The subject of today’s discussion is distortion. The change that takes place in the flow of emanation is a natural change. In other words, everything in the flow of emanation is moving (calat or calamán). In very ancient times the verbal root cal was átmanepadii. Later on it became parasmaepadii. During Panini’s time the parasmaepadii form was used but in order to show respect for the ancient Vedic verb form he accepted both the átmanepadii and parasmaepadii forms of the verbal root cal and declared it ubhayapadii. So in this case both calat and calamána are correct.

Everything in this cosmos is moving. Nothing stops, so whatever moves also has to undergo change. This is the law of providence [vidhátá]. The name of the system by which the Supreme Consciousness carries out the various activities of the universe is known as vidhátá; that is, vidhátá is not a specific entity but rather a specific system. So vidhátá is required to follow its own rules of creation. It does not have the right to do anything in a haphazard way. Whatever action takes place in this world follows this rule; that is, it moves in accordance with the flow of change. When this natural change occurs in the case of language we call it utsárańa or emanation. Everything comes out from the point of emanation and moves forward in the path of crest and trough. This movement is emanation. The initial undulatory impetus that is present at the beginning of emanation gradually wanes as it passes through shocks and counter-shocks.

Some people use the word stimita in Bengali for this lessening or waning. For example, diipashikhá stimita haye eseche [the flame of the lamp has waned], but it is worth keeping in mind that actually there is no such word as stimita in Sanskrit. Most probably the word stimita became commonly used for the waning of light by thinking of the decaying light of the astamita [setting] sun. Those who helped to make it commonly used thought that perhaps they had found a dignified Sanskrit word. In fact the word stimita is utterly incorrect. It is like the ákáshakusuma [sky-flower] which is non-existent from its initial á to its final ma. Similarly, many people parade about the word anushiilana. They think that it is perhaps a Sanskrit word of august lineage created by adding the prefix anu and the suffix anat́ to the verbal root shiil. Actually there is no such Sanskrit word as anushiilana. It is similar to rúpakathá. There is no such word as rúpakathá in Sanskrit. What is called “fiction” in English and also “novel” under specific circumstances, is called kathá in Sanskrit (for example, harikathá, satyanáráyańer kathá – mahábhárater kathá amrta samán/káshiirám dásha kahe shune puńyaván). If this kathá happens to be one of absorbing interest then it is called kathániká in Sanskrit. This became kahániá in Prákrta and from that kahánii in modern Hindi. This kahánii is called gappa in Maethilii and under special circumstances galpa. From the same descent we also get the Bengali word galpa [story]. In Bengali we have taken the word kahánii, dressed it up with a nose ring and earrings and made the word káhinii. There is no firm ground below the feet of káhinii. It is standing on quicksand. A very short story or a story for little ones or an enjoyable but unreliable story is called upakathá in Sanskrit. It is common rural error to substitute ra for a and a for ra. For example in Rarh-Murshidabad I have heard ámbábur rámbágáne.⁽¹⁾ It has been said about the village opera party:

The queen says: ájá, ájá, tomár buke ot́á kiser dág, aung ná akta [King, king, what is that spot on your chest? Is it dye or is it blood]?

The king says: áni, áni, cintár kona kárań nái, áni. Ot́á akta nay, aung [Queen, queen, there is no reason to worry queen, it’s dye, not blood].⁽²⁾

I have asked a person: “O brother, where do you live?” and received the answer “If you please sir, I live in Aungpur District [instead of Raungpur]”.

In a village of Birbhum I have heard ámár ricche kare át dupure ode base pit́he khái/paket́e bhái paysá nái [I have a desire to eat cakes at midnight sitting in the sun but unfortunately I have no money in my pocket].

Similarly, the word enŕi [castor] has been formed from the Sanskrit word erańd́a which is áńd́i in Hindi and eńd́i in Assamese. However in Bengali, with the passage of time, enŕi became reŕi – ra has occupied the place of a. Reŕi is not only used in Bengali but also in the languages of Bihar. In Calcutta Bengali we call a snake charmer or an exorcist rojhá instead of ojhá and the white ant rui instead of ui. So by this process we have changed upakathá into rúpakathá. Some of us while singing the Avibábu’s⁽³⁾ songs fertilize the soil with “rammonia” fertilizer.

