One of the results of the sometime colonization of Africa was the concentration by linguists of various European countries on the languages of those African territories held under their suzerainty, and the neglect of languages spoken in areas ‘belonging to’ other European countries. Fang, spoken in parts of what are now Gabon and Cameroon, has not enjoyed a great deal of attention from English-speaking linguists and/or Africanists, though it holds considerable interest for both in the idiosyncrasies of the phonetic display relating to its phonological categories and configurations.

It is customary to describe the Ṛavedic dialogue of Purūravas and Urvaśī (ṚV 10.95, referred to hereafter as D) either as the source ‘from which all the different versions have originated … an exaltation of a popular fairy-tale’ (H. D. Velankar, The Vikramorvaśīya, New Delhi, 1961, xxxxiii) or as ‘ein einheitliches festgefügtes Kunstwerk’ based on the fairy-tale narrated ‘im alten schlichten Märchenstil’ in Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa, 11.5.1 (K. F. Geldner).

The manuscript numbered S. 788 in the Stein Collection at the British Museum is a fragment, only about a foot square, containing on one side of the paper part of two ballads descriptive of fighting in the frontier regions, the second of which is entitled “the Ballad of Yen,”. Both the writing and the paper point to a date in the late ninth or beginning of the tenth century.

The Musabba'āt played an important part in the history of the Kordofan/Dār Fūr region in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This article attempts to define who they were and to examine the careers of three generations of Musabba'āt sultans, in particular that of the grandson, their most famous sultan, Hashim b. ‘Isāwī al-Musabba'āwī.

A New religion has no theology; that develops later. It is only natural that Islam should show some influence of the older religions among which it grew up. New ideas came in with converts or through talk with men of other faiths. Muslim theology moved in a circle, and came back to its starting-point with the same ideas deeper and riper. The second and third centuries of the Hijra were the formative period, after which thought degenerated into the splitting of hairs. The religious world was in a ferment which threw out many strange ideas. Sober thinkers mostly belonged to the Mu‘tazila, who taught the freedom of the human will to free God from the responsibility for sin and evil. Others found a solution of this problem in other ways, some being forerunners of al-Ash‘ari, who in 300 A.H. deserted the Mu‘tazila and used their methods to build up the system of orthodoxy. Many of these men were not Arabs, and their writings have perished; so all that is known of their teaching comes from the works of their opponents. The earliest of these is Maḳālāt al-islāmiyyīn by al-Ash‘ari; it is also the most valuable, for it is objective and free from theological hatred. The author has done his best to report what these men taught, and his education fitted him for this. Later books are not so impartial. ‘Abd al-Ḳāhir al-Baghdādi († 429) calls each deviation from the strait path an error.

In their learned and sumptuously illustrated work Mushrooms, Russia and history, Valentina Pavlovna Wasson and K. Gordon Wasson have given a comprehensive and fascinating survey of mushroom lore. All kinds of traditions and conceits connected with fungi have here been discussed, together with the often picturesque and fanciful, sometimes unsavoury names denoting them in many diverse languages. The etymologies are frequently quite clear, and give a good clue to the understanding of the strikingly parallel reactions evoked everywhere by ‘the rich world of mushrooms and toadstools’. Other words are of uncertain origin, and in some cases we come across resemblances between words from unrelated and unconnected languages, which the philologist may be inclined to ascribe to ‘mirages linguistiques’.

Apart of the island of the central Solomon Islands which was called Santa Ysabel by the Spanish discoverers is known as “Sambana” to the natives of Narovo (Eddystone) and Mandegusu islands, who used to raid it. The north end of the island is called Kia, and the southern end is known as Bugotu. There is no one native name for the whole of the island.

