Kut́a

The root verb kut́a is used with several different meanings, for example, “to walk a crooked [kut́ila] path”, “to make somebody walk a crooked path”, “to be dishonest”, “to make somebody dishonest”, “to walk on the path of adharma [unrighteousness]”, “to make somebody walk on the path of adharma”, “to strike”, “to create obstructions in the path of honesty”, “to cut into pieces”, “to build a wall of obstacles”, “to peck or to nibble”. There are also different etymological meanings based on these usages. The colloquial usages of the word kut́a are as follows:

1. Tree. The roots of a tree move in a crooked way; they advance in a zigzag manner. The branches and offshoots of a tree also move on a tangled and crooked path; they hardly ever move in a straight path. Thus kut́a means “tree”. Generally kut́a refers to a large tree. It was customary to use the spelling kút́a in the case of poisonous trees, but even if it is spelled with a short u, it cannot be considered incorrect.

   When the word kálakút́a is used for a poisonous tree, then it is understood that its poison is very strong. In that case kút́a must be spelled with ú. In addition to poisonous trees, the word kálakút́a is also used to refer to any kind of poisonous plant. There is an amusing observation in this regard. Many people playfully call tobacco (támáka) támakút́a [támrakút́a], but this is merely in jest. There is no original Sanskrit word for tobacco since tobacco was introduced into this country from abroad during the Mughal era. At that time it was not given a Sanskrit name, as was the case with guava (perukam, biijapúrakam), chilli (kat́ubiijam), papaya (amrtaphalam – the Bengali word peṋpe is derived from the English word “papaya” as is the Ráŕhii Bengali word piphá) and so on, all of which came from outside India. The actual meaning of the word támrakút́a is “copper mountain”, not tobacco. The scholars of earlier times used to say in jest:

   Támakút́aḿ mahaddravyaḿ shraddhayá diiyate yadi,
   Ashvamedhasamapuńyaḿ t́áne t́áne bhaviśyati.

   That is, tobacco is indeed great. If somebody offers someone tobacco with reverence, then with each puff of tobacco the person takes, the donor receives a benefit equal to that derived from the Ashvamedha Yajiṋa [Horse Sacrifice].

2. The pot used for drinking water is known as kakubha. If the word kut́a is used then it means a water pot that is somewhat bent or curved (vakráyita: The verbal root vak means to move in a tortuous or twisted manner; from this comes the words vakra [bent or crooked], vaka [stork], etc). You must have noticed that the upper portion of a glass is not exactly the same as the lower portion. In a small pitcher (ghat́i) the upper part or the brim is curved in such a way that water can be easily drunk without touching the lips. So glasses, ghat́is and other water-pots, which have been specifically designed for conveniently drinking water, are known as kut́a.

   In ancient times the hard shells of ripe coconuts were also used for drinking water. So kut́a also means the shell of the ripe coconut. If a coconut shell is broken into two pieces, the pieces are also called málá. Many people use this coconut málá for storing kitchen spices.

3. Some people also use the word kut́a to mean kuṋjo [a pitcher with a long and narrow neck]. No one drinks water directly from a kuṋjo, even if they avoid touching it with their lips. But it is true that in old Sanskrit, in a few rare cases the word kut́a was used to mean kuṋjo. Without taking into consideration whether that usage was proper or not, the word kut́a can be used to mean kuṋjo by virtue of the specific grammatical rule nipátana siddha.⁽¹⁾

4. Another meaning of the word kut́a is “mountain”. Whether a mountain rises straight upward or diagonally, its surface is not smooth; it has innumerable rough spots, pits and ditches, caverns and cavities. For this reason a mountain is called kut́a. If kútá is written with a long ú when referring to a mountain, then this does not refer to the entire mountain but rather only to its summit and adjacent areas. Grdhrakút́a (grdhrakút́a > gidhdhaud́a > gidhdhauŕa > gidhaoŕa), Annakút́a (mountain of rice), Amarakút́a (many people erroneously say amarakot́a), Kút́áshilá (some people erroneously say kot́ashilá), Kút́ásura (demon of the mountain – many people erroneously say kot́ásura), Cit́rakút́a, etc., are all preferably spelled with kú.

   Kut́a does not only mean large mountains. It also refers to all its diminutive forms such as hills, knolls, mounds and hillocks.

5. You may be familiar with hastakut́iká. The words hastakut́aka and hastakut́iká were generally used for big and small hammers respectively. You must have seen a big hammer at a smithy and a small hammer at a goldsmith’s shop. In Bhojpuri a big hammer is called hathaoŕá and a small one hathaoŕii. This big hammer or hathaoŕá is also called kut́a. Kut́apiśt́a kat́áha means “a cauldron that has been pounded with a hammer”. Generally cauldrons (kaŕá) are of two types: hammered cauldrons and cast cauldrons. Cast cauldrons do not last long; moreover, they crack if they are exposed to sudden changes in temperature. But hammered or wrought cauldrons are quite durable. So housewives prefer wrought cauldrons even though they are a little more expensive. It is this wrought cauldron that is called kut́apiśt́a kat́áha in proper Bengali. The proper name for a cauldron used for cooking is kat́áha (kat́áhá >kad́áha >kaŕáha >kaŕái >kaŕá). However, when there is a kaŕá [hardened skin] on someone’s foot, the proper word for it is not kat́áha but rather karńiká.

6. Have you ever seen a kellá or a durga [fort]? The word kellá or kii-láh is of Persian origin. The word durga is tatsama⁽²⁾. The etymological meaning of durga is “a place difficult to reach”, one which requires a great deal of struggle in order to go there, for which one has to expend a lot of energy to reach. A fort is generally built in places where people cannot easily approach; for instance, on the summit of a hill, land guarded by a river, or on an uninhabited island. The outer walls of a fort are built so that they are difficult for an enemy to attack. Its stronghold is built so that from behind its cover the fort commander’s men can fight off the aggressor. If the fort is situated on a level plain, then trenches are dug around it and filled with water. Those of you who have seen the Monghyr fort have seen its trenches. The river Aiṋjaná at Goáŕi-Krishnanagar was such a trench. At that time the Khaŕe was a surging river, so its waters were used to supply the Aiṋjaná. I believe the Kauṋkaná canal (Nadia) was also dug for use as a trench. Since no fort was simple or straightforward, and because in ancient times when choosing sites for their construction, preference was given to hills and mountains, one of the meanings of kut́a is “fort”. In ancient Sanskrit both the spellings durga and dúrga were in vogue.

