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i

City of Mirrors
আরশিনগর
ii

SOUTH ASIA RESEARCH

SERIES EDITOR
Martha Selby

A Publication Series of
The University of Texas South Asia Institute
and
Oxford University Press

THE EARLY UPANISADS MANAGING MONKS

Annotated Text and Translation Administrators and Administrative Roles in
Patrick Olivelle Indian Buddhist Monasticism
Jonathan A. Silk
INDIAN EPIGRAPHY
A Guide to the Study of Inscriptions in SIVA IN TROUBLE
Sanskrit, Prakrit, and the other Indo-​Aryan Festivals and Rituals at the Pasupatinatha
Languages Temple of Deopatan
Richard Salomon Axel Michaels

A DICTIONARY OF OLD MARATHI A PRIEST’S GUIDE FOR THE GREAT

S. G. Tulpule and Anne Feldhaus FESTIVAL
Aghorasiva’s Mahotsavavidhi
DONORS, DEVOTEES, AND Richard H. Davis
DAUGHTERS OF GOD
Temple Women in Medieval Tamilnadu DHARMA
Leslie C. Orr Its Early History in Law, Religion, and Narrative
Alf Hiltebeitel
JIMUTAVAHANA’S DAYABHAGA
The Hindu Law of Inheritance in Bengal POETRY OF KINGS
Edited and Translated with an Introduction The Classical Hindi Literature of Mughal India
and Notes by Ludo Rocher Allison Busch

A PORTRAIT OF THE HINDUS THE RISE OF A FOLK GOD

Balthazar Solvyns & the European Image of Viṭṭhal of Pandharpur
India 1740–​1824 Ramchandra Chintaman Dhere
Robert L. Hardgrave Translated by Anne Feldhaus

MANU’S CODE OF LAW WOMEN IN EARLY INDIAN BUDDHISM

A Critical Edition and Translation of the Comparative Textual Studies
Manava-​Dharmasastra Edited by Alice Collett
Patrick Olivelle
THE RIGVEDA
NECTAR GAZE AND POISON BREATH The Earliest Religious Poetry of India
An Analysis and Translation of the Rajasthani Edited and translated by Stephanie W.
Oral Narrative of Devnarayan Jamison and Joel P. Brereton
Aditya Malik
CITY OF MIRRORS
BETWEEN THE EMPIRES Text, translation, and commentary by
Society in India 300 BCE to 400 CE Carol Salomon
Patrick Olivelle Edited by Saymon Zakaria and Keith E. Cantú
iii

SOUTH ASIA RESEARCH

City of Mirrors
Songs of Lālan Sā̃i

আরশিনগর
লালন সঁা ইয়ের গান
Text, Translation, and Commentary by
Carol Salomon

Edited by
Keith E. Cantú
and
Saymon Zakaria

Foreword by
Richard Salomon

Introduction by
Jeanne Openshaw

1
iv

1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction
rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Lālan Sā̃i, 1774–1890, author. | Salomon, Carol, translator. |
Zakaria, Saymon, editor. | Cantú, Keith, 1988– editor. | Lālan Sā̃i, 1774–1890.
Songs. Texts. Selections. | Lālan Sā̃i, 1774–1890.
Songs. Texts. Selections. English.
Title: City of mirrors : Songs of Lālan Sā̃i / translated by Carol Salomon ;
foreword by Richard Salomon ; introduction by Jeanne Openshaw ;
edited by Saymon Zakaria and Keith E. Cantú.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2017. |
Series: South Asia research |
Includes bibliographical references and index. |
In English and Bengali; translated from Bengali.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017000254 (print) | LCCN 2017027738 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780190680237 (updf) | ISBN 9780190680244 (epub) |
ISBN 9780190680220 (cloth : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Lālan Sā̃i, 1774–1890—Translations into English. |
Songs, Bengali—Translations into English. | BISAC: RELIGION / Hinduism /
General. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Anthropology / Cultural. |
MUSIC / Ethnomusicology.
Classification: LCC PK1718.L35 (ebook) | LCC PK1718.L35 A2 2017 (print) |
DDC 891.4/413—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017000254

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
v

Contents

Foreword (English) ix
Foreword (Bengali translation) xiii
Introduction (English) xvii
Editor’s Note (English) xxvii
Editor’s Note (Bengali translation) xxxi
Abbreviations xxxiii

PART ONE: Previous Publications

“On Editing the Songs of Laˉlan Fakir using both Oral

and Written Sources” 3

PART TWO: Songs of Lālan Sā̃i

Alphabetical Song List (Bengali) 15

Alphabetical Song List (English) 22
Songs: Original Bengali Version and English Translation 28

Glossary of Technical Terms 587

Bibliography 595
Index 601
vi
vii

সূচিপত্র

প্রসঙ্গ-​কথা (ইংরেজি) ix
প্রসঙ্গ-​কথা (বাংলা অনুবাদ) xiii
ভূ মিকা (ইংরেজি) xvii
সম্পাদকের কথা (ইংরেজি) xxvii
সম্পাদকের কথা (বাংলা অনুবাদ) xxxi
সংক্ষে পণ xxxiii

প্রথম খণ্ড : পূর্ব প্রকাশন

“On Editing the Songs of Laˉlan Fakir using both Oral

and Written Sources” ৩

দ্বিতীয় খণ্ড : লালন সঁা ইয়ের গান

গানের প্রথম ছত্রের অক্ষরানুক্রমিক সূচি (বাংলা)  ১৫

গানের প্রথম ছত্রের অক্ষরানুক্রমিক সূচি (ইংরেজি)  ২২
গান: মূল বাংলা পাঠ ও ইংেরিজ অনুবাদ ২৮

শব্দক�োষ  ৫৮৭
গ্রন্থপঞ্জি  ৫৯৫
শব্দসূচি  ৬০১
viii
╇ ix

Foreword | প্রসঙ্গ-╉কথা

Fig 1╇ Carol Goldberg Salomon (July 28, 1948–╉March 13, 2009) in Santiniketan,
1980.

Carol Goldberg Salomon was born into a family of modest means but
abundant love on New York’s Lower East Side in 1948. Though a small and
shy girl in a rough neighborhood, she felt safe and secure in the warmth
of her old-╉fashioned extended family, living with her beloved grandparents
and cousins in a tenement building at the corner of Canal Street and East
Broadway. Even as a little girl in Hebrew school, Carol was fascinated by
the study of language; she was a fanatical perfectionist about it, and natu-
rally excelled in it. Although later in life her interests and experience took
her to very different areas, her future success as a scholar of Bengali would
come as no surprise to anyone who knew her in her younger days.
After moving to Brooklyn in 1957, Carol graduated from Abraham
Lincoln High School in 1966 and went on to study at Harpur College and
the City College of New York, where she graduated with a BA in oriental
x