Those who import new words without knowing their meaning or polish up old words a bit to create new words in Bengali and think “it’s a good thing we have found” would do better to be aware of the meaning. Idea is extremely vast but the capacity of language is very limited so if any idea is to be captured by language it should only be done after correctly understanding the meaning of the language used. In addition to this, one should also consider that language should not be lengthened without reason. If the opportunity presents itself a compound word may be found. I have heard that one poet had written a book by the name of anek páoyár májhe májhe ekt́ukháni páoyá, táte jágáy dakhin háoyá [in between much getting is a little getting in which awakens the southern breeze]. Since the publisher did not agree to publish the book with such a long name a mutual agreement was finally reached between both parties. The name became anek páoyá. 1/4 dakhin háoyá [much getting 1/4 southern breeze].

A certain gentleman from Bankura District once told my aunt from Khandaghosa: “In your Burdwan District there is very little cultivation of potatoes.” She replied: “Why don’t you come and see for yourself. In our Burdwan District the cultivation of potatoes is apariyukta.” Here auntie used literary language and made aparyápta [abundant] into apariyukta. In this situation, someone may think that the word is pure Sanskrit and that it has come from a – pari – yuj + kta, but how could this be possible! Táleber Miiná’s goat ate madam’s greens. Because madam became very angry due to this, Táleber Miiná said, “Madam, don’t do any more ándolacaná (andolana [agitation] = álocaná [discussion]) over this.” This is very high level Bengali indeed! It is similar to that.

Háns ár sajáru, vyákaran máni ná
Haye gela hánsjáru kemane tá jáni ná

[goose and porcupine, I don’t care about grammar/they become goosepine, I don’t know how]

In this matter my contention is that in the case of language and literature this cooking up of accounts does not help anyone in any way. However it is not always so that this cooking of accounts is done knowingly. There are two common Sanskrit words for those who live by farming – krśibala and karśaka. Those who spelt karśaka krśaka committed the error without being aware of it, and the people who still write it krśaka today do so without realizing their error. Does the mistake end here? Many people srjan kare instead of sarjan kare [create] and many people have srjanii pratibhá [creative faculty]. Although we have changed sarjan into srjan we have not changed utsarjan or visarjan into utsrjan or visrjan. This, it seems, suggests that some people still have sarjanii shakti [creative energy]. Does this erroneous invention stop here! From where do we get the odd word gábhii? The word is gavii and its spoken Bengali form is gái (female cow). The word gábhii is completely incorrect. Now all of you, I hope, no longer write words such as itipúrve or itimadhye because the correct words are itahpúrve and itahmadhye. However, if you like, the letter o can be used to replace the visarga (h) (that is, itopúrve, itomadhye). But the visarga has to be retained in the spelling of spaśt́atah [clearly] because tah is the fifth case-ending. However it is not good to retain the visarga when writing spaśt́atai because it is not proper to place a vowel right next to a visarga. So spaśt́atahi is incorrect; spaśt́atai is correct. Jyotih cáridike ujjval kare tuleche [the light has illuminated all around] – here jyotih will have a visarga but jyotihi ámár dhyeya [light is my object of meditation] should not take a visarga.

The word abhijiṋa has been created for “one who knows well” by adding the prefix abhi and the suffix d́a to the verbal root jiṋá. For “one who is not abhijiṋa” the negation an is added to make anabhijiṋa which means “one who does not know well” (an is added before a vowel and a before a consonant). I have noticed that even many educated people write abhijiṋa in Hindi for “one who knows not” and bhijiṋa for “one who knows”. Bear in mind that there is no such word as bhijiṋa, either in grammar or in usage. Hence it would be better if they eradicated this word from the world of their imagination because if the word bhijiṋa is used for “one who knows” then abhijiṋa will have to be used for “one who does not know” though it means “one who knows well”. If this error is infecting any other language then it should be quarantined.