   In ancient India there used to be a temple or mosque adjacent to a fort. In the Puranic era some people used to keep a durgá báŕii [house of Durgá] or a durgá mandir [temple of Durgá] inside a fort in honour of the goddess Durgá, the presiding deity of a durga. The eight-armed mythical goddess Durgá was considered to be the goddess of weapons. The concept of a ten-armed Durgá came later on. The ten-armed Durgá was first introduced in Bengal at Taherpur in the district of Rajshahi in Barendrabhúmi [North Bengal]. The king of that region, Kaḿsanáráyańa Roy, was the first to worship Durgá on Bengali soil, for which he spent seven lakhs of rupees.

7. Often a palace was attached to a fort. These palaces were also known as kut́a or kut́aprásáda. In English the word was “castle”.

8. Often people who assemble for a bad purpose consolidate their forces in certain places. People assembled for a good purpose also consolidate their forces in different places for a particular course of action. Such a place where a person or persons consolidate their forces is called gháṋt́i.The word kut́a is used for this gháṋt́i [camp]. A camp of robbers can also be described as a robbers’ kut́a.

   In this respect, you should have a clear idea of the distinction between the words gháti and gháṋt́i. Gháṋt́i means “centre of power” and ghát́i means “valley” (not an avaváhiká or basin). Some of you may know that in the area known as Ráŕh, especially western Ráŕh, there is often a mountainous or hilly valley or ghát́i on the way from one prosperous region to another. Robbers would often attack in these ghát́is. The kings of western Ráŕh used to employ a particular kind of officer to save innocent people from the hands of these ghát́i robbers. They were called ghát́wáls. I knew a gentleman who had the surname Sengupta. When asked for the name of his father, he used to give the word Ghát́wál as his surname. When questioned further, he explained that his forefathers had worked for generations as ghát́wáls in Ráŕh, so they used the surname Ghát́wál. The word kut́a cannot be used for this ghát́i.

9. Another meaning of the word kut́a is house or residence. The word kut́i can be used for a small house. Even though the meaning of the word kut́ira is nearly identical, the word kut́ira is chiefly used for an earthen house or also a bamboo and thatched house. It is not necessary to use the word parńakut́ira for this because kut́ira itself means parńashálá [a hut thatched with tree leaves]. (Shrii Ráma, Lakśmańa Janaker bálá/ Basati karen nirmáiyá parńashálá – “Shrii Ráma, Lakśmańa, and the daughter of Janaka live here having constructed a parńashálá.”) However, kut́t́ii or kut́t́ira does not mean “house” but rather “hill”.

10. Now, the tool you commonly use to cut stone, this gáiṋiti [pickaxe], is it completely straight? Is it just like a crowbar from top to bottom? No, a pickaxe is not straight; it is bent. One end is bent and tapers downward while the other end is also bent and widens outward, and the tip is pointed. The pickaxe was used in coal mines in earlier times before the scientific means of cutting coal was introduced. The pickaxe is still used to cut stone or stony soil. One of the meanings of kut́a is “pickaxe”.

11. I am sure you know that if a third thing is placed between two other things then it is called “sandwich”. In English the spelling is “sandwich” but the pronunciation is not “sand-wich”; it should be “sandich”. For example, Greenwich is written “Green-wich” but it is pronounced “Greenich”. If you put some ghugni [an Indian food preparation] made of raw gram between two slices of bread then we call it a sandwich or kut́ánna. If a person or an object gets caught and flattened between two other objects,then it is said that he has been sandwiched between them (in colloquial Bengali we say that he has been chiṋŕechyapt́á, that is, flattened like chiṋŕe, or a grain of flattened rice. The word kut́a can be used for this also). So you see, the proper Bengali for “sandwich” is kut́ánna, and that which is sandwiched is called kut́a. Bear in mind that the English word for yádugarii (the feminine form of yádugara), “witch”, is not pronounced “ich” but “wich”. Only if the word “wich” is the latter part of a word is it pronounced “ich.” A gentleman known to me, Mr. Pund́arikákśa Poundfoolish, once translated “sandwich” as báluká-dákinii (sand-witch). Stay away from such kinds of translations!

12. When a person uses an ornament, they wear it on some part or another of their body. The rest of the time they certainly will not hang it from a nail on the wall; it is kept in an attractive box or casket. In proper Bengali a small box or casket is called pet́iká or maiṋjuśá. Similarly, when someone uses a weapon it remains in his hand, but the rest of the time he does not keep the weapon dangling from his arm; it remains sheathed. This boxed ornament or sheathed weapon is called kut́a.

    In Bengali we use the word báksa. The Bengali word báksa came from the English word “box” during the early days of British rule. (None of you should ever pronounce it baska, even by mistake. Likewise, do not say decki [for dekci, “cooking pail”], riská [for “rickshaw”], phuruli [for phuluri, “fried gramflour drop”]; also do not say liil ákásh [for niil ákásh, “blue sky”] or nál gorut́á [for lál gorut́á, “that red cow”]. Before the word báksa was introduced in this country, the words pyaṋt́rá, pyáŕá etc. were used. Although they are now no longer used, we sometimes still use the expression báksa-pyáṋt́rá .

13. Immediately after the crop is harvested, do you fill the storage bin with it? Do you put it in a pot and boil it? No, certainly not. First you pile the grain in heaps in the granary; then you sweep and clean it, boil it or wet it and dry it in the sun, and then perhaps husk it with the husking pedal. Then you put it into the pot and cook it, is it not? The heap of crops made in the granary after the harvest (khalihán in North India) is also known as kut́a.

14. Often you will find flowers or fruits in a bunch or cluster. This bunch is also called kut́a.

15. Many flowers do not grow in bunches but we pluck them and then bind them in a cluster. This cluster is also called kut́a.

16. Often we collect many flowers for decoration. This is called máliká. In colloquial Bengali we call it a toŕá (guldastá or guldastán in Urdu). This máliká or bouquet is also called kut́a.