x Foreword

studies in 1970. Like many others of her generation in New York, she was
able to rise from the ghetto to the academy thanks to support from a family
that respected and valued education, a social system that provided virtu-
ally free higher education to working-​class students, and above all her own
diligence, dedication, and love of learning.
Carol and I were introduced by her cousin Karen Gutlerner on
Thanksgiving Day 1967, and we were together from that day until she died
on March 13, 2009. We were married in June 1970 after graduating from
college and went on together to graduate studies in the Department of
Oriental Studies at the University of Pennsylvania. In her first year there
Carol signed up for a Bengali course and almost immediately became fas-
cinated with Bengali literature and culture. Applying her usual talent and
persistence, she rapidly became fluent in Bengali.
In 1971 Carol briefly visited Calcutta for the first time, returning for
extended stays there and in Santiniketan in 1974–​1975 and 1980–​1981. In
1974 she made the first of her many visits to Bangladesh. During her sec-
ond trip to Calcutta she visited the Bangla Sanskriti Sammelan and there
heard Bāul music for the first time. She was immediately inspired with a
fascination for the Bāuls and their music, philosophy, and way of life. This
experience led her to a lifelong career as a scholar of Bāul tradition, and
she became one of the most prominent academic experts on the Bāuls in
the Western world.
In 1976, Carol had her first and only child, Jesse. Shortly after his birth,
we left Philadelphia, eventually settling permanently in Seattle in 1981.
While juggling teaching positions and maternal duties, Carol continued
her research and finished her dissertation on Govindadāsa’s Kālikāmaṅgal
in 1983. In repeated visits to both Bengals over these and the following
years she met and gained the confidence of many prominent members of
the Bāul tradition, establishing close relationships with them and gather-
ing a unique body of recordings, interviews, and notes. Although Carol
was a shy and modest person who shunned the limelight, she eventually
became, against her own inclinations, something of a celebrity in West
Bengal and especially in Bangladesh. Her impressive command of the
Bengali language and her deep knowledge of Bengal’s literature and cul-
ture brought her respect and renown among both the intellectual elite and
the keepers of the rural traditions, and her death was widely reported and
lamented in the media in both West Bengal and Bangladesh.
Meanwhile, Carol had established herself as an admired scholar and
Bengali teacher at the University of Chicago, the University of Pennsylvania,
xi

English xi

and Cornell University. At the time of her death, she was senior lecturer
in Bengali in the Department of Asian Languages and Literature of the
University of Washington. She was almost obsessively dedicated to her stu-
dents, lavishing her attention and concern on every one of them. Her care
was reciprocated by her students, who deeply respected and admired her.
At home, Carol was a devoted mother to her only son, a gentle and lov-
ing wife to her husband and companion of nearly forty-​two years, and a
dutiful daughter to her aging parents. While we were happy to spend most
of our time together quietly at home, we also enjoyed many adventurous
travels together, not only to India and Bangladesh but also to many desti-
nations around the Americas, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia.
On March 11, 2009, Carol was struck by a car while riding her bicycle
to work, as she did every day. (A true New Yorker to the end, she had never
learned to drive.) She died two days later without regaining conscious-
ness, and her untimely death brought a flood of messages of condolence,
literally from around the world. Though much shorter than it should have
been, her life was rich in experience and achievement, and above all, full
of the love that she both gave and received freely.
But Carol’s untimely death left much of her work undone, including
her long-​awaited translations of Lālan Sā̃i’s songs, to which she had dedi-
cated many years of labor. It is therefore a great pleasure and comfort to
me and to everyone who knew and worked with Carol that this posthu-
mous edition of her work on Lālan is at last presented to everyone who
values this tradition, whether in Bangladesh, India, or other lands. For
this success I am profoundly grateful for their dedicated labors to Saymon
Zakaria and Keith E. Cantú, as well as the guidance and contributions of
Jeanne Openshaw, without whose efforts this book could not have been
published.
richard salomon
Professor
Department of Asian Languages and Literature
University of Washington
Seattle, USA
October 2, 2012
xii
╇ xiii

প্রসঙ্গ-কথা (বাংলা অনুবাদ)

