they don’t mix any alloy with their devotion. They remain absorbed in their devotion in the belief that, if not today, then at the kalpánta they will get liberation.

Kal + i = kali. Its etymological meaning is “that which is chiefly sound” – more talk than action. Mukhena máritaḿ jagat. The colloquial meaning of the word kali is “the fourth or final yuga of the kalpa”. The other etymological meaning of the word kali is “to move while measuring”, that is, that time through which people measure and understand everything, doing things carefully out of magnanimity of mind. In many people’s opinion there are four yugas in one kalpa – satya, tretá, dvápara and kali. In satya yuga there is jiṋána-bhakti-karma [knowledge, devotion, action] – an auspicious harmony among these three. Along with this, the Satya yuga is sádhaná[spiritual practice]-predominant. People accept renunciation for the sake of sádhaná; they practise austerities. For this reason Satya yuga is also called Krta yuga [krta means “performed”].

Uttiśt́han tretá bhavati, krtaḿ sampadyate carań. “Tretá yuga is devotion-predominant, however the austerities of jiṋána-karma sádhaná are also practised.” Dvápara yuga is action-predominant, however the austerities of jiṋána-bhakti sádhaná are also practised. Kali yuga is talk-predominant. In Kali yuga living beings are short-lived. Moreover, they waste their short lifespan in vain talks and vocal fireworks.

Kalr + ilac = kalrila. Etymologically, kalrila means “one who moves in their own bháva”;⁽²⁾ colloquially kalrila means:

4) When, after dividing something, we arrive at such a state where it can no longer be divided any further, that is, “molecule”, “atom”; thereafter, that entity which is even smaller and whose existence becomes more cognitive than material, that is, that in which there is an equalization between matter and cognition, or where merges in cognition – that is kalrila. The largest entity in the manifest universe we call akhila, or bhúmá, and its controller or cognitive counterpart we call Parama Puruśa, or Citishakti. In the unmanifest universe the knower, knowledge and known do not remain. They join and become one and what remains is Nirguńa Brahma, that is, Parama Puruśa; there He does not remain as the cognitive counterpart; moreover we can say that the known remains non-existent. The witness-ship or cognitive counterpart of kalrila belongs to Parama Puruśa alone. Thus it has been said in the Shruti:

Anádyanantaḿ kalrilasya madhye vishvasya
sraśt́áramanekarúpam
Vishvasyaekaḿ pariveśt́itáraḿ jiṋátvá devaḿ mucyute
sarvapáshaeh

Since kalrila is an equalization between matter and cognition, it is smaller than molecules, atoms, protons, neutrons, and electrons. It has also been said:

Súkśmátisúkśmaḿ kalrilasya madhye vishvasya
sraśt́áramanekarúpam
Vishvaesyakaḿ pariveśt́itáraḿ jiṋátvá Shivaḿ
shántimatyantameti.

Kal + yak = kalya. Since the root verb kal has many different meanings, kalya also has many different etymological meanings, and its colloquial meanings are even more numerous. Colloquially, kalya means:

6) One who is well-equipped with weapons for doing battle, or who is rich in logic and facts for waging a war of words.

9) That which infuses strength in the mind through the recitation of mantra or the giving of a blessing – which gives encouragement.

10) The rohińii variety of myrobalan. Just as there are different varieties of myrobalan and differences in the size of this plant due to differences in locality and weather, there are also differences in its fruit. Some are round, some are long, some are without costas. Some myrobalan have very few costas while others have more. Some myrobalan have a uniform colour while others don’t. Some are quite astringent while others are virtually non-astringent. The seeds of some myrobalan are quite small and slender while those of others are well-developed and can be eaten like nuts. Due to the differences in size and quality and variety, myrobalan has different names, such as gaoŕii, mágadhii, rohińii, and so on. The rohińii variety of myrobalan is called kalya. Since the word is feminine in gender it takes the form kalyá (like the word latá).

11) The eleventh meaning of the word kalya is “yesterday”. In this case the word is an indeclinable and it takes the form kalyam – as in neuter gender. Since the word is an indeclinable it will have no case endings, that is, kalyam is used in every case.

12) The twelfth meaning of the word kalya is “tomorrow morning” – what is called vihána – pratyúśe bhavet kalyam. Bear in mind that we only say kalyam for the morning portion of tomorrow, not for the rest of the day. However shva refers to the morning along with the entire rest of the day. For “the day after tomorrow” we say parashva (parshu). This “tomorrow morning”, which we call kalya, is also an indeclinable and its form also becomes kalyam.

13) Another meaning of the word kalya is “both deaf and mute in one”, “deaf-mute” in spoken English. Mute and deaf – what we call in spoken Bengali hábá.

14) Another meaning of the word kalya is “one who doesn’t have any kind of mental distortion”.

15) Yet another meaning of the word kalya is “one who doesn’t suffer from any kind of mental agony”, that is, the mind is in a state of freedom.

16) Kalya also means “wealthy”. When a person is in economic difficulties and goes to another person and gets advice in order to find a solution to his economic predicament, then in that case the one who gives that advice is called kalya.

18) One who gives counsel for a litigation or for any other subject, such as a barrister.

20) The wine that was used in the name of religious observances, or still is, is also called kalya. Just as the wine that was used as a part of religious rites during the Vedic era (the Vedic names for it were madya, madirá, madhu, somarasa, and so on) can be called kalya, the wine or holy water that was used in Tantric rites, or still is, can also be called kalya. Whatever wine is used for religious observances, in whatever community, is called kalya.

21) To wish someone well, to give a victory ovation, to encourage everyone, to congratulate, to give a blessing for greater development – the word kalya can be used for all of these.

22) Another meaning of the word kalya is “royal proclamation” or “saying something publicly for the purpose of informing the people”. In a railway station, the announcer who informs the public when a train arrives and when it leaves is also called kalya in this case, or if somewhere one beats a drum and informs that “Section 144” has been introduced in this city, then that is also called kalya.

Kala means “sound”; rava also means “sound”. Thus, kala-i rava = kalarava. It is just like lajjá-sharam [both mean “shame” or “modesty”], or ashru-jal [tear-water]. Lajjá-i sharama = lajjásharam, ashru-i jal = ashrujal (nitya samás [a Sanskrit rule for word combining]).

Ku + aka = kavaka. Etymologically, kavaka means “that which is concerned with ku”, or “soil”. Its colloquial meanings are:

1) One meaning of the word kavaka is “fungus-variety plants”, such as poyál mushroom and other kinds of mushrooms – rui, durgá, gobar, toadstool, and so on.

2) Another meaning of the word kavaka is “all kinds of plants”, or pádapa (that which drinks through its feet, or “plant”).

4) Kavaka also refers to different kinds of upright posts, such as “lamppost”, “telegraph post”, “electric post”, and so forth.

5) The prop which is used to keep plants or anything else from falling is also called kavaka.

Ku + acas = kavaca. The etymological meaning of kavaca is “protector”. Colloquially kavaca means:

1) Something for defence against attack, for example, shield, armour, fish scales, wood-apple shell, turtle shell, etc.

2) The second meaning is “infallible weapon” – that weapon which normally succeeds. The Páshupat [Shiva’s weapon] of the Puranas, the brahmástra [a divine missile], Gáńd́iiva [a mythological bow], and so on, can all be considered kavaca.

3) A mystic amulet or ornament is called kavaca – for example, Sarasvatii kavaca, Mahákálii kavaca, Shani kavaca, etc. The earring of Karńa as mentioned in the Mahabharata was a kavaca. According to the story, Krśńa approached Karńa’s wife, Padmávatii, in the guise of a Brahman and got Karńa’s kavaca by begging. Thereafter Karńa was slain by Arjuna and as a result one of Arjuna’s attributes is karńári or karńaráti. Ári and aráti both mean “enemy”.

7) Another meaning of kavaca is “to proclaim victory at the end of a war by beating the drums”.

8) The acoustic root of battle is huḿ. For this reason the sound of war is called huḿkár or rańahuḿkár. The word kavaca can also be used for this huḿ sound.

9) The religious ceremony that is performed to ward off the effect of malefic planets is also called kavaca.

10) The recitation of mantras which is done for rescuing from danger or for survival is also called kavaca.

Kavaca! Kavaca means rakśákavaca [safeguard, or an amulet used as a safeguard]; everyone knows this. For the people of the Burdwan river-basin, the Damodar Dam is also a kavaca.

It was the month of Jyaeśt́ha. At that time Burdwan District was as hot a district as it is now. The lu⁽³⁾ winds were blowing from the west were blocked to some extent by the Durgápur jungle. Still, it must be said that Burdwan, this crown jewel of Rarh, is hotter than other places in Bengal.

Midnight was upon me. It was as if the Mahákaola [the great spiritual master] was saying: “The midnight of your life has come. Throw off the earthly bondages and come out. It is not the new moon night but the full moon night. The darkest, subtlest particles of the new moon night can be transformed into particles of moonlight. Cannot the new moon night of one’s life take the form of the full moon? That terrible shadow of time that has trampled the human soul for so long, sometimes frowning outwardly, sometimes merged deep in the third eye of ignorance, making the human being stumble on their path – is it eternal?” Truly, the Mahákaola was calling me.

I went out alone and found myself in the middle of the forest. To the south was the Damodar River and to the east was the Deviidaha. At that time this part of Burdwan District was vast marshland. Whatever it be – pond, lake, marsh – the Deviidaha doesn’t have any comparison. The prehistoric Gáunguŕa or Behula River was a lost tributary of the Damodar River. The Behula of legend took the dead body of the imaginary Lakhindar on her lap, climbed on a raft and floated down this Gáunguŕa towards heaven. This Behula River has turned into the Deviidaha of today.

I walked slowly and came to the edge of the Deviidaha. The Deviidaha that we are talking about was partially destroyed in the Damodar flood of 1913. It was swallowed anew by the Damodar during the time of the Second World War. The time that I am talking about was shortly before the Second World War.

The Deviidaha was created during the time when Shasháuṋka was the king of Rarh. The Deviidaha was not simply a large pond. Like the Damodar, Banka, Khaŕi, Vadai and other rivers, the vast waters of the Deviidaha as well as the Gáunguŕa used to keep Burdwan District green with grain. Sugar cane was first cultivated in Rarh on both banks of the Deviidaha while cotton was cultivated on its west bank. Historically, it can be seen that this Burdwan District was the pioneer in sugar cane and cotton cultivation, the leading producer. The sugar cane there was sweeter than any place else. Unfortunately the farmers in Burdwan today are not so eager to cultivate sugar cane because sugar cane ties up the land for nearly the entire year, while if other crops would be grown on that same land then three harvests could be taken home.

For this very same reason, the cultivation of both the mághii and caetii types of pigeon-peas is fast diminishing in Burdwan. They are scarcely to be seen nowadays. Even though the Balágaŕ area of neighbouring Hooghly District was at one time considered the best for pigeon-pea cultivation, it bears mentioning that there also this cultivation has diminished greatly. Nowadays Purulia and Nadia Districts are preserving the standard of pigeon-pea production in Bengal. If some of the land in Purulia was not used for pigeon-peas then it would remain barren for most of the year, thus there is no recourse but to grow pigeon-peas there. And in Nadia the greater part of the soil is donyásh [mixed sandy and clayey soil]. Since there is very little clayey soil many crops cannot be grown there. Still, in the Chakdaha, Haringhata and Kalyani areas of Nadia the cultivation of both sugar cane and pigeon-peas (kandula: kandulaḿ baladaḿ jineyaḿ cośńaḿ tu hitakárakaḿ) is diminishing and kitchen vegetables are being grown in their place. Today Nadia District has turned into the world’s best district for growing vegetables. Of course, the traditional areas for growing potatoes have been Hooghly, Burdwan, Nalanda and Farukhbad Districts. The seeds that we import while sitting in Calcutta, such as the recently brought biliti tomato seeds from America, the difficult-to-get red radish seeds from Japan, the extremely long kuli eggplant seeds from China – some perhaps come from abroad but the better part of them are brought from Nadia District’s Nagar-ukhŕá, bought at bulk rate and stuffed into jute sacks.

The variety of cotton plant which was known as deva-kápás in Burdwan has the longest fibres and is suitable for making the finest thread. The climate of Burdwan is somewhat drier than that of the rest of Bengal, thus those areas which are wetter than Burdwan used to buy cotton thread from Burdwan for weaving fine cloth. Cotton doesn’t grow well in wetter climates; the cotton is subject to insect attack. However these wetter climates are more suitable for weaving fine cloth. Thus Burdwan was not as famous for the weaving of cloth as it was for the production of cotton. This is not Burdwan’s fault; its weather is to blame. This situation continued unchecked up until the time of Akbar.

I went and sat under a huge silk-cotton tree on the western bank of the Deviidaha. Behind me stretched a vast, dense jungle. This jungle stretched up to my village in one direction, and to the Damodar River in the other. It would not do it justice to simply call it a jungle – it was a dense jungle. There were large snakes in this jungle, not large but medium-sized tigers, wild boars and the niilgái and krśńasár varieties of antelope. The roaring of tigers could be heard at night from the courtyard of my house.

I was sitting on the western bank of the Deviidaha, a short ways from the village of Pátun, the village of Maharshi Patanjali, the propounder of Seshvara Sáḿkhya philosophy. Patanjali had not been satisfied with the Sáḿkhya philosophy of Kapil. Kapil didn’t say anything clearly one way or the other about Parama Puruśa though he accepted His existence. Patanjali openly acknowledged His existence.

I sat and thought for a while about Patanjali. On the other side of the Deviidaha I saw six or seven wild boars drinking water. A short distance from me there was a large crocodile, half in and half out of the water; he seemed to be staring in some direction.