17. Certain creatures, especially insects, live in groups; for instance, a swarm of bees, a swarm of locusts (shalabhá/salabhá), a school of kai [anabas]. (Jháṋker koi jháṋke mishe geche – “birds of a feather flock together”). Kut́a can also be used for these groups.

18. Bullfights were prevalent in ancient times in certain countries of the world. Spain was especially famous for its bullfights. This fight was known as the toros. Taurus in Latin means “bull”. It is worth mentioning that in old Arabic also bulls were called t́aurá. Although the relation between Latin and Arabic is a distant one, they are not altogether unrelated. However the connection was through Hebrew and Greek. The bull used to die in this fight. In ancient Greece, when a criminal was sentenced to capital punishment, he was pushed in the lion’s cage with a weapon. After fighting for some time the convicted man would generally be killed in the battle, and this scene may have delighted the spectators. The purpose of this sport was for the man to be killed by the lion. However the purpose of sending a man into a large arena to fight a bull was to see who emerged victorious. Generally the bull died because if it became obvious that the bull was going to win, then the spectators would kill the bull.

    In certain parts of Ráŕh a sport called káŕákhuṋt́o was common not so long ago. Perhaps it still exists to some extent. In this fight a male buffalo was tied and there was a man in the arena. If the man was injured in the fight then the people used to kill the buffalo. Although the fighting was heroic in nature, it was also somewhat repulsive. At any rate, when this bullfighting was between bulls, then in many instances the horn of the defeated bull used to break and the bull lost a great deal of blood from its head. This bull with a broken horn is also called kut́a. These bullfights stopped after the cow became recognized as a deity, although not completely.

19. Suppose that in some instance a piece of property is ezmáli (“joint”; the word ezmáli is of Persian origin). The crops are harvested and divided among the property holders in fractional parts in proportion to the extent of their ownership rights. This fractional receipt is also known as kut́a. Perhaps you have seen in rural areas where there are separate cooking arrangements and separate residence, but the land has not been divided. Here also a group of “goblins and hags” divide up the crops in this manner.

20. Kut́a also means “begging bowl”. It was a custom in ancient India for beggars to be given at least a fistful of rice (more rice could certainly be given) or one kaparda (cowrie; kapardaka meant a cowrie with a hole that was not accepted in the market). This was obligatory. If anyone so desired, he could also give more. That is why a destitute person was described as kapardakahiina [penniless].

21. Suppose you are walking on the street reading a book on logic. You have already walked one krosha (a little more than three kilometers) without completely finishing that treatise. Then you say kroshaḿ nyáyashástraḿ adhiitam [the work of logic has been studied in a krosha]. Again you walk a krosha while reading a grammatical treatise and it is finished in another krosha. Then you will say kroshena vyákarańaḿ adhiitam. Sometimes the second case-ending [kroshaḿ] is used and some- times the third case-ending [kroshena]; sometimes it is káládhvanaratyantasaḿyoge⁽³⁾ and sometimes adhvakálábhyáḿ apavarge.⁽⁴⁾ But how do you know, while studying, that you have covered one krosha? You will only know that you have covered one krosha when you see another krosha marker (milestone) after having passed a previous one. In ancient India this krosha marker was also called kut́a or kroshakut́a.

22. The etymological meaning of the word shat́ha is “thief” (chora: The word chora is used sparingly in Sanskrit; the word chaora is more common). But there is some difference between an ordinary thief and a shat́ha. The thief who steals like a thief is called chora or chaora or taskara. But that thief who steals in the guise of a good person, or who steals while pretending to be a sadhu, is known as shat́ha (impostor). Ravana kidnapped Sita while disguised as a sadhu [renunciate or monk]. So while we can certainly call Ravana chora or chaora or taskara, we will also call him shat́ha.

23. The word pratáraka means “one who cheats”. To cheat means to first generate faith and then to inflict injury. If fish food is sprinkled in a pond while angling then the fish may think that the visitor is providing food; he is my friend. So they approach. Then at that point if someone fits a fishhook with food, and the fish takes the food with unhesitating confidence, and then if it is reeled in with the hook piercing its mouth and is killed, that would certainly be the deed of a cheat.

    If mango glue is kept in a container and bird seed is put on it and a bird fearlessly alights to take that food and then cannot fly away because its feet are stuck in the glue, and if a fowler takes this opportunity to put it into a cage, then that would certainly be called cheating. So since ancient times people have condemned both catching fish with a fishhook and the fowler’s way of catching birds. No honest man should do it. It is not cheating when fish are caught with a net. For this reason the fisherman’s profession was not considered as despicable as the fowler’s, because they do not kill innocent creatures by making them swallow bait. Under no circumstance can harming a person or a creature after winning their confidence by tempting them with food be considered the deed of an honest person.

    Many years ago I used to hear about a class of people who would cheat others by promising them that their gold would be doubled. Generally they used to visit the women when the men were out and tell them that they could double their gold with their magical power. If the women did not trust them they were welcome to put them to the test. These housewives would test them by first giving them a small gold ring or an earring or any similar trinket and asking them to double it. These fellows used to keep a stock of light ornaments. They would ask the women to shut their eyes and the women would shut their eyes. Then they would add rings or earrings from their stash and show to the women that their ring or earring was doubled. Once the women were firmly convinced after seeing these feats they would bring out their gold ornaments, place them before the cheats and ask them to double them. Again the women were asked to keep their eyes shut. Then they would tie the ornaments into a small bundle and made good their escape. They were swindlers. They used to realize their own selfish ends after gaining the confidence of the common people. One word for such “confidence men” is kut́a.

24. You know that satya and rta are not the same thing. Parahitárthaḿ váuṋgmanaso yathárthatvaḿ satyam. Those words or that mentality which is motivated by a sense of welfare for others is known as satya. If there is no thought of welfare, then it is asatya. That which is actual fact, irrespective of whether or not there is the thought of welfare, is called rta. And that which is not actual fact is called anrta (the word will not be a-rta because, according to the rules of grammar, the negation a is added before consonants and an before vowels. R is a vowel, hence an must be used. That is, the word will be anrta and not a-rta).

