THE VOYAGER

By Gayatri Paul

It is indeed a very typical Indian household experience to have various odd insects and animals suddenly cause a panic so intense that the entire household awakens in the middle of the night armed with brooms and slippers. But what if they were here before us and in fact, we were pretty good friends with them? Lizards have thus occupied not only the fast-disappearing ventilator niches but also our palates and medicines and even sculptures and iconography.

Across the country, lizards have been tied with our tongues and bodies and it is of no surprise since out of 3000 lizard species of the world, 270 are found in the subcontinent itself. Thus, the practice of using lizards as medicine is a sustained one with monitor lizards (Varanus bengalensis) being used to treat a variety of ailments ranging from haemorrhoids, rheumatism, body pain and burns, as well as spider and snake bites, and even being used as an aphrodisiac.

But such beliefs and practices of human body ailments do not remain in just consumption. There are around 88 names for the lizard in Sanskrit and even an elaborate shastra of using lizards to predict outcomes called Gowli Shashtra, pointing crucially to the sustained observance and significance of their presence in ritual and cosmological deixis.

Omens on lizards range from good to bad. It has been even suggested that the lizard occupies a sectarian synthesis in connecting Shaivite and Vaishnavite worship thus taking on manifold meanings. On the other hand, sometimes, seeing or even listening to the sound of a lizard and a chameleon is not at all auspicious because a mongoose and a lizard are considered bad omens. Their representations however range not only in the subcontinent but have also carved a place all over the world, from being present in the lizard rituals tied to cults of Bacchus in 4th-5th century AD and even in late 18th century Mexico when debates ensued over using lizards as cure from indigenous Amatitlan practices versus regulated medical authorities of Spain.

It is of no doubt that all symbolic representations of the lizard are heavily affected by its biological lineage of having been present as resilient species, emerging in the Triassic period alongside the earliest dinosaurs. Their evolutionary strategies of self-amputation and camouflage have played into the imaginary of their cultural symbolic status as well as medicinal practice lending to them being grinded, powdered, and used extensively for medicine and as potent symbolic carriers of cultural memory. These resilient species of deep time slip through cracks in the walls of houses and temples from eras to meanings of omen and curse. They are reminders of how the human superimposes deeper anxieties and hopes on the bodies of non-human species who have endured alongside them living through time far greater than human existence. The lizard body ingested by the human whether for ophthalmologic cure or a high of temporality, and even complex mythological constructions is where one realizes that though small in size, the lizard’s small body carries immense metaphoric weight, its resilience mirroring the human will to live reminding us that life endures through every imposition and adaptation.It is no wonder, we still are neighbours with them.

References

MAKING LIZARDS INTO DRUGS: THE DEBATES ON THE MEDICAL USES OF REPTILES IN LATE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MEXICO Miruna Achim Published online: 08 Jun 2007. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14636200701431008

Evans, Susan E. "At the feet of the dinosaurs: the early history and radiation of lizards." Biological Reviews 78, no. 4 (2003): 513-551.

Walvekar, Manish Rajan. "The Place of a Lizard in Indian Scriptures, Sculptures, Belief Systems." Східний світ 1 (2023): 85-100.

Wangpan, T. O. N. L. O. N. G., and S. U. M. P. A. M. Tang Jang. "Monitor lizards and geckos used in traditional medicine face extinction and need protection." Current science 102, no. 9 (2012): 1248.

Parodo, Ciro. "The celebration of the lizard: The iconography and iconology of a magic ritual against the evil forces." Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 60, no. 3-4 (2021): 319-334

By Srijon Roy

The U.S. interest in the acquisition of Greenland is not something new. The largest island in the world, located in the Arctic, was proposed to be acquired three other times, as early as 1867. Although it fits seamlessly with the aggressive Trumpian-style diplomacy and neo-imperialist discourse, mirrored in the case of Venezuela as a continuation of the Monroe Doctrine, its demand must be situated within the larger pattern of the U.S. imperialist history and the strategic geopolitical position of the island.

Over a hundred and fifty years ago, in 1868, the then Secretary of State William H. Seward floated the idea for the first time when he went on a “territory-shopping spree” after negotiating the purchase of Alaska a year before. It was in the hopes of expanding U.S. influence over the entirety of North America that Seward showed interest in Greenland. To quote the territory-glutton himself, “Greenland has in vast quantities whale, walrus, seal and shark, cod, salmon, salmon-trout…” Seward also expressed the hopes of mining coal found on the western coast extending far north. The purchase never materialised, but it remained on the U.S. radar.

Again, in 1910, the then U.S. ambassador to Denmark, Maurice Francis Egan, wrote to the then Assistant Secretary of State, what the latter called a “very audacious suggestion”, proposing that the U.S. give Denmark the Philippine island of Mindanao, then a U.S.-occupied territory, in exchange for Greenland and the Danish West Indies. Egan wrote haughtily, “Greenland is, as you know, a Danish monopoly; it has never been exploited, although the Norwegians are clever enough to see its possibilities, as they already see what might be done with a lesser opportunity in Iceland.” As expected, it did not go any further than that with the First World War already on the horizon. However, a few years later, the U.S. bought the Danish West Indies (now the U.S. Virgin Islands), from Denmark for $25 million in gold, preventing it from coming under German control.

In April 1946, after decades of flirting with the idea, the U.S., under President Harry S. Truman, began negotiations to buy the island. The offer followed a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff's planning and strategy committee, where State Department official John Hickerson said “practically every member” agreed. Much had already happened: Denmark was invaded during the Second World War, and the U.S. assumed responsibility for Greenland’s defence. The island soon came to be seen as “essential” to its national security in a new bipolar world order, ultimately giving rise to the Cold War. Denmark’s reluctance persisted, yet in May, William C. Trimble, assistant chief of the State Department’s division of northern European affairs, set a price of $100 million in gold with the provision of swapping oil-rich Alaskan land. In December 1946, the then Secretary of State James Byrne made the formal offer to the visiting Danish foreign minister, but it was straightforwardly rejected. As a conciliatory gesture, the U.S. was permitted to build and operate military bases, all but one later closed. The documents of this diplomatic manoeuvre had only been declassified in 1991.