The Old Latin word karanta or quaranta means “sheep” and the old Latin adjective meaning “concerning sheep” is quarantine. In English also the adjective for the word “sheep” is “quarantine”. At one time, when sheep’s health was not given much attention, some of them used to occasionally suffer from infectious diseases and the nearby sheep used to die along with them. So the means that was adopted in those days to save the other sheep from infection was called “quarantine”.

The English word “research” means to go even further into something than what we see at first glance, to go deeper still, gathering more and more, doing a new search, looking anew. Its Bengali or Sanskrit synonym cannot be anushiilana because the word anushiilana is an error. Nor can it be carcá because the English for the word carcá is “culture”. In Hindi one says shodhakárya but shodhakárya also does not convey the proper meaning. Either vishad sandhán [thorough search] or gaveśańá should be chosen for this.

In ancient times the sages used to live in forest areas outside the towns or villages. If one of their domesticated animals would get lost they used to give the responsibility of going out into the jungle in search of the animal to the most mischievous student. This poor fellow would go out and spend the entire day wandering about looking for the animal. In Sanskrit eśańá means “the desire to get”. Hence “one who goes out and wanders around with the desire to get the cow” is go + eśańá = gaveśańá. So if the word gaveśańá is used for the word “research” it does indeed translate the essential or core meaning of the original idea, however, the practical meaning is not correct. If, for example, someone is doing medical research into a complex disease will we then say that they are “cow-searching” the medicine of that disease? So the pandits should sit together and decide whether vishad sandhán should be used or another similar word.

Those who named the Octorloney Monument Shahid Minar did so without properly understanding the meaning of the word shahiid. Those brave warriors who take part in the Islamic religious wars (jehádd) are called mujáhid in Arabic. Those mujáhids who give up their life in battle are called shahiid. Those who are victorious in battle are called gájii (if they live, gájii; if they die, shahiid). Similarly, those who give up their life in the Christian religious wars (crusades) are called “martyrs”. By what logic then do we call those brave progeny who give up their life for their country or for any other great cause shahiid? Instead, we can use the word dadhiici for them because Maharśi Dadhiici sacrificed his life for the welfare of others. He did not lose his life in a jihad or crusade.

There is a rule in Latin and in many other European languages, including English, that if the singular is “um” then the plural is “a” and if the singular is “us” then the singular is “i”. For example, “memorandum” becomes “memoranda”, “stratum” becomes “strata”, “cactus” becomes “cacti”, “lotus” becomes “loti”, etc. However in numerous instances nowadays we see “memorandums”, “cactuses”, “lotuses”, “stratums”. Why this disorder? The plural of “cash-memo” is “cash-mema” but all around us we see a crowd of “cash-memos”. Is this on account of ignorance, a mistake committed unknowingly, or a mistake committed knowingly?

At any rate, the wavelength of everything moving in this universe changes. In accordance with this, a natural change occurs within every word. As a result of this change newer and newer words are created and newer and newer languages are created. The old language that was so real at one time becomes unreal – it gets lost in the obscurity of the past. That which was so close at one time becomes distant and that which was yet to come in the bosom of the past becomes a reality at a later time.

In the case of words, this natural change is utsárańa (ut – sr + ńic anat́ = utsárańa) [emanation]. If it is not causative then it is utsarańa. For example, in the sense of someone reading [studying] pat́h + anat́ makes pat́hana but for reading to someone else [teaching] pat́h + ńic anat́ = pát́hana. The verbal root sr means “to move”. That where someone has come to move on is called saraka [road], not saŕaka. Similarly, the addition of the suffix ghaiṋ to sam – sr makes saḿsára [world], that is, where everything moves, where nothing remains static. It is worth noticing that we call this natural change “emanation” instead of “distortion” because distortion refers to a special form of change or a corrupted form of change. In Sanskrit grammar it is called vivarttana.

