The history of early settlement of the East African coast is currently interpreted in widely differing ways. One view takes as its premise the idea that the coast was first colonized from Asia. This hypothesis, which has its roots in the work of XlXth century historians suggests that there was substantial settlement by non-Africans who established trading and religious communities. These colonies formed the basis of what has come to be known as the Swahili Culture. At first defensible peninsulas and offshore islands were chosen as safe refuges from the African tribes of the interior. Eventually contact was established between these new communities and the African coastal peoples, to the benefit of both parties. Raw materials were obtained from the hinterland of these trading outposts, which were traded and taken across the Western Indian Ocean on the seasonal monsoons. The foreign merchants married local African women and an Afro-Arab culture developed, building stone towns, mosques, and tombs, that still remain today along the coastline from Somalia to Mozambique.

Robert Orme is probably now chiefly remembered as the author of the History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan. First published in 1763 and 1778, the History was widely admired in its time. Since then, however, Orme has been steadily displaced by later historians from James Mill onwards. The result is that today he is hardly read at all. The purpose of this article is to rescue Robert Orme from the anonymity to which he has been relegated.

It is a great honour for me to be asked to give the Richard Barnett memorial lecture. I knew Richard Barnett well, and had the privilege of working with him at the British Museum for three years before his retirement. He was a great source of inspiration, and I and many others owe him a considerable debt of gratitude. I have chosen as my subject recent British Museum excavations in Assyria, partly because I believe this would have been of some slight interest to Dr Barnett. Both the British Museum and Assyria were close to his heart. He worked in the Museum for more than 40 years, and from 1955 to 1974 was Keeper of the Department of Western Asiatic Antiquities. Throughout this time Assyria was a special interest, and Dr Barnett did some of his most important work on Nimrud ivories, the Assyrian reliefs and the Balawat Gates. Inevitably, the role of the British Museum in making these pioneering discoveries in the nineteenth century held a particular fascination for him.

This article provides a contextual analysis of the assassination attempt on the Timurid ruler Shāhrukh's life on 21 February 1427 in Herat. According to the contemporary Timurid chroniclers, Aḥmad-i Lur, a Ḥurūfī by profession, tried to kill Shāhrukh. Having survived the attack with light injuries, Shāhrukh reacted harshly and executed many of those who were accused of conspiring against him. During the interrogations, many other intellectuals who professed as a method of inquiry the ‘ilm-i ḥurūf (the science of letters) were also accused of participating in the conspiracy. In this article, I treat the assassination attempt as a moment of crisis in Timurid politics, study it in relation to the transformation of the intellectual landscape towards the mid-fifteenth century, and provide an in-depth textual and contextual analysis of the historiographical sources as well as the writings of those intellectuals who left a first-hand testimony of the subsequent interrogations. After a close scrutiny of the available evidence, I demonstrate that the interrogations of those intellectuals who practiced the science of letters predated the assassination attempt, and I argue that the assassination attempt was just an episode, albeit an important one, in Shāhrukh's attempts to control and regulate the emerging public sphere in Iran and Central Asia.

In the year 352/963, according to independent evidence and the author's own testimony, the Samanid ruler Manṣūr b. Nūḥ sent an order via his major-domo and closest confidant, al-Fā'iq al-Khāṣṣa, to his minister Abū 'Alī Bal'amī, commissioning the latter to prepare a translation into court Persian of the famous historical annals written in Arabic by Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī. Bal'amī completed this task, producing a book whose popularity in many ways eclipsed that of the original text throughout the Persian-speaking world and beyond (being translated into various Turkish dialects and even, ironically enough, back into Arabic). Unfortunately, exploitation of this source by modern scholars has been hindered both by its identification as a “translation” of Ṭabarī's work and by the lack of a suitable edition of the Persian text. This article attempts to explore these problems and the extent to which they have been rectified by recent studies and editions of this important work.

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 medieval Chinese tradition tells us that a given Chinese character may change its meaning when its reading is altered slightly. Modern scholars have sought principles for these changes, and from those principles have reconstructed a skeletal system of early Chinese morphology – with such elements as derivation by tone change, causative infixes, transitivising prefixes, etc. Yet it is an arresting fact that some of pre-modern China's linguistically most astute scholars inveighed against the multiple readings on which this research is based. They seem to have held strong opinions, not always made explicit, about precisely how it is that Chinese characters represent language. These two views, modern and traditional, represent fundamentally different models of how early Chinese evolved into modern Chinese.