    Mithyá is that which is not factual. That which is created from this sort of idea or imagination is called aliika [unreal]. And when aliika is expressed it is called mithyá (mithyá > michchá > michá > miche: gáner lipiká sundara kare kata ná madhur miche kathá – “the lyrics of a song render beautiful so many sweet but false words”). Kut́a is used in Sanskrit for both aliika and mithyá.
     

    Speaking of aliika, this reminds of an incident about which it is difficult to decide, even today, whether it was aliika or real.

    On that day I had reached Howrah station early in the morning. I was coming from Jamalpur and on my way to my aunt’s house in Belgachia. The moment I came out of the station I ran into Sujit, yes, Sujit, our Sujit, Sujit Mitter, my playmate from the old days, my study companion. He was studying in Bhagalpur College and I in Kolkata. We were great friends. We used to look forward to seeing each other during holidays and vacations. We would meet in Jamalpur by the reservoir, or near the field, or on one bench or another. Sujit was greatly interested in Bengali literature, particularly in the field of Bengali literature’s speciality, its portrayal of society. I was more inclined towards astrology and was completely uninitiated in literary matters, an unknown traveler in that realm. Even though Bengali was my mother tongue, I could only speak it; I had never approached its literary shores. The little education I had was in English. My limited ability to move in that literary realm owed everything to the little I had heard from Sujit.

    Then I ran into that very Sujit. There we were, face-to-face. Sujit was the scion of an aristocratic family. He had a refined and tasteful bearing and conduct. Anyone would have wanted such a friend.

    The moment he saw me, he came running over and clasped both my hands. “Where are you going?” he asked.

    I told him my destination. Then he asked me, “Does your aunt or any other relation know that you are going there now?”

    “No,” I replied. “But they know this much, that I have some important work there.”

    “Since they don’t know that you are going there today”, Sujit said, “then you have to change your course, at least for one day. That is, now you have to go to Ghusuŕi instead of Belgachia.”

    “Ghusuŕi!” I exclaimed, greatly surprised.

    “Yes.”

    “But I don’t know anyone in Ghusuŕi.”

    “You may not know it,” he said, “but one of your relatives lives in Ghusuŕi.”

    “And who might that be, pray tell?” I asked.

    “It’s me, me. Now you have to come to Ghusuŕi.”

    “You couldn’t find any place in this whole wide world other than Ghusuŕi to build your nest?”

    “It’s one house on top of another at Kambulit́olá in Kolkata where we have our ancestral home,” he said. “There’s not an iota of land left for gardening. You know that jhumur song from Ráŕh”:

    Kolkátáte dekhe elam gharer upar ghar lo,
    Gharer upar ghar.

    [I have come back from Kolkata where I saw rooms on top of rooms. Oh my dear! Rooms on top of rooms.]

    “You know very well that I love wide-open spaces. Ghusuŕi may be a village today, but it has a great deal of promise. Alongside the house there is also some land for gardening. So I knowingly exiled myself to Ghusuŕi. You can say that this is my self-exile.”

    We arrived at the bus stand. The people from the bus company were shouting at the top of their lungs with a somewhat distorted Bengali pronounciation: “Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, going to Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, going to Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii.”

    I realized that it wasn’t going to do much good reasoning with Sujit. There was no way to avoid him, so I got into the bus with him. The conductor continued yelling out: “Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, .Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii.”

    They are hard-working people. They came to work hard and from a long distance away. It is said in the Vedas that the serene beauty that is found in sweating human beings has no parallel anywhere. Náná shrántáya shriiranti. But it is really quite difficult to rub shoulders with these sweating human beings or to sit near them for a few minutes. This seems to be the austere penance of the deep night.

    It was quite some time later when we reached the outskirts of Ghusuŕi after crossing a large portion of the city of Howrah. The city of Howrah is high in some places, low in others, replete with factories and neighborhoods of gentle, civilized folk. Howrah has been an industrial town since its very inception. There was a time when there was a factory here at every turn. It is difficult to find another such industrial town anywhere in the world, although at present Ludhiana and Batala of the Punjab can boast of a similar glory. This is quite good, no doubt, but Howrah should not lose its distinction. Both government and private agencies derive a very good income from this industrial town, although in general we can say that the city is neglected. Only a very small fraction of what is spent for the improvement of Kolkata is spent on Howrah. Moreover, the sacrifices that Howrah has made for the improvement of Kolkata are indisputable. Kolkata is like a golden lamp with a slender wick made of fine cotton and clarified butter for fuel, while Howrah is like the lamp-stand that bears it on its head. It seems to bear the black stain from the lamp’s burnt oil. Will no one pay any attention to Howrah? The British did not neglect the town in this way when they founded it in an area of marshy wetlands [háoŕ] after draining the water and filling in the holes and ditches. A botanical garden was developed here as well as one of India’s oldest engineering colleges. The Shalimar gardens were fashioned in imitation of the Shalimar gardens of Kashmir. The place is still commonly known today as Shalimar.

    The Howrah district was second to none in the area of scholarship. There was a time when a large number of Sanskrit scholars used to live at Máju, Shyampur, Andul, Peṋŕo-Vasantapur and Sáṋtrágáchi. They were quite erudite. The British selected Howrah, as a developing area of Bengal, to be the residence of the representative from Bhutan. Later on that particular place became known as Bhot́bágán.

    It is this Howrah that we are passing through, neglected by history just as Urmila, the wife of Lakśmańa, was neglected in the Rámáyańa. We reached Ghusuŕi and arrived at Sujit’s house some seven or eight minutes after getting down at the bus-stand. It was a neat, middle-sized, fashionable house, with the kind of lovely, colorful gardens in front and on the sides known as kut́apa in Sanskrit literature. I could not help but praise Sujit’s taste. I also had to admire his choice of place. Truly there is no space left even fora til [sesame] seed in the Tilottamá-like city of Kolkata.⁽⁵⁾ Perhaps after some time there will be no space left in Ghusuŕi for even a poppy seed, what to speak of a sesame seed.

    We spent a few hours together in free and intimate conversation– laughing, gossiping and dining. Sujit’s wife Sunanda came from an aristocratic family and was a simple and unassuming woman who was also a paragon of hospitality. Sujit’s son, Sudhii, was then about five years old.