By Atrayee Pal

Cloistered between the Upper Chitpur Road and the northern embankments of Ganga lies the Debotader Atur Ghar (The nursery of God’s and goddesses). Known by the name of Kumartuli, this locality of potters (Kumars) shares a space rich in historical significance and mythical glory. According to one mythological narrative, the kumar came from the term kumbhara which was given by Lord Shiva when he was in need of an earthen pot on his day of marrying sati. Driven by his dire need, he used two of his beads to bring forth a man and a woman— who were the first moulders of the kumbha— who came to be known as kumara. However, it was a dream which propelled the hands of the kumara into the making of the goddess. One such lore about the dream narrates the goddess to have appeared in the dream of Raja Krishnachandra of Nadia and ordained him to start her puja as Jagghatdhatri (one who rules the universe). This puja itself shifted to Bengal when Naba Krishna Dev wanted to celebrate the victory of British in Bengal against Siraj-ud-Daulah (the Nawab of Bengal) and thus brought the kumara from Krishnanagar all the way to Calcutta. However, with the increasing shift from bari pujas (house pujas) to barowari pujas (community pujas) the number of orders escalated and as a result more kumars were to be brought from Krishnanagar. This increase in the number of kumaras finally resulted in the carving of Kumartuli into a geographical landmark with the flow of economy sustained by the gentry of Bengal.

The location of Kumartuli is thus enmeshed in flavours from the past and present, echoing the mellow, devotional songs of Ramprasad Sen in parallel with the strong blows of the knife to carve out bamboo structures for the idols. The sonic ecology of contrasting qualities of Kumartuli thus reflects the sculptor’s daily basis of existence with clay. Both Krishnanagar and Kumartuli shares the same understanding of wet clay – clay that is moistened and rinses off any course particles to make it lighter and devoid of any impurities. In contrast to the softness of the clay, their own hands are course and rough with their tireless exhaustive routines and cumbersome lives. Hence, clay plays a double role both in contributing the moist touch to the course hands as well as serving as the foundation for creativity. For creation requires a contrasting combination of both stasis and dynamicity – like Prakriti (creativity) and Purush (repose). The calmness or the repose of the water seeps in the porous holes of the clay which melts all boundaries. From the kumara’s hands to the streets to the riverbeds they sediment along with water nourishing them to give life and to create. Hence, the kumaras of Kumartuli use the etel mati (clay soil) with bela mati (sandy soil) to get the desired texture to start off with the process. Apart from this they also use sufficient amount of pat (jute) and khar (straw) to give it a firm yet moist texture. Then they proceed to slice off the wood to make the wooden armature and then attach the straw base to it with nails. After it’s done, they put the base coat and slowly after drying it they proceed with designing the body, the hands, the face, the fingers and lastly the eyes. Most of the times, they primarily use hands, and only for intricate details they go for tools.

The gentle strokes of the potter’s fingers create a lasting impression on the divine. According to Husserl, hands are the closest tactile sensory motors that are able to sense and be sensed at the same time. The Ganges where the clay sediments and again collected and moulded into shape goes back to its origin with the immersion of the goddess. Hence, the clay soaked with the consecrated water of the Holy Ganges becomes a mediator which connects the combined energy of repose and creativity from the hands to the heart. The clay which gets rid of its impurities and becomes lighter yet at the same time balanced seeps in the body and thus calms the heart. Husserl calls this “the privilege of the localization of touch sensation which makes it an immediate and familiar embodied agency of the body. Since I can touch and also feel the touch, it becomes the site of both being sensed and able to sense”.  They also tend to wear suddho (sanctified) clothes as clothes are an extension of the skin and with the skin in contact with the Ganges absorbs the water. With hands in direct contact with clay, memories and insights previously unacknowledged are brought to mind and clay being a malleable medium with no brush or pen to afford distance from the material, the shape is in direct contact. And thus, it provides infinite potential and possibility for the kumara /artist for moving, remoulding and having a mastery over the texture and shape.

This exploration of artistic ingenuity which carves and fleshes out the divine to life is the true essence of kumors of Kumartuli and hence never leads to the shrinking of ‘art’ despite being on the face of rapid urban modernity.

Bibliography

Chakrabarti, Arindam. “Play, Pleasure, Pain: Ownerless Emotions in Rasa-Aesthetics.” Asian Aesthetics, Singapore: (2010)

Carman, Taylor. “The Body in Husserl and Merleau-Ponty.” Philosophical Topics 27, no. 2 (1999): 205–26. http://www.jstor.org/stable/43154321.

Buchanan, Fiona. “Touching on Emotions: Using clay work in a context of relational empowerment to investigate sensitive issues.” University of South Australia, ( 2015): 1-24.

Pietersma, Henry. “Husserl and Heidegger.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 40, no 2 (1979): 194-211.

Cairns, Dorion. The Philosophy of Edmund Husserl. Florida Atlantic University: Springer Netherlands, 2013.

Shusterman, Richard. Body Consciousness: A Philosophy of Mindfulness and Somaesthetics. The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008

Kumar Das, Samir and Basak Vishnupriya. The Making of Goddess Durga in Bengal: Art, Heritage and the Public. 152 Beach Rd, Gateway East Singapore: Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd, 2021

Thakurta, Tapati Guha. In The Name Of The Goddess: The Durga Pujas Of Contemporary Kolkata. Virat Bhavan, Delhi: Primus Books, Ratna Sagar P. Ltd,2015

Bhattacharya, Saswati. Potters without a wheel: Ethnography of the Mritshilpis in Kolkata. 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon: Routledge :Taylor & Francis Co. Ltd., 2022.

