Tirāhī is a Dardic language of which, till now, hardly anything has been known. Our only materials have been the contents of a short vocabulary compiled by Leech in the year 1838. According to him, its speakers once inhabited the Tirāh country, now the home of the Afrīdi Pathāns, and, in consequence of a feud breaking out between the Ōrakzāīs and the Afrīdīs, they left that tract and settled in the Ningrahār country in independent Afghānistān, where they are now found.

The Ming maritime expeditions organized by Cheng Ho during the reign of Emperor Yung-lo have been studied intensively by Sinologists and the historians of the eastern Indian Ocean. The scattered references in the Islamic sources to the arrival of Chinese ships at the Middle Eastern ports on the other hand have not been properly collated with the evidence from Chinese historical sources. While working on Ibn Taghrī Birdī's history of Mamlūk Egypt, I accidentally came across a passage which graphically describes the possible economic impact of the Ming voyages on the revenue of local rulers. The historian was referring to the last expedition and the arrival of ships during the reign of al-Malik al-Ashraf Barsbay.

That history may be read as literature is an aesthetic judgment, which does not deflect from the essential difference between the two modes. To paraphrase Gibbon, who above all in this context knew what he was talking about, “the end of history is truth … the end of poetry is pleasure”. History, by definition, must fail to attain its ultimate goal of recreating the past “exactly as it happened”: that such is the case, whether because of the fallibility of the human intellect, or the difficulty (but not impossibility) of constructing history in a non-linear mode, or even – that stock excuse of historians – the doubtful, maybe putatively “fictional” quality of “the sources” – does not mean, as is from time to time suggested, that the attempt should not be made, or that history and fiction are indistinguishable. Intent, in this context, is all, nor should one forget that earlier proponents of fictionalised history may on occasion prove to be somewhat uncomfortable intellectual bedfellows.

When the various tribes of Mongols and Kalmuks were definitely converted to Lamaism in the sixteenth century it was not unnatural that the Lamaist monks, who formed their only literary class, should have tried to affiliate their famous heroes and their princely families to the old royal stock of Tibet, which had become for them a sacred land. Hence we find the two Mongol chronicles, one known as the “Altan Topchi” and the other generally quoted from the name of its author as Ssanang Setzen, and the Kalmuk legend derived by Pallas from the Tibetan work called the “Bodimer,” all concurring in a pedigree for the Mongol royal race which traces them first to the early Tibetan kings, and through them up to the alleged Indian ruler Olana Ergükdeksen, and through him again up to Sakiamuni Buddha himself. This pedigree was probably the invention of the author of the “Altan Topchi.”

The doctrine of the Pratītyasamutpāda is expounded at considerable length in the sixteenth chapter of the Caṇḍamahā-roṣaṇa-tantra (MSS. of the Royal Asiatic Society, the Société Asiatique, and Cambridge).

As is well known, the doctrine expressed in this very difficult formula forms one of the details of Buddhist doctrine regarded by the early Buddhists themselves as of primary importance; and its meaning has been frequently discussed. Mr. Waddell lately published in our Journal the explanation of the Lamas of Tibet; and the fullest account of the whole question will be found in Professor Rhys Davids's “American Lectures,” pp. 120, 155–161, where previous discussions are referred to. Since then M. Senart has published a very interesting article on the same subject, which is as rich in the results ascertained as remarkable for the elegance of its deductions.

De Mailla tells us that the Shato were descended from the horde Chu yué of the Western Tu kiu (Chu yué was the family name of its chiefs, vide infra), who had settled to the south of the mountain Kin po shan, and to the east of the lake Pu lei hai (i.e. the Kukunor), and near the stream called Shato, whence they derived their name (op. cit. vol. vi. p. 378). Hyacinthe tells us they lived south of Kara Mannai Ola, in Khur-Kara-Ussu (Borgs, Hyacinthe, p. 277). He derives their name from the Mongol word Shato, meaning a leader (id.). De Guignes tells us the Chu yué Turks lived in the neighbourhood of lake Lop, near which was a great desert which the Turks called Shato, whence these Turks derived their name (cf. Hist. des Huns, vol. ii. p. 37). Like Klaproth, De Guignes identifies them with the Ta ghaz ghaz, a view to which I shall revert in a future paper on the Uighurs. De Guignes tell us the Shato horde was subject to the Great Khans of the Western Turks, and assisted them in their various expeditions.