    The noon hour passed and it became afternoon, time to return. In those days Ghusuŕi was half-urban and half-rural. With the onset of the evening, silence reigned, and after nine at night it became completely deserted. People were going to sleep around that time. I returned to my aunt’s house in Belgachia. As I was leaving, Sujit made me promise to visit him in Ghusuŕi whenever I came to Kolkata and could spare a little time. I also thought that I must certainly visit Ghusuŕi – the gold bracelet of Sujit’s love.

    Ghusuŕi – Ghusuŕii-ii-ii, Ghusuŕii-ii-ii, going to Ghusuŕi?

    Many years passed after that. Much water had flowed down the Ganges. I was then staying in the Baluabari area of Dinajpur⁽⁶⁾, no longer on the banks of the Ganges but on the banks of the Punarbhava, surrounded by the simple and sinless people of the land of Barendra. I still remember that scene. A certain Faizul Miaṋá used to supply us with firewood every morning. He could never leave without conversing with me for a few minutes about his daily joys and sorrows. Everyday, when he would lift the bundle of firewood to his head, that is, just when he was leaving, he used to ask, “Sir, do you like this land?”

    I would answer: “Yes, I like it very much?”

    Then he would ask, “Then why don’t you settle down here?”

    I would just smile.

    Today that Dinajpur of long ago sometimes haunts the dark alleys of my mind. My mind waxes nostalgic when I remember those dreamy days. I breathe a sigh and then realize that this sigh is futile. It is our fault that the country has been fragmented. Is it altogether impossible for this divided country to be made whole again if we are willing to work to rebuild it? As many wise and learned people say, human history does not recognize the word “impossible”. The word “impossible” has no lasting value in the lexicon of humanity.

    It was Monday. A telegram arrived from Ghusuŕi from Sunanda informing me that Sujit was seriously ill; it would be good if I could go there.

    It was a shock to my mind. Sujit was my childhood friend, my playmate, my study companion and a distant relation as well. It is hard to imagine how much he loved me.

    I decided to leave the next day. Towards the end of the night I dreamed that Sujit was telling me: “You gave me your word that you would come to Ghusuŕi whenever you had a chance. So many days have passed but you haven’t come. What sort of promise is that? You must have received today’s telegram. This time you must certainly come.”

    Then I woke up. It was three o’clock in the morning.

    In those days, in order to travel from Dinajpur to Sealdah, one had to first travel to Parvatipura on metre gauge [track] and then take the broad gauge from Parvatipura (Siliguri – Sealdah route) to Kolkata. I started from Dinajpur on Tuesday and reached Sealdah early Wednesday morning. After finishing a few urgent tasks during the day, I bought some fruits and other suitable food for Sujit, and by the time I reached Howrah it was already evening. When I arrived, I heard that due to some temporary trouble the buses were not running to Ghusuŕi, though efforts were being made to resume the bus service. After some time I heard that an understanding had been reached and the buses were running again. I could hear the sound: “Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii, going to Ghus-suŕii-ii-ii?”

    I boarded the bus thinking of Sujit. He must have been very seriously ill, otherwise Sunanda would never have sent the telegram. When he was in college he once contracted bronchitis and afterwards his health was somewhat affected, but he scrupulously observed the rules of health and hygiene. For this reason he was hardly ever sick, and when he was he would always fight it.

    We were passing through the city of Howrah. I could see the changes that had taken place there. As the population had grown, so had the number of houses, as well as the number of vehicles. It was the last bus of the day and it was late at night by the time I reached Ghusuŕi, after nine, a solitary hour. When I reached – Ájike duár ruddha bhavane bhavane [“Doors are shut in house after house today”.]

    Only a few passengers got down with me from the bus. I found myself in that half-urban, half-rural Ghusuŕi during the dark fortnight of the moon. Although Ghusuŕi was then moving fast towards urbanity, it still clearly showed its rural chracteristics.

    The passengers who got down all went their separate ways and I found myself alone. It had been a long time since I had been there, so I wasn’t sure of the way to Sujit’s house. I stood there for some time thinking which way to go when suddenly Sujit showed up in person panting.

    “You are ill!” I said, “Why did you come?”

    “After a hard day’s work,” Sujit replied, “Sudhii fell asleep sitting on the bench, so I did not want to wake him. I felt sorry for him. He’s been under a lot of stress the past couple of days. How can a young college boy bear up under such pressure? Sunanda wanted to come but I didn’t let her because even though Ghusuŕi is on the edge of becoming a true township, it’s still rural at heart. After nine everything is completely still, the solitude of silence. Here the women don’t go outside after nightfall. So I forbade Sunanda to come and I came myself with the help of a stick.”

    “You have done yourself a grave injustice,” I told him. “Anyway, keep the stick in one hand and let me hold the other.”

    In this way I started for Sujit’s house holding his hand. From the little I could make out in the darkness, I could see that most of the ponds and pits had been filled up. There were hardly any bamboo groves to be seen, just one or two in the distance. But one could still hear the droning of crickets in Ghusuŕi as evening fell.

    I told Sujit, “One can hear the sound of crickets here.”

    “They have been consulting the almanac,” Sujit said, “to determine which day they will leave Ghusuŕi for good. Not much time is left now. They also have to go; they must go.”

    “You never did return,” Sujit continued, “since you left the last time. Tell me, why have you been living incognito?”

    “You have also been incognito,” I told him. “You didn’t write a single letter. Thankfully, Sunanda sent a telegram. That’s why I’ve come. You are more guilty of living incognito than I am.”

    Sujit smiled sadly and said, “Yes, you are right. I have been living incognito. There is no proper adjective, good or bad, that can be used to describe or signify this living incognito. The only thing that can be said about this living incognito is that it is natural. This happens in a man’s life; it has to happen. What I would like, then, is that you should also keep in touch with those who are living incognito in the same way that you do with those who are not.”

    While we were walking I realized that we were approaching Sujit’s house. Yes, there was that neatly decorated house and the lovely, colorful garden.

    “Let us have some fun,” Sujit said. “You ring the doorbell and I’ll stay back a little and hide. Sunanda will be surprised to see you. It will be great fun.”

    I rang the doorbell. From outside I could hear that inside the house everything was silent. After I had rung the doorbell for quite some time, Sunanda finally opened the door. When she recognized me, she burst into tears and then collapsed on the ground in front of me. After a few moments Sudhii came running up. When Sunanda told him who I was, he looked at me and then he also burst out crying.