I was alone and solitary. I didn’t see any other living creatures in the vicinity, nor did I hear any tiger roars. A short distance away ran the ruined remains of the Badshahi road, the same road that Pathan Badshah Shershah made at the beginning of the Mughal era, with only a few skeletal traces left to identify it. Burdwan was then the capital of the province of Bengal. This Badshahi road used to connect Burdwan to Dehli in one direction, and in the other direction it connected to the principal port of the time, Saptagrám or Sátgáon, to which the Portuguese gave the name Port-de-Grandee – it extended south along the Bhagirathi till Shyampur and on the other bank it used to go via Jessore to Dhaka District’s Suvarnagram (Sońárgáno). At that time Hooghly was part of Burdwan District.

How busy this Badshahi road used to be! Gazing in the direction of the road, I thought back to how many horse-carts used to travel along it at one time, how many marriage processions, how many richly ornamented newly-married brides, how many funeral bearers – the finality of the human being’s existence is reduced to ashes and those ashes used to be left to float in the waters of the Bhagarathi. Today that Badshahi road is abandoned; some can recognize it if they see it, and some cannot.

This is the Burdwan District about which Maharaj Vikramaditya had said: “Burdwan District is my desire, without which the learned society will never be established in my kingdom.”

I was sitting alone on the western bank of the Deviidaha. Silently I started reciting to myself:

Kál-sáyarer váluká-beláy base base pal guńi
mane bhávi yadi cetaná-viińáy tava kathá kichu shuni.
Dúr theke ese dúre bhese jáy se viińár tár ańuke nácáy
se maháchande paramánande kalpaná-jál buni.
Kivá áse jáy yadi ekvár palake dánŕáo sumukhe ámár
máni náhi kona sádhaná ámár d́aki bháve anurańi.

[In the childhood of the sea of time I am sitting counting the moments/I wonder if I might hear something of you on the lyre of consciousness/From the distance it comes, into the distance it floats, that lyre making the particles dance/ in that universal rhythm, in that supreme bliss I weave the net of imagination/ what would happen if once you would stand in front of me for a moment/I know I haven’t accomplished anything, but I call anyhow hoping the echoes bring you]

I looked up. It was a moonlit night. I couldn’t see the stars. They had become lost in the light of the moon. The lesser light becomes lost in the greater light. The light of the firefly becomes lost in the light of the hurricane lantern. The light of the hurricane lantern becomes lost in the light of the hyáják; the light of the hyáják becomes lost in the light of the sun.

Na tatra súryo bháti na chandratárakamaḿ
Nemá vidyuto bhánti kuto’ayamagnih
Tameva bhántamanubháti sarvaḿ
Tasya bhásá sarvamidaḿ vibháti

The awareness of Burdwan becomes lost in Rarh-awareness, Rarh-awareness becomes lost in Bengal-awareness, Bengal-awareness becomes lost in universal awareness, universal awareness becomes lost in your footsteps, the unknown eternal traveller.

Who was this person who had come and was standing before me? I looked at him and he looked at me. He said: “What is this, you haven’t asked me to sit down?”

“It may be,” I replied, “that you called me and the force of your own call has made you rush here. You haven’t understood that I am not replying to your call; you are replying to my call.”

“If my name is tvaḿ [‘you’ in Sanskrit] to me,” he said, “then to you my name is ahaḿ (‘I’), and in the same way if your name is tvaḿ for you, then for me your name is ahaḿ.”

“Just think about it for a moment,” he replied, “and see whether or not I live in a corner of your mind.”

“You are quite right. Your home is inside my mind. But then tell me where my home is,” I asked.

I looked at him and saw that he was exactly the same age as me. Not one bit less nor one bit more – the same clothes, the same inner vibration.

“I don’t know much mathematics,” I said. “Could you tell me how far away I am from you?”

Then I said: “When I forget you then the distance between us is so great that it cannot be measured how many miles it is, and when I remember then the distance becomes so small that it cannot be conceived of. Then you and I merge and become one. ‘I’-‘you’ become one, and these two are one, one and indivisible.”

There were small, gentle waves in the water of the Deviidaha. The pandits call these waves kamala. The lotus flowers [kamala] that bloom so beautifully on the surface of the Deviidaha float on these waves.

Burdwan’s safeguard [rakśákavaca] is not the Damodar’s Ring Dam. It is not humanity’s safeguard. Humanity’s safeguard is its inner firmness. This firmness has saved it from all the storms and will continue to do so as long as the fountain of time remains.

This lotus bower in the Deviidaha, this vast, tiger-ruled forest, those crystal-clear waters of the Damodar, that big field of watermelon and gomukha – where had he disappeared to, behind what screen was he hiding? Was he hiding inside me? Was he hiding within my mind, wishing to play hide-and-seek with me?

“I am always with you,” he replied. “I don’t come or go. I am not invited or abandoned. I do not spin on the potter’s wheel, nor am I broken beneath the blacksmith’s hammer. I was, am, and always will be.”

The moon slowly passed behind a sliver of cloud. A kind of soft shadow fell over the moonlight. The water of the Deviidaha became a little blackish.

The summer nights are not long. I guessed that shortly after the silvery moon came out from behind the black cloud the ruddy glow of dawn would begin to bloom east of the Deviidaha… it would begin to bloom.

The meaning of the root verb krv is “to influence”, “to strike”, “to drive according to one’s own desire”. Krv + va = karva. The etymological meaning of the word karva is “one who is attached to the completion of one’s efforts”. Its colloquial meanings are:

3) Handkerchief [rumál] (the word rumál/romál is of Farsi origin). The word mukhamárjanii is also used in Sanskrit, but mukhamárjanii can also refer to “towel”, or gámchá. However karvva only refers to “handkerchief”.

4) One who goes around all the time for the purpose of getting or eating something or other is karvva. Rats are always going around looking for food. If they don’t find anything edible they will cut things with their teeth thinking that after it is cut up it might turn into food. In this sense, the word karvva also means “rat”. Of course, karvva doesn’t mean “mouse” (plural, “mice”).

5) The wolf – lákŕá or lákaŕ vághá in north India – is always going out for the purpose of eating. In some people’s opinion the wolf can take into its stomach quite a bit more than the weight of its own body. Just as the ant can carry a load that is much heavier than its own body, the wolf can eat more. The wolf has very little capacity for carrying loads. Due to his excessive gluttony, the second Pandava brother, Bhima, used to be called Vrkodara (one whose stomach is like a wolf’s). During the time that the Pandavas were incognito, mother Kunti would take the food they would bring home from begging and give half of it to Bhima. The remainder she and her other four sons would eat.

[Half the four brothers eat along with Kunti, half is apportioned to the brave Bhima]

6) The python can eat a tremendous amount. Once they have filled their stomach they remain in a still, motionless state for many days. Thereafter, once the food has been digested, they again start to move around. Thus, another meaning of the word karvva is ajagar [python]. In this case aja means “goat”. That which can swallow a goat is ajagar.

7) The d́ánsh [gnat] variety of mosquito can also drink excessive quantities of blood. After they drink an excessive quantity of blood they remain torpid for quite some time. Some are of the opinion that their stomach often bursts and they die as a result of drinking too much blood.

The dánsh variety of mosquito is called “gnat” in English. Karvva also means “gnat”. Use the word karvá for “female gnat”, rather than the word karvii. The meaning of the feminine gender word iip added to karva, that is, karvii, is “the goddess Chinnamastá” [a truncated form of Durgá].

The meaning of the word karvat́a is “to feel pride”, “when a person says something with pride”. By adding the suffix at́ac (at́an) to karva we get the word karvat́a, whose etymological meaning is “that for which there is pride”. Colloquially, karvat́a means:

1) Palace-city, that is, that city which is decked out with a string of palaces. At one time Jaipur was known far and wide as a palace-city. This city was made of a collection of “p”-s of which one was “palace”. The others were “peacock”, “prince”, and “pink”. The founder of the city was Maharaj Jayasiḿha and its architect was Puśpadhara Mitra.

2) The second meaning of the word karvat́a is “that city which is situated inside a fort”. The last capital of Mughal Bengal, Monghyr, was one such fort-city. Beyond the moat there were the ramparts. Within the ramparts was the city. At that time most of the cities had a moat or a ditch around them, whether or not they had any fortress walls. That used to be the boundary limits of the city, or, in certain cases, the revenue village. The other side of this moat or boundary limit was the jurisdiction of a different police officer. Thus, in many cases, social miscreants used to flee to the other side of the moat or ditch in order to escape from the hands of the police. Even today, in those places where there is no surrounding moat or ditch, we say “he has crossed over the ditch” when someone passes a little out of reach.

Previously I said that even when there were no ramparts within the moat or ditch, the people used to consider what was inside the moat as a fort (gaŕ). There was such a ditch between British Chandannagar and French Chandannagar. Even though there was no fixed fort the people used to use the word gaŕ. This city inside a fort used to be called karvat́a.

The king of Nadia, Maharaja Krśńacandra, had special kinds of moats dug in several of the important places of his zamindaris. For these the poetic words aiṋjaná, kaḿkaná, and so on, were used (probably during the time of Dewan Raghunandan Mitra).⁽⁴⁾

3) Formerly, most of the important cities were surrounded by a wall and had a main portico. The gate was kept open or closed at particular times according to the instructions of the city police. Normally the gate was closed after nine o’clock at night.

Often social miscreants or people with infectious diseases used to be kept outside these city walls. The keys to the gate used to remain with the constable or with some senior person of the city. This wall-encircled city used to be called karvat́a. The people of north India used to say hávelii – in certain places háoli in the spoken language. There was a city in Monghyr District by the name of Hávelii-Khaŕgpur. In Europe, the one with whom the key to such a hávelii gate was kept was called the “city father” or “sheriff”. Our Calcutta is not a walled city but here also there is a sheriff in order to maintain the aristocratic tradition. Most likely he also has a key for show. The word “sheriff” has come from the Farsi word shariif from which comes the substantive sharáfat.

4) Another meaning of the word karvat́a is “the chief city of any country or state”, or “metropolis”. This metropolis may or may not be the capital of the country. During British rule in India, Calcutta, Bombay and Madras used to be considered metropolises or metropolitan towns, and in English the expression “presidency town” used to be used for “metropolitan town”. In the same way, the concerning provinces went by the name of Bengal Presidency, Bombay Presidency, and Madras Presidency. Some people use the word “metropolis” in an offhand way for the capital of a country, even though it isn’t the metropolitan city of that country.

5) Many people call a cosmopolitan city – or a city in which people from different countries, speaking different languages, live – a metropolitan city. In this case also, the word karvat́a can be used.

6) The principal official headquarters of a district or county is called karvat́a. For example, the karvat́a of Birbhum District was Shiurii (Shivapurii), then Maldaha District’s Engrejbazar, Rajshahi District’s Rampur (Boyalia), Murshidabad’s Baharampur, 24 Paraganas’ Alipur (its old name was Alinagar), Bakharganj District’s Barishal, West Dinajpur District’s Balurghat, the then British Tripura’s Comilla, and Hooghly District’s Chunchro.

The modern Bengali synonym for the Sanskrit word bhukti is zilá (zilla). The word is of Farsi origin. Its proper English equivalent is “county”. In England a zilá is called a “county”; in India, a zilá is called a “district” in English. Most likely it was called “county” since in ancient England each county used to remain under the control of a particular count.

2) The second meaning of the word karvara is “proud animal” or “large tiger”. Another name for what we call “royal Bengal tiger” in English kundo bágh in Bengali is karvara. It is the largest member of the cat family. Among its various traits are its keen intelligence and its powerful sense of smell. It is able to ascertain which animals lie in which direction by checking the wind.

Although they are much stronger than people, they are much less intelligent and they know this. So if they catch a human scent on the wind they don’t like to tread that path. However, if they happen on a person unexpectedly they will attack them out of a sense of self-preservation. There are a small number of karvara tigers who, despite belonging to the same family, develop a taste for human flesh by eating dead bodies in burial grounds or in the forest. Some can no longer struggle with other animals in their old age, and kill and eat human beings because humans can not run from them or match them in physical strength. It is very easy for them to kill humans, so those karvara tigers who become maneaters in this way, and remain so for a long time, undergo some physical changes. Their snout becomes comparatively long and their stomach becomes thinner. If people are aware which Bengal tigers are maneaters and which are not, they can take more precautionary measures.

The word vyághra [tiger] is derived by adding the suffix d́a to vi-á-ghrá; its etymological meaning is “possessing a special form of olfactory ability”.

3) Another meaning of the word karvara is “lustrous, multi-coloured object”. In this sense the peacock’s throat and the rainbow are both called karvara.

6) The meaning of the word karvarii, obtained by adding the suffix iip in feminine gender, is the goddess Durgá mentioned in the Márkańd́eya Purańa.

7) The feminine form of the word karvara, obtained by adding the suffix áp, karvará, means “bug”. Keep in mind that both karvarii and karvará are feminine forms, but karvarii, formed with iip refers to the goddess Durgá, and karvará, formed with áp, means “bug”.

Karva + urac/urań. Etymologically, karvura refers to “one who is proud” or “that for which one takes pride”, and “one who attracts” or “that for which there is attraction”. Colloquially it means:

3) Gold in the sense of that which attracts through the lustre of colour (The correct spelling of the Sanskrit-derived word is sońa. The original word, svarńa contains ńa).

4) Water is much more attractive to a thirsty person than sarvat, milk, rice pudding or any other drinkable thing, so another meaning of the word karvura is “drinking water”.

5) The thorn-apple flower (datura) is Shiva’s favourite – many people say this, but although the thorn-apple fruit is poisonous it carries a lot of value for patients and healers. Various kinds of medicines are produced from the thorn-apple fruit, among which is medicine for rheumatism. Medicine for disorders of the parathyroid gland are made from the fruit of the black thorn-apple. The saptaparńii or the chátim also has this quality.⁽⁵⁾ One meaning of the word karvura is “thorn-apple fruit” because it is attractive.

6) If we use the word karvura in feminine gender, which gives us karvurii, then it refers to the goddess Chinnamastá.

7) Karvura was the name of a Puranic demon who used to draw other creatures to him through the attractive power of his eyeballs, and then eat them.

8) Another meaning of the word karvura is “an extremely base level of sin”, or mahápátaka – that sin which cannot be expiated, such as treachery.

