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Auṋka
In some limited cases the verbal root anc means “to move”. Its usual meaning is “to determine”, or “to demonstrate” or “to point out”. We use our finger to point out some sight or a spot on a map and say “that place”. For this, the root anc is used. From the root anc and the suffix ka we get the word auṋka. Since the n here is apadánta [not at the end of the word], then in this case the construction is made with the fifth varńa, that is, it becomes auṋka rather than aḿka. The etymological meaning of auṋka is “that which has been fixed”, and the colloquial meaning is “lap”. The science which is based on fixed numbers, such as four, five, ten, twelve, is auṋkashástra or mathematics – algebra, arithmetic, trigonometry, surveying, etc. are all part of mathematics. Auṋka is also used to mean “part”. That drama which has only one auṋka [act] is called ekáunkiká drama. The Bengali word ánka has come from auṋka. (It also means “arithmetic”. In the rural language, ánka kaśá [to count] is still common.) By adding the suffix lyut́ to anc we get the word auṋkana which means “drawing”. Its spoken form is ánká.
By adding the suffix ka to the root anc we also get the word auṋga which means “to determine”. “This is a hand, this is a foot”. In this way whatever has been fixed we call auṋga [limb]. In the construction of auṋga, ḿ cannot be used; the fifth varna una must be used.
Anc suffixed by alac gives us the word aiṋcala which means “a fixed place”. In the construction of aiṋcala also, ḿ should not be used; rather it should be written with the fifth varńa, ina, because here the fundamental root uses an apadánta n.
Auṋga
The meaning of the root anj is “to grow”, “to increase” or “to extend”. To welcome a guest we extend our hand or we extend a garland of flowers. Since, at the time of welcoming, something is extended, we use the word saḿvarddhaná (from saḿvarddhan, “to increase” or “to extend”) for “welcoming”. We also get the word auṋga when we add the suffix ac to anj; its meaning is “that which has grown”. All those parts which have grown from the main body, or any portion of that growth, is thus also called auṋga. For this reason hands, feet, eyes and ears are all classified as auṋga. In olden days, that country that was situated at the far border of northern India was considered an outgrowth of northern India and so its name was Angadesh [the country of auṋga]. It was between Barendrabhumi and Mithila which were on the north bank of the Ganges. South of the Ganges was Magadha and the land of Rarh, and within them was this Angadesh. Karna was probably a famous king of this Angadesh.
If we add lyut́ to anj we get the word auṋgana which means “the growth of a house”, or courtyard (angane áo ab java rasiya [come in my courtyard now, Lord Krśńa] – Vidyapati). In ancient days, during the height of male-domination, women used to be confined to the courtyard. Other than women who worked as physical labourers, no one was allowed outside the courtyard. Thus the women of that time were called auṋganá. Would it not be desirable to abolish the use of this word(1) in this modern era?
By adding lyut́ to anj we also get the word aiṋjana [sulphate of antimony used as collyrium] which means “that which increases lustre”. Needless to say, the fifth varńa iṋa is used; aḿ is not used.
Ad́d́á
The word ad́d́a is old Bengali. Many believe that the word is perhaps of foreign origin. The actual meaning of the word is “many coming together in a single place”. Later, the word ad́d́á became transformed into ád́d́á. The word ád́d́á [dwelling place, rendezvous] is still used in Bengali today.
Ańu
The meaning of the verbal root ńu is “to deliver”. The formal meaning of prańava (pra – ńu + al) is “that which has been delivered excellently”, in other words, that which has been successfully delivered to Parama Puruśa. The colloquial meaning of prańava is oṋḿkára [the sound of oṋm]. According to certain scriptures, by fixing one’s concentration on the prańava sound one will arrive at the original source, the Puruśottama [Cosmic nucleus]. In the Shruti it is said:
Etaddhyevákśaraḿ Brahma etaddhyevákśaraḿ param
[This is the stance of Akśara [non-decaying] Brahma; this is the stance of the Supreme Entity.]
Etadeválambanaḿ jiṋátvá Brahmaloke mahiiyate
[Knowing this Supreme Shelter, one gets firmly established in the Supreme Stance.]
The Tripádavibhúti Narayańa Shruti has clearly said: Prańavátmakaḿ Brahma. The vibrational flow of the Cosmic Self oscillates the universe through innumerable expressions. Each individual expression is known as deva and the original source from which they emanate, that Supreme source, is known as Mahádeva. That is, this prańava, being emitted from the nucleus of the universe, flows in waves through the different levels of matter and mind and continues on to limitlessness. It is not destroyed. It only knows how to move ahead. All kinds of inferential manifestation, all kinds of expressions originating in the nerve fibres, vibrate in that series of waves. Even when those waves pass into the far distance where the sky can place no obstacle in their path, even in that abstract world, they are expressed in the flow of inferences. Whatever sound is emitted continues eternally, whether or not we are able to perceive it. Whatever form vibrations have come into existence will continue endlessly, whether or not our optic nerve is able to catch them. This flow of waves is the oṋḿkára. On the one side it is the Macrocosm and on the other, innumerable microcosms, molecules dancing around the Macrocosm.
What does not do what the root ńu does is ańu [molecule]. From ńu plus the suffix d́rń we get the word ńu. Here the a is a negation. Ańu means “that which does not deliver anyone anywhere”. It has come by itself. The microcosm dances around the Macrocosm, but the Macrocosm does not dance around the microcosm. Hence the ańu does not deliver anyone; it arrives by itself.
When the ańu goes from distant to close, when it goes from a partially manifest vibration and arrives at the original base of that vibration with the help of the series of waves through vibrational simulation, it arrives at its supreme station. Thus the Macrocosm is great and the microcosm small. The smallest portion of any entity that carries its fundamental characteristics is known as ańu. Still, colloquially, any small entity can be, or is, called ańu. The living being is an ańu of Parama Puruśa. Molecular existence is all ańu, though there are individual differences at the molecular level. The smaller portion of the ańu, which does not carry its fundamental characteristics, is known as paramáńu [atom].
Ańu must be written with ń. If it is written with n it becomes a prefix. The meaning of the prefix anu is “back” or “behind”. If anyone arrives (gamana) somewhere after another person arrives, then we say that he has “followed” (anugamana). If someone moves (sarańa) somewhere, that is, if he walks or moves aside, and meanwhile someone else moves behind him we say that they have “followed” (anusarańa). If someone does something or has done something or has been doing something, and someone else also does that something after him, we call that “imitating” (anukarańa). To indicate the desire to do this we add ap after the suffix san which gives the word anucikiirśa [the desire to imitate].
Atah
The word atah means “from here” or “from now on”. What happens after “from here” or “from now on” is called atahpar [afterwards].
Atala
Tal + ac = tala. By adding the negation a before tala we get atala. The natural or etymological meaning of the word atala is “that whose bottom is too deep to be found” – in spoken Bengali we say Yár thai pácchi ná. The colloquial meaning of atala is “the third level down in the successive order of crudeness”. Just as when we ascend we have bhú-bhuvah-svah-maha-jana-tapa-satya with satya loka being the subtlest, when we descend we find tala right below bhúloka, below that atala, and then similarly talátala, pátála, atipátála, and rasátala. Rasátala is considered the crudest. Of course, the word rasátala is used to mean the worst kind of hell.
Atiisha
The word ati has various meanings. Sometimes it implies “abundance”, sometimes it signifies “excess”, sometimes “that part of growth which is unnecessary”. The word iisha means “lord”, “controller”, “director”, “ruler”; the formal meaning of atiisha is “formidable ruler” or Mahákaola. Its colloquial meaning is “fit to be welcomed by all” – wise sage. During the Buddhist era, those who were firmly established in profound wisdom used to be known as atiisha.