ক্যার�৉ল গ�৉ন্ডবার৓ঊ সল�৉মন ১৯৪৮ সালà§⁄ নিউ ইà§�à¦°à§“à¦Ł শহরà§⁄র ল�৉à§�ার ইস্ট সাইডের এক
মমতামà§� নিম্ন মধ৓যবিত্ত পরিবারà§⁄ জন৓মেà¦łà¦¿à¦²à§⁄ন। ক্যানà§⁄ল স৓à¦�্রিট ও ইস্ট ব্রডওয়ের মিলনস্থলà§⁄
অবস৓থিত এক অ্যাপার৓à¦�মà§⁄ন৓টে, অপরিশীলিত আà¦ıরণà§⁄র প্রতিবà§⁄শীদà§⁄র মধ৓যà§⁄ à¦łï¿½à§‰ট্ট লাজুক স্বভাবà§⁄র
মà§⁄য়ে ক্যার�৉ল প্রথাগত য�ৌথ পরিবারà§⁄ স৓নেহপরাà§�ণ দাদা-╉দাদি ও à¦ıাà¦ıাত�৉ ভাইব�৉নদà§⁄র উষ্ণ
সান৓নিধ৓যà§⁄ নিরাপদà§⁄ই বà§⁄ড়ে উঀà§⁄à¦łà¦¿à¦²à§⁄ন। ৈশশবà§⁄ হিব্রু স্à¦Łà§†à¦²à§⁄ পড়ার সময়ে তিনি ভাষাবিদ্যার প্রতি
আকর৓ষণব�৉ধ করতà§⁄ শুরু করà§⁄à¦łà¦¿à¦²à§⁄ন এবং অà¦�িজ্ঞতা তাà¦†à¦Łà§⁄ নিয়ে যাà§� নানান অঞ্চলà§⁄। যারা
তাà¦†à¦Łà§⁄ শোশব থà§⁄à¦Łà§⁄ জানতà§⁄ন তাদà§⁄র কাà¦łà§⁄ তাআর বাংলা ভাষা বিষà§�ক পণ৓ডিত হয়ে ওঠা ম�৉à¦�à§⁄ই
বিস্মà§�করÂ€à¦łà¦¿à¦²ï¿½à§‰ না।
ক্যার�৉ল ১৯৫৭ সালà§⁄ ব্রুকলিনà§⁄ যাওà§�ার পর আব৓রাহাম লিংকন হাইস্à¦Łà§† ল থà§⁄à¦Łà§⁄ ১৯৬৬
সালà§⁄ ঊ৓রাজুয়েশন লাভ করà§⁄ন এবং যথাক্রমà§⁄ নিউ ইà§�à¦°à§“à¦Łà§⁄ র হারপুর কলà§⁄জ ও সিটি কলà§⁄জà§⁄
ভর৓তি হন। à§⁄সখান থà§⁄à¦Łà§⁄ই তিনি ১৯৭০ সালà§⁄ প৓রাà¦ı৓যবিদ্যাà§� বি.এ. ডিঊ৓রি অর৓জ ন করà§⁄ন। নিউ
ইà§�à¦°à§“à¦Łà§⁄ তাআর প্রজন৓মের অনà§⁄à¦Łà§⁄র মত�৉ই তিনি একজন প্রতিভাবান, নিবà§⁄দিত বিদ্যানুরাগী
হিসà§⁄বà§⁄ এমন এক পরিবারà§⁄র সহাà§�তালাভ করà§⁄ন- à§⁄য পরিবার শিà¦Łà§“à¦·à¦¾à¦Łà§⁄ মূল্যাà§�ন করà§⁄ একটি
সামাজিক প্রà¦Łà§“à¦°à¦¿à§�া হিসà§⁄বà§⁄ এবং পরিবারটি শ্রমিক শ৓রà§⁄ণির পরিবারà§⁄র সন্তানদà§⁄র উচ্চশিà¦Łà§“à¦·à¦¾à§�
ধনিক শ৓রà§⁄ণির প্রতিনিধি হিসà§⁄বà§⁄ আর৓থিক সহাà§�তা প্রদান করà§⁄, ক্যার�৉ল সà§⁄ পরিবারà¦Łà§⁄ ধন৓যবাদ
জানান�৉র সুয�৉গ লাভ করà§⁄ন।
ক্যার�৉লà§⁄র কাজিন ক্যারà§⁄ন গাটলà§⁄নার ১৯৬৭ সালà§⁄ ক্যার�৉লà§⁄র সাথà§⁄ আমার পরিà¦ıà§�
ঘটিয়ে দিয়েà¦łà¦¿à¦²à§⁄ন এবং আমাদà§⁄র সà¦®à§“à¦ªà¦°à§“à¦Ł তখন à§⁄থà¦Łà§⁄ ২০০৯ সালà§⁄র ১৩ মার৓à¦ı তাআর তির�৉ধান
অবধি অটু ট à¦łà¦¿à¦²ï¿½à§‰। কলà§⁄জ ঊ৓রাজুয়েশন শà§⁄ষ করà§⁄ ১৯৭০ সালà§⁄র জুনà§⁄ আমরা বিয়ে
করà§⁄à¦łà¦¿লাম এবং তারপর একসাথà§⁄ পà§⁄নসিলভানিà§�া ইউনিভার৓সিটির ওরিয়েন৓à¦�াল স৓à¦�াডিজ
ডিপার৓à¦�মà§⁄ন৓টে পড়তà§⁄ ঊিয়েà¦łà¦¿লাম। à§⁄সখানà§⁄ ক্যার�৉ল প্রথম বর৓ষà§⁄ই বাংলা à¦Łï¿½à§‰à¦°à§“à¦¸ করà§⁄ন এবং
বাংলা সাহিত৓য ও সংস্কৃ তির প৓রà§⁄মà§⁄ পড়ে যান। নিজà§⁄র প্রতিভা ও অধ্যাবসায়ের ফলà§⁄ খুব অল্প
সময়ের মধ৓যà§⁄ই ক্যার�৉ল বাংলা ভাষাà§� স্বতঃস্ফের৓ত হয়ে ওঀà§⁄ন।
ক্যার�৉ল ১৯৭১ সালà§⁄ প্রথমবারà§⁄র মত�৉ সংà¦Łà§“à¦·à¦¿প্ত সফরà§⁄ কলকাতা যান এবং পরà§⁄ ১৯৭৪-╉
৭৫ ও ১৯৮০-╉৮১ সালà§⁄ দীর৓ট সমà§� ধরà§⁄ শাà¦¨à§“à¦¤à¦¿à¦¨à¦¿à¦Łà§⁄তনà§⁄ অবস৓থান করà§⁄ন। ১৯৭৪ সালà§⁄ তিনি
প্রথমবারà§⁄র মত�৉ বাংলাদà§⁄শ সফরà§⁄ যান। কলকাতাà§� দ৓বিতীà§� সফরà§⁄র সমà§� ক্যার�৉ল বাংলা
সংস্কৃ তি সম৓মেলনà§⁄ য�৉গ দà§⁄ন এবং সà§⁄খানà§⁄ই প্রথম তিনি বাউল গান শ�৉নà§⁄ন। দ্রুতই তিনি
বাউল সম্প্রদাà§�, তাদà§⁄র গান, দর৓শন ও জীবন-╉পদ্ধতি দ৓বারা প্রভাবিত হন। এই অà¦�িজ্ঞতা তাà¦†à¦Łà§⁄
xiv

xiv Foreword

বাউল ঐতিহ্য অনুসন্ধানে সারা জীবনের জন্য অনুপ্রাণিত করে এবং এভাবেই পশ্চিমা বিশ্বে
বাউল বিষয়ক এক বিখ্যাত একাডেমিক পণ্ডিত হিসেবে তিনি আবির্ভূত হন।
১৯৭৬ সালে ক্যার�োলের একমাত্র সন্তান জেসির জন্ম হয়। েজসির জন্মের পরই আমরা
ফিলাডেলফিয়াতে চলে যাই এবং ১৯৮১ সাল থেকে সিয়াটলে স্থায়ীভাবে বসবাস শুরু
করি। মায়ের দায়িত্ব ও শিক্ষকতা দুইই একসাথে সামলান�োর পরও ক্যার�োল ১৯৮৩ সালের
মধ্যেই গ�োবিন্দ দাশের কালিকামঙ্গল-এর উপর পিএইচডি গবেষণার কাজ সম্পন্ন করেন।
এই সময় ও তার পরবর্তী বছরগুল�োতে ক্যার�োল ঘন ঘন দুই বাংলাতেই গমন করেন এবং
আত্মবিশ্বাসের সাথে অনেক বাউল প্রথার অনুসারীদের সাথে ঘনিষ্ঠ হয়ে ওঠেন। তাদের
অনেক কাছাকাছি গিয়ে ক্যার�োল বাউলদের বাণী, গান ও সাক্ষাৎকারের এক বিশাল ভাণ্ডার
অডিও রেকর্ডারে ধারণ ও ন�োটবুকে সংগ্রহ এবং সংরক্ষণ করেন। একজন স্বল্পভাষী লাজুক
স্বভাবের প্রচারবিমুখ মানুষ হয়েও ক্যার�োল তাঁর ইচ্ছার বিপরীতে পশ্চিম বাংলা এবং বিশেষ
করে বাংলাদেশে একজন সেলিব্রেটি হয়ে ওঠেন। বাংলা ভাষায় তাঁর অসাধারণ দখল এবং
বাংলা সাহিত্য ও সংস্কৃ তিতে অগাধ পাণ্ডিেত্যর কারণে তিনি বিদ্বৎসমাজ ও গ্রামীণ সংস্কৃ তির
ধারক-​বাহক উভয়েরই নিকট থেকে পরম শ্রদ্ধা লাভ করেন। তাঁর মৃত্যুর সংবাদ বাংলাদেশ ও
পশ্চিম বাংলার প্রচার মাধ্যমগুল�োয় অত্যন্ত শ্রদ্ধার সাথে গুরুত্ব পায়।
শিকাগ�ো বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়, েপনসিলভানিয়া বিশ্ববিদ্যালয় এবং কর্নেল বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়ে বাংলার
শিক্ষক ও বিশেষজ্ঞ হিসেবে ক্যার�োল নিজেকে প্রতিষ্ঠিত করতে পেরেছিলেন। মৃত্যুর সময়
তিনি ছিলেন ওয়াশিংটন বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়ের এশিয়ান ভাষা ও সাহিত্য বিভাগের বাংলা বিষয়ের
সিনিয়র লেকচারার। তিনি শিক্ষার্থীদের প্রতি ছিলেন অত্যন্ত নিবেদিতপ্রাণ এবং অর্জ ন
করেছিলেন প্রত্যেকের ভক্তিপূর্ণ মন�োয�োগ। তাঁর যত্নশীল আচরণ শিক্ষার্থীদের মধ্যে সৃষ্টি
করেছিল�ো তাঁর প্রতি অগাধ সম্মানব�োধ।
বাড়িতে ক্যার�োল ছিলেন একজন সন্তানবৎসল মা, নম্র ও প্রেমময় স্ত্রী এবং স্বামীর প্রায় ৪২
বছরের অকৃত্রিম বন্ধু আর ছিলেন বয়স্ক মা-​বাবার একজন দায়িত্বশীল সন্তান। আমরা বাড়িতে
যেমন একসাথে অসংখ্য সুখের মূহুর্ত কাটিয়েছি তেমনি উপভ�োগ করেছি উত্তেজনাকর সব
ভ্রমণ, েকবল বাংলাদেশ ও ভারতবর্ষেই নয়, আমেরিকা, ইউর�োপ, মধ্যপ্রাচ্য ও এশিয়ার নানা
স্থানে।
২০০৯ সালের ১১ মার্চ সাইকেল চালিয়ে কাজে যাওয়ার সময় ক্যার�োলকে একটি
ম�োটরগাড়ি ধাক্কা দেয়। (তিনি [ক্যার�োল] ছিলেন একজন সত্যিকারের নিউ ইয়র্কার যিনি
ক�োন�োদিন ড্রাইভ করতে শেখেননি)। এরপর তাঁর আর জ্ঞান ফেরেনি এবং দুদিন পরে তিনি
মারা যান। তাঁর অপরিণত মৃত্যুতে সারাবিশ্ব থেকে আসতে থাকে অজস্র শ�োকবার্তা। তাঁর
জীবন ছিল�ো ছ�োট, কিন্তু অভিজ্ঞতা ও অর্জনে সমৃদ্ধ এবং সর্বোপরি ভাল�োবাসায় ভরা-​
ভাল�োবেসেছেন উজাড় করে, েপয়েছেনও অকৃত্রিম ভাল�োবাসা।
কিন্তু অসময়ে চলে যাওয়ার সময় তিনি অনেক অসমাপ্ত কাজ পেছনে রেখে গেছেন। এর
মধ্যে অত্যন্ত গুরুত্বপূর্ণ একটি হল�ো, লালন সঁা ইয়ের গানের অনুবাদ, যার পেছনে তিনি অনেক
বছর ও পরম শ্রম উৎসর্গ করেছিলেন। এটা জেনে আমার এবং যারা ক্যার�োলকে চিনতেন
ও তাঁর সাথে কাজ করেছেন তাদের প্রত্যেকের কৃতজ্ঞতা ও আনন্দের সীমা নেই যে-​ সাইমন
xv

