Aoktha/Aokthaka/Aokthika

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aogra

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

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

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

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

Aocca/Aoccya

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

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

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

“Gurudeva visited our family,” he replied.

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

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

“Did he give you some good advice?” I asked.

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

“But did he explain the meaning of the scriptures?” I asked.

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

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

“A great man, he is, no doubt,” said Aklmand, “no doubt at all.”

“Just how do you know that he is a great man? I asked.

“His very height is about seven feet [Unkii úcái hae kariib sat feet].”

Aojasika

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

Aod́ra

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

Aotava

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

Aottána

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

Aotkrśt́a

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

Aodyána

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

Aodváhika

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aodbhijja

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

Aodbhida

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

Aoddálaka

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

Aodúkhala

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

Aopanyásika

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

Aopaniveshika

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

Aopaniśadika

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

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

Aopadaevika

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who was this gentleman?” I asked. “What was his name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, well,” I said. “When did you come into the room?”

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

“You still practise music!” I said.

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

“You still remember the least little thing I said,” I exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are quite correct,” I said. “I still feel drawn to Holland.”

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

“I also hope so,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take a good look at it,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell me what you are thinking of.”

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

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

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

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

Aorabhra

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

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

Aorbii

The word aorbii means “lithosphere”. About Shiva it has been said:

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

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

By adding the suffix ań to the root úrbii we get the word aorbii.

Aorńa

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

Aorvara

Aorvara means “fertility” or “the earth’s capacity to produce”.

Aorińa

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

Aosira

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

Aośńa

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

Aośt́ha

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

Aokśa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footnotes

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

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

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