The foreign relations of Iran from 1800 to 1921 have on the whole been discussed in terms of diplomatic relations between states, of ‘Great Power’ policy, and of the impact of the world economy upon a comparatively weak and traditional society. A brief survey of the existing literature reveals that Iran's lack of progress has been attributed among other factors to her form of government, foreign interference and to her predicament as a buffer state between the British and Russian empires. The traditional power structures of Iran, as dominated by an absolute monarchy intent on personal interest with a concomitant lack of realism when engaging in war, was, in Ramazani's view, the origin of the country's weakness. Kazemzadeh saw the subject from the point of view of Anglo-Russian rivalry at the highest levels, and argued that both powers sought to impose hegemony on Iran by a variety of means, including, putting pressure on the Shah and chief ministers, using commercial concessions and exercising intimidation. The competition of Britain and Russia was so intense that each was determined to undermine any plan of development proposed by the other, opportunities were numerous, as, for example, in the introduction of railways. Yapp, to some extent, questioned this argument by pointing out that British interests were more complex than those of the Russians; on the one hand a stronger Iran was a more efficient buffer-state, but on the other hand it could undermine British influence in Afghanistan and the Persian Gulf. Yapp also noted that the British and Russian presence gave advantages to Iran in terms of the development of international trade, the control of internal disorder and in the imposition of regional security. Greaves saw Britain's diplomatic connections with Iran as dominated by her preoccupation with the defence of India, and believed that its attitudes to Iran were neither consistent nor strong. Issawi, in his study of economic development, also presented a more complex picture which emphasises the variety of the factors involved, and also the fluctuations in the economy over the period. He pointed out that trade did grow steadily, that the country benefited from new technology, for example the telegraph and the construction of the Suez Canal, and that it lived within its means. On the other hand, involvement in the international economy from 1890–1914 led to rapidly increasing foreign financial and political factors, which undermined the county's independence. Wright provided a different approach in that, while acknowledging the baleful effects of aspects of Anglo-Russian rivalry on Iran, he was more concerned with the experiences of a variety of ‘English’ amongst the Iranians, and thus offered a study of interaction between foreigners and Iranians at a level below that of international politics.

This article addresses the issue of passive resistance by the Jogi and Mirasi musician castes against the puritanical notions of their former patrons, Meos. After the Meo patrons embraced the Tablighi Jamaat's version of Islam, the Jogis and Mirasis feel pressured to give up performing. Their artistry is also their livelihood which they value very much. By using James Scott's understanding of ‘passive resistance’ and ‘hidden transcript’ this article shows the use of poetic art for passive resistance. In doing so, the Jogis and Mirasis do not compromise with the civility of the art and positively use the lyrics of their new songs against the Meo patrons’ versions of religious purity on one hand, and extremist Hinduism on the other. They, in fact, emphasize a version of righteousness that is universal and thus needs no organised religion.

Patronage by the royal court of religious institutions and foundations is one of the hallmarks of the development of India under the rule of the Gupta and Vākāṭaka kings (4th–5th centuries). This patronage was extended also to religious movements other than the king's own persuasion. The evolving culture of religious tolerance and enthusiasm is apparent in the temple monuments of the time. In this article we focus on four archeological sites where these developments become best visible: Udayagiri, Māṇḍhaḷ, Rāmagiri (Ramtek), and Mansar. The close relationship of the Gupta and Vākāṭaka realms is investigated in its local settings. Renewed attention is given to the ‘Mandhal Inscription, Year 5’ of the Vākāṭaka king Rudrasena II and the deity on whose authority the charter was issued: Muṇḍasvāmin. It is argued that the name Muṇḍa refers to no one else than the Gupta queen of Rudrasena II, Prabhāvatī Guptā. During the last decade, excavations in Mansar (5 km west of Ramtek) have brought to light the state sanctuary of the youngest son of Prabhāvatī, Pravarasena II. The findings there are placed within the tradition that can be traced back, through Rāmagiri and Māṇḍhaḷ, to the religious foundations in Udayagiri.