9) The word karvura can be used for any striped object such as a shirt, bird feather, tree leaves, etc. This kind of decora or croton plant [Codiaeum variegatum] will be called karvura.

10) If more than one colour remain in a mixed condition in one structure then that is also called karvura. For example, if a cow has a little black and a little white then we can call it a karvura-cow. You must have seen many karvura dogs.

11) If a tree or its leaves or its roots give off a pleasant smell then we can also call that tree karvura (for example, sandalwood, eucalyptus, dhúman).

12) That paddy which grows in more watery land or that paddy which matures a little late is called karvura paddy. In Bengal, sháli dhán or uŕki dhán is called karvura. It was given this name because at one time this paddy held a great attraction in the life of the people of Bengal.

Ám káṋt́áler bágán doba cháyáy cháyáy jete
Uŕki dháner muŕki doba pathe jal khete

[I will plant mangoes and jackfruit trees to give you shade/ I will give you muŕki [balls of puffed rice and molasses] made of uŕki dhán for your tiffin]

[I will give moyá [a sweet] made of sháli dhán to make the mother-in-law happy]

13) That tulsi leaf whose leaves are blackish, or whose leaves are completely encircled by black, or whose leaves are black on one side, or whose leaves have black spots, that is, broadly speaking, krśńa tulsi or rámtulsi, is called karvura (black basil).

15) Another name for “leech”, which is called jalaoká or jaloká or jalauká in Sanskrit, is karvurá. The word is derived by adding the suffix áp to the root word karvura. Keep in mind, karvurii doesn’t mean “leech”; it refers to the goddess Chinnamastá.

Since ancient times the two va’s have been used side by side. However, it is better if, among the two va’s, the first is vargiiya ba and the last is antahstha va.

The word comes from adding the suffix u’s to the root verb krś. Its etymological meaning is “that which is connected to agriculture”; its colloquial meanings are: (1) system of agriculture according to rules; (2) land superintendent; (3) one who tills naturally (cultivation with a plough); and (4) cow dung fertilizer.

(2) The Sanskrit word bháva has no direct English equivalent; in the following text it has been rendered as “cognition” but also carries the sense of “existence”, “essence”, “idea”, etc. – Trans.

(4) This same Dewan Raghunandan Mitra cut a canal virtually overnight from the Mathabhanga river in order to irrigate the parched lands of the zamindaris of Nadia. Since the water was stolen, that is, it was brought by theft, so to speak, the canal was known by the name of Cúrńii [stolen]. Now the Cúrńii canal is accepted as a river.

(5) In the author’s Calcutta garden there is black thorn-apple and different varieties of saptaparńa.

Kabala to Kaḿsári (Discourse 20)

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Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

Ka – meaning “water” or “head”. Ka + bal + ac = kabala. The word’s etymological meaning is “one whose power is in water” or “one who is invigorated in water”; or “one whose power is in the head” or “one whose head invigorates”. Colloquially, kabala means:

1) Mouthful; that is, as much as can be kept in the mouth at one time is a mouthful [grás]. You have perhaps seen in the almanac that an eclipse is sometimes full [púrńagrás] and sometimes partial [ardhagrás]. It is said that in this eclipse Ráhu has completely swallowed it, and in that eclipse Ráhu has partially swallowed it. What happens is that there is an eclipse whenever the moon or the sun is found in one portion of the umbra (in the original umbra) and ketu stands in exactly the seventh sign and concerning degree away from that umbra (“in whichever month, in whichever sign of the zodiac/in the seventh stands the moon/if there is a full moon on that day/ráhu is sure to come devouring”) The type of eclipse – whether complete or partial – is fixed according to which kalá of the sun or moon falls under that umbra. In the annular eclipse of the sun, the sun is considered to fall completely within the original umbra according to mathematical analysis. When the sun or moon passes through that portion of the umbra, it is thought that the sun or moon has come out from the severed portion of the beheaded Ráhu.⁽¹⁾ So now you have understood what the actual meaning of the word grás is. This word grás is derived by adding the suffix ghaiṋ to gran’s (grasi). Ka means “head”. Ráhu has swallowed the head-planet; thus we say that the sun or moon has fallen in the kabala of ráhu.

2) If someone falls within the range of any wicked animal or demon we say – “he has fallen in the tiger’s kabala” or “they have fallen into the demon’s kabala.”

3) The third meaning of kabala is “to keep both cheeks distended by filling the mouth with water”.

4) Another meaning of kabala is “to gargle with the help of the tongue or throat cavity”, that is, instead of saying tini gárgl karchen [he is gargling], proper Bengali will be tini kabala karchen.

5) Ka means “water”. One whose strength is in ka, that is, one whose strength diminishes as they ascend onto dry land is also kabala in the etymological sense. In this case, the colloquial meaning of kabala is bele mách [sand fish].

There are three feminine forms of the word kabala: kabalii, kabalá and kabaliká. The etymological meaning of the word kabaliká is “that which helps in exerting energy” or “that which saves one from another’s energetic blow”. Colloquially kabaliká means:

1) Imagine that you have prepared a shada in a wok [kaŕái]⁽²⁾ (raw or cooked vegetables are called shada)Now the wok has to be taken down from the stove. You don’t have any tongs, or even if you do the wok is so hot that it will still be difficult to take it down even with the help of the tongs. In this case you will use the two handles of the wok to take it off the stove, but if you grab the two handles with your bare hands then you will get blisters on your hands from the striking of the energy of the handles – from the effect of the heat. In that case, in order to save your hands from the effect of the fire or the heat, you will certainly protect your hands with a towel or cloth or gámchá or non-conductor of heat before grabbing the handles and taking down the wok. This non-conductor of heat we call kabaliká.

2) You are harvesting potatoes in a field. You are digging on this and that side of the partitions separating the fields. You feel pleasure pulling up the new potatoes but a little while later it fades because you get big blisters on your hands. You will certainly wrap some kind of cloth over your hands to protect your hands or fingers from those blisters. This is also kabaliká.

3) Any kind of implement or tool which protects your hands or fingers from blisters or suffering is also called kabaliká. Thus, in this sense, the handle [bánt́] of a knife or chopping knife or hammer is called kabaliká (bánt́ comes from bańt́ika and bant́i comes from bańt́iká⁽³⁾)

4) In ancient times a kind of cotton and cloth pad was used by warriors to protect their hands or fingers from blisters caused by rubbing while using a sword. This pad was called kabaliká.

5) That sheath that was used or is used to protect a sword from moisture in the air is called kabaliká (it was kept in it so that it would not rust).

6) Someone has a carbuncle in some part of their body. The doctor performs surgery on it. Afterwards, of course, he will not leave the operated part open; he will certainly cover it to protect it from external influences. This covering or bandage is also called kabaliká.

7) Living beings take birth over and over again in order to undergo the fruits of their actions, and over and over again they are devoured by death. The reactions in potentiality or reactive momenta that one imbibes by their original actions remain with them. Those reactive momenta draw them back again and again. These reactions in potentiality which are the cause of the next life are called saḿskára or prárabdha. The bondage of this prárabdha is also called kabaliká.

Previously it was accepted that the verbal roots br and vr were pronounced differently and had separate meanings, however today many people confuse the two. The meaning of the verbal root br is “to show honour”, “to receive with excellence”, “to welcome”. We get the word bara from this verbal root br. Bara means “excellent”. Although predominantly the átmanepadii verb form barayate is used, the parasmaepadii⁽⁴⁾ is also used. The words bara, barańa, barendra, bárendra come from this root.

The meaning of the verbal root vr is “to be engaged in work”, “to cover”, “to be covered”. If we take the word ka to mean “water”, then the etymological meaning of the word kavara is “that which keeps water covered”. If we take the word ka to mean “head”, then the etymological meaning of the word kavara is “that which keeps the head covered”. There are many colloquial meanings of the word kavara.

1) Many times, when it is not possible to tie the hair into braids, or for those who are unwilling to tie their hair in braids, or for those who for one reason or another are not permitted to make braids, the hair is usually twisted somewhat and tied behind the head. To tie in this way we call jhunt́i bándhá in Bengali. If this jhunt́i is tied on top of the head we call it opar-jhunt́i [upper jhunt́i]. Whether this jhunt́i is tied at the back or on the top, it is called kavara in refined Bengali [and Sanskrit]. In order to tie this kavara there is no need of any káiṋcaná (long hairpin) or kácan (a ribbon for tying the hair).

2) A cap is a covering for the head, so if we take ka to mean “head” then kavara also refers to “cap” or “headdress”. If we say “headdress” it means “cap”, “turban”, “crown” – all of these.

3) Often the hair becomes tangled for want of care. It also becomes tangled if it is not combed properly (Kankatiká: kankatiká → kankaiá → kánkai. Ciruńii is still called kánkai in Rarhi Bengali. In this sense a split [cerá] object is ciruńii. Ciruńii is native Bengali. Kánkai is a Sanskrit-derivative.) There are those who twist and tangle their hair to get oohs and aahs for this show of their own disinterestedness. If the hair remains twisted and tangled for a long time it ends up becoming matted hair.

Whether bound or loose, the word kavara can be used for all kinds of matted hair.

4) If different things are combined in a physical mixture or chemical compound where it becomes difficult to separate one from the other (for example, sugar and sand), then this kind of mixture or compound is called kavara.

5) When a new metal is produced as a result of mixing or intermingling or compounding two or more metals together (such as bell-metal, brass, guinea-gold or gold alloy, bronze, Khágŕa bell-metal), then that new metal is also called kavara or kavaradhátu. To turn this kavara metal back into its original metals is extremely difficult. Most often, then, ornaments of guinea-gold are turned into alloyed gold. High quality, bejewelled ornaments do not carry as much value for their gold as they do as ornaments. Such type of gold is usually turned into alloyed gold.

6) There are a few such plants which have a predominance of salty sap, for example, nune shák (in Sanskrit lonii). We also call them kavara.

8) Those mineral salts that we find in the water of certain places (such as Bakreshvara, Siitákuńd́a) and in other materials is also called kavara.

9) The thick portion of the leaves (what the people call pet́o in spoken Bengali) attached to that middle portion of the bole of the banana tree which we call t́hoŕ in spoken Bengali is also called kavara.

10) Those fruits which are used as food are collectively known as kavara. The trees of those fruits are also called kavara.

11) The word kavara is also used for a fruit garden or orchard; however in this case the suffix t́á is added to the root word, that is, when we use the word kavara for orchard then we use it in its feminine form, or kavará (like the word latá).

12) Asafoetida is called kavara because it acts as a medicine for head ailments when taken in moderation.⁽⁵⁾ The asafoetida tree is also called kavara. Keep in mind that asafoetida [him’] and hiuṋgul are not the same thing. Asafoetida is a spice that grows mostly in the northwest frontier of India and in Pakistan. However if it is planted in the soil of Bengal it can also grow well in Bengal. Hiuṋgul means “vermilion”. You are aware that there is also a river in the western part of our Birbhum District which goes by the name of Hiuṋgulá (Hiḿlo). The colour of the water of this river is a little reddish so our forefathers named it in this way. The Hiuṋgulá is a tributary of the Ajay River.

13) The leaves of the asafoetida tree are also called kavara, but in this case the word is feminine in gender, that is, one should say kavará rather than kavara.

14) You know that certain aquatic weeds keep the water covered in such a way that from a distance the water can’t be seen. It appears to be a patch of greenery. This is especially true if there are large aquatic weeds in the water like water hyacinth. Although it is a bit off the subject, I will point out that the water hyacinth is not originally from Bengal or India. During British rule, Mr. Lee, the Divisional Commissioner of Dhaka, once went to South America. His wife, Mrs. Lee, felt some attraction when she saw its purple flowers on top of its large green leaves, and when she returned to Bengal she brought it with her and planted it in the lotus pond near their government quarters in Dhaka. In a very short time the water hyacinth spread throughout Dhaka District and thereafter throughout Bengal, and nowadays it has spread throughout almost all of India. Its leaves are quite large, puffed up somewhat like a kacuri [a deep-fried, puffed bread], so the people of Bengal gave that aquatic plant the name kacuri páná. Another meaning of the word kavara is this water hyacinth.

15) A bun (juŕá in north India and Hindi) adorns the head, thus a bun is also called kavara, but on account of its loveliness the word is considered to be feminine, but in this case the feminine iip is added rather than t́á making kavarii rather than kavará.

16) In the Vedic age there was the customary practice of pulling out grey hair with the help of pincers, so pincers used to be called kavara.

17) Foodstuffs are kept covered to keep out dust, flies and so on, and to protect them from cats and other animals or birds. Such a lid is also called kavara, but in this case the feminine diminutive form of kavara is used, that is, a lid is called kavariká.

18) If something is affixed tightly to something else, such as a diamond-set ring, a pearl-studded necklace or pearl-studded earring, then the word kavara is also used in this sense of inlaying or insetting. For example muktá-kavara aunguriiyaka [pearl-studded ring], hiiraka-kavara mańihára [diamond-studded necklace], padmarága-kavara karńapat́t́a [ruby-inlaid gold-earring], and so on.

19) If a metal is coated with something else, or enamelled, or gilded, or plated, then this is also called kavara. For example, we can call a gold-plated wristlet a svarńakavara hastalaohika.

20) The word kavara is also used for all those small aquatic weeds [páná] which cover water. (That which stays in water (pánii) is called páná, “aquatic weeds”. Again, that which is drunk (pán kará) is also called páná; páná means sarvat [a sweet drink made from syrup], for example, bel páná.) However, in this case kavariká will be used as the feminine diminutive form. Dámapáná, t́opá páná, pát́á páná – for all of these the single Bengali word is kavariká.

21) That round fruit whose juice is sweet and sour, and which is originally from Bokhara we call álubokhará in ordinary Bengali. We have been familiar with this álubokhrá fruit for a very long time. Its Sanskrit, as well as refined Bengali, name is kavariká.