    I looked behind me only to find that Sujit was not there where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he had moved back a little, a little further away, to a more distant hiding place.

    It was from Sudhii that I learned that Sujit had died the previous Monday at three in the morning.

25. We use a plough to cultivate. It is only because a plough is curved that it can furrow the soil. One of the meanings of the word kut́a is “plough”.

26. The Aryans entered India in stages. During the first stage they reached the land of the seven rivers, or Saptasindhu, being the Sind and with it six other rivers: the Shatadru or Shataluj or Sutlez (that which flows in a hundred streams); the Bipáshá or Bias (that which moves in a zigzag manner or which makes things wet while moving around. The Aryans in the Vedic language of that time used the word bipáshá in neuter gender. For this reason they never gave the name Bipáshá to either their sons or their daughters); the Irávatii or Ravii (that which contains much irá or water); the Candrabhágá or Cenab (the combined form of the two rivers, Candra and Bhágá); and the Vitastá or Jhelum (one whose width is noteworthy). Along with the land of the seven rivers they also colonized the kingdom of Shivi. There is a controversy regarding the location of the kingdom of Shivi, but as far as I can tell, the kingdom of Shivi is the ancient name of what we presently call Sindh (Úśiinara námah rájá shivi rájya deshe – “the king is called Uśiinara in the kingdom of Shivi”).

    In the next stage of Sindhu-Saoviira, the Aryans reached Haritdhánya (Haritdhánya > Hariahánna > Hariháná > Hariyáná). In the following stage they reached Brahmávartta and Brahmarśidesha (the confluence of the rivers Ganges and Yamuna rivers, also known as Prayág). During the age of the Mahábhárata, a large part of Brahmávarta was known as the kingdom of Shúrasena with its capital at Mathura; its king was Kaḿsa and afterwards Krśńa. The Shúrasena Kayasthas are called Mathurá Kayasthas.⁽⁷⁾

    In the subsequent stage they reached the kingdom of Káshii. When they attempted to proceed from Káshii towards Magadha and Videha they faced great resistance. They even declared Magadha to be a non-Vedic or non-Aryan land. Upon conquering Videha after great struggle, they performed the trihotriiya sacrifice (a ritual sacrifice performed by three sacrificial priests; generally a sacrifice is performed by one) and named it the Trihotriiya land or Tirhut (the name Mithila is almost contemporary with Videha). After somehow conquering Mithila and Magadha, they proceeded towards Ráŕh and there they met with insurmountable opposition.

    This conflict between Ráŕh and the Aryan civilization kept Bengal beyond the ambit of Áryávarta until the end. Bengal belongs neither to Áryávarta nor to the Deccan. Even though the Bengali language is one of the luminaries of Sanskrit and Aryan language group, the Dravidian influence is predominant in the physical composition of the Bengali race. This proves that the Aryans could not settle here permanently; the physical composition of Bengalis reflects a far greater Austric-Dravidian influence than Aryan influence. There is also considerable Mongolian influence, especially in North, East and Southeast Bengal. The Dravidian influence is extremely strong in Ráŕh (thus, according to anthropology, Bengalis are Austrico-Mongolo-Negroid). Not only did the Aryans meet with resistance at the borders of Ráŕh, it is rumored that at Barjyabhúmi (Birbhum) when they saw the Aryans, the [local indigenous] population unleashed their pet dogs and wolves (vrkavyághra) against them. So the Aryans used to say that the land of Ráŕh had to be abandoned (Barjjyaniiya), that is, it is Bajjyabhúmi. Regarding Bengal it was said: “We do not understand what the people of that land say in their chirping bird language.” In later times many smártas [scholars of social scriptures] made an injunction that, except for the Gauṋgáságara pilgrimage, if anyone came to Bengal, then they would be considered to have committed a sin both of commission and omission. They used to arrive by boat during the Gauṋgáságara pilgrimage, take their bath and return again by water without ever touching the soil of Bengal; thus they avoided the crime of touching the land.

    Just as the Aryans met with resistance to the east in Bengal, similarly in the south they came up against the insurmountable summits of the Satpura and Vindhya Mountains. Since the Vindhya Mountains were so difficult to cross, the following areas remained out of the Aryan reach: the southern areas of Maharastra that lie across the Vindhya Mountains (Vidarbha is part of Áryávarta but Márát́há and Kouṋkańa are part of the Deccan), Triliuṋgabhúmi (Telengana or Andhra), Karnát́akdesh (or the land of Kannada), Gomantaka (Goa), Drámila (Tamil Nadu), Kerala and the southern part of Orissa (Utkala: the northwestern part of Orissa, which was known as Koshala or south Koshla, however, was regarded as a part of Áryávarta, and that is why even today there still remains a significant cultural and psychological gap between Koshala and Utkala). For similar reasons, the Pathans and Mughals also failed to significantly extend their dominion over this area. It is said that Maharishi Agastya was the first to cross the Vindhya Mountains along with his followers and extend the Aryan influence into the south. From that time onwards, the area south of the Vindhyas came to be known as Dákśińátya or Dakśińápatha or Dákśińa (the word Deccan is derived from the word dákśińa).

    According to a story in the Puranas, Maharshi Agastya had to use diplomacy [kut́abuddhi] when he entered the Deccan. The Vindhya Mountains were very high peaks. The Aryans were not able to cross to the other side. So they said to Agastya: “Nobody is your equal in diplomacy. Please find some way to destroy the height of the Vindhya Mountains.” Maharshi proceeded south. When the Vindhyas saw Maharshi Agastya approaching, they bowed down their head in his honour. Agastya said: “Bless you. I am headed south. Unless and until I return, you should remain in the same state of salutation, that is, with your head bowed.”

    The Maharshi proceeded south and never returned. The Vindhyas remained with their heads bowed and the Aryans were able to easily enter the south. Because of this fame for diplomacy [kutábudhi], Maharshi Agastya became famous as kut́amuni or kut́arśi. So you see, one meaning of kut́amuni, kut́arśi or kut́aja is Maharshi Agastya.

    This word agastya is also found in Hebrew and Latin as “Augustine.” The name of the month of August is also derived from the word agastya.

