EE7.5 - Áṋka to Ád́hya (Discourse 4)

Áṋka to Ád́hya (Discourse 4)

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ye phul náphut́ite jhareche dharańiite
Ye nadii marupathe hárála dhárá.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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