Although the word kabr was equally common in ancient times in both Iran and Arabia, the word is Arabic in origin. Kabr means “to bury underground” or “to inter”. This grave or tomb is known as mrtsamádhi in refined Bengali [and Sanskrit]. That place in which someone is buried [kabr deoyá] is called kabrgáh.

Ku + i = kavi. The etymological meaning of the word is “one who sees the expressed world, or ku, with the affection felt for one’s child”, that is, one who desires the welfare of the world of living beings. The colloquial meanings of the word kavi are:

1) Tattvadraśt́á [seer of tattva]. The word tattva means “the bháva [essence or existence] of the essential root entity hidden within every entity”. Tattvadraśt́á means “one who sees tattva through supreme knowledge”. It is the old, original meaning of the word kavi [poet]. If there is no inner sight then there is no kavi. A metred composition about cigarettes and grog and snack food cannot be called poetry, and its composer is not considered, and cannot be considered to be a kavi. From this point of view, those past messengers of human civilization, those Vedic sages who came from age to age to supply inspiration for human beings to move along the path of consciousness, those great souls who have taken birth in different countries and at different times, are called kavi – in English, “seer”. The word kavi used to be used with this meaning in the old Vedic language. From the mouth of a Vedic sage has come:

Uttiśt́hata jágrata prápya barán nibodhata;
Kśurasya dhárá nishitá duratyayá durgaḿ pathastat kavayo vadanti.⁽⁶⁾

That is – “Arise, awake, approach a proper ácárya [spiritual teacher]. Get proper teaching from a worthy seer because this path of shreya [virtue] must be trod with the greatest caution. Bear in mind that one will have to move with understanding because the path is as if it were strewn with sharp razors.” Kavi means a tattvadraśt́á sage, not a cigarette-grog-snack food merchant.

2) The second meaning of the word kavi is “one who, inspired by the thought of welfare, searches for the original cause in different spheres”. In this case, kavi does not merely mean “philosopher”; that philosopher is a kavi who has the thought of welfare hidden within them.

3) Another meaning of the word kavi is “highly educated person”. However, this highly educated person will be called kavi if it is seen that they possess the thought of welfare for the world of living beings.

4) Another meaning of the word kavi is “wise or learned persons who have dedicated themselves to the service of living beings”.

5) In modern times kavi refers to a writer of poetry. However, the fundamental strain is the thought of welfare; thus one who writes poetry but is not inspired by the thought of welfare cannot be called kavi according to the prevalent meaning.

6) Yet another meaning of the word kavi is “composer of songs” or “songwriter”. What was said about the composer of poetry is applicable in precisely the same way to the composer of songs, that is, according to the modern meaning we can call a songwriter kavi if karmmaná manasá vácá [through action, thought and vocal expression] is done with welfare in mind.

7) The human being’s sight is attracted by the colourful radiance of Venus in the evening time. For this reason, it is called the “evening star”. It is a planet, not a star, but in spoken Bengali it is mistakenly called a star. This same planet is called shukatárá at the end of the night (shukra → shukka → shuka). Because the human mind is gratified on account of its colourful radiance, one name of this shukatárá is also kavi. In our childhood in Bihar we used to sit in a small village and sing: Ádhii lálii ádhelii nillá/jará saphedii jará sá kálá [Half is red, half is blue, some part is white, the other part is black.]. The planet Venus has attracted human sight since ancient times due to its colourful radiance.

8) In olden times there was a community of people called Asuras who lived in central Asia. Certain branches and subbranches of this Asura community still exist today in India in small numbers in the Gondowana region, especially in the Palamu-Sarguja areas. The Asuras had many qualities, many merits, but they had no one to lead them properly. Shukracharya was the name of a learned and wise man who came forward to help these neglected people despite the abuse that was heaped on his head. Kavi also refers to this Shukracharya. He introduced many kinds of battle tactics and composed many rules and regulations to build a nice society. During the time of the Deva-Asura war, he saved the Asuras from destruction through proper counsel. He also pursued scientific knowledge. According to many people he was the first person to make distilled wine. Devásuraeryuddhakále Shukrena parinirmitam [It was made by Shukracárya during the battle between the gods and the demons].

9) Our little planet earth, one among others in this solar system, derives its vital force from the sun. Its origin was in the sun and its place is in the sun’s light and heat. The sun supplies its vital energy. Within the sun is hidden the source of erudition. The sun’s material energy brings into existence the living being’s inner development through mental clash and spiritual practice. During the flow of pratisaiṋcara⁽⁷⁾ matter is being transformed into consciousness at each and every moment. In the scriptures it has been said:

10) Maharshi Valmiki is historically famous for his several uncommon qualities. Among these qualities was his unusual firmmindedness. According to tradition, he practised austerities for a long time and his body remained so immobile for many days during this period that an anthill was raised around his body.⁽⁸⁾

Another quality of Maharshi Valmiki was his reputation as the first poet, and with this the rare affection that the people held for him. The history of his poetic works began when he was distressed by seeing the pain of a injured heron. This history took tangible form in the great poetic work, the Ramayana. The reward for his fame was the appellation, Mahákavi [great poet], as the first writer of poetry. Since then kavi has referred to Maharshi Valmiki in Sanskrit.

11) Creation, preservation and destruction together make the world. The creation flows from beginninglessness to endlessness. Within creation is hidden the seed of preservation as well as the thought of nourishing. Within this preservation and nourishing lies the potential of annihilation. After annihilation, the saḿskára-bound living being is created anew within the thoughtwaves of the Great, and the Cosmic imagination, the Cosmic will, moves ahead maintaining a link with this creation. Thus the future prospects of that flow remain merged with this creation right from the outset through otaprota yoga. In the Puranic language, the name that has been given to the director of this creation is Brahmá. The flow of mobility emanates from Him for the welfare of the flow of the living being. Because the thought of welfare is awakened, one name of Brahmá is kavi, that is, kavi also means the Puranic god Brahmá.

We get the word kasha (kaśa) by adding the suffix ac to kash (kaś). The word kasha (kaśa) means “cane-plant” or “rattan-plant”. Its feminine form is kashá/kaśá. Kashá means “cane”. Kashá (kaśá) + ágháta [blow]= kashágháta (kaśágháta). The word means “caning”.

Kash (kaś) + i = kashi (kaśi). Kashi (kaśi) means “food” (it can also mean “cooked rice”).

Kashii (kaśii) means “seed in immature state” or “the soft, inner part of the seed”.

The meaning of the verbal root kaś or kash is “to rub”, “to give pain”, “to hurt”, “to move about or wander about while being thrown in trouble”. The meaning of the verbal root kas is “to handle”, “to move about”, “to be animated with vital force”. By adding the suffix kta to this kaś (kash) we get the word kaśt́a [difficulty]. Its etymological meaning is “to undergo friction, pain, injury, trouble,” etc. The proper spelling of kaś (kash) with the suffix kta was kaśta/kashta but the cerebral śa and the palatal sha belong to the palatal varńa. Their conjunction with the dental ta is contrary to phonetic science. For this reason it must be spelled kaśt́a rather than kaśta/kashta. T́a is a cerebral letter, thus it has a natural conjunction with the cerebral śa.

By adding the suffix ktin to kaś (kash) we get the word kaśt́i. In this case, according to the system of inflections, the spelling should have been kaśti/kashti, but according to phonetic science it is kaśt́i, not kaśti/kashti, because, as I have just said, a dental letter cannot make a conjunction with cerebral or palatal letter.

The etymological meaning of the word kaśt́i is “that which falls into difficulty”. Colloquially kaśt́i means:

1) A great test – what is called “test of fire”. Some people believe that perhaps “test of fire” means to undergo a test by going into a fire. No, it is not that. A “test of fire” means a test whose difficulty is comparable to a burning fire. Those kinds of tests which force a person to struggle to their utmost are called “tests of fire” or kaśt́i. The test of fire that Sita underwent in Valmiki’s poetic work, the Ramayana, was such a kaśt́i.

2) To be tried in court is called kaśt́i because there also a person has to suffer various difficulties, such as economic hardship, mental anguish, and physical and mental labour. “He is to face trial” – its proper Bengali translation would be táke kaśt́ir sammukhiin hate habe. You can use the word kaśt́i with this meaning, and you can also request the court authorities to use the word kaśt́i in this way.

3) Another meaning of the word kaśt́i is “to fall into great trouble or great danger”.

4) Yet another meaning of the word kaśt́i is “to be surrounded by enemies”.

6) The stone on which one rubs gold in order to determine its purity is called kaśt́i or kaśt́iprastara [prastara means “stone”]. One meaning of the word kaśt́i was “to rub”. Gold is rubbed on that stone, thus this stone has been rightly given the name kaśti or kaśt́i-stone.

Kas + i = kasi. Kasi means “food, boiled rice” (Any kind of cooked rice, regardless of whether it is boiled or sun-heated, is odanam; the rice used to make puffed rice is called kasi).

Kasipu means “food and clothes”.⁽⁹⁾ The word hirańyakasipu means “one whose food and clothes is hirańya, that is, gold”. In other words, one who is extremely wealthy. The name Hirańyakasipu can also carry the meaning of “one who is so miserly that they consider food and clothes to be very costly, like gold, and so spend their days in great difficulty”.

According to the Puranic story, Hirańyakasipu’s brother’s name was Hirańyákśa, which means etymologically “eyes of gold”. Colloquially it means: a) one whose eyes are golden-coloured, or tawny, b) one whose eyes only go out in search of gold, and c) one who was so greedy that they didn’t want to see anything other than gold.

The verbal root kae means “to shout monstrously” or “to give an ear-splitting cry”. By adding the suffix kan to the verbal root kae we get the word káka whose etymological meaning is “one who shouts in an ugly way”. Bhola Mayra [literary character] has said, has he not? – If the cawing of crows and the beating of drums cease, it is good.

1) The ordinary crow that we commonly see. According to biologists, the crow is not a very old bird. This half-carnivorous bird (it has an equal fondness for both vegetarian and non-vegetarian food) is renowned for its intelligence. In Bihar it is said, Manukhme (one writes it manuś but pronounces it manukh) naová, cinŕai me kaová [“Among humans, the barber, and among birds, the crow”] – that is, among human beings the most intelligent are the barbers, and among birds, the crow. Their solidarity is also praiseworthy.

2) The second meaning of the word káka is “brazen” or “shameless”. Shameless people, shouting like a crow, often say such things that courteous people would not say out of modesty. I am not talking about drunkards. Thus, whether one is in normal condition or drunk, a shameless person is called káka. The word beháyá [shameless] is of Farsi origin. Be means “no”; one who has no háyá [shame] is beháyá.

3) Bad-tempered people often start shouting like a crow for no reason. If you ask a peaceable person, “Excuse me, sir, where does the number fifteen bus leave from?” he will give you the right answer, but a bad-tempered person will shout – “Is it my job to keep track of where the number fifteen bus leaves from! Why are you wasting my valuable time by asking me such questions? Why are you bothering me with these questions!” The word káka is used to refer to such bad-tempered people.

4) The custom of performing sacrifices was especially prevalent among the Aryans in olden times in every sphere of life. The yajiṋad́umbar or ud́umbar was among those trees that used to be used as sacred firewood for these sacrifices. For this reason, out of appreciation, respect or necessity, there are thirty-one words for yajiṋad́umbar. Káka also means yajiṋad́umbar.

5) Puṋi shák [a variety of spinach] was a favourite food of both the Aryans and non-Aryans. Of course, red puṋi was shunned as a non-sentient food but white and green puṋi were real favourites. In addition to being good for colic, puṋi’s many qualities have been spoken about in the old scriptures. In the Vedic language, puni shák was called upadiiká or amrtavallarii – in Laokik Sanskrit, potakii, potikii, putiká, kákalatá, and several other words. Thus káka also means puni shák – in English, “spinach”, or “potherb”.

6) If there are large trees then sounds are produced – the sound of the branches, the sound of the leaves, the sound of the birds who live in the tree, and so on. Thus káka also means “large tree”.

7) All varieties of medicinal trees are called káka, for example, beŕelá, ashvagandhá, punarnavá, hogweed, etc.

8) All varieties of venomous trees, such as máchmárá, kalke, nux vomica, datura, are also called káka.

11) Earlier I mentioned that the solidarity of crows is praiseworthy. If someone kills a single crow then within a short period of time a great number of crows will gather there and try to collectively harass the killer. When crows gather somewhere in a group, that assembly of crows is also called káka, but the word for this assembly of crows is feminine plural, that is, kákáh (like the plural form of latá).

Bear in mind, the paternal uncle (father’s brother or younger brother) is called káká in Bengali. This is neither a Sanskrit, Sanskrit-derived, nor a native Bengali word. The word is of Farsi origin. Both the pronunciations káká and kaká are correct. A paternal-uncle killer is called kákákush, just as one who kills oneself is called khudkush. The abstract nouns are kákákushii, khudkushii (suicide), etc.

Just as the word káká is prevalent in Bengali for paternal uncle, similarly the word cacá is also prevalent. This cacá is also neither a Sanskrit, Sanskrit-derived, nor a native Bengali word. It is originally Hindustani. It has come into Bengali in its proper form cacá from Urdu. Cácá is both misspelled and mispronounced. Similarly, it is cacii, not cácii. The pure Bengali word for paternal uncle is khuŕá. This is a Sanskrit-derivative; it has come from kśullatáta. Khuŕá/ khuŕii are not used as much nowadays as they were in old Bengali.

12) Anyone who thinks that the vanity bag has only been used by modern folk is greatly mistaken. The fact that women have been attracted to beautiful dress since ancient times is not at all blameworthy, but anything in excess is. Whatever the case may be, in ancient times girls used to have a variety of vanity bags and they used to be called káka. The word is neuter in gender, thus one must say kákaḿ rather than káka. If it is at the end of a sentence, or else before a vowel, one says kákam, otherwise it is kákaḿ.

There is no real need to use such a long word as “vanity bag”; kákaḿ will do.