27. In the Dvápara era, the versatile Dronacarya was well known for his diplomacy in addition to his famed mastery of the art of weaponry and different scriptures. It is said that he concealed certain parts of this knowledge of weaponry and scriptures from his disciples but taught them to Arjuna. Supposedly he taught Arjuna diplomacy as well. The sages, saints and learned philosophers never considered diplomacy to be a good thing. It was their firm opinion that it led to the degradation of humanity and the decay of spirituality. In their opinion, just as a thief is caught by a thief, an exorcist is killed by a ghost, a snake charmer dies of snake-bite, similarly a practitioner of diplomacy is destroyed by diplomacy.

    This is what happened in the case of Dronacarya. His son’s name was Ashvaththama, and Ashvaththama was also the name of an elephant killed in the Mahábhárata war. Dronacarya was informed of the death of Ashvaththama, the elephant, when Yudhisthira proclaimed ashvaththámá hatah [Ashvaththama is dead]. When he said iti gaja [the elephant] in a soft voice, the drums and tom-toms were loud enough that Dronacarya could not hear that portion. He thought that it was his son, Ashvaththama, who was dead. He became so upset on the battlefield that he was killed in the battle. According to a Puranic story, Ashvaththama was blessed with the boon of immortality (like Hanuman), thus Ashvaththama did not die nor can he [ever]. In olden times some people used to consider Ashvaththama a virtuous person [puńyashloka]. In later times people used to consider Vaedehii instead of Ashvaththama as virtuous:

    Puńyashloka Ńala rájá puńyashloka Yudhist́hirah,
    Puńyashloka ca Vaedehii puńyashloka Janárdanah.

    [The king Nala is virtuous. Yudhisthira is virtuous and Vaedehii, i.e., Sita, is virtuous. Janardana, i.e., Krśńa, is also virtuous.]

    Dronacarya had great affection for Ashvaththama, not only because he was his own son but also because Ashvaththama was revered and considered virtuous by many.

    Thus the death of Dronacarya resulted from his hearing, through a diplomatic stratagem, the bad news of Ashvaththama’s death. Since the time of the Mahábhárata, kut́a has also meant Dronacarya.

28. Many people think that the Kayasthas are a community with marked diplomatic abilities [kut́abuddhi]. For this reason, people in ancient times used to steer clear of the Kayasthas in diplomatic conflict; rather they maintained good relations with them. In the post-Buddhist era the Kayastha rulers stood beside the Brahmins for the purpose of establishing traditional orthodox religion in Bengal. As a result traditional orthodox religion may have been established but the long-term reaction in the life of the people of Bengal was not good. The following folk rhyme is still heard in the villages of Ráŕh:

    Káyet⁽⁸⁾ mare jale bháse
    Kák bale kon chale áche.

    [The káyet is dead and floating on the water; the crow says: there must be some trick up his sleeve.]

    In other words, if the dead body of a Kayastha is floating on the water a crow will not peck at it. The crow thinks that surely the man is not dead; he is pretending, dissimulating, lying there like that. I shall be in trouble if I go near him. It is difficult to say for certain whether or not the Kayasthas have marked diplomatic abilities, but it is true that the Kayasthas are an educated, intelligent, devout and self-respecting community. One of the meanings of the word kut́a is Kayastha.

29. Kut́a also means “preserved perfume” or iitr, scent or essence. However, for this the word kut́i is more widely used than the word kut́a. Another meaning of kut́a is “cottage”.

30. If a person of evil mentality leads a righteous person down the path of unrighteousness by force or fraud or cleverness, then this evil mentality is also called kut́a.

31. If a person of evil mentality leads a simple person astray, then their evil mentality is also called kut́a.

32. If someone creates obstacles on the path of good conduct, then that evil intention is also called kut́a.

33. If a dishonest individual uses their dishonest mentality to create conflict with either an honest or dishonest individual, then their dishonest mentality is also called kut́a.

34. That place which is not easily accessible or is insurmountable is also called kut́a. The Cognitive Principle lying covert within the deepest recesses of the mind, in the innermost sense of existence, is called kut́astha caetanya [latent consciousness] because it is surrounded by a barrier of inaccessi-bility.

    The use of only the word kut́a for kut́astha caitanya is rarely found. The compound word kut́astha-caitanya is used.

Kut́aja

Kut́a + jan + d́a = kut́aja. The etymological meaning of kut́aja is “that which grows in mountains”.

1. One of the colloquial meanings of kut́aja is a certain medicinal herb used in Ayurveda.

2. Another meaning of the word kut́aja is “snow”.

3. Kut́aja also means “red ochre”.

4. Kut́aja also means “ochre” [shilájatu].

5. A kind of medicinal herb by the name of jatámáḿsii [Nardo stachys jatamansi] is also called kut́aja. It smells somewhat like cooked meat, so cats often frequent the place where this plant grows, thinking there is cooked meat nearby. This plant grows in cold hilly areas. It can be seen growing in certain places in North Bengal and in the Jhalda area of Ráŕh.

6. Kut́aja also refers to the great sage Agastya.

7. One of the meanings of kut́aja is Dronacarya.

8. Kut́aja also means Kayastha.

Kut́apa

Kut́a + pá + d́a = kut́apa. Kut́apa means a flower garden prepared in the front or on the side of a house. If there are flowering plants in tubs in the front of the house or in the front part of the terrace, these also can be called kut́apa. Kut́apa in neuter gender (kut́apaḿ – kut́ape – kut́apáni) means “lotus”.

Kut́ara

Kut́a + rá +d́a = kut́ara.

1. One meaning of kut́ara is “churning rod”, that is, that with which one churns.

2. The other meaning of kut́ara is “high land” or “hillock”, or the hard soil where a river changes its course and is forced to turn in another direction. These places are called báṋk [bend] or daha [eddy] in Bengali–for example, Chakradaha (chakradaha> chakkardaha >chákdaha>chákdá). They are also called ghurńii [whirlpool]. The Ghurńii area of Krishnanagar received its name in this way.

Kut́t́a

The verbal root kut́t́ (kut́t́i) + ka = kut́t́a. The verbal root kut́t́ means “to grind”, “to make fit for use”, “to cut into pieces”, “to beat boiled paddy into flattened rice”, “to mince vegetables”, “to husk paddy”, etc. The etymological meaning of kut́t́a is “that which has been made fit for use or which has been ground”. Colloquially kut́t́a refers to vegetables that have been rendered suitable for cooking after cutting and slicing.