“You can take the Anglo-Indian out of India, but you can’t take India out of the Anglo-Indian”-Lionel Lumb(The Anglo-Indians: A Portrait of a Community)Right till the 1950s, and for some years later, for Anglo-Indians, ‘back home’ meant ‘England’- a home that they had never seen. Then, in 1991, as Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao and Finance Minister Manmohan Singh opened up India’s economy, the quality of life in urban India improved and emigration of Anglo-Indians slowed to a trickle before drying up completely. This piece is about an eminent Anglo-Indian - Frank Anthony, who stands as a towering figure in the annals of Indian history, particularly in the context of the Anglo-Indian community. Frank Anthony was born on September 25th, 1908 in Jubbulpore (now Jabalpur), Madhya Pradesh. He completed his schooling at Christ Church Boys' Senior Secondary School in Jabalpur and later attended University, where he earned a law degree. His legal education laid the groundwork for his career as a barrister, advocating for Anglo-Indian rights and interests.

Anthony's life was dedicated to safeguarding the rights and interests of his people. As the president of the All India Anglo-Indian Association (AIAIA) for an extended period, he became the de facto spokesperson for the community. Frank Anthony’s role in India’s Constituent Assembly was pivotal in safeguarding the interests of the Anglo-Indian community. As their sole representative, he emerged as a formidable advocate for minority rights. He actively shaped the nation’s foundational document in which the key achievement was securing reserved seats for the Anglo-Indian community in the Lok Sabha, a testament to his political awareness and relentless pursuit of his community’s rights. His nomination as a member of the Indian Parliament multiple times, except for 6th and 9th Lok Sabha, provided him with a platform from where he could directly address the concerns of the Anglo-Indian community at the highest level of governance.

Anthony was also a staunch opponent of the Partition of India. His opposition was primarily rooted in concerns for the welfare and future of his constituents. Anthony believed that partition would disproportionately impact the Anglo-Indian community. He voiced these concerns vehemently in the Constituent Assembly, underscoring his commitment to the well-being of his constituents. Anthony argued that partition would exacerbate the minority issue, creating substantial minority populations in both newly formed nations. This, he believed, would inevitably lead to increased communal tensions and potential conflicts. Moreover, he foresaw the severe economic disruptions that would accompany the division of the subcontinent. This would disproportionately impact the Anglo-Indian community, who were heavily involved in trade and industry. From a communal perspective, Anthony contended that partition would disrupt the established unity and identity of the Anglo-Indian community, forcing them to choose between two newly formed nations. This would undoubtedly create a sense of displacement and uncertainty. His stance against partition underscores his commitment to the principles of unity and inclusivity, reflecting his role as a champion for the rights and interests of the Anglo-Indian community. The Partition of India in 1947 precipitated a profound and enduring impact on the Anglo-Indian community. The division of the subcontinent into India and Pakistan resulted in significant challenges.

Economically, the partition caused substantial disruption. Many Anglo-Indians were engaged in trade and industry-related professions and the newly formed borders disrupted established business networks and livelihoods. The consequent economic instability posed significant hardships for the community. Moreover, the partition presented a profound identity crisis. The Anglo-Indian community, with its unique cultural blend of British and Indian influences, found itself caught between two newly independent nations. This led to a sense of uncertainty as individuals were compelled to reconcile their heritage with the prevailing nationalistic sentiments of the time. The political and social landscape also underwent dramatic changes. The departure of the British, who had traditionally been patrons of the Anglo-Indian community, altered their socio-economic status. The community faced challenges in adapting to the new power structures and securing their place in the newly independent nations. Despite these formidable challenges, the Anglo-Indian community exhibited resilience and adaptability. They contributed significantly to the development of both India and Pakistan, demonstrating their enduring spirit. Nevertheless, the partition remains a watershed moment in the community's history, shaping its trajectory and experiences for generations.

During such tumultuous times, Anthony's leadership in the All India Anglo-Indian Association empowered the community and solidified his position as their unwavering champion. Once a more prominent demographic, their numbers have significantly declined due to factors such as emigration, intermarriage, and decreasing birth rates. Despite their reduced population, the community continues to face a complex set of challenges. Economic disparities persist and efforts to preserve cultural identity while integrating into mainstream Indian society remain ongoing. While many Anglo-Indians have successfully assimilated, others have encountered difficulties in maintaining their distinct heritage. The community's resilience is evident in its efforts to overcome these obstacles, with organizations such as the All India Anglo-Indian Association playing a vital role in advocacy and support. Moreover, Frank Anthony legacy continues to inspire and shape the community's identity even today.

His commitment to education was profound. His contributions to the drafting of educational provisions in the Constitution ensured that the Anglo-Indian community had access to quality education. He established the All-India Anglo-Indian Educational Trust, which continues to oversee a network of schools bearing his name. This legacy ensures that the community continues to have access to quality education. Along with this, he was, also, the founder of the Council for the Indian School Certificate Examinations (CISCE) which operates the ICSE board of Education in India. On December 2nd, 1993, Frank Anthony took his last breath in New Delhi. As a result, the Indian Parliament was adjourned on December 3rd, 1993. His book “Britain's Betrayal in India: An Anglo Indian Heritage Book: The Story of the Anglo Indian Community” is a true heritage book throwing light upon the lives of Anglo-Indians.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

James, Sheila Pais. “The Origins of the Anglo-Indians.” International Journal of the Anglo-Indian Studies 10, no. 2 (2010): 38-70.

Lyons, Esther Mary. “The Two Great Anglo-Indians.” International Journal of Anglo-Indian Studies 5, no. 1 (2000): 37-41.

Moore, Gloria Jean. “A Brief History of the Anglo-Indians.” International Journal of Anglo-Indian Studies (1996): 50-58.

Muthiah, S. and Harry MacLure. The Anglo-Indians: A 500-Year History. Niyogi Books, n.d.

Shyeitibyo vizhibyo iratu [ish] dvafsho,

Hvo dereza merethyaush, mazishto, moshu-cha astu.

May tribulations vanish evermore;

May He (Zarathushtra), the Greatest, lead us all again;

Greatest is He, for He hath conquered Death.

Zoroastrianism has its origins in the distant past, developing from an ancient religion that was once shared by the ancestors of tribes that settled in Iran. The religion is thought to have taken root in Central Asia during the second millennium BCE, spreading south across the Iranian plateau as far as western Iran, where it became the foremost religion of the Achaemenid, the Parthian and the Sasanian empires, alongside engaging with Judaism and with early Christianity and Islam. The message of Zarathushtra, or Zoroaster, by whose name the religion became known, is encapsulated in its most ancient scripture, the Gathas.