13) Another meaning of the word káka is nimbaphala [neem-fruit]. To refer to the neem fruit we need to say nimbaphala, but if the word káka is used then there is no need to add the word phala [fruit], that is, the word káka means “neem-fruit”. If we say kákaphala then its meaning becomes “neem-fruit fruit” which is laughable. If one says, káka nimphala khácche [the crow is eating neem-fruit], it becomes kákah kákaḿ bhakśayati in Sanskrit.

14) Many of you perhaps know that a kind of fruit known as káuphala grows in Tripura, Noyakhali, Chittagong, and the Indian-Burmese border. This káuphal is also called kákaphala, that is, the word káuphal has come from the word kákaphala.

15) Any bitter juicy thing is called káka. “Bitter juice” or “bitter taste” is also called káka.

16) Among those persons who want to do harm to others or go out in order to do others harm, those who are especially cunning are called káka.

17) The word káka is used for one branch of measurement. The measurement of gold as well as the measurement of any cheap, bulky object is also called káka. However, for the measurement of cheap, bulky objects the word káhan is better-liked than the word káka. The Bengali word káhan [a unit of measure = 1280] has come from this word kákan. Ka káhan khaŕ becle [How many káhans of straw did you sell?]. Such expressions are often heard in village areas.

19) There is one kind of community which has been around since olden times; they are called “nudists”, that is, this “nudism” is an old doctrine. According to them, remaining naked is a completely natural thing. When all other living creatures remain naked then why should human beings wear clothes! The Jain tiirthauṋkar Varddhamán Maháviira is called nirgrantha⁽¹⁰⁾ which used to refer indirectly to this nudism. He himself also did not use clothes. In Rarh and other parts of India, wherever you find Jain Digambar [an appellation of Shiva] statues in the temples they are all naked. Anyhow, one meaning of káka is “nudist” or “naked”.

20) Káka also means “tilak mark”. One name for that special kind of line which is drawn or imprinted on the forehead, nose, throat, arm or chest – or tilak – is káka.

21) Káka especially refers to the mark (rasakali) which is painted up from the nose [a Vaishnava practice].

22) That particular tilak that was especially marked for kings – or rájatilak – is also called káka.

24) The existential emblem of any particular organization or institution is also called káka, for example, the emblem of Darbhanga was the fish. The emblem of Mayurbhaiṋja was the peacock. The old name of this kingdom was Bhaiṋjabhúma, but because the peacock [mayúr] was its emblem, the people used to call it Mayúrbhaiṋja.

26) Káka also means “disfigured”. For example, one who has no fingers – in spoken Bengali we say nulo; for one who has no hands – in spoken Bengali we say t́hunt́o; one who has no lips – in spoken Bengali, ganná-kát́á; one who has no nose or whose nose is absolutely snub or flat – in spoken Bengali, boncá (Bear in mind, boncá and khándá are not the same. Khándá means “one who is a little snub-nosed”). The word káka has also come to be used for this “disfigured”.

27) Whether out of fear of the cold, or laziness, or out of a fondness for slovenliness – some people will say due to a lack of time – if somebody merely wets their head and washes their face with a little soap, then afterwards dresses themselves smartly, puts some sweet-scented oil in their hair, a little make-up on their face and then goes out, this kind of merely-washing-the-head is called kákasnán [snán means “bath”].

28) If someone, on the instructions of a physician or for some other reason, wets a towel in hot water and scrubs down their body rather than pouring water and taking a proper bath – what is called “sponge bath” – then this kind of half-bath is also called kákasnán. If someone has everything necessary for a bath but for some reason or another simply takes a single dip in the water, then this kind of single-dip bath is also called kákasnán, perhaps because crows also bathe in a similar way. When I was a child I used to hear the older people say:

Ek d́ube kák d́ube
Ek d́ube muci
Dui d́ube shuci
Tin d́ube várań
Cáre avagáhan

[With one dip, with a crow dip/with one dip, a cobbler/with two dips, clean/with three dips, an elephant/with four, a bath.]

Várań means “elephant”. Some people have the conception that at the time of taking a bath elephants dip their head three times, all at the same time. After a short pause they dip their head again three times. Thus this dipping-the-head-three-times-in-succession bath used to be called várań-snán or várańii-snán.

29) Another meaning of the word káka is “jurisdiction”. For example, small trees can’t grow if they come within the káka of a large tree.

30) Another meaning of the word káka is “a receptacle for carrying food and drink”, or “tray”. The kind of container, or tray, which is used in an office or court for keeping files is also called káka.

31) Another meaning of the word káka is “land border”. The line where one state or one person’s land ends and another state or another person’s land begins, is called káka (the word pagár used to be used in old Bengali).

32) Káka also refers to an island situated in a river or sea, especially if that island is not especially large.

Although it is not directly káka, the meaning of the word káka is sometimes bound up with the meaning of compound words where the first word is káka. A few examples of such words are also given below:

1) Kákacaiṋcu: If the lips (both the upper and the lower lip) are pursed and air is either drawn in or expelled from those pursed lips it is called kákacaiṋcu mudrá.

2) Kákajyotsná: If the moonlight is really sparkling and brilliant then it seems a little like daytime when you see it. Sometimes when crows see such moonlight they become confused and start crying ká ká. This kind of moonlight is called kákajyotsná [jyotsná means “moonlight”].

3) Kákatáliiya: If two occurrences very nearly coincide and it becomes difficult to determine which happened before and which after, this is called kákatáliiya. For example, there is a ripe palm fruit on the palm tree and there is also a crow sitting on the palm tree. The crow flies away and the palm fruit also drops to the ground with a thud. This circumstance is called kákatáliiya.

4) Kákapuccha: The etymological meaning of the word kákapuccha is “crow’s tail”; its colloquial meaning is “the Indian variety of cuckoo”.

5) Kákabhúśańd́ii: In the Puranic story Kákabhúśańd́ii knew the past, present and future. Thus, in olden times any profoundly wise person used to be called kákabhúśańd́ii out of respect. Nowadays the word kákabhúśańd́ii is mostly used in a joking way.

6) Kákar: The kákar is a medium-sized deer of the Sundarban jungle whose call somewhat resembles the cry of a crow. The word kákar, however, is not like the word kánkar [gravel]. The word kánkar has come from the Sanskrit word kankara. There are kánkar mines in Birbhum, Bankura and Purulia Districts. This gravel needs to be commissioned fairly in industry.

The word kánkan bears no relationship to kákar. The word kánkan has come from kankana. In Rarhi Bengali both kánkan and káḿgan are prevalent. In Sanskrit it is kankana.

7) Kákarúhá: The meaning of the word kákarúha is “that which has been planted by káka”. Its feminine form is kákarúhá. Kákarúhá means “orchid”. The kind of plant that takes shelter on another plant and draws sustenance (chiefly water with salts) from that plant with the help of its own roots, which grows, flowers and in certain cases gives fruit also, that kind of plant is called “orchid” (not “parasite”). In Sanskrit it is kákarúhá; in Rarhi Bengali it is called lat́ká because it hangs [lat́ke] from another plant. In the Chatisgarhi language, this orchid is called kaovájoŕii. A parasite is called bendá (parabhrta [fostered by a stranger]) by some people).

The principal difference between parasite and orchid is that while the parasite is within the shelter of the host plant it procures its vital energy from it and as a result the parasite’s host may lose its life-force. The orchid, on the other hand, takes primarily the liquid portion; most of the rest of its sustenance it gathers from the environment. Thus the growth of the orchid does not cause the host plant so much harm.

The parasite does not have its own roots. It draws vital juices directly from the host plant. The orchid has its own roots and with the help of those roots it draws vital juices. Since the parasite does not have its own roots, if it is pulled from the host it dies, but the orchid does not die if it is pulled from the host. If it is bound to another plant, a brick, some wood, or a stone, and if meanwhile a little water is given, then it survives and blooms.

Compared to ordinary flowers, the orchid’s flower is often much longer lived. On the Bangaon-Calcutta road I once pulled an orchid from a shishu tree and brought it to my Calcutta garden. The plant is still healthy. Its number has increased and it has flowered several times. A single flower remains in full bloom for twenty to twenty-one days at a stretch; it almost seems like a paper flower. I have given the name vauṋgaduhitá to this specific variety of orchid. In Rarhi Bengali it is called lat́ká because although it isn’t part of the tree, it hangs from the tree. Although spices are not part of the food, they “hang” from vegetables and other foods, both in the physical sense and in the olfactory sense as well. Thus, in ancient Rarh spices were called lat́kan. Still in certain parts of Rarh a cooking-spice shop is called a lat́kan shop.

Meghalay, Sikkim (Sukhim), and various other parts of the Himalayas are famous for orchids, or kákarúhá. I also once had the opportunity to become closely acquainted with the Himalayan kákarúhá.

Winter was on its way out and spring was fast approaching. I was on my way from Jammu to Bilaspur in Himachal Pradesh. We left at daybreak and would arrive in the evening, about eight at night. The entire journey was through the Himalayas and on the way I became acquainted with the Himalayas, the soul of the gods, its very essence filling every corner of the human mind, causing human beings to fall ardently in love with its icy crown.

We started from Jammu at dawn. The road was up and down the whole way. This was the Jammu whose history stretches back to the Yajurvedic era. This was the first part of India that the Aryans colonized. One of its names is Jambushilá, or rose-apple coloured stone, for the particles of gold that are scattered here and there in this part of the Himalayas; they look a little like rose-apple, hence the name Jambushilá. From this comes the name of the region, Jambu (jambu → jammu), and from the name Jambu comes the name of all of India, from the ocean to the Himalayas – Jambudviipa.

The northernmost border of the territory of Jambu is the Pamir mountain range; to south, Kanyakumari; to the west, Iran; and to the east, Suvarńadviipa – the name of this vast land expanse is Jambudviipa. When the Aryans came here they chose this region as their first colony. Seeing the abundant potential for procuring food and clothes and so forth, the Aryans gave it the name Bháratakhańd́a. We live, and have been fed and clothed in Jambudviipa’s Bháratakhańd́a.

We were journeying from Jammu to the central part of Himachal Pradesh, that is, Bilaspur. It was a rock-strewn landscape. In the middle of this rocky tract of land were two huge lakes, thus another name for the territory of Jammu was Dvigartabhúmi [land of two cavities], whose derived form in Bengali is Duggardesh (dvigarta → duiggara → duggar). Out of great respect, people have used the adjective d́ográ for the extremely courageous and straightforward people of Jammu, and their Paeshácii Prákrta-descended language has been given the name D́ogrii.

The city of Jammu is quite ancient. There are several other places in India with the name Jammu, so in order to distinguish this Jammu from them the city is called Jammu-Tawi. Tawi is the name of a local river. The Aryans discovered gold in the sand particles of several rivers in this Jammu territory. Since they discovered gold in the rivers of Jammu, they also gave gold the name jámbunada [nada means “river”].

We had now started from this Jammu. Up until the pre-Pathan era, Jammu was an independent kingdom. In olden times Sanskrit, and after that, Dogri, were its local languages. Dogri’s script is a central Indian form of Sáradá script. In ancient India, after the demise of both the Bráhmii and Kharośt́hii scripts, three different scripts sprang up in three different parts of India: (1) The Kut́ilá script in Allahabad and east of there; (2) Sáradá to the northwest of Allahabad; and (3) Náradá or Nágrii in the southwest. Sáradá means “Sarasvatii”, the goddess of knowledge. The Brahmans of this region are known as Sárasvata Brahmans – they are called this for their erudition. These Sárasvata Brahmans used to live principally in southern Russia, Afghanistan, Kashmir, Jammu and the Saptanada Kingdom [Punjab]. The Sáradá script was prevalent in this territory. Just as there were three branches of Sárasvata Brahmans – Kashmir Sárasvata, Dogri Sárasvata and Saptanada (Punjabi) Sárasvata – there were also three branches of Sáradá script – Kashmiri Sáradá, central Indian or Dogri Sáradá, and southern Indian or Punjabi Sáradá. In all of these areas Sanskrit has been written, learned and taught in this Sáradá script since very ancient times.

The people of the kingdom of Kashmir were not familiar with Farsi script until the time of Kashmir’s Queen Didda. The Farsi language, and after that the Urdu language, were introduced here at the time of Queen Didda. Earlier I mentioned that Jammu had been an independent, autonomous kingdom since ancient times. It is true that at the time of Kashmir’s King Shauḿkarvarmá, and at the time of Lalitáditya Muktapiida,⁽¹¹⁾ that is, every once in a while, Jammu was incorporated into Kashmir. During the time of Akbar, Jammu and Kashmir were under the sovereignty of the Mughal court, but in name only. Kashmir, along with Jammu and Afghanistan, fell under the control of the Punjabi chief, Ranjit Singh. After the last Sikh war, that is, after the fall of Queen Jhindan when Punjab came under British control, the British did not take upon themselves the burden of ruling all of Afghanistan. Rather they kept some part of Afghanistan in their own hands for military reasons. That portion they joined to India and gave it the name Northwest Frontier Territory with its capital at Peshawar (its old name was Puruśapura). The major portion of Afghanistan, however, they returned to the local Muslim Kings of that time; for example, they returned the kingdom of Mahiishúr to the descendants of the former king of that region.

The British did not want to retain rule over Kashmir and Jammu themselves. Since the old royal house of Kashmir had died out, it was not possible to return it to the descendants of that dynasty. Thus they sold Kashmir and Jammu to a certain D́ográ chieftain – Golap Singh. After that Jammu became a native kingdom of India. The kingdom’s name became Jammu and Kashmir; its summer capital was Srinagar and its winter capital was Jammu. The Kashmir that is spoken about in Kalhan’s Rájataraunginii is not the old land of Kashmir. It is about Kashmir without Jammu.

Sáradámat́hamárabhya kunkumádritat́ántakah
Távat Kashmiiradeshasyat paiṋcáshat yojanátmakah

[The entire area, fifty yojanas in all, lying between the Sáradá Mát́ha and Kumkum Mountain was known as Kashmiira.]

