Michael Madhusudan Datta (1824–73) wrote Meghanādbadhkāvya‘ The death of Meghanād’, a nine-canto epic, in 1861. Being a Rāma story, the poem naturally owes much of its substance to the Rāmāyaṇa tradition, which is represented in Sanskrit by Vālmīki's mahākāvya and in Bengali by Krittibās's work; but it differs from that tradition, widely and in a most original way, in the characterization of the persons, the selection and presentation of the episodes, and above all in sentiment and sympathy. This divergence was the result of deliberate choice. ‘I despise Ram and his rabble (i.e. the monkeys); but the idea of Ravan elevates and kindles my imagination’ Datta wrote to R. N. Basu. In other letters he gave further indications of his thinking about the approach to his subject. ‘I mean to give free scope to my Inventing powers and to borrow as little as I can from Vahniki’; and,' If the father of our poetry (i.e. Vāhmīki) had given Ram human companions I could have made a regular Iliad of the death of Meghanad.

The Candimā-sutta or ‘discourse on the moon’ in the Samyuttanikāya of the Pali canon based on the Indian myth according to which eclipses of the moon as well as of the sun are caused by a demon named Rāhu ‘the Seizer’, who is supposed to try to lay hold of one or the other of the two planets at certain times. The Sutta reports that on such an occasion the god dwelling in the moon takes his refuge in the Buddha who successfully shows his power and pity by directing Rāhu emphatically to set the moon at once at liberty.

§1 1. Kale ilyo pali BaMwamba na BaNkulu baletuma fita,

2. fileya ku mishi ya bantu aba Mambwe.

3. Babasanga, baikatana, balapikana no kulasana na mafumo.

4. Awishyo mubiye panshi, amumo mutwe, amumo mutwe,

5. asenda, atwala ku mfumu. Balaimba amalaila, baleti,

6. “Sompa, sompa, sompa, sompa, sompa,” ne mitwe ya abantu

7. Mfumu aiti: “Mwasalipeni.” Yalabanaila ubwali.

It is recorded in a number of standard works on the western Sudan and northern Nigeria that about the year A.D. 1300 Sākūra, the usurping King of Mali, performed the pilgrimage to Mecca and was murdered by the Danakil on the return journey. Delafosse writes: ‘C'est en revenant des lieux-saints par le Yémen et l'Erythrée, vers l'an 1300, que Sakoura trouva la mort: il fut dévalisé et assassiné par des Danakil sur la côte de Tadjourah, comme il venait de débarquer sur la terre d'Afrique.’ Meek, de Pedrals, and Bovill give the same story, and the last-named comments: ‘He was not returning by the customary route through Cairo, but through Eritrea and the Eastern Sudan, following what has now become the great pilgrim road of West-Central Africa.’ Now if Sākūra was killed in what is to-day French Somaliland, or for that matter anywhere in Somali or Dankali country, he was far to the south of ‘the great pilgrim road’, which does not cross Eritrea at all. Nor is it conceivable that it should ever have done so. It goes through Bornu, Wadai, and Darfur to the Nile and now reaches the Red Sea at Port Sudan. There is no reason why pilgrims should have gone so far to the south of the latitude of Jidda and so have given themselves the task of climbing over the Abyssinian plateau which was, moreover, in Christian hands. A glance at the map will show what a very strange route Sākūra is alleged to have chosen. Having landed at Tajura he would have had three alternatives. The first was to follow approximately the line of the modern railway to Addis Ababa, climbing the steep escarpment in Shoa, and then making his way across Ethiopia and down the other side of the plateau to the Nile valley in Sennar, whence he could have reached Darfur. This would have been very difficult for topographical reasons and would have necessitated a long journey through Christian territory. The second possibility was to travel northwards along the coast until he reached a place such as Suakin where he could have turned westwards and headed for the Nile. This would have been even more difficult, given the character of the Danakil and their country. Last and most difficult of all, he could have attempted the little-used and circuitous route that led through the Sidama States, on the southern borders of Ethiopia, to the White Nile. It is almost inconceivable that he should have been trying to do any of these things.

In the first part of this study ‘framing’ bāj have been considered in connexion with religious rituals celebrated in the fire-temples, and with acts for achieving or maintaining ritual purity, mostly by pāw-mahal priests. Here it is proposed to consider such bāj as are needed and used in daily life.

The story of Tepegöz is the eighth of the twelve surviving tales of the medieval Turkish cycle of Dede Korkut. In language and style it is uniform with the remainder of the cycle, but in character it differs considerably, being composed largely of incidents common to the folktales of many peoples. Its most striking feature, and the one which has attracted most attention, is the variant of the story of Polyphemus which it contains. But besides this the story has a peculiar interest of its own. It is not a mere chance retelling of an old tale. Its narrative has been based upon a traditional wording which goes back to a time before the various incidents, of independent origin, were welded together in the present complex story.

The official chronicle of the short reign of the Emperor Shun-tsung (28 Feb. to 31 Aug., A.D. 805) was composed by Han Yü, the most famous prose writer of the T'ang dynasty. To this we owe the survival of what purports to be this chronicle, as a unique example of the ‘Veritable Records’ (shih-lu) composed in the T'ang History Office. I say purports to be because it is not at all clear what relation the version we now possess bears to that which came from Han Yüs brush. Mr. Solomon1 has given a brief, lucid analysis of the problems regarding this text but he has not, I think, examined quite all the evidence or considered all the possible interpretations of it. I shall deal more fully with this point below.

As is well known, the Eastern (or Nestorian) vocalization of Syriac (henceforth ES) consistently distinguishes between ē and ī, whereas the Western (or Jacobite) tradition (henceforth WS), although having both e and i, also has in many cases (originally long) e coinciding with (originally long) i. The question arises of how it happened that in some cases (originally long) e was preserved, whereas in others it shifted to i. Brockelmann and Birkeland were, no doubt, correct in assuming that in Proto-Syriac (henceforth PS) there existed two long e sounds, ē and ē. In ES vocalization these two sounds were not differentiated, whereas in WS (originally long) ę was preserved, but ē shifted to i. Only the assumption of two different forms of ē in PS can account for the twofold representation of original ē in WS, by both ę and i.

With a view to the necessities as well as the possible problems of a document-based administration, this paper approaches the area of conflict between standardization and flexibility in the production of administrative documents in ancient China. Recently published sources from the imperial Qin period (221–207 bce) have provided the opportunity to compare administrative documents excavated at Liye with standards regulating their production. With the help of two case studies, the paper explores to what extent official document standards were implemented in everyday practice or purposefully neglected in ancient Qianling county. It also discusses which standards were followed more closely than others, and what might be the reasons behind this. Shedding light on the large grey zone between faithful adherence and complete neglect, the paper suggests that officials chose a pragmatic way influenced by both economic considerations informed by the local circumstances and the requirements imposed by the central government.