Atha
Atha means “this is” or “this will be”. Atha svarńanakulakathá means “this was a story about a golden mongoose”. Kathá means “story”. Kathániká means “assorted short tales”. Kathániká → kahániá → kaháni → kahinii [anecdote, story].
Anna
The meaning of the verbal root ad is “to eat”. Attá means “eater”. In the Vedas it is said: Attá vishvasya satpatih. We get the word anna from the root ad. Ad + na = anna. If hasanta da [where the a after the d is omitted] is followed by na, then na is inserted in place of d. The etymological meaning of anna is “that which is eaten” or “that which can be eaten”. The colloquial meaning of anna is “the chief food of any area” – in some places rice, in others bread, or potato or porridge. Just as a Bengalee is correct to call rice anna, so would an Irishman be correct to call potato anna. Áluka → álua → álu [potato]. What we call álu came to India from abroad about 400, 450 years ago. Thus it has no separate name in Sanskrit. Áluka used to be used for sweet potato. (Shakarakanda: Sharkarákanda → shakkarakanda → shakarakanda) In some parts of India this sweet potato or shakarakanda is anna for the poor people. Although it is tasty, it has little nutritive value.
Apa
Apa is a prefix. It denotes opposition. That which goes against karma [deed] is apakarma [misdeed]. When we say devatá we mean “one who has many kinds of good qualities”. One who does not have good qualities is called apadevatá. Imaginary ghosts are thus called apadevatá. The antonym of utkrśt́a [excellent] is apakrśt́a [inferior]. The antonym of saiṋcaya [accumulation] (sam – ci + al = saiṋcaya) is apacaya [squandering] (apa – ci + al = apacaya). Caya is created by adding the suffix al to the root ci. But if ghaiṋ is the suffix, then in place of the letter ca, ka is inserted, that is, ci + ghaiṋ = káya, not cáya (the spelling káyá is incorrect). Apakrti can be used as the antonym of saḿskrti [culture] but apa-saḿskrti cannot because saḿskrti means “that which has ascended to an advanced level of krti [deed]”. Apa means a degraded condition. How can the two then go together? Can a stone bowl be made of gold? Furthermore, apakrti also means “misdeed”. Thus asaḿskrti, rather, should be used as the antonym of saḿskrti.
Apána
A (negation) + Pá + lyut́ = apána. The etymological meaning of apána is “that which does not help in increasing fluidity”. According to the yogic scriptures, apána is one of the five internal váyus [vital forces]. There are ten different internal and external váyus. The internal váyus are práńa, apána, samána, udána, and vyána.
1) Práńa: The práńa váyu is situated in the area from the navel to the throat. It helps with the respiratory functions and the circulation of vital energy.
2) Apána: This váyu functions in the area from the navel down. It helps in the excretion of urine and stool.
3) Samána: Samána váyu is situated at the navel region and maintains equilibrium between the práńa and apána váyus.
4) Udána: The udána váyu is situated in the throat. It helps in vocalization and expression of thought. If someone uses very emotional language we say “tini udátta kańthe áhván Jánálen.” [He issued a clarion call.]
5) Vyána: The vyána váyu functions throughout the body. It helps in the circulation of vital fluids and blood, and in the perception and non-perception of experience.
The five external váyus are:
1) Nága: It resides in the joints. This nága váyu helps with jumping and extending the body.
2) Kúrma: It is found in the different glands of the body. Kúrma váyu helps with the action of contraction. The way a turtle contracts by withdrawing its limbs into its body is called kúrmabháva. Since this váyu helps in effecting kúrmabháva, it is called kúrma váyu. One should keep in mind that kúrmabháva and kúrmanád́ii are not the same thing. Kúrmanád́ii is a point in the throat at the bottom-most portion of the periphery of Vishuddha cakra. If mental equipoise is brought about in the kúrmanád́ii then the body’s vibrations can be temporarily stopped. (According to yogis, bulls have the capacity to fix their mind in the kúrmanád́ii, thereby achieving a state where they can go without moving for a long time. To see them, it would appear as if they were not a living being but a statue chiselled out of stone.)
3) Krkara: Krkara váyu is scattered throughout the body. It expresses itself in the increase or decrease of air pressure. Krkara váyu helps in yawning and stretching. Ordinarily, yawning happens right before falling asleep, and stretching, right after waking up. In the spoken languages of north India, yawning is called jemná and stretching is called áḿd́e lená – in Bengali we say ád́moŕá bháuṋgá.
4) Devadatta: The devadatta váyu bases its action on the increased or decreased pressure of food and water in the stomach. Devadatta váyu rouses thirst and hunger.
5) Dhanaiṋjaya: As a result of internal or external labour, the body feels the need for sleep. The feeling of sleep or drowsiness comes from this dhanaiṋjaya váyu which pervades the body, and so the living being drowses or falls asleep.
Due to illness, old age or an unexpected injury, the region inhabited by práńa váyu degenerates and the práńa váyu can no longer maintain its natural functional capacity and flow. In this unnatural condition it strikes against the samána váyu causing the samána váyu to lose its equilibrium. As a result, the navelly-situated samána váyu and the upper body práńa váyu quit their respective areas and merge; the two then create pressure on apána váyu. In this condition the udána váyu loses its normal ability to function under the united pressure of práńa, samána and apána. This condition we call “navel breathing”. As a result of the udána váyu losing its normal functioning, a rattling sound is produced in the throat. This is an indication of imminent natural death.
At the time of leaving the body, the four united váyus – práńa, apána, samána, and udána – join with the vyána váyu, which is present throughout the body. These five vital forces, having become one, leave the body and join the aerial factor or merge in Mahápráńa [Cosmic Life]. At the time that the práńa váyu leaves the body, four of the five external váyus, namely nága, devadatta, kúrma, and krkara, join with the práńa váyu and leave the body together with it. Only the dhanaiṋjaya váyu remains in the body.
Sleep and drowsiness is the work of dhanaiṋjaya váyu. The body being in a state of permanent repose, dhanaiṋjaya váyu remains. After cremation, or when the dead body completely decomposes in the grave, dhanaiṋjaya enters the mahábhúta [five fundamental factors] and merges into the aerial factor.
The collective name of the five internal váyus and five external váyus is the five práńas or the ten práńas. The process by which we try to bring the vital forces under control is called práńáyáma in the yogic scriptures. Práńán yamayatyeśa práńáyámah. Of course, there is another explication of práńáyáma: Tasmin sati shvásaprashvásayorgativicchedah práńáyámah. Its meaning also ends up being essentially the same, that is, the special effort whereby the normal flow of inhalation and respiration is altered and a temporary cessation of respiration is introduced by special means, is called práńáyáma.
It sometimes happens that due to sudden accident or the attack of a deadly disease, the body is so disturbed that its vital force becomes paralysed. This can happen with cholera (visúciká in Sanskrit), pox (máriigut́iká in Sanskrit), snakebite, death by poisoning, and death by hanging.
Suddenly, there is an accidental death, but the body is not broken into pieces. Since the vital energy is paralysed, there is no opportunity for navel breathing or only very little. When the vital energy has been paralysed, it seems apparently as if death has occurred while actually it has not – that comes a little later. During this condition, if the respiration can be reestablished by an artificial process, the vital energy wakes up and becomes active or can do so.