Maharaja Ranjit Singh made efforts to develop the Dogri language along with trying to make it the official government language. However, by that time Urdu and Farsi had become so thoroughly intertwined into the social fabric of Kashmir and Jammu that it ended up being impossible to dislodge them and establish the Dogri language and script.

We were heading from west to east, the road passing through an almost completely mountainous area. However, that small portion of the Punjab that we passed through was more or less level. Two districts of the Punjab fell in that part of the road: Pathankot and Hoshiarpur.

We were travelling from west to east. From the land of sunset to the land of sunrise, taking the sunbeam particles of the evening radiance with us into the luminous presence of the rising sun, travelling, travelling, travelling.

Nowadays, both Jammu and Kashmir are inhabited by people belonging to the Aryan community but their ancient inhabitants belonged to the Kash tribe. The meaning of the word kash/kaś is “those who move about or wander a lot”. The members of the Kash tribe never used to remain long in one place. They used to shift from place to place according to the severity of the cold, thus they were called Kash. There were greater numbers of Kash in the north, that is, Kashmir, and less toward Jammu. In this sense the land of the Kash becomes kash + meru, Kashmeru – Kashmir.

Those people who were descended from the Aryans and made their home in Kashmir belonged to the Mediterranean community. They have pale white skin, either black or blue eyes and hair, and are of medium stature. The people who made their home in the Jammu part were chiefly Alpine and secondarily Nordic. Their skin colour is pale reddish and they are rather tall. Their similarity to the Punjabi people in appearance, manners and language is especially noteworthy.

The Dogra and Kashmiri communities live nearer each other and in a much closer way in Dora District than around Banihal. The name of the common spoken language of this district is Bhádruvái; it is actually a mixed form of the Dogri and Kashmiri languages. However, Kashmiri is also spoken in the part of the district which borders on Kashmir; Dogri is spoken as well in the remaining portion, near the province of Jammu. From the anthropological point of view, the people of this area are a blending of both. They possess a beautiful combination of valour and intellectuality – the radiance of the diamond with the fragrance of the campak.

The language of the first part of our journey was Dogri. The principal language of Himachal Pradesh’s Kullu valley is Dogri. The language of Himachal Pradesh’s Kangra and the Punjab’s Hoshiarpur and Pathankot is Punjabi. Just behind us lay western Punjab’s Shialkot; its language, however, is Dogri.

The language of western Punjab’s Muzaffarbad is a mixture of Punjabi and Kashmiri. The language of the region that our path took us through after passing the Kangra Valley is Páhaŕi. A little to our north on the left-hand side was Laddak. The language of Laddak is Laddáki. Laddáki is a western dialect of the Tibetan language. The Laddaki script, whose historical name is T́egŕii, is a local edition of Tibetan script. There is some resemblance between this script and Kut́ilá, or Bengali script. I have seen this script in the Buddhist temples in the mountainous regions of Sikkim and Darjeeling. The Buddhist priests recite mantras from scriptures written in this script.

During the time of Kashmir’s King Golap Singh, his commander-in-chief, Jarawar Singh, attacked the Tibetan capital, Lhasa, and finally, according to the stipulations of the treaty, Tibet (Kimpuruśavarśa) ceded the province of Laddak to the King of Kashmir, and along with that made a pledge to send a yearly tribute of gold coins to the Kashmiri court. From then on Laddak became a part of Kashmir.

Kimpuruśavarśa, or Tibet, starts a little to the east of Laddak. The area where Mount Kailash and Manas Sarowar are today was part of Jambudviipa’s Bháratakhańd́a at the time of the composition of the Viśńu Puráńa, that is, it wasn’t Tibet or Kimpuruśavarśa. Later on, Mount Kailash and Manas Sarowar were incorporated into Tibet. The relationship between India and Tibet has been quite cordial since very ancient times.

We were travelling from west to east. Sometimes our car practically passed right over the top of the mountains, sometimes alongside them, and sometimes it skirted the serrated furrows of the cultivated mountain fields. The driver of the car was Shrii Kuldip Sharma. Sharmajii was a child of the Saptasindhu. After the country was partitioned he came over here – the people of that country are refugees in this one. Such a twist of fate!

Driving a car through these serpentine mountain roads is not a trifling affair. Sharmajii was a skilful driver. He drove his vehicle beautifully.

The car kept on, sometimes passing through vast, verdant forests crowded with towering trees, sometimes disturbing the meditative tranquillity of the sparsely wooded, rocky peaks, and sometimes making us completely losing track of our passage in the beautiful greenery.

Between two mountains lay a deep, deep valley, thick with young, green grass. Through it ran a silvery small mountain stream, curved like a scimitar. Migratory birds were flying overhead; the time had come for them to return home. In winter, great flocks of migratory birds abandon the extreme cold of Siberia, Outer Mongolia, western China and Tibet, and head south, crossing over rivers and mountains, in search of warmth. Most of the birds that we could see there were from other countries. Although birds of the flamingo group were in the greatest number, there were also various other kinds of birds, such as dhanuśes, argalas, vultures, black swans, red swans, and eagles as well. Some of them had coloured tufts a little like the cockatoo.

There are crowds of these birds gathered round wherever there are lakes or ponds in the valley. One interesting thing I noticed is that the birds would not approach the edges of those mountain peaks around us that were covered in snow because they had left their own countries and come here in order to escape contact with the snow as well as the snowstorms.

These birds remain here for the winter; they build their nests, lay their eggs and wait for them to hatch, and then teach their young how to fly and how to gather food. Thereafter, when the winter ends and the warm spring breezes begin to blow, they return home along with their young that they have taught to fly. Although they don’t have to face any botheration of passport and visa, they often fall into deep trouble as they travel while trying to protect themselves from the cruel clutches of human beings. Many meet an untimely death due to a cruel bullet or fall injured to the ground. Is this their fate! Is there no way to avoid this devilry! Is there no way that a little benevolence can awaken in the human mind! Does mankind’s Neohumanism teach this!

We continued on. We still had far to go, crossing over the border of many former native kingdoms. Nearly the entire journey that we were making this day was through a former kingdom. The king of Jammu-Kashmir was Hari Singh, the successor of its first Dogra king, Golap Singh. His son, in turn, Karna Singh, was not able to become king. Officially he got the government post as Sadr-i-riyásat. The remaining parts thereafter were smaller or larger kingdoms. Our destination, Bilaspur, was also a middle-sized native kingdom. But Bilaspur was still quite far away – hanaoj Biláspura dúr ast. We continued on and on. It was like the lines: Pathik ámi pathei básá / Ámár jeman jáoyá temani ásá [“I am a traveller and the path is my home / It makes no difference whether I come or go”].

After going a little ways I suddenly noticed a change. Now there was an apple orchard beside us. This place was well above sea-level, but because there were apple orchards on both sides of us we couldn’t tell how high we were. Here and there were some ciir and phár varieties of trees standing in the apple fields. In some trees I saw some rare birds-of-paradise. They rarely come into contact with people so they are not afraid of them. They don’t know what cruel creatures human beings are. Seeing us, they were not afraid, rather they stared at us eagerly. Their simplicity made me feel uneasy and ashamed at the same time. I felt ashamed thinking that they don’t realize how cruel we human beings are, how complex we are from the mental point of view, and how crooked.

After we passed by the apple orchards we came to yet another forest of towering trees. These trees were somewhat similar to oak trees. I noticed that numerous varieties of orchids (kákarúhá) were hanging in the trees. Some of their flowers were in bloom while others were about to bloom. Some of their buds were counting the moments, waiting for the arrival of spring. By judging the amount of warmth in the climate they had guessed that Holi [spring festival] was not far away.

I noticed that most of the orchids here bloomed in the months of Phálgun-Caetra.⁽¹²⁾ It also appeared that there were a small number of orchid varieties that bloomed in the months of August-September. Some of the orchids looked identical to the orchids that grow uncared-for in the trees alongside the Burdwan-Guskara Road. I have seen these varieties of orchids in Birbhum on the way from Mámud Bazaar to Mashánjoŕ, and in areas near the Jonhá waterfall (Gaotamdhárá) on the Jhalda-Ranchi Road. I realized that they didn’t depend on the climate so much, so long as there wasn’t snowfall.

To the left of us, that is, to the north, at a good distance away was the kingdom of Kinnaur, renowned both in history and in the Puranas. This Kinnaur was situated in the northern extremity of India in the Sadashiva mountain range. Some people may not be aware that the Himalayas, stretching from the west until the eastern horizon, are divided north and south into two parts. The Sanskrit name of the part of the Himalayas that touch the northern plains of India is Shivaliuṋga Parvatamálá (Shivalic Range). This part is high, but not so high. There is cultivation wherever there are green forested areas in the valleys lying between two mountains, cutting into the mountains with either step-farming or terracing. This Shivalic range is covered with snow in the wintertime, and its highest peaks remained snowcovered all year long. The fossils of prehistoric animals can be found in this part.

At one time the Himalayas were submerged in the bosom of the sea. Northern India was also then at the bottom of the sea. To the south, only Gondawanaland was above sea level. Approximately three million years ago the Himalayas rose up from the depths as a result of an earthquake. The skeletons of some of those animals who used to wander in these parts of the earth three million years ago can be found packed underneath the rocks in the Shivalic range. In later times when the hippopotamus and giraffe were living here, they used to live in these Lower Himalayas. Some of their fossils have also been found in the Lower Himalayas, and more are bound to be discovered in the future.

The Sadashiva range (Upper Himalayas) run west to east, directly parallel to the Lower Himalayas. We find this mountain range in Kashmir, Laddak, the northern part of Himachal Pradesh, Simla, Kinnaur, toward the north of Garhwal-Kumayun, the north of Nepal, northern Sikkim and Bhutan, and in southern Tibet. This part of the Himalayas is really quite high. The snow remains all year long but in winter it is really heavy. The highest Himalayan peaks are located in this part. The driest, coldest and most elevated area of the Upper Himalayas is Laddak and Kinnaur. During winter nights the temperature can fall below minus one-hundred degrees. While heating water it freezes and turns to ice.

In most parts of this barren mountain land there are snowstorms nearly twelve months of the year. There is virtually no green forest, and hardly any cultivation. I have seen a little barley being grown here in the summertime. People’s primary livelihood is raising livestock. The Indian cow cannot survive here; there are Yaks. Although the ancient land of Kinnaur was some ways from where we were it was not altogether that far. In olden days the people of this region were famed for their beauty, and to some extent they still are. Although their noses are slightly sloping, it does not detract from their loveliness. Seeing their beauty, the people of those days use to think and say that they were not people but angels. Erá ki nara? [Are they really human beings?] Kiḿ nara = kinnara.

The language of the people of Kinnaur is a southwestern dialect of Tibetan, just as Laddaki is a western dialect of Tibetan. The script of the Kinnauri language is also t́egrii or t́egrá (In Sanskrit, triguńii or triguńá script). Although the common religion of the Kinnauri people is the Lamabad branch of Mahayana Buddhism, it is clearly influenced by the Árśa doctrine.⁽¹³⁾ Over the last two thousand years, Arśa-ism and Kinnaur’s Mahayana Buddhism (centring around Avalokiteshvara) have coexisted peacefully because Buddhism has avoided clash. The common people revere both the Buddhist grottoes and the Árśa temples. During hours of worship, the Buddhist lamas place offerings of ground barley, roasted barley powder, etc. before the gods, and these return to the people as prasád [holy remains of the offerings which are then eaten]. In the Hindu [Árśa] temples the priests place offerings of fruits and vegetables. In the same house one person may be Hindu and another Buddhist, however those who wish to become renunciants generally adopt lamaism and cloister themselves in the Buddhist grottoes. Very few local people become Hindu renunciants.

In olden times the number of men in Kinnaur was much greater, by comparison, than the number of women, thus the practice of polygamy was current among women out of social necessity. Some traces of that may still remain today. Some people may consider this strange, but there is nothing to be astonished at, or to think odd. People build their social structure by effecting a suitable harmony between individual and collective necessity, so however this practice of Kinnaur may appear to others, it was perfectly natural.

Ahalyá-Draopadii-Kuntii-Tárá-Mandodarii tathá;
Paiṋcakanyáh smarennityaḿ mahápátakanáshanam.

That is, “If one remembers these five ladies – Ahalyá, Draopadii, Kuntii, Tárá, and Mandodarii – then even the deadly sins are destroyed.” In the opinion of the old followers of certain schools, these five ladies just mentioned were sinners. Ahalyá was turned into stone for her wicked behaviour.⁽¹⁴⁾ Draopadii had five husbands. Karńa was the son of unmarried Kuntii. Tárá, the wife of Bállii, married Sugriiva after Bállii’s death. Ravana’s wife, Mandodarii, married Vibhiiśań after Ravana’s death.

The women of Kinnaur can rightfully say that if, despite the fact that she had five husbands, Draopadii is a memorable women, and if, by remembering her, the deadly sins meet their demise, then what possible sin can there be in this ancient practice of their land. The logic is irrefutable.

It was past midday. We had left Jammu around seven in the morning, and I was starting to feel a bit drowsy. My driver, Kuldip Sharma, said: “Go ahead and lie down. I know the way quite well. It won’t be a problem.”

Sharmajii had just spent six months in Calcutta driving a taxi and he could speak good Bengali. I was riding in the car – now I started to feel as if I was floating, being pulled along by a distant, unknown music towards a faraway meridian. I was floating, crossing over rivers and mountains, forests and oceans and snow-covered peaks, on and on and on.

Suddenly it seemed as if a silvery fountain was cascading down the side of a towering mountain. I felt the desire to get down and drink a palmful of that sacred water.

Jharńá taratariye náce rajata rekháy ráungiye diye
Páháŕ veye baner májhe
Kona mánái máne ná se bándhanete bándhá nay se
Khushii kheyále chut́e cale opar theke kramei niice
Dhúrjat́iri mukto jat́á áveg niye niice chot́á
Pathe pathe práńocchale priitir jale mukti jáce⁽¹⁵⁾

[The spring is dancing along, painting with a silver line
Flowing down the mountain, through the forest
It recognizes no authority, it brooks no obstacle
It rushes on down in a pleasant dream
Shiva’s wild matted locks rush passionately down
Bursting with life along the way and begging for liberation
in the delightful waters.]