Kut́t́aka

Kut́t́a + kan = kut́t́aka. The etymological meaning of kut́t́aka is “that which multiplies qualities” (invests with qualities).

1. In colloquial usage kut́t́aka refers to the degree to which a number is raised in mathematics. For example, when we write three above x we say in English “x to the power of three”. Similarly in Bengali we say “three kut́t́akas of x”. Similarly, x4, x5, x6 are four kut́t́akas of x, five kut́t́akas of x and six kut́t́akas of x respectively. This use of the kut́t́aka sign has been in vogue since before the time of Shridharácáryá. Liilávatii⁽⁹⁾ enriched algebra by using this kut́t́aka in a variety of ways.

2. Another meaning of kut́t́aka is “large mammal”, such as the whale, walrus, seal, porpoise, etc.

3. The third meaning of the word kut́t́aka is similar to kut́t́a, that is, cut vegetables. If vegetables for cooking are cut into long slices (first by cutting into two pieces then slicing down the middle), into cubes (by halving the half slice), into round pieces (by not making the broader side of the vegetable smaller, but rather cutting the longer side into pieces at small intervals; fried potatoes are generally cut into round slices), or into thin pieces (by cutting into thin, long pieces; fried potatoes are sometimes cut into thin pieces), and so on, then the word kut́t́aka can be used for these different styles of cutting. The potatoes for potato-caccaŕi [a curry preparation] are sometimes cut into minute pieces. The word kut́t́aka can be used for all these. The expressions phálá phálá [to cut into long slices] is derived from the word phalakakut́t́anam or phalakakartanam; the word ádhá phálá [half slice] is derived from ardhaphalakam; the word dumo dumo [cube-shaped piece] is derived from the word dviguńim; the word cáká cáká [round pieces] is derived from the word cakravat or cakrima; the word jire jire [thin slices] is derived from jirakam. The place where the queen of Bengal, Phult́usi Barmańii, preserved Bengal’s freedom during the Middle Ages by cutting the soldiers of Bhutan into long slices is still known even today as Phalakata. Phult́usi Barmańii was the daughter of Karńeshvara Roy, the feudal king of Kauṋkaná (Kákiná of the district of Rangpur).

Kut́t́ima

Kut́t́a + imac = kut́t́ima. The etymological meaning is “that which is used for cutting” or “that which has been created by cutting”. Colloquially the word kut́t́ima is used in a variety of senses:

1. You know that mines are predominantly of two types. The first is where the hidden deposits are extracted by digging into the ground and penetrating into the earth’s deeper strata. Coal is generally extracted from these types of coalmines. Many metals and non-metals are extracted from such mines. The proper Bengali word for “mine” is khani; the word ákara can also be used. The word ákara is used in Sanskrit, however the word khani is both Sanskrit and proper.

2. Some metals and non-metals, however, are found in the upper strata of the earth, for example, stones, certain types of coal which produce less heat, hematite, mineral iron, dolomite, bauxite (mineral aluminum), etc. Generally these metals and non-metals are found in the upper layer of the earth’s surface. In such cases they are generally somewhat inferior in quality to the same metals and non-metals found at lower strata, although this is not always so. The place where this work of collection from the upper levels of the earth’s surface is carried out is not called a mine but rather a quarry. The proper Bengali word for “quarry” is kut́t́ima.

3. A stone chip mine is not called a mine but rather a quarry; in Bengali it is not called a khani but rather kut́t́ima. A diamond mine should be called hiraka kut́t́ima. An open coal pit should be called auṋgára kut́t́ima.

4. To repair the pits and holes of roads by filling them with tar is also known as kut́t́ima kará. In Bengali “road closed for repair” should be kuttimárthe path bandha.

5. The word kut́t́ima kará is also used when the earthen floor of a residence is rendered fit for use by shoveling, spreading the earth and then levelling it by beating with a rammer.

6. Plastering a wall before it is painted or whitewashed⁽¹⁰⁾ (the Bengali word palástárá comes from the English word “plastering”) is kut́t́ima kará in chaste Bengali.

7. When a plot of land is levelled before constructing a house and is finally fixed or selected for that purpose, then that land is called kut́t́ima. For example, “the site for Káiṋcantalá University” should be rendered in Bengali as Káiṋcantalá Vishvavidyálayer kut́t́ima.

Footnotes

(1) Usage is accepted because of popularity despite being grammatically incorrect. –Trans

(2) A Sanskrit word used in unaltered form in Bengali. –Trans.

(3) A rule of Sanskrit grammar which states that the second case-ending is used when an expression is associated with time or place. –Trans.

(4) A rule of Sanskrit grammar which states that the third case-ending is used when an expression is associated with the resultant of action. –Trans.

(5) In mythology Tilottamá was a beautiful maiden created by a god. –Trans.

(6) Presently in Bangladesh. This district was divided between India and Bangladesh. -Trans.

(7) While it is true that there is some small difference in appearance between the Kayasthas and non-Kayasthas of Bengal, the difference is not so vast. You can recognize Kayasthas when you see them. Even if they differ somewhat in appearance, they are also Bengalis. There is a vast difference in appearance between the Brahmins of Maharastra and the Márát́hás. By comparison, the difference between the Kayasthas and non-Kayasthas of Bengal is negligible. It often goes unperceived. Moreover, it cannot be denied that there has been racial intermingling.

(8) Kayastha > Káyattha > Káyet

(9) A famous mathematician of middleage India. –Trans.

(10) The lime that is prepared throughout southern Bengal by burning the shells of snails and oysters is called quicklime or kalicun. Our city got the name Kalikátá due to the quicklime and coir-rope [kátádaŕi] business. Hence, whitewashing a wall is called kali pheráno in southern Bengal. Since there is plenty of limestone or ghuting in Ráŕh, especially western Ráŕh, the lime that was produced or is produced there by burning limestone is called “stone lime” [páthure cun]. There is no necessity in western Ráŕh of producing quicklime. For this reason, whitewashing a house is not called kali pheráno. Charcoal is called auṋgára (áuṋgára) there and mineral coal is called “stone coal” [páthure kaylá].