Linguistic vivarttana or distortion happens primarily due to three reasons. First, it occurs when a certain number of people cannot pronounce a word correctly. In such cases the linguistic distortion does not take the path of emanation. For example, the corrupted pronunciation of the word cikitsá has become cikicchá. The pronunciation of mahotsava became mocchava. In such cases the impetus of the word after it gets corrupted is checked. It does not undergo further distortion. In other words, when the pronunciation of the word cikitsá becomes corrupted and changes to cikicchá then its movement stops. I have heard many rural people call bhisá bhicá, mesh mec and “selection” “cheleccion”. This is distortion, that is, afterwards there is no further vivarttana.

Another word of this sort is dápana [mirror]. The word dápana comes from the Sanskrit word darpańa – Sanskrit darpańa → Prákrta dappana → old Bengali dápana. It has not undergone any further distortion in the past thirteen hundred years. Although we use the Sanskrit-borrowed word darpańa in modern times, we do not use the Sanskrit-derived word dápana because it has been created through faulty pronunciation. These are examples of distortion or vivarttana.

Often distortion of a word takes place through abbreviation. For example, we say yácchetái [as one pleases]. Yácchetái is not a real word. Actually, the word is yá-icche-tái. Similarly, “artificiality” is called banáot́i in Hindi-Urdu but actually the word is baná + vat́ + ii = banávat́ii. It is pronounced banáot́i. Likewise, dekhalá + vat́ + ii = dekhlavat́ii but it is pronounced dekhláot́i. I have seen some people, especially in Marathi, spell words that end in ktin (for example prakrti, ákrti) with long ii (for example, prakrtii, ákrtii). However, words that end in ktin should be spelled with short i (prakrti, ákrti). Otherwise it will be mistaken for the corresponding kta-ending word (in this case prakrta) with the suffix iip added.

In Bengali we add the suffixes i, mi, paná, etc. to form abstract nouns.⁽⁴⁾ In Hindi also, pan, paná, etc are added. For example, laŕká + pan = laŕkápan but through abbreviation it becomes laŕakpan. Baccá + paná = bacpaná. In this case it is clear that the á of laŕká and baccá has been omitted for the sake of abbreviation. “One who wants to learn” is called tálib-e-ilm in Farsi. In spoken Urdu we abbreviate it and say tálbelim, that is, we no longer pronounce the i of ilm. In Calcutta Bengali we say ádekhlepaná for á-dekhilá-paná. In these cases distortion is effected through abbreviation.

The distortion that occurs in this way sometimes has the opportunity for emanation and sometimes not. For example, the word dápan did not have that opportunity. The question arises as to why it does not always have this kind of chance. The reason is that in regard to emanation the movement of distortion is obstructed when the distortion is unnatural. In other cases, where the distortion happens in a natural way, the distortion proceeds forward, for example, prastara → patthara → páthar – not páthár. Páthár means “vast field”.

Some places have splendid greenery. To praise it we call it “Greenwich”. Its pronunciation has been shortened to griinic. Splendid greenery refers to a place that is easily reached by the sun’s rays. Such places are good for conducting research on heavenly bodies. They also have special importance for the measurement of latitude and longitude. Anyhow, although this place in Britain is spelled “Greenwich” it is pronounced griinic. Due to this kind of abbreviation “sandwich” has become sándic. “Northwest wind” has become “noŕwester”. For this reason Bengal’s kálvaeshákhii is called “noŕwester” in English. The wind is named according to the direction in which it moves, not the direction from where it arises. However this is not a hard and fast rule because in the Calcutta area the wind that comes from the Bay of Bengal, that is, from the south, we call the “south wind” [dakśińá váyu]. The wind that comes from the Himalayas we call the “north wind”. The wind which arises in the Bay of Bengal and moves in a northwesterly direction is called the “northwest wind”, “noŕwester” for short. Incidentally it bears mentioning that the word háoyá [wind] is a Turkish word. I have seen the words turk-háoa-vallarii written on a Turkish plane.