As long as the vital energy is paralysed, there will be no sign of decay in the body. In olden days, whenever a person’s vital energy became paralysed for one of these reasons, the people, rather than cremating or interring the so-called dead body, used to attach it to a raft and float it in water. In the open environment or atmosphere of the river, the vital energy, in some cases, used to become fully active again. Thus, in those days, especially in cases of cholera, pox or snakebite, the people used to float the dead patient in water out of a spirit of welfare. In such cases, where the vital energy is paralysed, there is absolutely no chance of it returning if the body is cremated. If the body is interred underground it becomes even more grievous because that vital energy may reawaken for some time in the grave. After a short struggle the person falls again into eternal sleep in the darkness of the tomb. Thus, after these types of death it is better not to burn or bury the deceased until they have been examined by a competent physician.
I remember a story now about paralysed vital energy that I have not thought about for many years. I was going from Biharshariif to Ranchi via Gaya. It would have been shorter and faster to go via Nawada, Jhumri-Tilaiya, but since I had some(2) work in Gaya I had to take the long route. It was late in the evening when I arrived in Gaya, about a quarter past eight. After finishing my work, I decided that if I spent the night in Gaya I would be late when I got to Ranchi the next morning. Instead, why not go on ahead as far as I could? I could stay at some resthouse along the way. Then I could start at dawn the next morning and arrive early in Ranchi.
So that is what I did.
Around 10:00 at night I reached the Gobhi dak-bungalow. After a few shouts, the caretaker woke up. I told him I wanted to spend the night there and leave at dawn. He seemed like a good man but he replied, “Look, Sahib, no one stays in this resthouse at night. As you can see, the jungle is not far from here. There are ferocious animals in the jungle, bears and some tigers also. After a little while you’ll hear the tigers roar. Four or five years ago the bathroom was broken; no one uses it. The authorities don’t want to repair it either so it’s really not possible for you to sleep in the room tonight. As you can see, we still haven’t gotten electricity in our rest house. We have the old-fashioned pull-fan(3) but we haven’t had a fan-puller for two years. The authorites are thinking to bring electricity here so they’ve left that position vacant.”
“Now it’s cold season,” I said. “What’s the harm if there is no fan-puller?”
“What can I say, sir,” replied the caretaker. “Until now, I haven’t seen anyone who has been able to remain in any of the rooms of this house. So I can’t advise you to stay here.”
“I’ll sleep outside in the garden,” I said.
“Like I told you,” he replied. “There’s the danger of bears and tigers. I’m also afraid to stay here at night. How can I let you stay alone at night outside in the garden?”
“I’ll sleep under a mosquito net,” I said. “Bears and tigers won’t come through the net. You don’t have to worry.”
The man reluctantly agreed. He arranged a cot, some bedding and a mosquito net for me. When I laid down for the night I saw something white a little distance from the bungalow in the soft light of the waxing moon. I asked the caretaker if he knew what it was.
“Sir, I don’t see very well at night,” he replied. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
I had some fruits with me, so I ate something and lay down. The caretaker started heading home.
At that time British rule had just ended. The pressure of British domination was felt everywhere. But in this Gobhi area there was virtually no sign of the civilized world. It was completely jungle, and in the middle of it this little dak-bungalow. There were no houses, no market, no din and bustle nearby. If you shouted there would be very little hope that anyone would hear you. The caretaker said he would come at five in the morning. Until then I would be completely alone.
Anyhow, feeling tired, I laid my torch next to my pillow and went to bed. After a few minutes my eyelids grew heavy and I dropped off to sleep. Some time later I was roused by a rustling sound. What do I see? At the foot of the bed two hands were lifting up the mosquito net and coming in, human hands. There was no need of the torch because there was enough moonlight to see by.
“Who… who… who,” I said. Slowly the mosquito net rose up and the upper portion of a human body entered along with the two hands.
Was it a man? The image of a man created by the play of light and shadow? The glorious treasure of a human being vibrant with life? But why was it so silent? I could feel the touch of the cold air coming in from the forest at the foot of my bed. Was this heaven or hell? Or some other place, beyond either one?
The fellow stood there like a statue chiselled out of monolithic rock. I became very annoyed and turned over on my other side. From the forest I could hear the constant drone of crickets, ghostly owl cries, and the occasional sound of a várshiḿha deer. One sound in particular, I assumed, was the call of a deer. I could also hear the strange cries of hyenas. I had heard that there were bears, pythons, wild boars and a few man-eating tigers in this forest, but I didn’t hear any. Hunters say that the calls of deers and tigers never come from the same part of the jungle at the same time because deer won’t go anywhere near an area where a tiger is roaring, so if you hear the call of a deer you can be sure that there are no tigers nearby.
I tried to sleep a little. But who can sleep through misfortune? At the foot of the bed cold air was still coming in from the forest so I knew that the figure was still standing there lifting up the mosquito net. I got more and more annoyed. I decided to ignore him for a little while, but if he still didn’t go away I would scold him mercilessly and compel him to leave.
Two or three minutes passed. He continued to stand there, holding up the mosquito net and staring at me. Then I rebuked him severely in the local Magahii language: “What are you doing here? Whom do you want? If you’ve got no business here, well I have! I’m trying to sleep.”
He started to tremble and I could see that he was embarrassed. Then he started speaking in a very sweet, soft voice: “I came to make sure that you could sleep properly.”
He had answered me in Bengali. Seeing his gentlemanly behaviour, my mind softened. Looking closely, I could see that my visitor was a young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, wearing winter clothes. Judging by his face I could see that he was well-educated and from a good family.
“What is your name?” I asked. “Where do you live?”
“My name is Niiláiṋjana Bhaiṋja. My home is in Hazaribag. But it seems I am bound here by my strong attachment to the place.
“I saw how late you arrived and I knew the night would be troublesome for you. The caretaker of this place is a very good man. He was right to try to get you to stay in the next dak-bungalow at Caopárań instead of staying here. That’s a very good dak-bungalow. Everything he said was quite correct. It’s his duty to stay here at night, but he doesn’t do so out of fear. He leaves at 10:00 every night and comes back around five in the morning. His village is about a mile from here. Whenever he goes and whenever he comes he gets eerie feelings and becomes afraid. It’s like that. If I had to come then I’d also feel the same way.
“I saw that you had bananas and guavas for dinner. Imagine how I felt. You wanted to take a bath but the water from the well here is not fit for use. Even though the caretaker left a bucket of water before he left, thinking you might need it, still you didn’t use it to bathe. Imagine how we felt. Finally you went to bed on a cot in the garden and fell asleep. I didn’t get any chance to speak with you. Then I thought, let me lift up the mosquito net and tickle the bottom of your feet a little. If you woke up, then I would ask you if you wanted to come to my house.”
“What would be the inconvenience if I remained outside?” I asked.
“Two inconveniences,” he replied. “As you can see, there’s a cold breeze coming from the jungle. It’ll get even colder as the night goes on. All you have is an endi [rough silk] shawl to cover yourself. You’ll be very uncomfortable. Secondly, the wild animals from the forest make noise all night long and they’ll keep waking you up. You see how much trouble it is? So we want to make the best of a bad situation and give you the best room in the bungalow. We’ve cleaned the room and arranged everything. You won’t have any problems there.”
“The keys are underneath my pillow,” I said. “Where did you get the keys from?”
“I have a duplicate set of keys,” he replied. “We often go back and forth to the bungalow at night. If we see any guest having problems at night we also feel troubled. Even more so with you since you are very close to us, as close as can be.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘we’? Who else is with you?”