The Chinvat Bridge, also known as the "Bridge of the Separator," the final destination and judgement of the soul and of humankind, is central to Zoroastrian afterlife beliefs. This myth likely originates from Zoroastrianism's emphasis on moral dualism and the belief that life is a constant battle between truth (asha) and falsehood (druj). The Chinvat Bridge symbolizes the ultimate judgment and the idea that one's actions in life directly influence their fate in the afterlife. It serves as a spiritual doctrine that souls must traverse after death. This bridge is not merely a passage but a symbolic representation of moral judgment and the afterlife journey in Zoroastrian beliefs. Historically, the legend of the Chinvat Bridge is steeped in the religion's ancient cosmological and apocalyptic beliefs. The earliest mentions of it can be found in Zoroastrian scriptures, specifically the Avesta, which is the primary collection of sacred texts of Zoroastrianism. Within the Avesta, the Vendidad includes references to the Chinvat Bridge as a part of the journey that souls undergo after death. After a person dies, the soul is thought to linger near the body for 3 days. On the dawn of the 4th day, it goes to the Chinvat Bridge (Bridge of the Separator) where its good and bad deeds will be weighed on the scales of justice by the divinity Rashnu.

This individual judgement of a person’s life on earth is described in the Pahlavi text of the Bundahishn. Then, the soul beholds it choices made throughout life, which appears as a beautiful maiden if the person had lived a truthful and righteous life, but as a hideous and stinking hag if they had been deceitful. With its own choices before its eyes, the soul has to cross the bridge. For the righteous and truthful, the bridge widens and becomes easy to cross, leading them to the "House of Welcome", a heavenly abode where the soul joins Ahura Mazdā. In contrast, for the wicked and deceitful soul, the Chinvat Bridge narrows and becomes razor-thin, causing them to fall into the abyss below where all evil dwells and the place which represents hell or the "House of Lies." In their respective places, the souls await the resurrection of the body at the end of time and the ultimate perfection of the world. This bridge is a crucial element in the Zoroastrian spiritual framework in which it serves as the site of judgment for souls, determining their fate in the afterlife. Zoroastrianism presents a dualistic universe governed by the forces of good, represented by Ahura Mazda, and evil, represented by Angra Mainyu (or Ahriman). The concept of the Chinvat Bridge is also paralleled in Islamic theology with Al-Siraat, which underscores a shared cultural and theological heritage between Zoroastrianism and Islam. Both religious traditions emphasize a form of moral reckoning and the necessity of crossing a bridge after death, which determines an individual's eternal fate.

Zoroastrian funerary practices further illustrate the significance of the Chinvat Bridge. In terms of literary sources, the Bridge is also discussed in the Pahlavi texts, which are Middle Persian writings that elaborate on Zoroastrian doctrines. These texts, such as the Bundahishn and the Denkard, provide further insights into the cosmology and religious beliefs surrounding it. As for sculpture and artistic representations, artefacts from the Sassanian period (224-651 CE) and later depict scenes associated with the Zoroastrian concept of the afterlife, including the crossing of the Chinvat Bridge. These sculptures and funerary art pieces serve as visual records of the religious beliefs and practices of the time, illustrating the enduring cultural significance of the Chinvat Bridge in Zoroastrianism. Artefacts from Sino-Sogdian tombs in China provide visual representations of the entire passage over the Bridge as described in Zoroastrian texts. These artefacts highlight the cultural exchange and the spread of Zoroastrian beliefs along the Silk Road. These texts and artefacts collectively highlight the importance of the Chinvat Bridge in Zoroastrian religious tradition, serving as a symbol of moral judgment and the transition between the physical and spiritual realms. At its core, it speaks the universal human concern: what happens after death, and how do our choices shape our destiny? It offers both hope and caution, thus, reinforcing the importance of living with integrity, kindness and wisdom. Whether taken as a literal path or a metaphor for moral reckoning, the Chinvat Bridge remains a powerful symbol of justice, redemption and the eternal journey of the soul.

ENDNOTES

Kersey H. Antia. “Zarathusthi View of Death and the Afterlife.” Fezana Journal (2005). pg 1

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Antia, Kersey H. “Zarathusthi View of Death and the Afterlife.” Fezana Journal (2005).

Lerner, Judith A. “Zoroastrian Funerary Beliefs and Practices known from the Sino-Sogdian Tombs in China.” Waugh, Daniel C. The Silk Road Vol. 9. Saratoga, CA: Silkroad Foundation, 2011. 18-26.

Moraes, Paula Djanine Sousa. “Symbolic Parallels in Zoroastrian and Islamic Apocalyptic Sources.” Symbolic Parallels in Zoroastrian and Islamic Apocalyptic Sources. Qatar: Hamad Bin Khalifa University: College of Islamic Studies, March 2021.

By Aryadeep Sinha

Rabindranath Tagore’s Kartar Bhoot (The Master’s Ghost), published in lipika in 1922, is an experience in exalting the feigned presence of authority over and above its materialization: not, however, by supernatural actions, but by a kind of interiorization. Composed in the times of the British colonial rule and widely taught today, the story is aimed at criticizing not only traditionalism of the patriarchal orders but also the underlying psychic frameworks of propagating submission.

A psychoanalytical reading, especially one using the ideas of Sigmund Freud about the superego, repression and the uncanny, allows Kartar Bhoot to be interpreted as a literal story of self haunting. Also, the article introduces the theory of internalized colonial domination presented by Frantz Fanon and, based on it, analyzes the story as the allegory of the psychological dependency of the personal and the colonial order.

The first instance mentioned in the Bengali original, starts with the death of a conservative patriarch, the karta (master) of an old-fashioned Bengali zamindar family. The family had been ruled by the dictum of the karta and his death seemingly seems to signal the demise of his control. But even without him (physically), the rites of obedience go on. His chair is still holy; his rulings are used even after he is dead; and the priest of the house pays his itch services as he still lives. No one witnesses a ghost and yet the house acts as one. What Tagore makes is not a story of ghostly intrusion but of mental inheritance: the ghost of the karta does not exist as such as it is not seen; it is internalised and exists in the minds and habits of his servants since they are unable to imagine a life beyond him. Instead of resolution or confrontation, the karta’s lingering presence serves only as a harsh reminder that the living cannot detach themselves from his existence.