Bengali xv

জাকারিয়া, কিথ ই. কান্তু এবং জিয়ান ওপেনশাও লালনের উপরকৃ ত ক্যার�োলের এই অমূল্য
কাজ সেইসব মানুষের হাতে তু লে দিতে পারছেন-​ যারা বাংলাদেশ, ভারত বা অন্য ক�োন�ো
দেশে ঐতিহ্যকে মূল্যায়ন করেন।
ড. রিচার্ড সল�োমন
অধ্যাপক
এশিয়ার ভাষা ও সাহিত্য বিভাগ
ওয়াসিংটন বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়
শিয়াটল, আমেরিকা
অক্টোবর ২, ২০১২
xvi
╇ xvii

Introduction |€ভূ মিকা

It is a privilege to write an introduction to this posthumous edition of a

major work by my esteemed colleague and friend Dr. Carol Salomon.1
Carol dedicated much of her working life to research on the most
renowned composer of Bāul songs, Lālan, who died in 1890. Although
a few articles by her on Lālan and other Bāuls have been published (on
Lālan, see especially Salomon 1991), her magnum opus was left incom-
plete at the time of her tragically early death in 2009. Most fortunately
for South Asian scholarship, as well as for general readers, her unfin-
ished manuscript is now being published, thanks to the efforts of her
husband, Professor Richard Salomon (University of Washington), and
the editors of the present volume: Dr. Saymon Zakaria (assistant director,
Bangla Academy, Dhaka) and Keith E. Cantú (PhD student, University of
California at Santa Barbara).
The name Bāul refers to a type of religious minstrel or esoteric practi-
tioner (sādhak) of the Bengali-╉speaking region of South Asia, that is, West
Bengal (India) and Bangladesh. Bāuls are primarily known for their beau-
tiful and often enigmatic songs. In theory, people of any religion, class,
caste, or gender may be Bāul, but in practice almost all are from poor, rural
Hindu or Muslim backgrounds. As such, they are sometimes viewed as
unorthodox Vaiṣṇavas and fakirs, respectively. A person usually becomes
a Bāul through some kind of initiation in adulthood, or through training
or practice, rather than through family inheritance. Technically, they may
be householders or renouncers. Beyond these basic facts, there is little
agreement on who is to be judged Bāul, either among non-╉Bāuls, includ-
ing scholars, or those called Bāul themselves.

1. I am indebted to Brill Publishers for their permission to incorporate into the present work
extracts of my entry on Bāuls from Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism (2011).
xviii

xviii Introduction

One reason for this difference of opinion is that from the second half
of the nineteenth century, Bāul songs—​and notions of Bāuls associated
with these—​became increasingly important to colonized, elite Bengalis in
search of their roots, a process in which Rabindranath Tagore and his close
associate the scholar K. M. Sen were particularly instrumental. Of such
songs, those attributed to Lālan figured above all others. This attention
in turn inspired various kinds of research into Bāuls and especially their
songs. Thus from a position of near total obscurity relieved only by the
odd reference to Bāuls as godless and debased entertainers of the common
folk (Bhattacharya 1896), they were transformed into iconic bearers of a
venerable indigenous heritage. However, this heritage, and along with it a
reified Bāul identity, has been constructed in different and even contradic-
tory ways by writers and scholars (Openshaw 2002, 19–​62).
Various histories have been delineated in support of different percep-
tions of Bāuls. K. M. Sen traced the Bāuls back to the Vedas, partly as a way
of conferring on them an encompassing “Hindu” (or even Indian) identity
(Sen 1993). Others more plausibly link them with Vaiṣṇava or Buddhist
Tantra or “Sahajiyā” (Dasgupta 1969). On the other hand, a Sufi back-
ground has been attributed to them (Haq 1975). More recently they have
also been identified with traditions of Indian materialism, or Lokāyāta/​
Cārvāka (Jhā 1999). In general, however, it can be stated that although the
use of the name “Bāul” to denote a specific group of initiates is relatively
recent, those called “Bāul” are appropriately situated in the context of a
long history of South Asian social or religious dissenting movements.
The word Bāul popularly means “mad” in either a positive or nega-
tive sense, partly in reference to their highly unconventional lifestyle and
attitudes. Etymological research on the word Bāul has been conducted by
several scholars (e.g., Dasgupta 1969; Dimock 1966, Haq 1975, Jhā 1999),
drawing on Sanskritic, Arabic, or Persian sources, with predictably varied
results. These include Sanskrit vātula (affected by wind disease, mad) or
vyākula (confused, distracted). The word Bāul was used in a primarily
adjectival sense from the medieval period, especially for renouncers of an
antinomian kind. It seems only to have come into use as a proper noun
denoting a category of minstrel, mendicant or esoteric practitioner in the
nineteenth century. Bāuls themselves etymologize the word in support of
different meanings, for example, as be (without) + hul (restraint), or from
ba + hul, where the triangular Bengali letter ba represents the female
pubic area and hul “antenna” or the penis, to signify man and woman in
xix