Niiláiṋjana replied: “My sister is with me – Mainjulá Bhaiṋja. Didi has been doing research for a long time into Gondwanaland’s prehistoric age. Our Gobhi here was also a part of Gondwanaland. Didi’s friend Vásavii Vasu is also here. Vásavii has been doing long-term research on Magdha’s gods and goddesses during the Maháyána Buddhist era. Once she visited with you the rocky land that is in front of Shámasuddin Miyan’s house in Páhád́iyá village. In that rocky land there were different figures of gods and goddesses from Magadha’s Buddhist era, some broken or half-broken, and others still intact. Vásavii said that you helped her in many ways. So I can’t let you remain in such a troublesome situation. Please heed what I am saying and come to the room.”
Rather than give a direct answer, I asked Niiláiṋjana if he was doing research on anything.
“I’ve done a little research on the river civilizations of Rarh and Jharkhanda. But you can hardly find a single book on the subject so I haven’t been able to go very far in my research.
“Once you went to Hazaribag. My sister Mainjulá and I also went. You were standing near the Canary Hills. I was walking behind you but I didn’t have an opportunity to say anything. Had you looked behind you, even by mistake, I would’ve spoken a few urgent words to you.”
Then I asked: “In your opinion, are your sister Mainjulá and her friend Vásavii Vasu also bound here by the same attachment to the place?”
He smiled a little and replied: “Exactly as you say. Please come now. The ladies have finished getting the room ready.”
“The caretaker was saying that there is no fan-puller,” I said. “It may get uncomfortably hot during the night.”
“That’s partly correct. But as you can see, it’s cold outside. And besides, what am I here for? Myself, my sister, and Vásavii will take turns fanning you by hand. And so that you won’t be in any kind of danger while you’re asleep, I’ll stand watch. The only trouble you have to take is to go to the room. You don’t have to think for anything else.”
Niiláiṋjana started for the room and I followed after him. By the way, there is one thing I should mention about our walk over. My shoes were squeaking as I walked but Niiláiṋjana’s were absolutely silent. It was as if his feet weren’t touching the ground at all, or if they were, they were touching it so lightly that no sound was coming. It was quite strange. Like being in a spectral world. There was some moonlight so there were very few fireflies. Those few that were there moved aside when they saw me, but when they saw Niiláiṋjana they did not move at all, as if they did not acknowledge his existence. Such a thing! As if he was a phantom moving in a phantom world, lost in a magical inner realm.
I arrived at a large room. Niiláiṋjana really did have a duplicate set of keys. Otherwise how could they have opened the room? I could see from the decaying condition of the earth and brick walls that the house had been built either at the beginning of the British era or at the end of the Mughal era. It was along this road that they used to send the mail from Bengal to Delhi with mounted postal bearers. At points along the way there were arrangements for food and lodging for the riders and their horses.
As I entered the room I was keenly aware of the strangeness of the situation. There was no light on in the caretaker’s room but here they had lit a wall-lamp. Although one could more or less make things out in its dim light, one couldn’t see very well. From the open door that white apparition from the forest could still be seen indistinctly, the same white apparition that the caretaker had told me he couldn’t see clearly at night and would inform me about in the morning.
The bed was laid out. I lay down and covered myself with my eńdi shawl. The room was fairly warm. Niiláiṋjana pulled up a stool and began fanning me.
“Why should you stay awake so late at night,” I said. “You should go to bed. Just let me know which room you are going to sleep in and I will call you if I need to.”
“You are the guest tonight and we are the hosts,” he replied.
“Even if you tell me a thousand times I won’t budge. Who knows how hot it may get? I’ll keep fanning you and I’ll make sure you don’t get too cold either. Do you know? For a while I’ve been feeling very remorseful. How long was I holding up the mosquito net and letting the cold air in?… It never occurred to me that you were getting cold. Here, let me warm up a flannel for you.”
“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t put me into debt like that. You can stay in my room if you like, but you don’t have to do anything more for me.”
“I’ll stay,” he said, “and I’ll fan you; Besides it wouldn’t be right for me to lie down now. Who knows when some danger might present itself. The three of us will take turns staying awake. My sister will take the duty after me. Then I’ll go out on the road to Caopárań. It’s also important to see if there’s anything dangerous on the road. When you’re crossing Caopárań it’ll be dawn. Whoever is going to look after you on your way out of Caopárań will have to have a word with me then. I can’t come so easily or talk so easily in the daylight as I can at night, you understand. So, after Caopárań, whoever takes responsibility for your care will have to remain near you secretly.
“Now turn over to the other side. I’ll fan the back of your head nicely. That way you’ll fall asleep faster. While I’m fanning you I’ll tell you a little story. You’ll fall asleep quicker listening to a story.
“The region where we are now used to be the far eastern part of ancient Gondwanaland. I can’t say it was the farthest eastern part because the farthest eastern part was that part of Gondwanaland that people nowadays call Rarh. The eastern mountains of Gondwanaland ran parallel from west to east. Only the Rajmahal Hills in the north ran northeast instead of due east, near Sahebganj and away from the Ganges. I say the Ganges although at that time the Ganges wasn’t there – the ocean was. At that time the Himalayas hadn’t been formed yet so where could the Ganges come from?
“This was during the time before the breath of man had warmed the earth’s air. All the way south, in the area near Meghasini peak, the mountains ran more or less southeast. The rest of the mountains ran from west to east and their last lofty peak was Sametashikhar, that today is known by the name of Pareshnáth. To the east of this Pareshnáth was the ancient land of Rarh and to the west was Jharkhanda. Of course this was before human beings came to the earth.
“Into the lowest portion of the valley, between these two mountain ranges, ran the melted ice water of Gondwanaland forming the Bánsh, Dváraká, Mayúrákśii, Hiḿlo, Ajaya, Dámodara, Dvárakeshvara, Kaḿsávatii, Shilávatii, Káliyághái, and Suvarńarekhá rivers – these were all very large rivers. When human beings came and made the ancient soil of Rarh holy with the touch of their feet, they built their dwellings on the banks of these rivers. Not only humans – those prehistoric creatures who came hundreds of thousands of years before the advent of men also used to live on the banks of these rivers because all living beings need water.
“Do you know why I’m only talking about Rarh and not about any other part of Gondwanaland? Elsewhere it was extremely cold and full of snowstorms. There was no proper environment there for human beings to evolve. Rarh had the living touch of warmth so humans came there first. They founded the world’s most ancient civilization and culture, which we can call the original Rarh culture.
“Nothing stops in this world, neither animate nor inanimate. It is not only that these rivers carried vital force for existence. They also led the irresistible attainment of civilization and culture swiftly toward union with the sea. That civilization that is founded upstream in the river reaches its fullness downstream. No two rivers carry identical civilizations. Thus, after two rivers merge, their combined flow carries yet a third civilization.
“Take, for instance, a small example. In our Birbhum there are two very small rivers: the Kopái and the Vakreshvara. The flow of these two civilizations and cultures is nearly the same. The spoken language of the people who live on their banks is also almost the same. But notice, I say ‘almost’ rather than ‘the same’ because they are not identical. Afterwards, when they join each other in Melánpur near Indása village (the famous Indrahása from the Jain era) and become the Kuye river, then its accompanying civilization and culture becomes a little altered. The people who live on the banks of the Kuye river enjoy the blessings of both the Kopái and Vakreshvara rivers.
“Dumká, Suri, Santhia, and Kandi – these four cities are in the Mayúrákśii valley. Their customs, behaviour, mode of living, and spoken language are the same but the Mandar hill, which is very near Dumká, is situated on the Chandan river and thus the customs, comportment and language there is different than Dumká’s. Kandi is quite far from Dumká but they are alike in all ways. Moreover, Kándi is very close to Jangipur but Jangipur’s culture is different; its spoken language is Shershahabad Bengali. You will find this kind of history with all rivers. The rivers of Rarh did not simply carry sand and alluvium to the sea, thereby making the Bengali plains, they also brought the verdant riches of civilization and culture to Bengal.