Professor Langdon has pointed out to me that the Assyrian text published in Ebeling, KAR., No. 360, bears a close resemblance, alike in diction and in subject-matter, to Lehmann, Šamaššumukin, Taff. xxxvii f., edited in Streck, Assurbanipal, ii, 264–8, and it is almost certain that we have here two different but relạted accounts of the return of the god Marduk to Babylon with Shamashshumukin, in 668 B.C. In the following interpretation of KAR. 360, I am again very greatly indebted to Professor Langdon.

The reign of ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Khān (1880–1901) is considered by most historians to have been the foundation stone of modern Afghanistan and consequently much has been written about this formative period of Afghanistan's history. However, despite the extensive literature available on his reign, several important features about the Afghan Amīr appear to have been either overlooked or ignored.

A. K. Majumdar says: “It is not possible to establish on historical evidence any link between the Āḻvārs and Caitanya. … It is, however, quite possible that his parama-guru (preceptor's preceptor) Mādhavêndra Purī was influenced by the Āḻvārs.” Other authors have put forward similar suggestions, but are equally unable to substantiate their assumptions. A. Gail states categorically: “Bhakti in the form of emotional-suggestively created identification with figures from the Kṛṣṇa legend was systematically developed in the rasa theory of Bengal Vaiṣṇavism, after preparation by the Āḻvārs.” But he has to concede that no proof for this statement is available: “Nothing seems to be known of any connexion between Bengal Vaiṣṇavas and Āḻvārs.” S. Das Gupta had earlier drawn certain parallels between Caitanya's school and the Āḻvārs.

The genealogical seal of the Mughal emperors of India was one of the most potent symbols of Mughal imperial authority. The distinctive design of the seal - a central circle containing the name of the ruling emperor, surrounded by a series of smaller circles, like satellites in orbit, containing the names of his ancestors up to Timūr (1336–1405) each preceded by the filiative ibn - was a self-evident masterpiece of imperial symbolism, in which the authority of the ruling emperor was both legitimised and enhanced by the deliberate reference to his illustrious ancestors. The inscription was designed to be read starting with the ruling emperor's name in the middle, then moving into the outer circle to the name of his immediate predecessor (at 1 o'clock) and, continuing clockwise, finishing up at Timur, who always had pride of place at the top of the seal. In this way, each ruler was expressed as the son of his predecessor, while at the same time, from his central position abutting all the smaller circles, the ruling emperor could be read symbolically as the “son” of each of his ancestors.

One of the classical difficulties of the student of the history of the Islamic Middle East, as contrasted with his colleagues in the European field, is the lack of archive material. While the western medievalist, for example, has at his disposal a mass of records, central and local, public and private, political, administrative, judicial, and ecclesiastical, the orientalist has to rely for the most part on literary and archæological sources. In many fields of history his findings are in consequence often vague and general; they are in the main limited to the public and external life of the communities and individuals he studies. Only the events and personalities important enough to achieve literary mention are known to him, and then only through the reflecting medium of literary sources. Even the great figures, with few exceptions, remain dim and formalized outlines, while for the life of the people he has to rely mainly on occasional hints and scraps of evidence. Large numbers of individual documents survive in isolation—some in the form of inscriptions, others quoted in the texts of the chronicles; but only for one period after the rise of Islam is any important body of original documents available—and the light they have shed on the period from which they derive has deepened the surrounding darkness. The Egyptian papyri of the early Islamic period have imposed a rewriting of much of the history of the early Caliphate, as recorded by the chroniclers and jurists. Yet even the papyri are not archives in the true sense of the word.

The commitment of North-West Frontier Province Pakhtun religious politics towards the quest for a society and state governed by religious leaders was directed through the colonial period, and into the national period, predominantly by the ulama known as Deobandis. These ulama took their title from the madrasa Darul Ulum Deoband in the United Provinces in north-India and came to prominence through championing Muslim interests in colonial NWFP. After the partition of the Indian subcontinent and the creation of Pakistan in 1947, the United Provinces remained in India, separating Pakistani scholars trained in Deoband from Indian Deobandi theologians, and indeed from the school itself. But these ulama continued to call themselves Deobandis and were central to the successful demand for the constitutional declaration of Pakistan as an Islamic state; and brought Islam to bear on national and provincial legislation from positions in parliament. Increasingly well-organised and well-funded, NWFP Deobandi ulama established madrasas and mosques in the province, strengthening the preserve of religion and their own authority. When the Afghan resistance to the Soviet occupation began in 1978, a section of the resistance organisation working in exile in Peshawar gravitated towards these Deobandi institutions, drawing the Deobandi ulama of the NWFP into the jihad. Sustaining links to the Afghan fighters even after the withdrawal of the Soviets, the NWFP Deobandis contributed to and encouraged the emerging organisation of the Taliban, becoming champions of their reactionary brand of Islam.

