A major gap in present research into the past of eastern Africa has been the lack of a corpus—or at least the beginning of a collection—of the Islamic epigraphy of the coast. What has been set out here is intended only as a beginning: all of us hope that readers of this article will publish themselves, or forward to any of us, information which they may have for future publication. In this way we may some day hope to possess a corpus of inscriptions for this region as complete as the Corpus Inscriptionum Arabicarum begun by Max van Berchem, or the Répertoire chronologique d'épigraphie arabe of Combe, Sauvaget, and Wiet.

It is now generally agreed by most authorities on the subject that the Aryan linguistic vestiges in the Near East are to be connected specifically with Indo-Aryan, and not with Iranian, and also that they do not represent a third, independent Aryan group, and are not to be ascribed to the hypothetically reconstructed Proto-Aryan. This conclusion is incorporated in the title of M. Mayrhofer's bibliography of the subject, Die Indo-Arier im alten Vorderasien (Wiesbaden, 1966), and it can now be taken as the commonly accepted view. It is based on the fact that where there is divergence between Iranian and Indo-Aryan, and where such elements appear in the Near Eastern record, the latter always agrees with Indo-Aryan. Such items are aika “one” and šuriyaš “sun”, and the colour names parita-nnu and pinkara-nnu which correspond to Sanskrit palita- “grey” and piṅgala- “reddish”. The evidence of vocabulary is supported by that of the four names of gods appearing in the Hittite-Mitanni treaty, where the Vedic gods Mitra and Varuṇa, Indra, and the Nāsatyas can be clearly recognized. This combined evidence is sufficient to establish the conclusions of Mayrhofer and others beyond reasonable doubt, and the arguments of A. Kammenhuber, who later attempted to resuscitate the theory that the Aryans of the Near East were Proto-Aryans, cannot be said to have been successful.

In the eastern provinces of Bali the road from the capital Denpasar to Karangasem passes a small exquisite lake surrounded by palm trees. Behind the lake rise a number of dramatic steep hills framing it towards the north, while beyond it the Indian Ocean sweeps to the horizon. In the distance through the blue haze lie the “islands of exile”, the biggest of which is called Nusa Penida, while closer inshore a group of small rocks juts vertically out of the sea. It is one of the most evocative tropical scenes I know. The lake, as befits such a setting, is sacred. Purple lotuses cover its surface, and the two temples to Shiva and Hariti look down from the hill. It is the holy precinct of Tjandidasa.