“After the rise of the Himalayas from the ocean, the Ganges and the Brahmaputra rivers brought the flow of civilization and culture with the current of their waters. The Ganges brought the Indo-Aryan culture, but near Sahebganj, where the Ganges turns south, the Gaorhiya [a portion of Bengal] influence over the cultural life increased. Similarly, as the Brahmaputra reached the Assam valley near Sadiya there was a mixture of the Tibetan and Burmese civilizations. The triple mixture of these two with the Indo-Aryan gave rise to the Kamarupa civilization which a little downriver became transformed into the Bengali culture.
“The lushness and artistry of the Bengali civilization and culture of today has been enriched by the civilization and culture carried by the many small rivers and tributaries of Rarh, and with the admixture of the Ganges and Brahmaputra civilizations the Bengali civilization has achieved its incomparable sweetness.”
“Niiláiṋjana,” I said. “You have learned so much at such a young age!”
Niilanjana replied: “Do you know what the funny thing is? (As he said this he was smiling sweetly.) You were thinking all these things yourself and I was only thinking of you. So what you were thinking vibrated my mind. I spoke so that you could enjoy hearing your own thoughts from my mouth. Now you sleep and I’ll sit here. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Suddenly, my sleep was broken. Niiláiṋjana was no longer in the room; instead there was a young woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old. She greeted me and said, “I’m Niiláiṋjana’s sister, Mainjulá Bhaiṋja. Niiláiṋjana left for Caopárań to make sure that everything is okay on the road. Now I’ve taken over the duty.
“First of all, I should mention that when Niiláiṋjana left he put that pen on the table there to give to you. He said that if you object then I should put the pen forcibly in your pocket.”
I looked and saw Niiláiṋjana’s pen glittering on the table.
“I also left my wristwatch beside it,” said Mainjulá. What’s the use of a wristwatch in this pitch darkness. Indeed, our life is pitch dark in this forested area, isn’t it? Better these things be free from the darkness of Hades and enjoy the light and air of the free world in your museum.
“I hope you’re not feeling any inconvenience. If you do, you must let me know. A little while ago I changed the bedsheet. The mattress is very stiff. It wasn’t possible to change it so late at night. All this time I’ve been busy trying to think of what might help you fall asleep quicker. You didn’t really have a chance to eat, but it wasn’t the right time to bring you food. After my duty is finished, I’ll make you some breakfast and leave it in the car. You certainly have to eat on your way to Caopárań.”
“Of course, I have a strong attraction to the terrain of Gondwanaland,” continued Mainjulá. “But I feel more attraction for the different plants and wild animals of this area, in a word, the flora and fauna. In the laterite soil of this land you find mostly piyál (piyáshál), palásh, kuśum, shál, and kendu trees. You also come across wild jackfruit, wild mango and custard-apple trees. Was the tree-life and different birds and beasts of this area the same during the end of the Pleiocene or beginning of the Meoiscene ages when ape-men first appeared?”
“Well keep in mind,” I replied, “that the custard-apple trees you find here in the wild were brought by the Portuguese about 450 years ago. What do you know about palásh?”
“Well, looking at the colour of the flower and its qualities, it seems to me that rather than the three varieties we have nowadays, white, red and yellow, there was only the red variety. The tree was ten times taller than the palásh trees of today. The flowers were bright red but very big in size, and the fruits were quite small but sweet and juicy.”
“Your thinking is correct,” I said, “because there are more palásh trees in the eastern portion of Gondwanaland. Where rivers have more or less level land on both sides you get this red soil that the palásh tree favours. The interesting thing is that in all the river basins of that area, especially the Damodar, Ajaya, Ushri, Konar, Barakar, and the Mahanadii’s central river basin, you get ample amounts of coal – high quality coal. The primary source of material for this coal is decomposed palásh trees. Those palásh trees were not like the palásh trees of today but they were the forefathers of today’s palásh trees.
“The part of Gondwanaland in which we are now is more or less divided into east and west by the Koyel river. The difference between east and west is not only evidenced in the terrain, but also in the flora and fauna. I would guess that the western mountains that we now call the Vindhya and Sátpurá mountains were once much higher. They had peaks higher than the Himalayas. Flora and fauna could not evolve there in the ancient past due to excessive snowfall, but the eastern mountains, although very high and snow-capped, were not as high as the western mountains. It is likely that the first appearance in the world of both flora and fauna was here, in this area where we find our ancient Rarh and Jharkhanda. In the west, the melted ice ran into the Arabian Sea. Although there was water, the soil was unfertile, so there was little flora and naturally little fauna as well. But in the east, where the water from the melted snows became rivers, the cold was not so severe. So the first expression of developed life was in the land of Rarh – this we can be certain of.
“Thus we find an abundance of prehistoric fossils in the eastern portion of the Ramgarh Hills, the Dalmá Hills, the Meghásinii belt, and the southeast portion of the Rajmahal Hills (Pákud́a and Rajmahal sub-divisions). The small hills of Bankura District, especially the Shushuniyá Hills, are also an extension of this Ramgarh range. Fossils of various types of ancient animals have been found near these hills. Still, the greatest amount of fossils are lying in the areas closest to the Suvarńarehká, Kaḿsávatii, and Damodara rivers. It is quite clear that the brontosaurus and other dinosaurs lived in this region. Rhinoceroses also used to roam the extremely high grasses of this area. Just two hundred years ago rhinoceroses were living in Birbhum and Kandi sub-division. Only 125 years ago rhinoceroses were spotted in Rajmahal and Pákurh.
“There were also huge birds of the phinge variety with loose, hanging tails. I would guess that the size of a single bird was about five or six feet. Their tales used to trail on the ground and the sabre-toothed tigers of that day used to catch them easily by stepping on their tails with their paws. But when the sabre-toothed tiger disappeared from Rarh about 700,000 years ago, these large-bodied birds also became extinct. The descendants of these huge birds, the phinge and doyel birds of today, are much smaller in size. The hyena (govághá, hud́ál, hud́ár, or huńdár in rural Bengali; in Madhya Pradesh vighavá) of today is the descendant of this sabre-toothed tiger.
“Ape-men or man-apes first took birth in this part of the earth. There were some differences between the humans that evolved on either side of the Koyel river in terms of intelligence and other qualities. Such differences still exist today among their descendants. On the eastern side was the dwelling place of the Munda clan(4) of that primitive age, and on the western side lived the Oráno clan. The former belongs to the Austric group – their language also. Many Austric-family words are still used in modern Bengali, such as kurhi [twenty], dulál (from dulár [darling child]) and ghád́a [neck], among others.
“The Oráno family languages belong to the Dravidian group.(5) Although there are some words in Bengali that belong to the Dravidian family, they are much fewer by comparison than those of Austric origin. This family of words [Dravidian] includes pallii [hamlet], miin [fish], and tentul [tamarind] (tinturi → tenturi → tentur → tentul), among others.
“The Biirhorh(6) community also arose in this area in very ancient times. They are also part of the Austric family. The original home of the Málpáhárhiis is in the northeast part of this area. Later they were subdued by others and forced to take shelter in the forest at the far edge of the Rajmahal Hills.
“In those ancient days there was a great deal of fighting between the ape-men and man-apes. The apes did not know the use of fire so they could not use it to burn their enemies. When men learned the use of fire, they started to burn to death their main enemies, the apes, and eat them. During the British era also, the Biirhorhs used to burn apes to death and eat them. They also had some attraction to cannibalism, however, there is no proof that they ever ate human beings. One can deduce from this that they used to kill the apes for the purpose of eating their enemies.
