There are not many people who can be said to have done something first. To Xanthus of Lydia belongs the distinction of being the first person on record to write in Greek about Zoroaster and aspects of Iranian religion. Not a Greek but writing in Greek, and living in the country that still joins Asia and Europe, he was to play an exemplary role in presenting details of an eastern religion directly to a western audience.

Tīmūr (or Tamerlane), the Barlas tribesman whose empire stretched from the Mediterranean to India in the early fifteenth century has been a much studied and much romanticized figure in the history of Central Asia. His displays of macabre and often brutal intimidation of enemies have become almost as legendary as his military prowess. Indeed, Western legend of Tīmūr is as full of spine-tingling grotesquerie as any Gothic novel, and has been embellished far beyond plausibility.

Brian Houghton Hodgson lived and worked at the British Residency in Kathmandu from1820 to 1843, and served as British Resident in Nepal for the last ten of these years.1 Hedied in 1894, and some 25 years after his death Perceval Landon wrote:

Some time ago my attention was arrested by the remark of Mr. Cecil Bendall who, writing in 1886, while Hodgson was still alive, referred to him as ‘the greatest, and least thanked of all our English Residents’. It is difficult to dispute either adjective. Hodgson was indeed more than the greatest ofEnglish Residents. He was the founder of all our real knowledge of Buddhism. He was the only manwhose infinite variety of scholarship and interest could, unaided, have written the true history of Nepal.

In Ethiopia the last decades of the nineteenth century and the first of the twentieth were of crucial importance. This period witnessed the rise of King, after 1889 Emperor, Menilek, founder of the modern Ethiopian state. He it was who established the presentcapital, Addis Ababa, in 1886–7, defeated an Italian colonial army at the battle of Adwain 1896, and between 1905 and 1910 established a number of modern institutions, including the first modern bank, school, hospital, roads and railway. A notable innovator, he was well content to utilise the skills of Indians, as well as other foreigners, for themodernisation of his age-old empire.

Any researcher into the pre-modern history of India inevitably faces the problem of source material, and the creative genius of medieval Indians furnishes us with a wide range of sources; innumerable files of original documents, multi-volumed chronicles, bulky treatises, etc. A great number of travelogues enables us to view medieval India through the eyes of visitors from all parts of the globe. The source to be analysed in this article will hardly stand comparison with the above-mentioned materials. It is a biography of an insignificant man, a family history of modest middle-class people unconnected with court intrigues and political battles. And the title of the book is anything but serious. Ardhakathanaka means “Half a Tale”. The author, a Jain merchant named Banarasi Das, completed it in 1641, being fifty-five at that time; the ideal life span of the great Jain sages was believed to be one hundred and ten years. Thus Banarasi, who harboured no ambitions to equal the great sages, titled his autobiography “Haifa Tale”, displaying a somewhat bitter humour (he died shortly after completing the book).

The Gurjara Pratīhāras have long been recognised as the leading royal house of northern India during the ninth and tenth centuries. A considerable number of copper plate and stone inscriptions have survived from Pratīhāra times and these have provided the requisite data for a reconstruction of the dynasty's political and social history. Following conventions established in the Gupta period if not before, the copper-plates of the Pratīhāras record grants of villages or land, while stone inscriptions typically recount the building of temples and the provision of gifts to enshrined divinities. A large number of temples from the Pratīhāra age have been preserved; some of these buildings have enjoyed the recent scholarly attention of the team working on the Encyclopaedia of Indian Temple Architecture as well as the Temple Survey of the Archaeological Survey of India. In contrast, palatial architecture is virtually unknown. This is neither surprising nor unusual, there being little left of such buildings in any part of India from before the fourteenth century. This is due to the wide use of perishable building materials, notably wood, brick and stucco. In the case of the Pratīhāra rulers there is also the fact that their capital city of Kannauj (anc. Kānyakubja) has been completely destroyed. That the Pratīhāras were responsible for some building at Kannauj is indicated by the inscription, dated Harṣa year 276 (A.D. 882–3), from the shrine of Garībnāth at Pehowa. This inscription records, among many other things, that a temple of Viṣṇu Garuḍāsana was built by the Brāhmaṇa Bhūvaka on the banks of the river Gaṅgā in Bhojapura near Kānyakubja.

In Mandaeism, to copy a manuscript is a meritorious act — a Mandaean copyist (usually a priest) may undertake the task as an exercise to remit his own sins, and those of his family — or he may be hired to perform the task for someone else. Almost all Mandaean manuscripts contain colophons; excluded are talismans and other short magical texts. In the case where the transmission of a Mandaean text spans, say, fifteen or sixteen centuries, a colophon may be very long. Copying the Mandaean Ginza is a major piece of work, for it is the most voluminous of all known Mandaean texts. Mark Lidzbarski's Ginza edition and translation did not include the colophons, the lists of scribes that are attached to the text.