One can refer to the concept of superego developed by Freud in The Ego and the Id. According to Freud, superego is the voice of authority (which in most cases is the father voice) that remains to guide the psyche with the help of guilt, moral judgment, and fear despite the absence of the father figure. In Kartar Bhoot, karta is this internal voice. He is not in the house; however, his demands and regulations rule the home. This moral and structural authority he has been internalizing has reached such a level that the family is compelled to adhere to his imagined desire. This shows how Freud assumes that, inheriting the authority of the paternal figure, the superego may well haunt the ego long after the original source is dead.

Together with superego, repression is another very important process of the illusion of the relevancy of the karta. Repression according to Freud refers to unconsciously excluding disagreeable thoughts or desires out of conscious awareness. The family, as I said earlier, represses the thought that they are now free. They are repressed in their request for autonomy because it implies accepting an unpleasant reality that they would have to take their own decisions without the paternal advice. Compulsions and repetitions turn into forms of denial. By persisting to behave as though still under supervision of the karta, they deny the stress of independence.Freud’s concept of the uncanny, or Das Unheimliche, expands further on this interpretation. The uncanny is triggered by something which was once familiar becoming strange, often due to the resurfacing of repressed memories. In Kartar Bhoot, this is illustrated by the karta’s presence hauntingly lingers—his absent chair and his orders that commanded remembrance, coupled with his quasi-commanding patronage. These markers of attendance shift from comforting to discomforting because they outlive their former occupant. What used to be something steadily grounded in reality becomes unmoored when detached from existence. Rather, Tagore harnesses the ambient psychological disturbance to evoke disquiet not through the supernatural but through stillness thick with the weight of cultural stagnation and familial freeze frames.In addition, it provides an insightful commentary on colonial mentalities. In Black Skin, White Masks, Franz Fanon explores how the colonized subject tends to adopt the ideals and power dynamics of the colonizer, sustaining a reliance on imperial systems even after they have pulled out. This process tends to generate a fear of freedom alongside a sense of inability when confronted with self-governance. The karta's household in Tagore’s story illustrates this state. Even in his absence, family members cannot enact agency devoid of positing his phantom approval as a prerequisite guiding star for action.

Kartar Bhoot is not a traditional ghost story; it narrates a form of psychological haunting. Tagore reveals how control—be it paternal, cultural, or even colonial—continues to shape actions through history, repetition, and fear. Using Freud and Fanon as references, the karta’s ghost can be interpreted as the spectralized superego, the everyday uncanny, and culture turned repression. Tagore makes powerfully haunting insights: the most potent ghosts are not ones that lurk in shadows but rather within us. Thus stated: removing external shackles is only part of some semblance of freedom; internalized obedience transcends the supposed mere absence of control.”

References

Fanon, Frantz. Black Skin, White Masks. Translated by Charles Lam Markmann. New York: Grove Press, 1967

Freud, Sigmund. The Ego and the Id. Translated by Joan Riviere. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1962.

Freud, Sigmund. The Uncanny. Translated by David McLintock. London: Penguin Books, 2003.

18th July marks the birth anniversary for Bengal’s first Tibetologist Sarat Chandra Das (1849-1917). Das’s achievements open a space for contestation, prompting a re-examination on the issues of the native knowledge and indigenous agency, thereby challenging the overwhelmingly Western and Euro-centric bias of knowledge produced on Tibet through the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Das’s own knowledge was concomitant on those of his Sikkimese and Tibetan collaborators. Such knowledges were locked in an oft-asymmetrical relationship of power, even as the agencies of several native figures were circumscribed by the British colonial machinery of knowledge-production.On this day Voyages Into the Past would like to cordially invite you to a talk by Dr. Parjanya Sen, Assistant Professor in English at Deshbandhu College for Girls, University of Calcutta and Robert H. N. Ho Family Foundation Program in Buddhist Studies Early-Career Research Fellow, titled “Remembering Sarat Chandra Das’s Legacy to Buddhist Studies in Colonial Bengal” on 18th July, Friday, 2 pm onwards, at the A.K. Basak Auditorium, Presidency University (College Street Campus, Kolkata)

by Prachi Jha

Chinese shadow puppetry is not only a form of entertainment but also deeply rooted in spiritual and ritualistic practices. Many scholars argue that its origins are linked to ancestor worship and shamanistic rituals, where shadows were believed to connect the living with the spirit world. The puppets and their movements were thought to embody spirits and deities, making performances a sacred act. Chinese shadow puppetry, also known as ‘pi ying xi’, is believed to have originated during the Han Dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE). The earliest documented reference to shadow puppetry is found in the works of historian Ban Gu, who mentioned the use of shadow figures made from human silhouettes to entertain Emperor Wu of Han. The early puppets were likely simplistic and made from paper or cloth. This form of puppetry evolved over time to include animal hide and paper, which were more durable and allowed for more intricate designs. During the Tang Dynasty, shadow puppetry became more sophisticated and widespread. The puppets were crafted from leather, primarily donkey or ox- hides, which allowed for more intricate designs and durability. Performances became a popular form of entertainment at court and among the general populace. The stories often depicted historical events, folklore and moral tales. The Song Dynasty saw further refinement in the art of shadow puppetry. The craftsmanship of the puppets improved significantly with artisans creating more detailed and articulated figures. The use of coloured glass and translucent materials added a new dimension to the performances. Shadow puppetry also began to incorporate musical elements with performances accompanied by traditional Chinese instruments. The Mongol rulers of the Yuan Dynasty were patrons of the arts and shadow puppetry, and it benefited from this support, continuing to thrive and evolve. The narratives became more diverse, including stories from various regions and cultures. This period also saw the introduction of new techniques, such as the use of movable joints to enhance the expressiveness of the puppets. The Ming Dynasty marked a “golden age” for Chinese shadow puppetry. The puppets became even more elaborate, with detailed carvings and vibrant colours. The Ming period also saw the development of regional styles, each with its distinctive features and storytelling traditions. During the Qing Dynasty, shadow puppetry reached new heights of popularity. The art form became more accessible to the common people and performances were held in villages and towns across China. The Qing period also saw the introduction of new themes, including adaptations of classical Chinese literature and opera. The puppets themselves became more sophisticated, with intricate mechanisms that allowed for more dynamic movements. The use of translucent animal skins, primarily donkey or ox, allowed for more detailed and colourful puppets. Artisans would meticulously carve and paint these skins, and the puppets would be manipulated behind a translucent screen illuminated by oil lamps to create vivid and dynamic performances. The aesthetic principles of Chinese shadow puppetry have also influenced other art forms, including Chinese cinema. The play of light and shadow, the emphasis on silhouette, and the storytelling techniques seen in shadow puppetry can be observed in early Chinese films.