“There is still another clan from this Koyel river basin – the Asuras. They originated here and developed their own separate culture. Later they left and headed northwest in the direction of Europe. A few words from their language can still be found among the Gypsies of central Asia and in the Romansch language of Europe.
“I can see that you really like your subject, so I also like it. How is it you know so much at such a young age?”
“A few minutes ago I hardly knew anything about this subject,” she replied. “Whatever you were thinking just came out of my mouth. And whatever you were saying was reflected in the mirror of my mind.”
I continued. “Near the high mountains of this Gondwanaland there were many huge pits. With the passage of time the mountains eroded and became large hills, then smaller hills, knolls and mounds. Today also, Rarh and Jharkhanda are full of these hills, hillocks and knolls. Thus the land is undulating. What is today the lowest portion of this undulating land was at one time deep pits. And the upper portions were very tall mountains. Although many large pits have filled up, not all of them have. In Rarhii Bengali they are called kándar (from kandara in Sanskrit). Still there are a few very large pits. You will also find large pits nearby wherever you find a coal-yard with an open pit.”
“When I hear the word ‘pit’ I tremble and my throat goes dry,” said Mainjulá.
“Why?” I asked.
“It was in a pit that we had our accident,” she replied. “It was a long time ago, during British rule. I was travelling by car from Hazaribag to Gaya with my friend Vásavii and my little brother Niiláiṋjana to do some research about Magadha. As we were approaching Gobhi our car had to swerve to avoid getting hit by a truck and it fell in a huge gorge. Oh! If I think about it, even today, I lose consciousness. The last thing I heard was Niiláiṋjana crying ‘Didi’. I can still hear him. He was driving the car. We all fell in the gorge and were severely hurt but no one died. We remained unconscious for a long time.”
Listening to Mainjulá, I gradually fell asleep. Two or three times I said to myself: “Even today the three of us become afraid if we hear the word ‘gorge’.”
I don’t know when Mainjulá left. When I woke up again I saw a girl about Mainjulá’s age sitting in the room. I took a good look at her. It was the same Vásavii Vasu that I had seen a few years before in Magadha’s Páháŕiyá village. What a passion she had for archaeological research!
Then Vásavii started talking. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted an opportunity to talk to you, but I never got the chance. But first, before we talk anymore, I have to take care of one thing. I want my locket to stay in your museum along with Niiláiṋjana’s pen and Mainjulá’s wristwatch. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And just to be sure that you won’t get a chance to object, I’ve put them in your suitcase in the car.”
“What are you saying?” I replied. “The key to the suitcase is in my pocket. How did you open the suitcase? You live here so I can see how you might have a duplicate key for the room, but there’s no question of having a duplicate key for my suitcase.”
She replied, a little embarrassed. “Oh yes, you’re right. How did I open it?… how did I open it?”
To save her from an embarrassing situation I asked, “Do you remember your research into eastern Magadha and your investigation of the idols and images?”
“Ye-e-s indeed. Most of all, your words left a strong impression on me. You really helped me so much! Do you expect that the results of cultural research throughout Magadha will be the same?”
“Magadha culture can be divided into four branches,” I replied, “according to river valleys: (1) Shon-Punpun, (2) Naeraiṋjana-Mohaniya-Phalgu, (3), Kiul Valley and (4) Kśuri Valley.
“While it is certainly true that the Ganges flows through Magadha and that the civilization that the Ganges brought with it from north India took on a new form when it came to Magadha, Magadha was in no way founded on this Gangetic civilization. The heart of these four branches of culture was in Girivraja or Rájagir.(7)
“Today the rivers of Magadha have all but dried up, but it was not always so. At one time the source of its rivers was in the deep forest. There was a great deal of rainfall in those days and the rivers used to flow twelve months a year. Today, as a result of senseless destruction of the forest, Magadha is gradually being turned into a desert. The village where we met was a little outside the Kiul valley. It falls within the jurisdiction of the Ksuri valley. Today the Kśuri river(8) has dried up but at one time it was a very big river. This can be ascertained by measuring the width of its source.
“It is true that, at that time, the Mahayanii Buddhist god Máriici was popular among the people. Some people used to do Maŕiici pújá [worship] and others used to throw sand in the idol’s face to get the god to leave the village. Háriiti was also popular in Magadha but one would not usually see both Máŕiici and Háriiti in the same place. At one spot in the Kśuri valley we found idols of both Máŕiici and Háriiti. But these things I’ve already told you. You took notes also.”
“I did take notes but I lost them at the time of the car accident.”
“How did it happen?”
“The gods live inside people,” Vásavii continued, “and the demons also build their homes inside people. Mainjulá certainly must have told you how we fell into a gorge and were gravely injured. We were stunned, our life-force was paralysed. Nobody lived in that area and no one came to rescue us. But one or two hours after the accident some dacoits arrived and robbed us of all our possessions. They took my notebook and whatever money and other property we had with us, but they didn’t bother to call a doctor or to try to save us by taking us to a hospital. The only things the thieves overlooked were Niiláiṋjana’s pen, Mainjulá’s wristwatch and my locket so we’ve given them to you. What good will it do if they remain in this dark underworld? Let them stay in the open air and light of your museum.
“A little while later, an English gentleman was passing by on the same road and noticed our situation. He took our three bodies in his car to a nearby health centre. Fortunately, we were still alive though our life-force was paralysed.
“But how long shall I go on talking about us?” she said. “You were talking about Háriiti?”
“Háriiti was also a Mahayana Buddhist goddess,” I continued. “The difference between Máriici and Háriiti was that Háriiti was worshipped by both the Mahayana Buddhists and the Shvetámbara Jains. We found both Háriiti and Máriici in the Kśuri river basin. One can deduce from this that in this part of Magadha both Buddhism and Jainism existed side by side. Whether as enemies or friends, they lived together.
“It may also be, moreover, that this river basin was the original centre of Mahayana Buddhism. It should not be forgotten that Rajagir-Nalanda, Barhgaon, Mahabihar (Biharsharif), Paharhiya (the village of Maharsi Saiṋjaya, the philosophy teacher of Lord Buddha), and Pavapurii (the place where Varddhaman Mahaviira died) are all in the Kśuri river valley. At one time, the river had a very sharp (kśuradhárávat), strong current. Thus in Sanskrit its name became kśuriká. Later that became kśuri in Bengali. Here it should also be remembered that the current dialects of the Magahii language have been spread through the river basins.
“Magadha also has very clear, fixed natural boundaries: The Ganges in the north, the Shon river in the west, the Ramgarh Hills in the south, and in the east Sametashikhara or Pareshanath Mountain,(9) Cákái Hill (Cakravartii Mountain: Cakravartii → Cakkavatii → Cakkavai → Cákái/Cakái), Grdhrakút́a Hill (Grdhrakút́a Gidhdhkúd́a → Gidhdhaud́a → Gidhaoŕa) and Kiul River valley. In the direction opposite Grdhrakút́a Hill is Angadesh and opposite Cakravartii Mountain is Rarh.”
“How very interesting,” said Vásavii. “About a month after we met that time, I went back there to do some more extensive research into the Máriici and Háriiti idols, but this time I was unable to find any. Brokers who dealt in idols had stolen them and smuggled them out of the country.”
“This kind of sad occurrence is a daily event in Magadha,” I replied. “So much archaeological wealth has been and is being smuggled out of Magadha that in the near future Magadha will become destitute and empty. There is no dearth of educated people in Magadha nowadays, but it seems that they are not paying proper attention to this. What the universities are doing about it I can’t say, but I will say that both the educated people of Magadha and the universities should come forward without delay in this matter. It is unthinkable that that part of the world which is richest in archaeological wealth should be deprived of everything it has.”