When Soslan went to the land of the giant Uomar, son of Tara, he pretended to be his own hireling: Tari furt Uomari zænxæmæ ranæxstæræy ye'xuærsti ræuoni, Pam. ii 60. The Dictionary translates Dig. ræuonæ as ‘cause, pretext, appearance’, and quotes our passage to illustrate the third meaning: ‘in the appearance of his hireling.’ There is, however, another passage, in which ræuonæ clearly means ‘disguise’. Uaskergi had placed watchmen at the gorge of Zadælesk, to prevent Cænxigol, the spirit of salt, from leaving the heights. The villain Sirdon advises Cænxigol: mæn gadcay ræuændtæy leu næ rayervæzay uædta, dæ ramardzænæncæ ‘if you do not escape by means of my bitch's ræuændtæ (plur. of ræuonæ) they will kill you’; thereupon Cænxigol Sirdoni gadcay cari bacudæy ma uotemæy qalaurtæbæl rayevhudæy, “Sirdoni gadca æy!” zæhgæy ‘Cænxigol entered the hide of Sirdon's bitch and thus passed by the watchmen, who said: “it is Sirdon's bitch”’ (Miller, Ocemuhckue Эmю∂ы i 102). Miller translated mæn gadcay ræuændtæy as ‘by the ruse of my bitch’; evidently the meaning is ‘by disguising yourself as my bitch’. The plural ræuændtæ is also used, according to B., my Digor friend, when the word means ‘pretext’.

The beginnings of the novel as a literary art in Egypt are so recent that the student of contemporary Arabic literature might well be excused for seeking to trace some genetic connection between its development and the earlier productions of the Syrian school of writers. But except for the possibility that the success of the Syrian novelists (whose works have been admirably described by Professor Kratchkowsky in the study frequently quoted in the previous articles of this series, and now available in a German translation) may have encouraged the Egyptian writers to produce a class of works which would appeal to the same public, the literary movement which forms the subject of the present article has remained in general entirely independent of the Syrian historical novel. Western influences, which are very marked in the later stages, have been exercised directly, but Egyptian recreational literature continued for a long time to lean rather on classical and conventional models. It is only very slowly and hesitatingly that it has emancipated itself, and its progress in this direction has been sporadic and individual rather than the result of a steady evolution.

At the beginning of September 1854, almost six months after Commodore Perry had concluded his convention with Japan, Sir James Stirling, Commander-in-Chief of the British East Indies fleet, took his squadron into Nagasaki harbour to negotiate with the Japanese officials there. Unlike Perry, his primary object was not to obtain a treaty of commerce and friendship. War between Britain and Russia had broken out in March, and it was his duty to hunt down, if possible to destroy, Admiral Poutiatin's squadron then in Pacific waters. This task, he realized, would be made much easier if he could use Japanese ports for obtaining stores and refitting on the terms usually allowed a belligerent by a neutral state, and if this meant that Russia could use those ports on similar terms, he was confident that he could deny her access to them by his own greater strength at sea. In fact, whatever secret hopes he may have had as to the ultimate effect of his discussions on Anglo-Japanese relations, Stirling went to Nagasaki principally to settle a point of practical importance to his conduct of naval operations. He wished to know in what light the Japanese government would view the use'of its ports by the belligerents, and was ready to suggest, perhaps insist on, a policy favourable to Great Britain.

Despite this limited objective, there followed an exchange of letters, some weeks of waiting, and a number of discussions with the Nagasaki Bugyoo (the Governor of Nagasaki), as a result of which Stirling obtained a convention similar in many respects to that of Perry, though somewhat more restricted in its provisions.

John Wansbrough's rebukes to historians find their wittiest expression in his ‘Res ipsa loquitur’, an essay in which the nub of the problem seems to be this, that he thinks historians are writing novels and they think they are presenting the facts. Accused of engaging with language games, narrative structures and creative mimesis, a wise historian might decide to be flattered, and stick to his last. Wansbrough, after all, is also a historian: a typological assessment of his work will not (yet) find that he has slipped into the genre of novel, or theology. Even his extensive exercises in literary criticism are part of an effort to tell the history of a community. His objections are to the arbitrarily privileged position of ‘reality’, the tyranny of some narrative structures, the eschewal of interpretative versatility, and a lack of methodological and literary self-consciousness. Significant criticisms, but presented in a context which implies not only serious concern with but enjoyment of the achievement of these historians, novelists malgré eux.