Introduction xix

union, a reference to their “Tāntrik” practices (Openshaw 2002, 111–​113,

78, 100).
Attempts to enumerate Bāuls have foundered on problems of defini-
tion, with estimates ranging from under 250,000 to 7,000,000 at differ-
ent times. Sources generally envisage an expansion in numbers of Bāuls,
culminating in the nineteenth century and followed by a decline (Ray
1995, 21–​22). These fluctuations depend partly on the visibility or other-
wise of “Bāuls” to those whose opinion has entered the historical record.
One major factor in the decline of Bāuls was the growth, from the nine-
teenth century, in orthodox Islamic reform movements, whose adherents
took it upon themselves to bring into line and even persecute Bāuls of
Muslim origin, sometimes called fakirs (Ahmed 1981). What is certain is
that, however one defines “Bāuls,” their songs give them an influence far
greater than the most generous estimates of their numbers would suggest.
It is worth mentioning that although Lālan is regarded as the iconic
Bāul, he seems not to have referred to himself as such (Jhā 2007, 160).
In some of his songs (eight of those in the present compilation), he mod-
estly “signs” himself “Lālan Fakir” or “Fakir Lālan.” Fakir, an Islamic term
for an ascetic or mendicant, has connotations of indigence and renuncia-
tion. Although the name of Lālan’s guru (Sirāj Sā̃i) is also suggestive of an
Islamic cultural ambit—​and the title Darbeś (Dervish) is also used—​Lālan
himself famously refused to entertain questions of his own background,
Hindu or Muslim. Along with other Bāuls, Lālan regarded such categories
as divisive and man-​made. In the present volume, Carol refers to Lālan as
“Sā̃i” (“Lord”), as did his followers, who in turn referred to themselves at
times as “fakir.” Despite Lālan’s refusal to discuss his birth identity, both
Hindu and Muslim origins have been ascribed to him. What is known
about him is that he died at a great age in 1890, in the village in which
he had been living, Cheuṙiyā, near Kushtiya, in what is now Bangladesh.
Although he was almost certainly nonliterate, by the time he died he was
a renowned composer of songs and had numerous disciples throughout
Bengal.2
The popularity of Bāul songs increased exponentially during the last
century, initially through publication of their songs by élite Bengalis, espe-
cially Rabindranath Tagore. Bāuls and their songs now figure prominently,
within and beyond South Asia, in a variety of media and languages. Apart

2. For more on Lālan’s life, see Salomon 1991: 274–​276; 1995: 188–​189.
xx

xx Introduction

from academic theses, books, and articles, more popular works, including
fiction and poetry, documentary and feature films, continue to be brought
out. Live Bāul performances can be seen throughout the world. In 2005
and 2008, Bāul songs were added to the UNESCO list of Masterpieces of
the Oral and Intangible Cultural Heritages of Humanity.
Of all the Bāuls of West Bengal (India) and Bangladesh, particular atten-
tion has been focused on Lālan, largely because of his poetic genius. This
has made him the subject of many written works, especially in Bengali,
by authors such as Śakti Nāth Jhā, Sudhīr Cakrabartī, and Ābul Āhāsān
Caudhurī. Live performances include a stage play by Sudipto Chatterjee,
folk dramas (yātrā) and puppetry. A number of films have been made,
recent examples being Tanvir Mokammel’s Lālan (2004) and Goutam
Ghose’s Maner Mānuṣ (2010), based on a novel of the same name by the
Bengali writer Sunīl Gańgopādhyāy.
Despite all this attention, much remains to be researched and written.
Before this contribution by Carol Salomon, most major works on Lālan
were published in Bengali. As a result, this exceptional Bāul poet has been
little known outside Bengali-​speaking communities. In general, transla-
tions of Bāul songs, including those composed by Lālan, into European
languages, especially English, have been dependent on edited collections
of uncertain provenance and reliability (see Salomon 2002, reprinted in
this volume).
Translation of any poetry tends to cover a spectrum, at one extreme
remaining shackled to the source text but tending to lose in poetic quality.
This is the typical academic approach. At the other end of the spectrum is
transcreation, in which the desire for a quality version in the target language
may lead to neglect of the original. In the case of Bāul songs, including those
by Lālan, many translations do not even cite an original text or source.
In my view, Carol has arrived at the best possible solution to these
dilemmas in the present volume. This annotated edition of Lālan songs
in Bengali script, romanized transliteration, and English translation is
unrivaled in its combination of academic rigor and skilled translation. It
thus has an immense amount to contribute to Lālan (and Bāul) scholar-
ship in general, especially in the context of English-​language scholarship
on Bāuls.
Carol Salomon’s expertise was in Bengali language, literature, and
culture, subjects she had taught at several prestigious universities in the
United States of America. Her research was marked by exemplary dedi-
cation and scrupulous care. For example, her comparative work on early
xxi

Introduction xxi

manuscripts of Lālan songs was supplemented by the knowledge she

gained of possible Arabic and Persian derivations. But what really gave her
an edge in Lālan studies, in addition to her awareness of localized Bengali
meanings, was her assiduous pursuit of the readings and esoteric conno-
tations of the songs given by initiated followers of Lālan. In addition to all
of this, she even attended creative writing classes in order to wean herself
off an overly literal, academic style in translating these songs of Lālan.
As she explains in her 2002 article reprinted in this volume, Salomon’s
contention is that a “core corpus” of “authentic” Lālan songs can be arrived
at through using a combination of oral and manuscript sources (the ear-
liest of the latter containing a date three years after Lālan’s death). It is
certainly true that, in tension with other Bāul ideas, the notion of preserv-
ing the original corpus and text of Lālan songs has a great deal of traction
among his followers—​at least nowadays. In part, this is a means of claim-
ing or retaining authority over the material, in a situation where there is
a proliferation of “Lālan songs” and “followers of Lālan.” To approach the
issue from the other end, many versions of (and indeed entire) “Lālan
songs” are evidently spurious. As Salomon argues, edited transcriptions
by non-​Bāul collectors, even scholars, may fall into this category. So, at the
very least, this volume establishes an older, more authentic corpus of songs
and contributes to the elimination of some clearly erroneous versions.
Equally significant is that this volume is the first to provide a reliable,
polished, and at times exceptionally beautiful translation of some of the
most important songs in the Bāul (and indeed the Bengali) repertoire, one
that will not be superseded for decades to come, if ever. It is therefore not
only of importance to academic researchers; it will give non-​Bengali speak-
ing readers access to Lālan’s songs.
Where meanings of Lālan songs are concerned, there is often consid-
erable divergence of views, as with Bāul songs in general. Unlike many
respected commentators who continue to search for the “true” (essential)
meaning, Carol does not gloss over ambiguities and contradictions, but
draws attention to them, in the best tradition of critical scholarship (for
example, in her comments to Song no. 9). In view of the creativity of Bāul
traditions, it would seem that diversity of meanings rather than uniformity
is the default mode. One reason for this is that a tight lineage structure
is necessary to establish authoritative meanings. To my knowledge, such
lineages scarcely exist in the Bāul-​fakir context. And apart from that, there
is an established practice of learning from adepts irrespective of lineage
(sādhu saṅga karā). As Carol remarks, “Inconsistency is more the rule in
xxii