Abbreviation is quite common in English. It is sometimes accomplished by making the word shorter and sometimes by taking the initial letters of words. For example, “general purpose car” was abbreviated to “G.P. car”. Subsequently it was further abbreviated to “G.P.” Later on it was abbreviated even more to giip and in a later stage the spelling changed to “jeep”.

This distortion is commonly brought within the scope of an aphorism. Á, i, u – their pronunciation is lost and ao changes into o. For example, aośadh became ośudh. In spoken Maethilii and Angika one says okhadh. According to the Yajurvedic style of pronunciation śa is pronounced kha so aośadh became okhadh.

In many languages of north India i is written but it is no longer pronounced. One writes laŕiká but it is pronounced laŕká. One writes áju but pronounces it áj. The dropping of the interior á in laŕkápan to make laŕakpan has already been discussed.

At one time in America a fierce war was raging. Many of the soldiers were Spanish-speaking and were not able to understand English, much less speak it. In order to send information about how someone was doing they were told to simply write “all correct”, which meant that everything was going fine. I have just said that the soldiers did not know English. Hence they used to write “ol korect” for “all correct”. After this “Ol Korect” had been in use for some time they abbreviated it to “O. K.” thinking what was the need of using such a long word. It had the same meaning, that is, that everything was going fine. Now this “O.K.” is used practically everywhere in the world with this same meaning. The spelling has been kept as “okay” or “okey”. On this basis sayings have been made such as “He has already okayed it.”

There is a word adhik in Bengali. By adding the suffix śńya to it we get ádhikya [increase, excess]. Ádhikya is an abstract noun so there is no need to add the suffix tá [ness], which makes it an abstract noun twice over. However the word ádhikyatá has been created in Bengali and through corrupted pronunciation the word ádikhyetá [fussing] has been created. If the suffix tá is added to the word adhika in Bengali to form the word adhikatá then it is correct but no one feels any attraction for the word adhikatá. Although the word ádikhyetá is incorrect it is more attractive. The word is full of feeling and is used quite a bit in gossip. It is like a potato chop with puffed rice on a rainy season evening.

There is a system of making new words by using the first letter of very long words; it exists in all of the world’s languages. Many Sanskrit aphorisms have been made in this way, for example, ágama. In one shloka it is said:

Ágataḿ shivavaktrebhyah gataḿ ca girijáshrutao
Mataḿ ca vásudevasya tasmát ágama ucyate

[That which has come from Shiva’s mouth, which has gone to Párvati’s ears, and which has been approved by Vásudeva Krśńa, is called á-ga-ma – ágama.]

In other words, the word ágama has been formed by taking the á from ágataḿ, the ga from gataḿ and the ma from mataḿ. Twelve hundred years ago in Bengal, when the Buddhist era was in progress, there was a Buddhist poet by the name of Bhu-su-ku. The name Bhu-su-ku was created by taking the first letter from several different words – from the word bhojana [food] bhu, from the word shayana [lying down] su and from the word karma [action] ku. With these three letters the word Bhu-su-ku was created. In other words, he who is absorbed in his ideology while sleeping, eating or doing work is Bhu-su-ku. There is an old Bengali song written by Bhu-su-ku about twelve hundred years ago.

Bhu-su-ku áju tu bauṋgalii bhaelii
Nia gharańii cańd́álii lelii

[Bhu-su-ku, today you became an ideal Bengali; you accepted a cańd́álii to keep your house.]