So thought, so it was. Keeping the cascade at a little distance I extended my hands to take some water. Just then I heard someone speaking behind me. “Hold it a minute. Don’t drink just yet. First put something in your stomach, then drink.”

What is this! Astonishing! What is a human voice doing here in this rough, difficult to access, thorny mountain ravine? I turned around to find a loving image of motherhood. In the woman’s hands was brass tray with raised sides, and on it some yellow-coloured, puffed-up thing and some green curry. I looked at her questioningly. With a voice full of affection she said: “There wasn’t anything in the house except apple bread so I rushed over here with it. Now, eat, eat, please. Don’t drink on an empty stomach.”

The woman was wearing the typical regional dress – an álkhálla [a kind of loose gown traditionally worn by Muslim women], an oŕná [scarf] wrapped around her, and a great many earrings hanging from both ears. Her face was beaming with a radiant, affectionate humanity. It was like the last word on earthly beauty, the final essence of all human hearts.

The way the lady said it, it was as if she was doing me a great injustice by giving me apple bread, as if it was the kind of food one doesn’t give a guest.

I ate it and greatly enjoyed it. When such a good person feeds you so eagerly you are sure to enjoy it. It was like the pulao and curry that the table servants serve in a wealthy household, better than anything the man of the house has ever seen. While I was eating I looked at some large trees standing here and there. The trees were full of orchids.

In a bashful, modest voice the lady said: “I just received the news a short while ago that you were coming. I knew right then that you loved orchids and that threw me into a quandary. What should I do? Should I first prepare some bread and curry for you, or should I pluck some orchids from the trees? I decided that I should first prepare some bread, and then, if there was enough time, I would pluck some orchids for you from the tree. I’m very good at climbing trees.”

The lady replied, “There is a great poverty now in our area. The men have all gone down to the plains in search of work. What little there is in the apple orchards the women are doing. Moreover, you well know that the men cannot do so much labour in the mountain areas. They fall sick if too great a burden is placed on their shoulders; they die before their time. So we don’t let our men here work so much. We do much of the work in the apple orchards. We also go and sell in the markets. We only let the men do the packing for those apples which are exported to distant lands. They want to work, but we don’t let them.”

“You are really good people, indeed,” I said. “The boys here are just as good as the girls. I am really pleased to see it.

“Now then, how did you know that I was coming here? And how did you know that I love orchids?”

I noticed that the lady was standing with a glass of water from the spring. It was there for me should I want it or reach out my hands. I reached out my hands and she put the glass in my hand. What delicious water! As if drawn from a fountain of ambrosia falling from some immortal sphere. Suddenly I felt something push against my elbow. I saw that my right elbow was pressing lightly against the glass of the car window. Hey, where am I? I am inside the car. Had it been a dream all along? Ah yes, I had been dreaming. Kuldip Sharma was speeding along at the wheel, flying with the speed of a comet because there weren’t so many curves in the road here.

Seeing that I was no longer asleep, Sharmajii asked, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“While you were sleeping it seemed as if you were talking to someone in Páhári.”

“I have heard the old people say,” Sharmajii continued, “that this area is the land of the nymphs, so one shouldn’t go alone near any spring. Not even at midday. The nymphs will spread their net of illusion and capture any person who comes along. Look over there, you’ll see a spring in the distance coming down that mountain.”

I looked and yes, in the distance, far away, very far away, the silvery line of a stream was descending from a tall mountain peak. We were travelling from west to east. There was still a little time remaining before we reached the former kingdom of Bilaspur. I asked Kuldip, “Well, can you tell me how this apple⁽¹⁶⁾ bread is prepared?”

“Sure, I’ll tell you,” he replied. “There is very little wheat grown here, however, the people here love wheat bread. It poses no difficulty or inconvenience for the rich people to buy wheat and eat bread made from wheat flour. But how much inconvenience the poor people face! In those years when the price of wheat is high or when there is an excess apple production and they fail to find good markets for their apples, then they dry the apples and grind them into a kind of flour. They spend a lot of time eating bread made from that apple flour.

“The people here consider serving guests to be an especially virtuous act. Those who don’t serve guests properly are frowned on by society. No matter how much trouble it may bring them, they feed their guests wheat bread, either with ghee on it, or if not, then tandooris. It’s a troubling situation for them if they are ever forced to feed any guest apple bread; then there is no end to their shame. They will beg that guest’s forgiveness over and over again. Remember this: the wealthy people’s food here is wheat [gam⁽¹⁷⁾] bread; the poor folk’s food is apple bread.”

“Well,” I asked, “is there any kind of green curry that the people here are especially fond of?”

“Yes,” Kuldip replied, “During the really cold times vegetables don’t grow here. However, in the holes in the ice and in stone hollows clumps of a kind of spinach plant manage to grow. Its leaves are used as a vegetable. The wealthy never suffer any inconvenience. They have vegetables shipped in from outside. In the morning you will see maunds and maunds of milk also arriving here from the Punjab.”

I listened while Kuldip talked. We had come closer to that mountain with its spring but it was still far away. We were still passing through the land of the nymphs, and I began to think about Kinnaur and Tibet.

In the land of Kinnaur there was an unusual harmony between the Buddhist and Hindu religions. This kind of harmony is extremely rare in the annals of human history. The Buddhist religion arrived in Kinnaur and Laddak well after it arrived in the original Tibet, and Buddhism arrived in Laddak a little before it reached Kinnaur.

The Kashmiri pundit, Kumáráyańa, was then world-famous. There is no greater scholar of Buddhist scriptures. He went to China at the invitation of the Chinese Emperor. Before going to China he strengthened the foundations of Buddhism in Laddak and the Kashmir valley. He propagated Buddhism in China and had some Mahayana scriptures translated into Chinese.

Kumáráyańa’s wife was the Chinese royal princess, Jiivá. Kumáráyańa’s son, Kumárajiiva, spent the greater part of his life in China, but he went to Kashmir for some time. He also composed some Mahayana scriptures in Sanskrit. He went to Laddak but he didn’t go to Kinnaur. Still, Buddhism was subsequently introduced into Kinnaur from Laddak. Buddhism was first propagated in the original territory of Tibet (whose name was then Kimpuruśavarśa) by the royal prince of Udayan, Padmasambhava. What we now call Garhwal-Kumayun was known as the kingdom of Udayan in olden times. The palms of the hands and the soles of the feet of the royal prince were bright red so he was given the name Padmasambhava. Due to his influence Tibet accepted Mahayana Buddhism. The religion of Tibet before that was Bonpa or Bonpa-ism. King Sáungt-sen-gámpo, a follower of the Bonpa religion, had two wives. One was the royal Chinese princess, Den Jing, and the other was Trikuti, the daughter of the Nepali King at the time, Aḿshuvarmańa, who was a follower of Mahayana Buddhism. The influence of these two queens was considerable in the kingdom of Tibet. The king was inspired by them to accept the Buddhist religion.

Sáungt-sen-gámpo was a historically renowned personality, a pious emperor. At that time, Magadha was resplendent for its erudition. The two best universities were then Magadha’s Nalanda and Taxila in the land of Kandahar. Taxila was famous for its philosophical thinking and for its spiritual community. Nalanda was successful in all spheres, and spiritually inspired. The chancellor of this Nalanda University was Dharmapála Diipauṋkar. Dharmapála Diipauṋkar came from Vikramańipur (its modern name is Vikrampur). Dhaka District’s Vikrampur subdivision has been perched on the glorious golden summit of learning since very ancient times. In the Buddhist era, it became even more radiant in its keenness for learning and wisdom.

At that time there was no other Buddhist pundit on earth as renowned as Dharmapála Diipauṋkar. Sáungt-sen-gámpo invited this Dharmapála Diipauṋkar to come to his kingdom, that is, Kimpuruśavarśa. While Diipauṋkar was there Buddhism became well established in Kimpuruśavarśa (after that time the name of Kimpuruśavarśa became Tibet). Buddhism became the common religion of the people of Laddak and Kinnaur at that time as well. The king gave Dharmapála Diipauṋkar the title of Shriijiṋána Atiisha as a reward for his recognized scholarship. After Dharmapála Diipauṋkar returned to Magadha, Buddhist pundits in good numbers came from Tibet and studied in Magadha, doing research in Buddhism and translating the Súttapit́aka, Vinayapit́aka and Abhidhammapiŕaka into Tibetan.

Tibet’s King Sáungt-sen-gámpo requested Dharmapála Diipauṋkar to come to Tibet once again to honour him. Since he could not avoid it, Dharmapála Diipauṋkar went one more time to Tibet. He was quite aged at the time and was not able to endure Tibet’s cold, dry climate. He passed away in Tibet, not very far from Lhasa.

Thus I have said that India’s, as well as Bengal’s relationship with Tibet has always been cordial. No, no, no, it is not sufficient to say cordial – very cordial. In the middle of the Mughal era we see this cordiality carried over in the letters exchanged between the Maharaja of Coochbihar and the King of Tibet – in them runs the melody of this same heartfelt sincerity. The letters exchanged between the two of them were in Bengali. The king of Tibet (the then Dalai Lama) was bound to India by ties of affection. In the British administration as well, there were no great obstacles to intercourse between India and Tibet. Indian pilgrims used to go to Mount Kailash and Manas Sarowar without any difficulty. Monks and renunciants used to sit and light the sacrificial fires on both sides of the Himalayas. The closest sea to Tibet was the Bay of Bengal and Calcutta was Tibet’s seaport. Tibet used to export primarily wool, animal skins, precious stones, and medicinal ingredients, while Tibet used to import manufactured commodities and small amounts of foodstuffs. Several of Tibet’s post-offices were under the supervision of Bengal’s Postmaster-General.

After Sáungt-sen-gámpo, that is, after Tibet accepted Buddhism, the Lamavad branch of Mahayana Buddhism replaced Bonpa as the state religion of Tibet. The Dalai Lama then came into the role of king.⁽¹⁸⁾ The Tasi Lama and Panchen Lama ran Tibet’s political and social machinery for a long time with a very friendly working relationship. From that time on the Dalai Lama used to be considered to be an incarnation of the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, just as the king of Nepal used to be thought of as an incarnation of Viśńu from the time of Nepal’s first Gorkha king, Prthviiráj Shah.

By now it seemed that we had come somewhat close to that mountain spring. However when one looks suddenly at a mountain it is never as close as it seems to be. In this case also, I experienced that fact once again. I told Kuldip Sharma, “We are still in that nymph kingdom.”

“Yes,” Kuldip replied. “If you look all around doesn’t it seem as if everything is full of illusion and enchantment; as if someone had passed an invisible hand over everything and transformed it into a dreamland?”

“Well then, Kuldip,” I asked, “is there any off-road we might take for a short ways that will take us off the main road and bring us close to that spring?”

“Well, you know,” he replied, “the area near that spring is very rough and full of rocks, so you will hardly find any roads nearby. But let us see what we can find.”

We proceeded forward a ways. We came to a place where there was a mountain path which looked as if it might be headed in the direction of the spring. We stopped the car. Over by the side I noticed a huge tree. Many orchids on broken branches had fallen to the ground below. The tree itself was also full of orchids. Up in the tree it seemed as if someone was moving. Yes, indeed there was. A boy about eighteen or nineteen quickly climbed down from the tree. When he got near the ground he jumped and when he landed he ran up to our car.

When this eighteen or nineteen year-old freckled boy came near me, I asked him, “Who are you? What do you want to say? Why are you running like this?”

“You don’t know me?” the boy replied. “My mother sent me here just a short while ago. She told me that you would pass here by car within a few minutes on your way from Jammu to Bilaspur. Isn’t it so?”

“My mother told me that you love orchids. I quickly plucked some orchids from that tree to bring them into your car. So I was breaking them off the tree and keeping watch on the road.”

“How did your mother know that I would be going by this road at this time?” I asked.

“Mother’s mind said so,” he replied. “Mother also wanted to come with me but she is preparing bread for you so she wasn’t able to come.”

“I have heard mother say that I was born at the time of the earthquake here in the mountains many years ago. I asked my school teacher when the earthquake was and he told me that it was nearly nineteen years ago. That’s how I knew that I was nearly nineteen years old.”

“Yes,” he went on, “in our village there are seven Bahadar Singhs. My father’s name is also Bahadar Singh.”

“Very good,” I said. “Very good. Now tell me, Nihál Singh, do you know if it is possible to go near that spring? Can we go that far by car?”

“The road goes on from here for another three miles,” he replied. “After that there is a winding mountain path that goes for another three miles. After that there’s the spring. Our house is right where the road ends. Your car won’t make it all the way to the mountain.”

“What are you saying?” he replied. “You stopped your car here in order to come to my house. It’s time for you to eat breakfast. Mother is preparing bread for you. How would it look if you didn’t come? You have to go, you absolutely have to go.”

Now I was in a jam. What was this I was hearing – “You have to go, you absolutely have to go.”

I had Nihál Singh get in the car. He said: “I heard from my mother’s own lips today that you love orchids. I heard the same thing from Dildar Singh’s lips also a long time ago.”

“That Dildar Singh! – light skinned, very tall. What is this you are saying, you don’t know Dildar Singh? In our village everyone knows Dildar.”

“Certainly everyone in your village knows him,” I said. “But how do you expect me to know him?”

“Yes, you have seen him. You certainly have. You met Dildar Singh in Náhán, in the kingdom of Sirmaor.”

It was a long time ago. I was in Sirmaor’s capital then, Náhán. Náhán is a small city, but I liked it very much. The kingdom of Sirmaor was at one time quite huge – nearly half of the present-day Himachal Pradesh was in Sirmaor. Moreover, Garhwal-Kumayunr was once included within Sirmaor. Part of neighbouring Tibet was also within the borders of Sirmaor.