1. From the period of the rule of the Kuṣāṇa family of the Saka kings cor three inscriptions from Mathurā. Of the first two neither is completely preserved, but in both a word bakanapati is unmistakably present. The first inscription is of the time of the mahārāja rājātirāja devaputra Huviṣka. The second inscription written on a pedestal seems to contain the name Vima, and this by both K. P. Jayaswal and Mme van Lohuizen de Leeuw is considered to mean Vima Kadphises, though Sten Konow expressed his doubts.

The only notable works on poetics and prosody that survive in Pali are the Subodhālankāra (comprising, in effect, Kārikā and Vrtti) and Vuttodaya. They have been ascribed to the twelfth-century Sinhalese monk Sangharakkhita and described, almost from the outset, as ‘dependent upon Sanskrit models’ and ‘based entirely upon Sanskrit prosody’ respectively. Indeed the Vrtti names a ‘Dandi’ as its basic source. The Pali Text Society's 2000 edition of the Subodhālankāra, complete with two versions of the Vrtti, compiled by P. S. Jaini, has registered many, but by no means all of the parallel passages in Dandin's Kāvyādarśa, the seminal manual of Sanskrit poetic theory. The present article seeks to show that the Pali texts depend rather on earlier Middle Indian traditions of rhetoric and poetics, coupled with theories adumbrated in Nātyaśāstra. It is reasonably certain that the basic Pali material, especially as presented in the version with ‘Abhinavatīkā’, has been drawn upon by the author of the Sanskrit Kāvyādarśa; and there is evidence that the ‘Porānatīkā’ has been superficially influenced by the Sanskrit text. The material goes far to explain classical Sanskrit notions of Alamkāra, Rasa and Dhvani. The Pali prosody Vuttodaya seems to have been equally baselessly maligned, and should take its place along with surviving vestiges of Prakrit prosody as the fundamental link between Vedic and classical theory.

In The Ramtek Inscriptions [I] (hereafter RI) mention was made of a Vākāṭaka inscription in the Kevala-Narasiṁha temple on Ramtek Hill, the discovery of which was reported in IAR, 1982–83, 137. The credit for first discussing, as well as editing the text goes to the Director of the Archaeological Survey and Museums of Maharashtra, Dr. A. P. Jamkhedkar. In an article which appeared in 1986 in R. Parimoo (ed.), Vaiṣṇavism in Indian arts and culture (pp. 335–41), Jamkhedkar attributed the inscription to Prabhāvatī Guptā (op. cit., 340), an attribution for which he adduced arguments in a subsequent article that was published in M. S. Nagaraja Rao (ed.), Kusumāñjali, vol. i in 1987 (pp. 217–23).

Inscription on a limestone slab, 27 ½ in. 7 ½in.; obtained from a man who has done extensive digging in Haid Ibn ‘Aqil, the necropolis of Timna’, and now in Major, M. D. Van Lessen's possession. Plate I.

Tanzanian novelist and philosopher Euphrase Kezilahabi strives to “dismantle the resemblance of language to the world” (1985: 216) through challenging the fundamental philosophical dichotomy of subject and object. The result of this dismantling will be a new “language whose foundation is Being” (Kezilahabi 1991: 69; lugha ambayo msingi wake ni kuwako). This is an expression of a new relationship between humanity and Being built on a holistic epistemology of experience and embodiment. Through “kuwako”, Kezilahabi expresses in Swahili the Heideggerian concept of Sein (Being). His adherence to Heidegger, however, puts him at risk of compromising the very foundation of his own philosophy: his continued critique of essentialism. This article argues that Kezilahabi salvages his concept of “kuwako” from these essentialist pitfalls precisely through his declared “destructive rather than deconstructive stand vis-à-vis the Western philosophy of value and representation” (Kezilahabi 1985: 4). The destruction is implemented on the thematic level: a phase of “vurumai” (chaos) which destroys previous traditions of philosophy is staged in Nagona. However, translation is an even more powerful device to carry out this destruction: “kuwako” is not an innocent reiteration but a radical reformulation of Heidegger's central philosophical concept, decisively informed by Kezilahabi's lifelong propensity for existentialism.