Aekya

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

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

Aecchika

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

Aetihya

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

Aetihásika

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

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

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

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

Dharmárthakámamokśárthaḿ niitivákyasamanvitam;
Purávrttakatháyuktam itihása pracakśyate.

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

Aetareya

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

Yad yadácarati shreśt́hastattadevetare janáh;
Sa yat pramáńaḿ kurute lokastadanuvarttate.

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

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

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

Aerińa

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

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

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

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

Aereya

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

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

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

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

Aeshvarya

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

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

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

Sinca bhikkhu imaḿ navaḿ;
Sittá te lahu messati.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aeśamasya

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aekśava

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footnotes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(13) Kat́hopaniśad. –Trans.

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