The migration of Chinese shadow puppetry from China to other parts of the world is a fascinating journey that highlights the cultural exchange and influence between different regions. This migration occurred through various means, including trade, travel and globalization and has resulted in the incorporation of Chinese shadow puppetry elements into other cultural traditions. Reaching Persia and the Ottoman Empire through the Silk Road and maritime trade routes, it came to be known as ‘khayal al-zill’ and ‘karagöz’ respectively, incorporating elements of Chinese puppetry, such as puppet design and storytelling techniques. The exchange of cultural and artistic practices between China and the Middle East enriched the traditions of both regions. During the Song and Yuan Dynasties, maritime trade routes expanded China's cultural reach to Southeast Asia, India, the Arabian Peninsula, and further. Chinese shadow puppetry was introduced to these regions through merchants and diplomats, who brought with them puppets and performance techniques, significantly influencing Indonesian shadow puppetry, particularly in Java and Bali. The Javanese and Balinese ‘wayang kulit’ performances share similarities with Chinese shadow puppetry in terms of techniques, materials, and storytelling. The exchange of cultural practices during the Majapahit Empire (1293–1527) facilitated this integration, with Chinese puppeteers and artists contributing to the local art forms. In Thailand, it influenced the traditional ‘Nang Yai’ and ‘Nang Talung’ shadow plays, adopting techniques from Chinese artisans, such as the use of translucent leather and intricate carving methods.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, European audiences were captivated by the exotic art form, leading to the adaptation of Chinese shadow puppetry in European puppet theatres. Its influence can be seen in the development of silhouette animation and shadow theatre in Europe. In the 20th century however, Chinese shadow puppetry faced challenges due to modernization and the rise of new entertainment forms such as cinema and television. Nevertheless, efforts were made to preserve this traditional art. The Cultural Revolution (1966-76) posed a significant threat to traditional arts, including shadow puppetry, but the art form survived through the dedication of practitioners and enthusiasts.

Chinese shadow puppetry, despite its rich cultural heritage and historical significance, faces several risks that threaten its survival. These risks stem from various socio-economic, cultural and technological factors. Modernization and urbanization have led to a decline in traditional arts. As cities grow and economies develop, there is a shift in cultural preferences towards more contemporary forms of entertainment. This shift has resulted in a reduced audience for traditional performances, leading to a decline in demand for shadow puppetry. Urbanization has also led to the disappearance of traditional performance venues. Many rural areas, where shadow puppetry has historically thrived, are being transformed into urban centres. The loss of these venues means fewer opportunities for shadow puppeteers to perform and share their craft with local communities. Shadow puppetry is often not financially lucrative, making it difficult for practitioners to sustain their livelihoods solely through their art. Many puppeteers struggle with financial instability, leading some to abandon the practice in search of more stable employment. The lack of economic incentives discourages younger generations from pursuing it. The transmission of traditional knowledge and skills from one generation to the next is crucial for the survival of shadow puppetry. However, as older practitioners retire or pass away, there is a risk of losing valuable expertise and techniques. The lack of formal training programs and apprenticeships further hinders the preservation of this knowledge. The rise of digital media and technology too has created stiff competition for traditional forms of entertainment. Shadow puppetry, with its manual and labour-intensive nature, struggles to compete with the instant gratification and visual appeal offered by digital platforms. This competition makes it challenging to attract new audiences to shadow puppet performances. While some practitioners have embraced modern technology to innovate and adapt shadow puppetry, others may find it difficult to integrate new techniques while maintaining the traditional essence of the art. The balance between preserving tradition and embracing innovation can be challenging to navigate. Chinese shadow puppetry is at the risk of extinction due to a combination of modernization, economic challenges, cultural shifts, and technological impacts. Addressing these risks requires concerted efforts from governments, cultural organizations, and communities to provide financial support, create opportunities for performance, and foster interest among younger generations. By raising awareness and appreciation for this unique art form, it is possible to ensure its survival and continued relevance in a rapidly changing world.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Cohen, Alvin P. “Documentation Relating to the Origins of the Chinese Shadow-Puppet Theater.” Asia Major (2000): 83-108.

Dolby, William. “The Origins of Chinese Shadow Puppetry.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London (1978): 97-120.

Orenstein, Claudia and Tim Cusack. “Puppet and Spirit: Ritual, Religion and Performing Objects.” Rollins, Annie Katsura. Passing Down Through Shadows: Chinese Shadow Puppetry's Ghostly Transmission. London: Routledge, 2023. 121-133.

The social question of caste is not peculiar to India, rather, it is a global matter. A.M. Hocart, in his publication Les Castes (a fairly older publication but still relevant), highlights the most apparent existence of caste in the countries of India, Iran and Japan. Features of caste all over the world share some common characteristics such as a hierarchical order (not always fixed) tied to the notions of purity and impurity and therefore, based on presumptions of superiority and inferiority. Nonetheless, the most fascinating record of caste is the case of Burakumin in Japan. The caste system in Japan was divided in a four-fold division of society: Samurai (warriors), farmers, artisan craftsmen, and merchants, while the Burakumin were referred to as the “outcastes”. It was the Burakumin community who were the “Dalits” of Japan. The Burakumin community handled killings of the animals, burial of the dead and all those activities that carry the notion of filth. However, the origin of Burakumin caste identity is fairly recent, originating around the early sixteenth century in comparison to caste identity. An important feature in this particular identity emerges in relation to religion, particularly Buddhism. Swapna Samel in her paper has argued that the “outcaste” identity of the Buraku people is based on a negative overtone with Buddhism, which popularized the doctrine of nonviolence to animals, hence stigmatized their identity to that of an outsider. Around the early seventeenth century the notion of eta (pollution in abundance) and binin (nonhuman) were attached to the Burakumin.

