In his important book Mythe et épopée Dumézil recently asserted that the god Dharma as he appears in the Māhabhārata is a continuation of the Vedic Mitra. Arguing “la substitution de Dharma à Mitra en tant que père de Yudhiṣṭhira” the French savant is of the opinion that “à l'époque de la rédaction définitive de l'épopée, dharma était certainement le mot le meilleur—ou le moins inadéquat—pour exprimer la substance du Mitra védique et prévédique, substance dont le Mitra épique avait été vidé”. Or, expressing himself briefly, Dharma—one of those so-called abstract figures of the “classical” pantheon which have no counterpart in the Veda—is Mitra “under a rejuvenated name”. Considering myself absolved from the obligation to give an account of the main relevant features of Dumézil's theories, which are well known to every student of Indo-European antiquity and of the comparative history of Indo-European religions, as well as from the necessity to resume my objections to some of his opinions and hypotheses, I shall limit myself here to a discussion of the question as to how far some form of identity of both divine figures can be substantiated or made acceptable.

The collection of Indian sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum includes a fine relief from Koṇārka. It is about 2 feet 6¾ inches (78·1 cm.) in height and depicts King Narasiṁha I (a.d. 1238–64), the founder of the celebrated Sun temple at Koṇārka in Orissa, sitting at the feet of his spiritual preceptor (Plate I). Acquired in the 19th century, this relief, which is carved in carboniferous shale, was long believed to be Nepalese. Havell, writing in 1911, notes that this sculpture is “said to have come from Nepal. Its date is uncertain. It appears to represent a Vaishnava adaptation of some old Buddhist jātaka story.” Some years later it was realized that the style of this sculpture belonged to that of the Eastern Ganga of the 13th century a.d., and that it represented the conversion of a kṣatriya noble to the worship of Viṣṇu by a Vaiṣṇava priest. The figure of the warrior sitting at the feet of the priest was identified as that of Narasimha I receiving spiritual instruction from his guru. This relief is one of a number showing scenes from the life of Narasimha which come from the great Koṇārka temple dedicated by him to the sun-god Sūrya. Of these, the panel already mentioned and another in New Delhi throw an interesting light on Narasiṃha's religious beliefs.

The importance of this period which marks the beginning of British rule in Ceylon is that its study furnishes an opportunity to observe the formation of incipient relationships between the government and the governed and to analyse their nature. The relationships entered into were with social groups and not with individuals. The social groups were not treated equally. The rule of law was not the basis of this government. The overriding desire of the government was to adapt its rule to the ideas and institutions of the indigenous society or, to be more accurate, the indigenous societies. In this process the caste system with its discrimination between caste and its strictures applied to the low castes was upheld and maintained by the government with all the resources at its command.

There appears, on the face of it, little that could connect a Neapolitan soldier with a religious establishment in a small village in the Gurdaspur district of the Punjab in India. The connexion appears even more unlikely when that Neapolitan soldier happens to be General Paolo di Avitabile, Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, of the Order of Merit of San Ferdinand of Naples, of the Durrani order of Afghanistan, Grand Cordon of the Lion and the Sun and of the Two Lions and Crown of Persia, of the Auspicious Order of the Punjab; and the religious establishment, the Vaishnava gaddī of Dhyanpur on which sat generations of mahants of a retiring disposition. But the connexion is none the less firm, as will be seen in the four documents presented in this article, and becomes easier of comprehension when one knows that General Avitabile was a military adventurer who rose in 1829 to the position of Governor of Wazīrābād in the Punjab under Mahārāja Ranjīt Singh, an area where the gaddī of Dhyanpur held some lands, free of revenue, from the local authority. The position becomes even more intelligible in the light of the fact that the Dhyanpur gaddī was of wide celebrity and had consistently received homage as much from the local population as from the Mahārāja.

The earliest steps that led to the exchange of ideas, skills, and material goods between the cultures of the East and the West will probably never be more than a matter of surmise; but the literary and archaeological sources of information that start as a slender trickle at the beginning of the Christian era soon develop into a mighty stream and disclose a tale of human endeavour and ingenuity which few historians can fail to find fascinating and stimulating. During the last half-century or so dedicated scholars such as Pelliot have devoted their major research efforts to the meticulous consideration of the minutiae involved in the subject; and, more recently, Joseph Needham has contrived both to continue the work of such predecessors and to draw some of the major conclusions that are the fruits of basic research conducted in several disciplines. Probably the full story of these exchanges can never be told; for the evidence is sadly deficient; balanced inferences that rely on information gathered from both East and West are rarely possible; and, maddeningly enough, the political restrictions of the 20th century now prevent the application of the modern techniques of archaeology, geography, and anthropology in areas where they are most likely to be successful.