Again I started falling asleep.
The sound of the caretaker approaching woke me up. When I looked up, I saw Vásavii getting ready to leave. “The caretaker is coming so I have to go now,” she said and then left rather hastily. At first she went like the wind, then even faster… she went near that white thing in the distance and disappeared somewhere. The next moment the caretaker entered my room.
When the caretaker entered my room he said: “Sir, you moved into the room last night! If you had told me that you were going to move into the room in the middle of the night I would have made all the necessary arrangements. Aha, I see you’ve laid out your bedding yourself. The bedding has also been cleaned up. And I see that the wall-lamp (deyálgii)(10) has been lit. That was being kept in the storeroom. Why did you take the risk of going into the storeroom in the dead of night like that for the wall-lamp? What if you had had an accident?”
I kept silent. If I had said anything at all it would mean having to say something about those three people. I pointed in the direction of the door and drew his attention to that white thing in the distance. Then I said: “Last night, when I asked you what that white thing in the distance was, you told me that you couldn’t see properly in the darkness. Now it’s time for me to leave. Please tell me.”
The caretaker answered as if he hadn’t heard my question. “Oh Sir, you have to leave now? Before you go let me tell you a story of mine.
“It took place quite some time back, during British rule. Three people were travelling by car from the direction of Caopárań. For what reason, I don’t know, they had an accident. Their car ran into a deep gorge. The three of them didn’t appear too badly injured but they were all knocked unconscious. Whether they were killed or not is difficult for anyone to say in my opinion. One of them was a gentleman and the other two were ladies [mishibábá].(11)
“A little while after the accident, it seems, some rogues robbed them of all their valuables, but they made no attempt to save them or bring them to a health centre. Just see what kind of brutes they were! Sometime after, an English gentleman was travelling on the same road from Gaya to Cátará (Hazaribag District). He noticed the damaged vehicle, stopped his car and went down into the ditch. When he examined the three bodies he couldn’t tell whether or not they were dead or had had their life-force paralysed.
“One by one, he carried the three bodies to his car and drove them to a nearby health centre. At that time the clinic’s doctor had been absent for about a month. His wife’s aunt was suffering from cough and cold, it seems. The English gentleman told the compounder: ‘Please examine them and see if they are alive or not. If there is any chance at all of saving their lives you must arrange it. Whatever the expense is, I’ll cover it. Use whatever medical means you know.’
“To relieve himself of any responsibility, the compounder moved and shook the bodies a little, then pronounced them dead. The English gentleman brought the bodies straightaway to this resthouse and kept them in this room. Within a short time he arranged for their last rites and cremation.”
“Were you able to find out who the people were?” I asked.
“After a lot of effort,” he answered, “we were able to learn their names but we weren’t able to find out anything else about them.”
“Can you tell me their names?”
“For that I’ll have to look in the old register.”
“Don’t go to too much trouble on my behalf,” I said; then he left the room to bring the old records.
As soon as the caretaker left the room, Niiláiṋjana quickly stepped in. Needless to say, this time also he had not made a sound. “How come you are in such a hurry and looking so tired,” I asked.
“Just now I’ve come from Caopárań,” he replied. “The road is okay now. In one place a banyan tree had fallen. As you know, there are quite a lot of banyan trees in Magadha. Not only nowadays, during the Buddhist era also there used to be banyan trees(12) outside many villages. One of these very old banyan trees had fallen in the road. What was I to do? I couldn’t move it myself. You know, my body is now very light. I influenced the minds of a few elephants in the nearby jungle and brought them to where the tree was lying, and with their help I moved the banyan tree just enough so that the road was clear for a car to pass. Now your vehicle can pass freely through there. But you should still drive carefully. I will also accompany you.”
“Do you have a motorcycle?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t have a motorcycle. How I will go still isn’t fixed. When we get to Caopárań I’ll tell you how I will go. The ladies also insist on coming.”
“If they go with you and also come back with you,” I said, “then what objection can there be?”
“I’ll let them know that you’ve given permission then. I also came to inform those who have taken responsibility to look after you after you leave Caopárań. Their bodies burn in the hot daytime sun so even if they want to come they won’t be able to do so. But they’ll come with you secretly. They gave me their word that they won’t allow any harm to come to you before you get to Ranchi.”
Then the sound of the caretaker coming could be heard and Niiláiṋjana slipped out of the room. The caretaker handed me an old register from the time of British rule. While I was turning the pages I asked him: “Can you tell me when these disembodied forms first started appearing in this place?”
“Yes,” he replied. “It was just after the bodies were given last rites and cremated.”
“Do they move throughout the building?”
“Yes, they go everywhere, but it was in this room that the bodies were kept, and probably for that reason they seem to frequent it a little more.”
“Have you seen them yourself?”
“I haven’t seen anyone clearly face to face, but sometimes in the evening, when it gets completely quiet everywhere and I start feeling drowsy, I feel as if someone is passing by me, going into the room, then going out of the room.”
“Do they ever disturb anyone or cause anyone any harm?”
“Not at all, absolutely not. They are very civilized. But when people see them they get dizzy with fear.”
“Then how is it they are like people?” I asked.
“They can’t be compared with people,” he replied. “Especially the gentleman that is with them; he is completely an embodiment of compassion. That day in the evening I had fallen asleep with my head resting on my hand. Then I saw that this gentleman had brought a pillow from the room and set it down next to my head in such a way that when I turned over, my head would come to rest on the pillow.”
Leafing through the register, I went over to my vehicle and sat down on it. It was quite cold and still a little dark, although more foggy than simply dark. Finally I found the page. All the available information about those three people were written there.
1) Shriimatii Vásavii Vasu, age approximately 26, identity:
unknown.
2) Shriimatii Mainjulá Bhaiṋja, age approximately 26, identity:
unknown.
3) Shriimán Niiláiṋjana Bhaiṋja, age approximately 24,
identity: unknown.
For a few moments I was silent. While the caretaker was saying goodbye I asked him: “You still haven’t told me anything about that white thing in the distance. All you said was that you couldn’t see properly in the dark.”
“Even though I knew, I didn’t say anything,” he replied, “because it was so late at night and I didn’t want you to become afraid. Especially since you had to stay alone in such a lonely place.”
“Now that I am leaving you can tell me.”
“That white thing is the tomb of those three dead people,” he replied.
I started out on the road to Caopárań. A cold, though not unpleasant, wind was coming from the opposite direction so I covered my face with my hand. A short while later I seemed to hear a voice saying: “This wind, like a newly bloomed rose, is mixed with the unwept tears of three innocent and harmless young people shut into a dark grave. No one will ever see their tears. No one will ever hear their lamentations.”
Tears came to my eyes.
Apádána
Apa + ádána = apádána, that is, “that which is contrary to ádána [act of receiving]”. Grhát gacchati gopálah – Gopal is not going to his home; Gopal is going out of his home. He is doing the opposite of going home. Thus the apádána of home is taking place. For this reason, the ablative case is called apádána káraka. Apádána is the fifth case ending.
Apámárga
A type of plant having medicinal qualities. If the flowering top of the apámárga is thrown then it will get stuck to one’s clothes. In India, apámárga is divided into the white and red varieties. Both varieties have many different medicinal qualities. In the Bengali of the Calcutta area, it is called apáuna or ápáuna In Rarh it is called caccaŕe, and in Angika cicciŕá.