Many people believe that the word “Bauṋgál” [“Bengal”] has been formed by adding the Farsi suffix ál to the root “Vauṋga”. This is not the fact. We come across the word “Bauṋgál” in twelve hundred year old poetry. If the word is not old, then where did the word bauṋgálii come from? In terms of its name, this land is quite old. One can infer that the civilization and culture of that place had at one time spread far and wide. Otherwise how could it have had a name in most of the world’s languages? The word “Banjala” has been used since ancient times in the languages of China for the land of Bengal and in Latin it was “Banjal”. In Latin the adjective becomes banjalitis, which means “produced in Bengal” or “concerning Bengal”. The large variety of cánpá flower which we call jahurii cánpá in Bengali (in Sanskrit we call it hiirakacampaka) is called magnolia pamela banjalitis in Latin.⁽⁵⁾ In Turkey Bengal used to be called “Bangala” (the word “Bangala” can still be found in ancient documents). In Farsi and Urdu it is called “Bangal”. In English it is called “Bengal”. Many people mistakenly pronounce it beuṋgal. In Bengali it is called “Baungládesh” (Bangladesh is not only Dhaka and Chittagong; it is also Burdwan and Midnapore). In Sanskrit it is called “Bauṋgadesha” or “Gaoŕadesha”.

New words are also created through abbreviation in Bengali. For example, the word khit́kel in Bengali comes from khit́á kául. The Sanskrit word kalauṋkakárii became keleuṋkárii. Another such word is kálabos. This word comes from káli-báus, that is, the fish that likes to remain in blackish waters or in areas near black soil is káli báus. The expenditure expended on wages for casting ornaments, that is, the cost of making them, used to be called bánái expense. This bánái has become abbreviated nowadays to báni. In former times some people used to take a báni as the assets and liabilities of the wedding and some did not.

If we analyse the word “distortion” we get three parts – dis + tort + ion. “Dis” is the prefix, “tort” is the verbal root and “ion” is the suffix. “Dis” is a Latin prefix. The result of handling something in a confused, disorderly or undesirable way is “distortion”.

In the field of language this process of distortion is not very pervasive. After following its course for a long time it finally becomes widespread and then it is given acceptance, for example, ádikhyetá in Bengali, bhútáhá in Hindi (“haunted house” in English), and “knife” in English. Actually “knife” is a French word. The original word was knif, but through faulty pronunciation in English it became distorted and knif became “knife”. Although the pronunciation of the original word’s “k” was lost, the silent letter “k” has been retained even today in the English spelling.

In Bengali pronunciation distortion follows the rule of minimum increase. For example, if two opposite entities are present in any incident, then in that case the compound word embodying that contrast that is formed – whether it be noun, modifier or verb – will have an á at the end of the first word (or in special cases an o) and an i at the end of the second word. For example, the two components are made with lát́hi. The compound word is lát́hálát́hi. Similar is the case with márámári, káŕákáŕi, dhvastádhvasti. Two women have grabbed a fistful of one another’s hair – that is culáculi (culoculi). Other examples are dekhádekhi, sarásari, hásáhási, táŕátáŕi. Táŕá comes from the Sanskrit word tvará and from táŕá comes the compound word táŕátáŕi. Indeed we say ata táŕá kiiser [What’s the hurry]?⁽⁶⁾ Then there is t́hesát́hesi and so many more. This kind of compound word has greatly increased the vitality of the Bengali language. An effort can also be made to create this kind of compound word in other languages. Every language would be benefited thereby.

In conclusion we can say: let there be an even more pervasive study of the science of language and through this let the learned and talented have more correspondence [lekhálekhi] instead of scuffling [hátáháti] and fighting [hánáháni].

Footnotes

(1) Instead of Rámbábur [Mr. Ram’s] ámbágáne [mango grove]. – Trans.

(2) In this example the words for king [rájá], queen [ráni], dye [raung] and blood [rakta] all have a substituted for ra. –Trans.

(3) [[Rabindranath (Raviindranátha) Tagore was sometimes called “Ravibábu”. –Trans.]]

(4) Chelemánuśi, bhálamánuśi: In the course of abbreviation the u gets dropped in the spoken language giving us chelemánsi, bhálmánsi, duśt́umi, naśt́ámi, beákkilepaná, ádekhlepaná, and so forth.

(5) It can be seen in the author’s Madhumálaiṋca garden.

(6) Formerly in the Birbhum-Burdwan area there was a type of autumnal paddy that used to mature before the other autumnal paddies; it was called tará áush.