A line of comparison can be drawn between the untouchables in India and the Buraku people in Japan. The similarities range from segregation from religious sites to living in the periphery of a village or in a different village altogether. An interesting aspect of this segregated livelihood is that Burakumin, until they mixed or interacted with any other members of the caste hierarchy, enjoyed a certain amount of autonomy and had their own political hierarchy where the highest position was allocated to the community chief. Their “outcaste” status, however, did not prohibit them from recruitment in “non-outcaste” jobs in the urban or rural space such as farming or fishing, as long as they followed their norms which ranged from obeying signs of subservience (like wearing the headgear) to prohibition from intermarrying with the ryomin (good people vis a vis the higher castes). These features clearly resonate with the characteristics of untouchability with which we, Indians, are extremely familiar. However, a stark difference lies in the progression of this identity. While in India we find that it was the British whose measures of decennial censuses and other anthropometric practices froze the earlier flexible caste hierarchy, the agents that initiated this change among the Burakumin were different. With the Meiji restoration of the Imperial dynasty (1867-1889), what also developed was an Emancipation Edict that aimed to create a national citizenry which legally eliminated the caste system. In response to the elimination an alternate form of identification known as Shinheimin (new commoners) was instituted. Instead of emerging as a positive change, this froze their position in the hierarchy and further made their livelihood difficult. The emancipation edict discontinued the caste system but it was on a national scale. Beneath the surface, local customs still dictated community practices of the Buraku people and maintained the hierarchy through occupation and strict marriage rules, thus continuing the discrimination. Furthermore, with a category of identification (caste) now nowhere in existence, the Buraku people struggled to preserve their community identity, even though it was based along outcaste lines, by diets, manners, dialects different from the other, mostly the upper castes. This further consolidated the Burakumin community, which earlier possessed flexibility as they could perform non menial tasks as mentioned above. June A. Gordon also highlights that the emancipation edict eliminated the protection on the monopolies that the Burakumin held in certain trades, such as leather processing. She also points out that their isolated land located outside village boundaries was now accumulated and redistributed by the state leaving them landless. So, it was not the British who paved the way for the essentialization of the Buraku people. Rather, it was the initiative of emancipation within the state that instigated a form of essentialization which then went on to be actuated both by local customs and by the Buraku people themselves without state interference.

But what sparked my interest in Burakumin is their mention in a web series named House M.D (Season 3 episode 7). In the series, the protagonist Dr. Gregory House refers to the Burakumin as an inspiration for him to become a doctor. He emphasized the “outcaste” status of the Buraku people and how everyone treated them with malice, but at the same time also highlighted how no one ever questioned them in their task. Whatever they did, they did with perfection. There is no factual evidence to support this claim, but what I would like to extract from the following is that there might be a possibility that by doing their assigned tasks with utmost respect and perfection they hoped to gain some form of inclusion in the society and liberation from their discrimination.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

A.M. Hocart, Les Castes, 1938

Swapna Samel, Burakumin – A Japanese Marginal Group: Japan's Hidden People Fight to Gain Equality, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, vol 70, Jstor, 2009-2010. https://www.jstor.org/stable/44147725.

June A. Gordon, Caste in Japan: The Burakumin, Biography, vol 40, no. 1, Jstor, 2017. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26405020.

The First Indian Women in MedicineWestern medicine, introduced as part of the British imperial "civilizing" agenda, enabled Indian women to access medical education by 1885. However, akin to Lata Mani's analysis of the debates around Sati, women were never the real focus of these reforms. Nonetheless, its impact on women's lives was profound. Two pioneering figures in Indian medicine exemplify this struggle.Dr Anandibai Joshee, born Yamuna Joshi in 1865 to Ganpatrao Joshi, hailed from an orthodox Maharashtrian family. Married at age 10 to reformist Gopalrao Joshee, her resolve to pursue medicine intensified after losing her infant at 12 due to inadequate healthcare. Influential figures like Pandita Ramabai and B.F. Carpenter provided indispensable moral, social, and financial support. Anandibai enrolled at the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, becoming the first Indian woman to earn a Western Medicine degree in 1886. Many argue that she was a feminist despite her submissive nature.Another trailblazer, Dr Kadambini Ganguly, née Bose, born in 1861, was the daughter of Brahmo reformer Braja Kishore Basu and wedded to Dwarakanath Ganguly. Despite immense challenges, she became the first woman admitted to Calcutta Medical College, graduating in 1886. However, her journey was marred by misogyny and racism, exemplified by a scathing article in Bangabasi labelling her a "whore" in 1891. This reflected the society's deep-seated resistance to women's upward mobility, argues Sujata Mukherjee. Furthermore, white doctors were disproportionately favored over more qualified Indian female counterparts for hospital appointments, highlighting entrenched racial biases.Today, gender disparities persist in medicine, with women comprising only 6.6% in Orthopedic Surgery, yet significantly higher percentages in Obstetrics & Gynecology (57.0%) and Pediatric Physicians (63.3%). This highlights how specialized medical fields also become connoted with annotations of gender biases, reflecting the fixed societal perceptions of gender roles. Dr Betsy Grunch, a neurosurgeon, underscores the continued challenges, citing remarks like, "You won't be able to have a family..." and “That’s hard work, I don’t know if you'll manage” that are still in vogue while addressing women who are engaged in the medical profession. However, it is crucial to look at how far women have progressed in medicine and also extend recognition to other notable women like Dr. Rukhmabai, Dr. Annie Wardlaw Jagannadham, Dr. Gurubai Karmarkar, Dr. Mary Poonen Lukose, and Dr. Rupa Bai Furdoonji. Their achievements serve as a testament to the ongoing pursuit of gender equity and social justice in medicine, inspiring future generations.