India during the period of the Mughal dynasty (sixteenth-eighteenth centuries) is exceptionally well illuminated by a large body of historical literature, mainly in Persian. This literature followed the traditions of classical Persian historiography, the models of which like Yazdi's Zafarnama (a history of Timur) and Mir Khwand's Rauzatu's Safa (a history of the world), both written in the fifteenth century, were widely read in India. By its very volume, if nothing else, Mughal historiography has, however, to be studied and assessed separately. It may be recalled that when C. A. Storey made his great survey of Persian historical literature, works written on Indian history accounted for a major part of it providing 475 items, by authors (nos. 612–1087), as against 299 (nos. –611) concerned with Persia, and Central Asia and countries other than India. And among the works written in India those written in Mughal times again account for the overwhelming part.

Anyone familiar with classical Japanese literature cannot but be struck by the rich array of terms such as mono no aware, yugen, wabi and sabi, to mention just a few, which are regarded as being central to the understanding of Japanese artistic theory and practice. These categories were not, of course, essentialist and unchanging. They were dynamic concepts which were subject to major transformations. These transformations illuminate important aspects of Japan's cultural history.

Few Islamic teachings can boast the fame, if not the notoriety, enjoyed by the doctrine of “unity of existence”, also known as “unity of being” (waḥdat al-wujūd). This controversialphilosophical doctrine became intimately associated with the towering figure of the Arabmystic of al-Andalus, Muḥyī'l-Dīn Ibn 'Arabī (d. 638/1240). Although Ibn 'Arabī himselfdoes not seem to have applied this ambiguous term to his loosely structured meta physical speculations, it gained wide currency among his followers starting from the celebrated Anatolian thinker Ṣadr al-Dīh al-Qūnawī (d. 673/1274).

Tan Sitong's summary execution at the close of the Hundred Days Reform (1898) inadvertently threw his wife, Li Run, into the public limelight. Following the September coup, the Guowen bao (National News) in Tianjin carried a story, entitled “Tan liefu zhuan” (Biography of the virtuous woman Tan), in which Li allegedly committed suicide by slashing her throat on learning of her husband's fate. She died broken-hearted, it was said, in protest against the wicked court ministers responsible for Tan's death. The story was quickly reprinted in Qingyi bao (The China Discussion), a periodical which Liang Qichao, a reformer in exile, started in Yokohama, Japan, as one prong of his anti-Qing campaign. The report on Li's demise continued to circulate. Twenty years later, when the Chinese scholar, Yi Zhongkui, compiled his Xin shishuo (Sequel to New Account of Tales of the World), he included a short biography of Li Run, based on the Guowen bao account. More recently, in her Chinese Women in a Century of Revolution 1850–1950, Ono Kazuko refers to the suicide story and wisely cautions about its veracity. But she adduces no evidence to confirm what actually did happen to Li Run in 1898.

Surprisingly, the history of Chinese studies in Britain has received little academic attention. In fact, its development in the twentieth century, and its problems and lack of world standing actually tell us much about the background to Sino-British relations, and especially about the resources available to enable those interested, for professional, business, evangelical or plainly academic reasons, to understand China and the Chinese. British sinology in the interwar period, if discussed at all, is routinely condemned by historians. After 1949 China was closed off to outside contacts; not surprisingly, commentators thereafter look back jealously to the opportunities for close and frequent contact that were available before the revolution but which they saw as being apparently wasted. This common judgement does not, however, do full justice to the scale of the underlying problems, especially financial ones, faced by academic institutions that taught Chinese.

The Western science and technology which invaded China during the mid-nineteenthcentury, in the wake of European military and economic aggression, entered a culture witha long indigenous tradition of natural philosophy, formed by extraordinary figures suchas Zhang Heng (78–139), Sun Simiao (581–682), Ge Hong (c. 21–341), Shen Gua (1031–1095) and Song Yingxing (c. 1587–1665). Moreover, as modern research has shown, China was, at least until about A.D. 1400, moreadvanced scientifically and technologically than Western Europe in many respects. Thesmall minority of late Qing scholars who showed any interest in the natural world or intechnology could console themselves that they were working within a noble but neglected side-stream of Chinese culture.

The Royal Asiatic Society has recently been a beneficiary from the estate of Mrs Dorothy Wales, widow of H. G. Quaritch Wales, the erudite scholar of early Southeast Asian history who died in 1981. The occasion of this bequest, the contents of which are discussed in the Librarian's report herein (pp. 169–70), prompts this note on the contribution of Quaritch Wales to Southeast Asian studies.

Quaritch Wales was born in 1900 and educated at Charterhouse and Queens' College, Cambridge. He immediately embarked on a career in Southeast Asia, from which he was never to be deflected. At the age of 23 he entered the service of the Siamese Government where he served from 1924 to 1928 as an adviser to the courts of King Rama VI and King Rama VII. The first-hand knowledge gained from this experience formed the basis of his pioneering study Siamese State Ceremonies (1931), which remains a work of unrivalled insight into the Brahmanical rituals and Buddhist accretions of Thai kingship. He followed this with another work based on his experiences of Thai court and state functions, Ancient Siamese Government and Administration (1934).

With reference to the interesting article by Laxman S. Thakur in JRAS, vol. 4, part 3 (1994) entitled “A Tibetan inscription by lHa Bla-ma Ye-shes-'od from dKor (sPu) rediscovered”, I think the inscription cannot be attributed to Ye-shes-'od but rather to one of his descendants, the bstan-po lha-sras mentioned in 1. 5 whose name has unfortunately been effaced.