xxii Introduction

Bāul songs than the exception. It is sādhanā which is primary, and not
any particular theology” (comments to Song no. 33, n.15). Of course some
general principles of interpretation can be established. For example, Bāul
fakirs usually privilege meanings related to the body over more conven-
tionally religious or “spiritual” meanings (Openshaw 2002, 68–​70), and
this aspect is clearly highlighted in the present collection.
When I first saw a draft of this work, I was delighted to find it as com-
plete as it is. The credit for this goes to the editors, Saymon Zakaria and
Keith Cantú, whose task has been delicate and onerous. However, Carol
was still working on the book when she died, and no one else could or
should attempt to fill the gaps she left. For example, in places, annotations
are absent. Perhaps she already had the materials but had not yet incor-
porated them into her text. At least in the version of the text available to
the editors, she raises issues that she clearly intended to consider further.
For example, at one point, she refers to a section on “strategies of secrecy”
(comments to Song no. 33, n.19), part of an introduction that the editors
have been unable to trace.

One issue that exercised both Carol and me, and that we had discussed
several times, concerns the marginalization of women and the feminine
in non-​Bāul understanding of their songs. This tendency is usually exac-
erbated in English translation, owing to the problem of rendering gender-​
neutral Bengali pronouns and nouns into gender-​specific English-​language
versions. While a particular gender may be judged likely from the context,
more usually the gender is ambiguous. However, the translator into English
has to make a decision one way or the other—​thus destroying the ambigu-
ity of the original. (Because of Carol’s commitment to an elegant transla-
tion, she avoids cumbersome periphrastics such as “s/​he” or “him/​her.”)
A famous Lālan song, Āmi ekdin nā dekhilām tāre, from which the title
of this book is taken, illustrates this dilemma. Carol originally published
the translation that features in the present volume in 1995 (Salomon 1995,
199–​200). Whereas the gender of the neighbor in the original Bengali is
ambiguous and may be variously interpreted by readers and listeners, the
translator into English has to settle for one or the other. The 1995 version
(no. 16 in the present volume) opts for the conventional masculine option:

I have not seen him even once …

my neighbor
who lives in a city of mirrors
near my house
xxiii

Introduction xxiii

Interestingly, a later (2007) translation of this song by Carol, identical

apart from the gender shift, feminizes the neighbor:

I have not seen her even once...

my neighbor
who lives in a city of mirrors
near my house.

Her village is surrounded

by deep boundless water …
I long to see her
but how can I reach
her village?

What can I say

about my neighbor?
She has no hands, no feet,
no shoulders, no head.
Sometimes she floats high up in the sky,
sometimes in the water.

… She and Lalan are in the same place,

Yet five hundred thousand miles apart.3

The choices involved here are invidious for any translator. A commitment
either way excludes the other possibility. In Bengali these two versions are
in a sense combined. Assuming we have no access to the intention of the
composer (which is almost always the case), the interpretation (in terms of
male or female referent) is a matter for the descendants by initiation of the
composer, and ultimately for the reader or listener. Moreover, descendants
by lineage do not always agree with one another and, in any case, may give
different meanings depending on the context. Whichever decision is taken
by the translator into English inevitably entails an impoverishment of the
Bengali source material, with its double, multiple, or shifting meanings.
At the end of the feminized version of this song, Salomon notes: “Bauls
hold women in high esteem. They are essential to the male practitioner’s

3. “Songs of Lalon Phokir: 1,” published December 25, 2007, online at http://​www.parabaas.
com/​translation/​database/​translations/​poems/​lalon_​carol1.html.
xxiv

xxiv Introduction

success in sadhana. This is one of Lalon’s many songs that secretly refer
to the sadhika (female practitioner) or to the sahaj manus (natural person)
within her.” In other words, whereas many in the audience may under-
stand the neighbor to be male, at least some initiates may realize that it
refers to a female.
The crucial word here is “secretly.” The translator’s quandary is
whether to settle for what is commonly understood by non-​Bāuls and
perhaps even some Bāuls, or alternatively to focus on what in restricted
contexts may be presented as the “real” meaning. At times we find an
overtly masculine, even conventional discourse in the songs, featuring,
for example, Allah, Nabi (the Prophet), or Caitanya, to which completely
different (feminized) meanings are attributed in certain contexts (p. 8).
Needless to say, there are good reasons for Bāuls to conceal referents that
are deeply transgressive in the eyes of conventional Muslims and Hindus.
In this way, the female partner or substance can be ignored for public
consumption, while being highlighted for those initiates considered fit to
receive such glosses.
One question that arises in connection with this is whether shifting
the gender in translation involves more than a gender switch. In an infor-
mal survey of the alternative versions of Song no. 16, English-​language
speakers were asked to estimate how the “neighbor” differed in each ver-
sion. The general view was that the feminized version definitely indicated
a human being, whereas the masculinized version was more likely to con-
note a supreme being, although a revered human being, especially the
guru, was also thought to be a possibility.
So, for the English language reader or listener, these two versions may
not simply involve a shift from male to female on the same level (for exam-
ple, a human male becoming a human female or a divine male becoming
a divine female). A masculinized rendering may be more liable to be seen
as also spiritualizing or at least hierarchizing.
There is an interesting postscript to this debate. An alternative reading
for the third verse of this song is sometimes given by adepts. In the pres-
ent volume it is translated by Salomon in the usual way—​one that is inci-
dentally suggestive of a more “spiritual” interpretation: “She [or he] has no
hands, no feet, no shoulders, no head.” The alternative treats the negative
nāi as meaning “navel.” The verse thus comes to mean: “S/​he has hands,
feet, shoulders, head and navel,” rendering the neighbor an unambigu-
ously material human being.
xxv