The association of man and elephant dates back to remote antiquity. The bones of the animal unearthed at Mohenjodaro, the realistic figurines, and the representations on the seals of the Indus sites point to the beginnings of this fateful friendship; the docility, intelligence, and easy obedience of the elephant must have quickly led to its domestication, once it was known and captured. That the prosperous civilization of the Indus used the elephant for riding and other purposes, appears almost certain; “the representations on the seals show the two breeds recognized today in India, the Kamooria Dhundia with its flat back, square head, and stout legs, and the inferior Meergha, less heavily built and with a sloping back.” The proto-Australoids were perhaps the first people to domesticate and train the elephant; the words gaja and mātaṅga have been traced to the pre-Aryan peoples of India speaking Austric languages.

It has been suggested that all historical sources are subjective from their inception and that authors' styles, commitments and views determine the bases of historical writings. Claude Lévi-Strauss has ventured so far as to claim: “Besides, historical fact has no objective reality. It only exists as a result of a retrospective construction undertaken by people who have lived the events they speak of in a purely arbitrative sense.” Indeed, historical narratives are fraught with danger when used as sources of actual information, for factual accuracy often does not extend to validity in representation of events. Formal histories such as dynastic chronicles were particularly vulnerable to misrepresentation. They usually were composed either with the intent of flattering the rulers who served as patrons of the author's efforts - and, hence, reflect royal ideology and imperial propaganda - or as a means of disparaging and vilifying the royal house

More marvellous and more remarkable than the real conquests of Alexander are the stories circulated about him, and the legends which have clustered round his name and his exploits. The history of Alexander has, from a very early period, been embellished with legends and tales. They spread from nation to nation during the whole of the ancient times, and all through the Middle Ages. Many scholars have followed up the course of this dissemination of the fabulous history of Alexander. It would, therefore, be idle repetition of work admirably done by men like Zacher, Wesselofsky, Budge, and others, should I attempt it here. All interested in the legend of Alexander are familiar with those works, where also the fullest bibliographical information is to be found. I am concerned here with what may have appeared to some of these students as the bye-paths of the legend, and which, to my mind, has not received that attention which is due to it, from more than one point of view. Hitherto the histories of Alexander were divided into two categories; the first were those writings which pretended to give a true historical description of his life and adventures, to the exclusion of fabulous matter; the other included all those fabulous histories in which the true elements were smothered under a great mass of legendary matter, the chief representative of this class being the work ascribed to a certain Callisthenes. The study of the legend centred in the study of the vicissitudes to which this work of (Pseudo-) Callisthenes had been exposed, in the course of its dissemination from the East, probably from its native country, Egypt, to the countries of the West.

In January and February of 1954 the writer travelled some 4,000 miles through the Northern Eegion of Nigeria in search of Arabic manuscripts for the Library of the University College of Ibadan, and also to make a survey of the indigenous Arabic literature of the peoples of the Western Sudan. There was no means beforehand of determining whether any manuscripts would be found at all, or whether, if they still existed, their possessors would part with them. The tour proved profitable in both respects, however; over 150 works were obtained, most of which are unknown outside Nigeria and very few of which have ever been printed. Some were generously donated, but most were purchased at the “market price”, for the scribes are still busy in the more remote districts, although the popularity of the printed texts from Egypt is an increasing threat to their livelihood. In Kano, the largest town of the Northern Region, it was impossible to find a scribe at work and there Arabic manuscripts were, in consequence, rare and expensive. Some local bibliophiles, understandably reluctant to give or sell volumes which they could not replace, nevertheless lent them for microfilming. There was, generally, considerable interest shown towards this work and, since returning to Ibadan, manuscripts have been received by post from self-appointed agents, which is most encouraging.

This paper is about an Old Indian judicial institution called paṇa (“wager”). Within a court proceeding, a judicial wager is a certain sum of money that a conflicting party offers to pay if he ends up losing his case. This paper explains the rationale of judicial wagers by showing that they may signal truthfulness.

In the last October number of this Journal Mr. Kennedy gave us the concluding parts of his paper entitled “The Secret of Kanishka”. We may differ from him on some details. We may hesitate, for instance, to accept the suggestion that the origin of the era of B.C. 58 was the convocation of the Fourth Buddhist Council by the Kushan king Kanishka, rather than the actual beginning of his reign; which involves the view that, while he was king de facto for some time before that year, he became recognized as king de jure, and his regnal reckoning was fairly started, and was accepted as the official state reckoning, only when, in that year, having become converted to Buddhism, he caused the Council to be held. But there can be no doubt as to the general great value of what he has laid before us.