With the passage of time, many small and large kingdoms fell. A large part of present-day Himachal Pradesh left Sirmaor. In accordance with a verbal agreement between the Panchen Lama and the king of Sirmaor, part of Sirmaor came under the rule of the Dalai Lama. Nepal’s Gorkha king took possession of Garhwal-Kumayun. Sirmaor became much smaller area-wise. Among all those native kingdoms who were assembled to make the present-day Himachal Pradesh, Sirmaor was not altogether insignificant as far as area goes.

The language of Sirmaor is Sirmaori (both language and script). It arose from a mixture of Paeshácii Prákrta and Shaorasenii Prákrta. Sirmaori is closely related to the Páhári language of Simla.

Sirmaori has its own script as well, but nowadays it is disappearing. If this situation continues Sirmaori script will soon vanish behind the curtain of oblivion, just as Burma’s Sán-Kácin script has vanished. At one time these Sán-Kácins were close relatives of the Bengali Kukii community and their script was also Bengali script. However, in subsequent times they were ruined by northern Burma’s sub-script, but the Kukii script was unaffected. Sirmaori script is in that same situation. Archaeologists should make efforts to see that this script survives.

I got to thinking about that pre-Pathan era. At that time the influence of Shankaracharya over Sirmaor was quite high. The kings were making ongoing efforts with greater and lesser success to build a “learned society”; the relationship between Sirmaor and Bengal dates from that time. Garhwal-Kumayun was still a part of Sirmaor. Yes, Garhwal-Kumayun also left Sirmaor’s control during Nepali rule. Afterwards, of course, when Nepal was defeated by General Octorloney,⁽²⁰⁾ Garhwal-Kumayun went back to the British in accordance with the treaty of Sugaolii (Champaran District). The British kept Garhwal-Kumayunr in their own hands, rather than return it to Sirmaor, and included it within the then United Province of Agra and Oudh (UP). Garhwal-Kumayun was lost to Sirmaor from then on.

Let us return then to the subject at hand. The kings of Sirmaor brought some pundits from Bengal and Maharastra and settled them in their own kingdom (in Garhwal and Kumayun) with offers of rent-free land grants. The descendants of these pundits are still there today. They differ from the local Yoshi Brahmans in their manners, behaviours, ways of thinking. Among the sixteen branches of Brahmans in those areas, twelve branches have come from Bengal and four are from Maharastra, that is, they belong to the Maharastran Citpávan branch. Those whose forefathers came from Bengal continue to use such surnames as Bhat́t́a, Upádhyáya, Bahuguńá, and so forth.

Maharastra’s Citpávan Brahmans are mostly vegetarian – they don’t eat meat or fish but they don’t have so much aversion to onions. The Bengali Brahmans don’t have any distaste for meat but they do for onions. Those who eat meat, or used to eat meat, used to cook their meat without onions. When they came to this mountainous region, however, the Bengali and Maharastri Brahmans came into close contact with one another. From the point of view of spiritual ideologies, there have been five acknowledged Tantras since ancient times – Shaeva, Shákta, Gáńapatya, Saora, and Vaeśńava. Shaeva Tantra was equally present in this mountain region and its nearby areas. It was a little stronger in the mountains because this area is called “Shiva’s Field”. The name of the mountains is also the Shivalic Range. Shiva used to remain mostly in this area, also in the Mount Kailash region.

Earlier I mentioned that until the time of the Viśńu Puráńa, Mount Kailash and Manas Sarowar were part of Bharatakhańd́a. But from the Shákta and Gáńapatya Tantra point of view, we see that the successors of the Brahmans who came from Bengal principally accepted Shákta Tantra. And the successors of the Maharastra Citpávan Brahman community chiefly followed Gáńpatya Tantra. The influence of Shákta Tantra over the common people was greater, by comparison, than that of Gáńapatya Tantra. The Yoshii Brahmans are close to Shákta Tantra. For related reasons, Shiva and Shiva temples are pre-eminent in this region, but in important places Shákta Tantra, as well, is not neglected.

The presiding goddess of the city of Simla is Tárá – Nayanatárá or Nayanadevii. Just near Simla is Kalka (Káliká). Delhi is in the nearby plains; the name of a large part of it is Kálkájii (Kálikájii). Chandigarh is a little to the west of Simla.⁽²¹⁾ Its presiding goddess is Cańd́ii. The Cańd́ii temple of that place is also quite ancient.

Nihál Singh said to me: “I have a strong desire to go with you to Calcutta, but I am not able to.”

“We are going through a time of scarcity in our land. All the men have gone down to the plains in search of work. I’m the only man left in the entire village. Dildar Singh also went down to the plains, and my father, Bahadar Singh as well. The only people left in the village are the women. We don’t have the wherewithal to buy wheat so now we are eating apple bread. If I go with you to Calcutta at this time then who will look after the village? Still, if my father returns and I get the opportunity, I will go and see Calcutta one time. But you know what? If the people in the village find out that I am going to Calcutta they will all cry when they see me.”

“We are cold-country folk, you see. Calcutta is a hot place. Our people generally can’t survive there so no one can go there so easily or wants to go there.”

I listened with astonishment to Nihál Singh’s simplicity-filled words. I started humming mentally –

Apsaráder deshe ese manke jánilám
Aruń áloy bhálabese dinke cinilám
Sabuj pátár raungiin phule niilákásher vediimúle
Mánuś-giri-baner parii ekbháve nilám
Raunger ámej láglo cokhe madhur parash jáglo buke
Marmmapriiti mohangiiti mane ánkilám⁽²²⁾

Suddenly Nihál cried out in joy. “Our house has come, our house has come!”

I had to get down from the car; I had to get down. Nihál sat me down in a room. “Breakfast is ready,” he said. “A little while ago mother was able to know mentally that you were coming so she sent me to the side of the road to bring you with me and then sat down to prepare bread and vegetables for you. While I was plucking orchids from the tree and watching the road to see when you were coming, mother was cooking the bread.”

After a few minutes a woman appeared bringing a platter and a glass of water. The water was from the spring. The platter was like the brass tray that I had seen in the dream – why “like”; it was that exact same tray.

The water tasted like the water in the dream. The bread and curry also looked like the bread and curry from my dream.

I was speechless. Can such things really happen? Astonished, I looked at the bread.

The woman was saying in an embarrassed voice: “These are apple breads. There was nothing else in the house; what could I do? I had no alternative but to bring you this for your breakfast.”

What? Even more amazing! The woman’s voice was just like the woman’s in the dream.

More and more amazed, I looked at the woman. What is this? Can you believe it? This woman was the same affectionate image of motherhood I had seen in the dream. To put me at ease Nihál looked at me and said, “This is my mother. I was telling you about her.”

8) Kákala: The meaning of the word kákala is “jewelled necklace”, that is, a necklace which is set with diamonds and pearls. A pearl necklace is also called kákala. A necklace which has a large, gem-studded locket is also called kákala (for example, Krśńa’s Vaejayantii necklace had a locket with a single large stone). Both the words kákali and kákalii are derived from kákala. Both mean “the sweet sound of a bird call” or “bird’s song”.

9) Kákárii: Káka + ári = kákári. Kákasya arih ityarthe kákárih (śaśt́ii tatpuruśa samása⁽²³⁾). Ari means “enemy”. Thus the etymological meaning of kákári is “owl”. Owls cannot see during the day. If a crow spies an owl during the day it will peck at it. Fearful of crows, the owl hides itself in the dark crevices of trees during the day. Crows cannot see at night, so if an owl sees a crow at night it attacks it. But since crows have more strength in their beaks than owls they save themselves somehow. Thus, it is seen that it is the crow’s young that are generally killed by owls. If an owl is not overly hungry it will not eat crow-meat. Since the crow’s meat is bad-tasting, no bird will eat it apart from the vulture. It is said that the crow eats any kind of meat, but it also will not eat crow-meat.

10) Kákodara: The etymological meaning of the word is “stomach like a crow” and the colloquial meaning is “snake”.

Kans + ac = kaḿsa + ari = kaḿsári. Kaḿsasya arih ityarthe kaḿsárih (śaśt́ii tatpuruśa samása). Etymologically kaḿsa means “one who goes on hoping all the time; one whose hope or desire to get goes on gradually increasing”. Thus the etymological meaning of the word kaḿsári is “that which, when obtained, brings about the cessation of all one’s desires”, that is, kámsári means Parama Puruśa. Colloquially:

2) Kaḿsa was the king of the Shúrasena kingdom; Mathura was his capital. Kaḿsa was Krśńa’s maternal uncle, the brother-in-law of his father, Vasudeva. His mother, Devakii, was the daughter of his [Kaḿsa’s] uncle.⁽²⁴⁾ He was married to the two daughters of Jarásandha, the king of Magadha – Asti and Prápti. This great tyrant, King Kaḿsa, was slain by Krśńa, thus colloquially Kaḿsári means Krśńa.

(1) According to Indian mythology, at the time of an eclipse the demon Ráhu swallows the sun or moon. The story goes like this: Once the gods and the demons undertook a project to churn the ocean. During the churning many precious valuables rose up from the sea-bed. Among these was sudhá or amrta (nectar). The demons claimed half of it but the gods became afraid that if the demons drank their share of the nectar they would become immortal and thus remain a perpetual source of trouble for the gods. So they postponed the division of the nectar and in the meantime they approached Lord Viśńu and implored him to help them get rid of the demons. Thereafter Viśńu assumed the form of a beautiful woman and began distributing the nectar among the gods and the demons. The gods drank the nectar but the demons were too busy staring at the woman. Only one demon drank the nectar but Viśńu slit his throat before it got to his stomach. The severed head of this demon became known as Ráhu and the trunk as Ketu. –Trans.

(2) Kat́áha → kad́áha → kad́ái (kaŕá in Calcutta).

Asmin mahámohamaye kat́áhe súryágniná rátridivendhanena;
Másartudárvii parighat́t́anena bhútáni kálaḿ pacatiiti várttá.
–Mahábhárata

[In the Mahábhárata, Yakśa (Dharma) asks Yudhisthira – ka várthá (What is the eternal question for humans?). In reply Yudhisthira says: “The Mahákála (Time Eternal) is cooking the five fundamental factors in the vast cauldron of the illusory world with the heat of the sun; day and night as used as fuel. Months and seasons are used as ladles.”]

(3) A large cutting knife fixed in a piece of wood which one used to cut while sitting. –Trans.

(7) In the Cosmic Cycle, the step-by-step introversion and subtlization of consciousness from the state of solid matter to Nucleus Consciousness. Prati means “counter” and saiṋcara means “movement”. –Trans.

(8) Valmiika kiit́a means “white ant” and valmiika means “anthill”. “Valmiiki” means “one around whose body an anthill has grown.”

(9) Kasipu can be written with either cerebral śa or palatal sha, but it is more correct to spell it with dental sa.

(10) Here nirgrantha means “without granthi”. Granthi means “knot”. Nirgrantha means “nothing has been worn around the waist tied with a knot”, that is, “one who stays in a clothesless state”.

(11) In some people’s opinion, Bengal’s King Jayantasúr was his son-in-law.

(12) These are lunar months in the Bengali calendar, roughly mid-February to mid-March, and mid-March to mid-April. –Trans.

(13) In Sanskrit the Hindu religion is called Árśa doctrine. The rśis were the propounders of this doctrine, thus we get the word árśa from rśi. The word “Hindu” came much later.

(14) According to Hindu mythology, Ahalyá was seduced by the god Indra who took the form of her husband and deceived her. As punishment her husband turned her into stone. She attained liberation when her stone figure was touched by Rama. –Trans.

(17) The Sanskrit name for wheat is godhúma; in Farsi, gandhúm; in Tamil, gadúmái; in Hindi, gehun; in Bihar, gohum; in Punjabi, kanak; in Rarhi Bengali, gaham; in written Bengali, gam; in English, “wheat”. The abstract noun for “white” is “whiteness” or “wheat”.

(18) As far as I remember, the present Dalai Lama’s name is Jepsam Jampal Nagawang Lobsang Iyesi Tenzin Gyatso.

(19) The word has come from the Vedic bhagadhara. Bhagadhara → bahadara (in Paeshácii Prákrta); in Punjabi, bahadar; in Urdu, bahádar and bahádur; in Hindi, bahádur; in Bengali, báhádur. The meaning of the Vedic word bhagadhara is “fortunate”, “spirited”, “well-educated” – in Farsi, tarviyát-i-áfatá or tálim-i-áfatá. In correct Farsi the two words are used – tarviyát-i-áfatá in the sense of “having gained expertise”, and tálim-i-áfatá in the sense of “having gained knowledge”. However in Sanskrit, the word krtavidya [“well-educated”] means both.

(20) The old name of the monument in the Calcutta maidan was Octorloney Monument. Nowadays it has been given the name Shahiid Minár.

(21) I once stayed in Chandigarh nearly twenty years ago to lend a hand in preparing a history of the Punjabi language and the Punjabi community.

(24) In the Indian system of family relationships the first-cousin of one’s parents is also an uncle or aunt. –Trans.

Glossary

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Shabda Cayaniká Part 3

ÁCÁRYA m. or ÁCÁRYÁ f. Spiritual teacher qualified to teach all the lessons of meditation.
ÁNANDA. Divine bliss.
ANANDA MARGA. Path of divine bliss; Ananda Márga Pracáraka Saḿgha (Ananda Marga organization).
ASURA. An Assyrian tribe. Among the Indo-Aryans, the term took on in addition the derogatory meaning “monsters”, and came to be applied by them in this sense to certain non-Aryan peoples.
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.

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

DHARMA. Characteristic property; spirituality; the path of righteousness in social affairs.

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

IISHVARA. The Cosmic Controller; literally, the “Controller of all controllers”.

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

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.

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.
PRAKRTI. Cosmic Operative Principle.
PURÁŃA. Mythological story with a moral import; educative fiction.

RÁGA, RÁGINII. 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.

SHRUTI. Literally, “ear”; hence, a composition learned by hearing (before the invention of script).

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.

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.

YOGA. Spiritual practice leading to the unification of unit Átman [unit consciousness] with Paramátman [Supreme Consciousness].