Sources:

“Instagram,” n.d. https://www.instagram.coo/reel/C3-LqQRgENn/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==.

Larson, Jennifer. “Medical Specialties with Women Physicians | AMN Healthcare,” June 23, 2023. https://www.amnhealthcare.com/blog/physician/locums/medical-specialties-with-the-most-and-least-women-physicians/.

Mukherjee, Sujata. “WOMEN AND MEDICINE IN COLONIAL INDIA: A CASE STUDY OF THREE WOMEN DOCTORS.” Proceedings of the Indian History Congress 66 (2005): 1183–93. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44145930.

Image sources:

Fig 1. “Anandi Gopal Joshi (March 31, 1865 - February 26, 1887).” Source: http://xdl.drexelmed.edu/item.php?object_id=001128

Fig 2. “Dr Kadambini Ganguli.” Source: https://history.rcplondon.ac.uk/blog/dr-kadambini-ganguli-pioneer-medical-studies-india

Fig 3. “A letter from Anandibai Joshee to Alfred Jones dated June 18, 1883 requesting admission in the Woman's Medical College of Pennsylvania.” Source: https://www.saada.org/item/20120711-721

Fig 4. “Dr Kadambini Ganguli’s entry on the Licentiate Register of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh,1893.” Source: https://history.rcplondon.ac.uk/blog/dr-kadambini-ganguli-pioneer-medical-studies-india

Fig 5. “Dr Rupa Bai Furdoonji, the world’s first female anesthetist.” Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2933491/

The controversy regarding ‘India’ and ‘Bharat’ has surged up again in our political circles. However, one needs to be cautious while making judgements regarding such historical matters that are also deeply sensitive to the populace. Our predecessors too faced this dilemma of identity and identification involving the name of our country. It was the Drafting Committee of the Constitution of India, helmed by Dr. B.R. Ambedkar as the chairperson, which recognised the demand made by some members of the Constituent Assembly who advocated for alternatives like ‘Bharat’, ‘Bharatavarsha’, and ‘Hindustan’ for ‘India’. Thus, on behalf of the Drafting Committee, Ambedkar moved an amendment that changed the Article 1 of the Draft Constitution, inserting ‘Bharat’, which to this day proclaims ‘India, that is Bharat shall be a Union of States’, much to the chagrin of other members who found the overall phrase unsuitable. While it is not ambiguous as to why such matters are being brought up right before the 2024 General Assembly elections, it would do us good if we historically interrogate these terms lest we should fall for such popular narratives and schematic generalizations.

The term ‘India’ comes from the river Indus. It must be noted that the subcontinent did not have any unified geographical term until the composition of the first Rig Vedic Samhitas. The early Aryans used to call this region ‘Sapta-Sindhava’. In the Avesta of Iran, it is known as ‘Hapta-Hindu’ where ‘s’ is replaced by ‘h’ and ‘dh’ is replaced by ‘d’. In the Persepolis and the Naksh-i-Rustam inscriptions of the Achaemenid Empire, which included the western bank of the river Indus, it referred to the same region as ‘Hi[i]du’. Moving further chronologically, the Greeks transformed the word into ‘Indoi’, where ‘h’ is absent. In the Latin writings of the later Romans, it finally became ‘India’. For the Arab Muslims, they identified the space beyond the Indus as ‘Hind’; the people as ‘Hindi’ who resided in the geography of ‘Al Hind’, inclusive of all faiths. Hindi, as we know it in a linguistic sense today, had a different meaning back then. It is interesting to note that the binaries of ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ did not exist per se during the concerned chronological period. It would go on to crystallize, however, into rigid, compartmental categories with the passage of time.

Now, ‘Bharatavarsha’ is a very difficult term to define as its meaning has changed with different time-periods and varied contexts. The term has undergone contradicting developmental stages and even in the earliest textual phase of the Vedic literature, it did not connote or appear in a geographical sense at all. The janapadas always took precedence over Bharatavarsha in the sense that the former’s identity was much more choate than the latter. In the compendium of epico-Puranic literature, ‘Bharatavarsha’ appears under the grand cosmographic schema of the understanding of the world vis-à-vis the universe. Needless to say, it did not connote a pan-subcontinental sense, let alone a nation. With the help of texts such as Kalidasa’s Raghuvamsam and Rajasekhara’s Kavyamimamsa, the late eminent historian B.D.Chattopadhyay makes his point by contending that there was an increase in familiarity with the contours, structures, patterns and resources of the subcontinent’s geography but there was never a coherent identity as a nation as such. It was much more an open-ended space. With the advent of the colonial administrators and in their quest to identify and map this complex space of India and Bharat (both with different meanings) into a territorially concrete and identifiable unit which was hitherto open-ended, this historical anachronism was, thus, fructified and with it the inveterate binaries of a ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ past was fashioned, which Chattopadhyay considered “a highly motivated, diabolical misconstruction” abused over and over by hegemonic political dispensations in our neo-nationalist times. He rightly recognised that there never existed a homogenous term or identity with which we could identify such a wide cultural space, however, the idea of ‘India’ associated with ‘Bharat’ has put a seal on our identity in our current times, which is a burden we are forced to carry. But vilifying one term at the cost of the other would be a trivial exercise, meant to achieve narrow political goals with the aim of creating a rift in our society.

Thus, notwithstanding how problematic, complex, and open-ended both these terms ‘India’ and ‘Bharat’ are, the former should not be deemed as ‘foreign’ or ‘alien’ since it would be quite ludicrous as India has never been a monolithic space. The process of acculturation and interactions with foreigners have shaped our subcontinent over millennia. The reason why India is home to such diverse cultures, beliefs, and practices is because of its fluid cultural space. Its history is a mosaic which demands a holistic and broader understanding of issues. One only needs to dig through the layers and processes which obfuscate the totality of complexities associated with such historical issues.

References:

Communities of Sentiment by Rajat Kanta Ray (2003)

The Concept of Bharatavarsha by Brajadulal Chattopadhyay (2017)