Abhra
Abh + rak = abhra. Its etymological meaning is “that which sparkles constantly”; its colloquial meaning is a certain type of mineral – mica. India is its greatest producer and also has a lot of undiscovered quarries. But because the demand in today’s market is not up to expectations, and because its use in industry is decreasing, its production is not growing much. And since alternative materials are being used more, the mica industry is facing serious setbacks. Attention should be given to this.
Mica has been used in India since ancient times. In ancient Persia and Europe also mica was used quite a bit and it used to come from India. In old Farsi one can find mention of it; it was called ábrak; in English it is “mica”.
Amrta
“That which, by ingesting, one overcomes death”, or “that which transforms something of little value into something of great value (such as iron into gold)”, or “that in which supernatural qualities are hidden”, is known as amrta [ambrosia]. The negation a + mr + kta = amrta. Amrta → ammia → ammi ami/amiya. Ammi or ami is used in Marwari, Mewari, Haraoti, Gujarati, Saorastri, Kacchi and other languages. In Bengali and Assamese, amiya is used. In southern Oriya, papaya is called amrtaphala (amrutaphaŕa). Mango has also been called amrtaphala since very ancient times.
Amrta svarge áche loke ihá bale
Táhá nay, ámáder ám gáche phale
[People say that amrta is found in heaven; not so, it is the fruit of the mango tree.]
Ara
Ara means “the spoke of a wheel”. Its other meaning is “flower petal”. If we take the meaning of ara as “spoke” then aravinda means “wheel”, or “that from which the spokes come out”. And if we take the meaning of ara as “flower petal” then the etymological meaning of aravinda becomes “flower” and its colloquial meaning “lotus”.
Ava
Ava is a prefix. It lowers the degree or measure of the word it is affixed to. From this meaning have come the words avacetana [subconscious], avakśaya [depreciation], avamánaná [disrespect], avajiṋáta [neglected].
Ashana
Ashana is derived from ash (ashnute) plus the suffix lyut́. Ashana means “to eat”. Anashana means “not to eat” in the sense of not being able to eat. Áhára also means “to eat” but áhára means “to eat something that has been carefully selected”. Thus anáhára means “not eating carefully selected items” – filling the stomach with worthless edibles. Hence anáhára and anashana are not identical. The meaning of upavása is completely opposite. Upa means “near”. Upavása means “to stay in close proximity”. Most of the year people are busy with matter. If one fixes a specific day to suspend one’s worldly activities and remain near God or live near God then it is called upavása. When all other worldly activities have been suspended, then on that day one should also refrain from eating. Therefore eating is discontinued on that day. Thus these three words, anashana, anáhára and upavása are quite different from each other.
Asana
Asana means “to remain present” or “to survive”. In the causative construction, “that in which one remains present”, “one remains established in”, “one remains seated in”, etc. is ásana – kushásana, vyághrásana, padmásana, and so forth.
Akśa
The first and chief meaning of akśa is “to mark off” or “to draw a line”. The line which is marked off in the middle of the earth is the equator (viśuvarekhá); its ancient name is maháviśuvákśa. If we mark off another line parallel to the equator, then that line is also called akśa or akśáḿsha [latitude]. The difference between the seasons is determined according to the dispersion of the visible and non-visible rays based on the proximity or distance of the sun relative to the equator or the lines of latitude.
The meaning of the word akśi is “eye”. Akśa is also used to mean “to have eyes”. For example, one who has eyes like a lotus (kamala) is called kamalákśa; one who has eyes like a dove (kapota) is called kapotákśa; one who has eyes like the early morning blue sky is called navaniilákśa. When the word akśa is used in feminine gender it becomes akśii. For example, one who has eyes like a peacock (mayúra) is mayúrákśa in masculine gender and mayúrákśii in feminine gender.
Another meaning of the word akśa is alphabet – fifty letters (akśara) whose first letter is a and last letter is kśa. One should keep in mind that the akśamálá [alphabet] means the fifty letters from a to kśa – the extra letters (qua, qhua, za) are not included within it.
The word rudrákśa can be derived in two ways. Those eyes in which there is raodrabháva (rudratá) [fierceness] are rudrákśa. Rudrakśa can also be derived to mean “where the dispersive power of the alphabet is full of rudratá”. Its colloquial meaning is a special type of wildflower which grows in south and southeast Asia and is used to make garlands.
Footnotes
(1) It has now come to mean “beautiful woman” or simply “woman”. – Trans.
(2) Some people use the word sámánya when they mean alpa [a little, some]. It is better not to do this. Sámánya does not mean “a little”. It means “common” or “general”. For example, if we say that Bengali is the sámánya language of this country we mean that is the language of the common people. This word comes from samána [equal]. By what logic, then, can it mean “a little”?
(3) Until the beginning of British rule, there used to be a pull-fan system in the houses of zamindars and foreigners and the person employed to pull the rope used to be called the páḿkhábardár. This páḿkhábardár used to sit in the little room at the end of the veranda, next to the bedroom in dak-bungalows, and pull the rope; inside the room the aristocrats would enjoy the breeze from the fan. If there was ever any slackness in the motion of the fan you could know that the páḿkhábardár was dozing off. A little scolding and the fan used to start again.
(4) Siḿ Muńd́á, Khángár Muńd́á, Ho-Muńd́á, Kherhiyá Muńd́á (shavar), Váorii, etc. The Siḿmuńd́ás and Váoriis use Bengali for both formal and ordinary occasions, while the rest, although their common language is of the Austric group, use Bengali for formal occasions in some places and in others Sádánii.
Another name for the Nágpurii language is Sádánii or Sadarii. This language belongs to the Occidental Demi-Magadhii family. The other languages of this Occidental Demi-Magadhii group are Magahii, Bhojpurii and Chatrishgarhii. The Oriental Demi-Magadhii-derived languages are Maethilii, Angiká, Bengali, Assamese, and Oriya. These are the nine chief languages derived from Mágadhii Prákrta that are spoken today.
(5) Kuruka and the Muriyá and Máriyá languages in the southwestern portion of the Oráno area of Gondwanaland, are part of the Dravidian group, although they still show significant Austric influence. There is, moreover, a clear influence of Bengali in their very close neighbour, the Hálavi language. In these languages the Dravidian influence is also quite clear, but by comparison, the Austric influence is much greater.
(6) Biir means “forest”. Hoŕ means “man”. Biirhoŕ means “forest-man”.
(7) Many people mistakenly say rájagrha. This is incorrect. If the word had been rájagrha then in modern Magahii its name would have become rájaghara. Rather the word is rájagiri or “royal mountain”. Rájagira was not only the ancient capital of Magadha, it was its cultural centre as well, the crown jewel of Magadha civilization. For that reason I have said many times that the spoken language of Rájagira should be accepted as standard Magahii.
(8) The river flows just past Nawada station.
(9) Near Sametashikhara is the combined border of Rarh, Magadha, and Jharkhanda. Of course, in the “Jhád́akhańd́e Vaedyanáthah” Shloka a slightly different opinion is expressed but there is no historical evidence to support that opinion; both Grdhrakút́a Mountain and Cakravartii Mountain are historically in Magadha.
(10) In those days a lamp was hung on the wall which was used both in the cities and in the villages during British rule. They used to spill less oil than the hurricane lanterns but they were inconvenient to move from one place to another. Some people used to call them deyálgiis.
(11) During British rule the house-servants used to address the daughters of the house as mishibábá. Most probably the word was created by joining the word “miss” to the respectful word bábá.
(12) In the Magahii language, the banyan tree is called baŕke rukh. At one time yakśa [a mythological race of demons] worship used to be performed at the foot of the banyan tree. The people used to have both devotion and fear for that place. Even today people do not go there alone after dark. That place is called “the abode of Brahma”.