In the aftermath of 1857, urban spaces and cultural practices were transformed and contested. Regional royal capitals became nodes in a new colonial geography, and the earlier regimes that had built them were recast as decadent and corrupt societies. Demolitions and new infrastructures aside, this transformation was also felt at the level of manners, sexual mores, language politics, and the performing arts. This article explores this transformation with a focus on women's language, female singers and dancers, and the men who continued to value their literary and musical skills. While dancing girls and courtesans were degraded by policy-makers and vernacular journalists alike, their Urdu compositions continued to be circulated, published, and discussed. Collections of women's biographies and lyrics gesture to the importance of embodied practices in cultivating emotional positions. This cultivation was valued in late Mughal elite society, and continued to resonate for emotional communities of connoisseurs, listeners, and readers, even as they navigated the expectations and sensibilities of colonial society.

In a recent publication of great interest M. Zakeri has reopened the question of the identity of the Abnā' who appear in the early 'Abbāsid army. Once assumed to be the physical descendants of the 'Abbasid caliphs, or the 'Abbāsids and their adoptive members and clients, the abnā' al-dawla/al-da'wa/al-shī'a were shown by Ayalon in 1964 to be “in all probability, the descendants of the Khurāsānīs who brought the 'Abbāsids to the throne”. This has been generally accepted. In Zakeri's opinion, however, the Abnā' were not “Sons of the Revolution”, but rather sons of Sāsānid horsemen (asbārān): their ancestors had been members of the lower nobility that furnished the cavalry of the Sāsānid empire after Khusraw I's reforms. In Zakeri's opinion the revolutionary troops consisted primarily of such recruits, and so the conventional view is in one sense quite correct: the Abnā' did indeed end up as sons of revolutionaries. But the conventional view, according to him, obscures the fact that the Abnā' belonged to a distinct social group: it was by allying themselves with Sāsānid asbārān that the ‘Abbāsids came to power.

The following translations are from the texts in my Assyrian Medical Textsfor sick men suffering from ear-trouble.

No. 80. AM. 34, 4 (K. 2422) + 37, 2 (K. 7096 + 9059 + 11916 + 16434) + 35, 4 (K. 10787) + 4, 7 (81–7–27, 61, already translated as a fragment, No. 14, PRSM. 1924, 15); AM. 33, 1, and 34, 1 (K. 3215 + 3666 + 8109 + 10453) + 36, 1 (K. 3696 + 7221 + 10767 + 11788) + 12, 2 (K. 10019) + 34, 5 (S. 379); AM. 97, 6 (K. 3486); AM. 38, 4 (K. 6661) + 37, 10 (K. 10498) + 38, 1 (K. 13492). From an examination of these four pieces of tablets it seems reasonably certain that they form parts of the same original whole. At the same time it should be observed that AM. 37, 2, rev., has three air holes in the body of the text, and that these occur in the others only in the vertical lines whch divide the columns. Three of the above are in KMI. 18, K. 6661, K. 10498, and 19, S. 379.

Even among Muslims, the growth of Muslim population in South Asia excited little attention before the later 19th century when the British—Indian administration began to number the population of the Indian Empire according to declared or imputed religious allegiance. In medieval times, Muslim rulers and their aides, Muslim historians and literati, although often mindful that in “South Asia” they lived among a predominantly non-Muslim population, did not conceive the stability of Muslim dynastic rule or the continuation of political and financial advantages for Muslim élites, to be related to or dependent upon the size of the aggregate of those who would deem themselves as, and be regarded by others to be, Muslims. The very few references, over a period of 500 or 600 years, in the religious literature to “conversions” suggest in their contexts and perhaps in their very rarity, that the Muslim religious did not postulate the quality and strength of man's response in South Asia to the call of Islam to be proportionate to the numbers of those calling themselves, or called by others, Muslims.