Introduction xxv

One way or another, urban-​educated transcribers and interpreters, wit-

tingly or unwittingly, have often neglected the role of the female for Bāuls.
For example, as Salomon points out, the last word of Song no. 7 was inter-
preted as a Muslim male honorific title (and thus “God himself”) by an
illustrious expert on Bāuls. In fact the word means “woman” in the local
dialect, and this is the meaning given to Carol by fakirs themselves. This
alters the sense of the whole song (p. 59 and p. 61).
Although she has generally translated mānuṣ as “man,” in the older,
nongendered sense (e.g., in Song nos. 28, 34), Carol also mentions that it
can equally well be rendered “person” (e.g., Song nos. 28, n.1, 34, n.1). In
several songs, she has used circumlocutions to avoid committing herself
to a specific gender identity, and although the third-​person pronouns
have often been masculinized in the text, she takes care to point out
that the Bengali gender-​neutral pronoun can refer to a male or a female.
An important song where the gender issue is concerned is Song no. 9,
one of a series of songs concerning the “unknown person” (acin mānuṣ,
ajānā mānuṣ). In this song, a female identity (or at least association) is
clearly indicated by the use of “she” in connection with this “unknown
person.” Carol comments: “There is a rare consensus among different
sources that the ‘unknown person’ is the Śakti or the woman, or some
aspect of her” (p. 66).
Had she been able to complete this volume herself, Carol would
undoubtedly have contributed many further insights to this and other
aspects of Lālan studies, as well as the wider field of research into Bāuls.
What is certain is that, even as it stands, the world of scholarship will be
immensely benefited by this publication, as will the general reader.
dr. jeanne openshaw
University of Edinburgh, UK
and
Santiniketan, West Bengal, India
March 2016
xxvi

xxvi Introduction

RE FERENCES

Ahmed, Rafiuddin
1981 The Bengal Muslims 1871–​1906: A Quest for Identity. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Bhattacharya, Jogendra Nath
1896 Hindu Castes and Sects. Calcutta: Editions Indian.
Dasgupta, S. B.
1969 (1946) Obscure Religious Cults. Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyaya.
Dimock, Edward C., Jr.
1966 The Place of the Hidden Moon: Erotic Mysticism in the Vaiṣṇava-​sahajiyā Cult of
Bengal. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Haq, Muhammad Enamul
1975 A History of Sufi-​ism in Bengal. Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh.
Jhā, Śakti Nāth
2010 (1999) Bastubādī Bāul: Udbhab, Samāj, Saṅskṛti o Darśan. Calcutta: Dey’s.
2007 (1995) Phakir Lālan Sā̃i: Deś, kāl ebaṅ śilpa. Calcutta: Saṅbād.
Openshaw, Jeanne
2002 Seeking Bauls of Bengal. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Ray, Rajat Kanta, ed.
1995 Mind, Body and Society: Life and Mentality in Colonial Bengal. Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Salomon, Carol
1995 “Bāul Songs.” In Religions of India in Practice, edited by Donald S. Lopez Jr.,
187–​208. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
1991 “The Cosmogonical Riddles of Lalan Fakir.” In Gender, Genre and Power in
South Asian Expressive Traditions, edited by Arjun Appadurai, Frank J. Korom,
and Margaret A. Mills, 267–​304. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
1979 “A Contemporary Sahajiyā Interpretation of the Bilvamańgal-​Cintāmaṇi leg-
end, as Sung by Sanātan Dās Bāul.” In Patterns of Change in Modern Bengal. Edited
by R. L. Park. South Asia series, occasional paper 29. East Lansing, Michigan
State University, 97–​110.
Sen, K. M.
1993 (1954) Bāṅlār Bāul. Calcutta: University of Calcutta Press.
xxvii

Editor’s Note | সম্পাদকের কথা

The editors hope that future scholars and practitioners alike may benefit
from the inspired scholarship and creative abilities of Dr. Carol Salomon,
abilities that truly shine in this posthumously published work on the
songs of Lālan. While there was certainly much work to be done by the
editors to prepare her work for publication, the annotated translations,
fortunately, were found to be already in a highly developed condition;
for every translation in this compilation the editors have been able to
use a hard copy-​manuscript—​and in many cases several manuscripts—​
acquired from Salomon’s collection of translations.
The Bengali/​Bangla versions of each song that accompany Salomon’s
translation are for the most part reconstructed using her handwritten
manuscripts, the vast majority of which were found filed alongside a
typed translation. When citing her individual handwritten document as
a source, the name given is “Salomon’s MS.” In cases where handwrit-
ten manuscripts are absent from her files, a version based upon a reli-
able published source that best matches her translation has usually been
supplied. Some minor emendations were made to the Bengali versions
by Saymon Zakaria based on his research and interviews in the field,
including the updating of archaic Bengali variants of Perso-​Arabic terms
to their contemporary spellings. The reader is thus invited to compare
these emendations with Salomon’s own comments and emendations as
well as with the published and manuscript sources that are provided at
the end of each song’s annotation. While it is clear from Salomon’s notes
that she had intended to cross-​check every song with oral versions, many
of her MSS are copied directly from published source texts (e.g., LG) that
have required further cross-​checking and editing to construct a more
accurate version of each song. For the convenience of those not versed
in Bengali script, Roman transliterations were made by Keith E. Cantú
xxviii

xxviii Editor’s Note

for each song that will enable scholars of other Indic languages to better
compare the lyrical content.
Unless otherwise noted, all additions (aside from grammatical or
spelling corrections) by the editors have been placed in [square brack-
ets]. References in the annotations to songs of Lālan that are present
in this compilation have also been added and are set in boldface; for
example, “Madhur dil dariyāy ḍube ẏe jan ḍubeche” [93] refers to the
ninety-​third song in this compilation. References to songs in other pub-
lished compilations (such as Lālan-​Gītikā) are preceded by the appropri-
ate abbreviation, as in this example: “Manre kabe bhabe sūrẏer ẏog hay
karo bibecanā” (LG no. 93). See also the section that follows. Keith E.
Cantú was responsible for creating both the glossary and the index based
on the prevalence of certain concepts in Carol Salomon’s translations,
annotations, and footnotes.
Transliterations of Bengali/​Bangla, Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian
terms have been italicized throughout, with diacritics given according
to the international standardized system used by Salomon in her pub-
lished works. A few exceptions, however, were deemed necessary to
fully communicate the richness of the Bengali alphabet’s phonemes
and to ensure that there would be no confusion between similar letters,
especially in cases where an interpretation of a song could very well
hinge on a single letter. These are as follows: antaḥstha (য) is always
transliterated as ẏ to distinguish it from bargīya (জ), which is translit-
erated as j. The phoneme য় (and ẏa-​phalā) is always transliterated as y,
and ba-phalā usually as “v.” Vocalic ঋ is transliterated as r̥ to distinguish
it from retroflex (mūrdhanya) ড়, which is transliterated as ṛ. When ত
is not followed by an inherent vowel (i.e., “broken” or khaṇḍa ৎ), it is
transliterated as ṯ. The inherent vowel a is sometimes transliterated as
o according to vowel strengthening rules in certain verbal forms (e.g.,
second-​person singular present tense), following Salomon’s convention.
The inherent vowel is also often dropped at the end of a word to reflect
Bengali pronunciation. Finally, এ is usually transliterated as æ when it
is open, according to Bengali grammatical rules and/​or common pro-
nunciation (see Ruth Thompson, Bengali: A Comprehensive Grammar
[New York: Routledge. 2010], 34). The editors are very thankful to
Another random document with
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gulf of crime. Having resolved on the means to be employed in the
murder, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, Robert Weir,
who lived in the neighbouring city. He came to the place of
Waristoun, to see her; but it appeares her resolution failed, and he
was not admitted. She again sent for him, and he again went. Again
he was not admitted. At length, on his being called a third time, he
was introduced to her presence. Before this time she had found an
accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged that Weir
should be concealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he should
come forth, and proceed to destroy the laird as he lay in his chamber.
The bloody tragedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan.
Weir was brought up at midnight from the cellar to the hall by the
lady herself, and afterwards went forward alone to the laird’s
bedroom. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed,
to wait the intelligence of her husband’s murder. When Weir entered
the chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly
over the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him. The unhappy man
uttered a great cry. Weir gave him some severe blows on vital parts,
particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry
out, he at length saw fit to take more effective measures. He seized
him by the throat with both hands, and, compressing that part with
all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, in depriving him of life.
When the lady heard her husband’s first death-shout, she leapt out
of bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repentance, and
descended to the hall; but she made no effort to countermand her
mission of destruction. She waited patiently till Weir came down to
inform her that all was over. Weir made an immediate escape from
justice, but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were apprehended before
the deed was half-a-day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms
it, “red-hand,”—that is, while still bearing unequivocal marks of guilt,
—they were immediately tried by the magistrates of Edinburgh, and
sentenced to be strangled and burnt at the stake.
The lady’s father, the Laird of Dunipace, who was a favourite of
King James VI., made all the interest he could with his Majesty to
procure a pardon; but all that could be obtained from the king was
an order that the unhappy lady should be executed by decapitation,
and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as
little of a spectacle as possible. The space intervening between her
sentence and her execution was only thirty-seven hours, yet in that
little time Lady Waristoun contrived to become converted from a
blood-stained and unrelenting murderess into a perfect saint on
earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of
her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely
amusing, were it not for the loathing which seizes the mind on
beholding such an instance of perverted religion. She went to the
scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. Her
lips were incessant in the utterance of pious exclamations. She
professed herself confident of everlasting happiness. She even
grudged every moment which she spent in this world as so much
taken from that sum of eternal felicity which she was to enjoy in the
next. The people who came to witness the last scene, instead of
having their minds inspired with a salutary horror for her crime,
were engrossed in admiration of her saintly behaviour, and greedily
gathered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would
almost appear, from the narrative of the clergyman, that her fate was
rather a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her execution took
place at four in the morning of the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near
Holyrood-house; and at the same hour her nurse was burned on the
Castlehill. It is some gratification to know that the actual murderer,
Weir, was eventually seized and executed, though not till four years
afterwards.—Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal, 1832.
 A TALE OF PENTLAND.

By James Hogg, the “Ettrick Shepherd.”

Mr John Haliday having been in hiding on the hills, after the battle
of Pentland, became impatient to hear news concerning the
sufferings of his brethren who had been in arms; and in particular, if
there were any troops scouring the district in which he had found
shelter. Accordingly, he left his hiding-place in the evening, and
travelled towards the valley until about midnight, when, coming to
the house of Gabriel Johnstone, and perceiving a light, he
determined on entering, as he knew him to be a devout man, and one
much concerned about the sufferings of the Church of Scotland.
Mr Haliday, however, approached the house with great caution, for
he rather wondered why there should be a light there at midnight,
while at the same time he neither heard psalms singing nor the
accents of prayer. So, casting off his heavy shoes, for fear of making a
noise, he stole softly up to the little window from whence the light
beamed, and peeped in, where he saw, not Johnstone, but another
man, whom he did not know, in the very act of cutting a soldier’s
throat, while Johnstone’s daughter, a comely girl, about twenty years
of age, was standing deliberately by, and holding the candle to him.
Haliday was seized with an inexpressible terror; for the floor was
all blood, and the man was struggling in the agonies of death, and
from his dress he appeared to have been a cavalier of some
distinction. So completely was the Covenanter overcome with horror,
that he turned and fled from the house with all his might. So much
had Haliday been confounded that he even forgot to lift his shoes,
but fled without them; and he had not run above half a bowshot
before he came upon two men hastening to the house of Gabriel
Johnstone. As soon as they perceived him running towards them
they fled, and he pursued them; for when he saw them so ready to
take alarm, he was sure they were some of the persecuted race, and
tried eagerly to overtake them, exerting his utmost speed, and calling
on them to stop. All this only made them run faster; and when they
came to a feal-dyke they separated, and ran different ways, and he
soon thereafter lost sight of them both.
This house, where Johnstone lived, is said to have been in a lonely
concealed dell, not far from West Linton, in what direction I do not
know, but it was towards that village that Haliday fled, not knowing
whether he went, till he came to the houses. Having no
acquaintances here whom he durst venture to call up, and the
morning having set in frosty, he began to conceive that it was
absolutely necessary for him to return to the house of Gabriel
Johnstone, and try to regain his shoes, as he little knew when or
where it might be in his power to get another pair. Accordingly, he
hasted back by a nearer path, and coming to the place before it was
day, found his shoes. At the same time he heard a fierce contention
within the house, but as there seemed to be a watch he durst not
approach it, but again made his escape.
Having brought some victuals along with him, he did not return to
his hiding-place that day, which was in a wild height, south of Biggar,
but remained in the moss of Craigengaur; and as soon as it drew
dark, descended again into the valley. Again he perceived a light in
the distance, where he thought no light should have been. But he
went towards it, and as he approached he heard the melody of
psalm-singing issuing from the place, and floating far on the still
breeze of the night. He hurried to the spot, and found the reverend
and devout Mr Livingston, in the act of divine worship, in an old void
barn on the lands of Slipperfield, with a great number of serious and
pious people, who were all much affected both by his prayers and
discourse.
After the worship was ended, Haliday made up to the minister,
among many others, to congratulate him on the splendour of his
discourse, and implore “a further supply of the same milk of
redeeming grace, with which they found their souls nourished,
cherished, and exalted.” The good man complied with the request,
and appointed another meeting at the same place on a future night.
 Haliday having been formerly well acquainted with the preacher,
convoyed him on his way home, where they condoled with one
another on the hardness of their lots; and Haliday told him of the
scene he had witnessed at the house of Gabriel Johnstone. The heart
of the good minister was wrung with grief, and he deplored the
madness and malice of the people who had committed an act that
would bring down tenfold vengeance on the heads of the whole
persecuted race. At length it was resolved between them that, as soon
as it was day, they would go and reconnoitre, and if they found the
case of the aggravated nature they suspected, they would themselves
be the first to expose it, and give the perpetrators up to justice.
Accordingly, next morning they took another man into the secret,
a William Rankin, one of Mr Livingston’s elders, and the three went
away to Johnstone’s house, to investigate the case of the cavalier’s
murder; but there was a guard of three armed men opposed them,
and neither promises nor threatenings, nor all the minister’s
eloquence, could induce them to give way one inch. The men advised
the intruders to take themselves off, lest a worse thing should befall
them; and as they continued to motion them away, with the most
impatient gestures, the kind divine and his associates thought meet
to retire, and leave the matter as it was; and thus was this mysterious
affair hushed up in silence and darkness for that time, no tongue
having been heard to mention it further than as above recited. The
three armed men were all unknown to the others, but Haliday
observed that one of them was the very youth whom he saw cutting
off the soldier’s head with a knife.
The rage and cruelty of the Popish party seemed to gather new
virulence every day, influencing all the counsels of the king; and the
persecution of the Nonconformists was proportionably severe. One
new act of council was issued after another, all tending to root the
Covenanters out of Scotland, but it had only the effect of making
their tenets still dearer to them. The longed-for night of the meeting
in the old hay-barn at length arrived, and it was attended by a still
greater number than on the night preceding. A more motley group
can hardly be conceived than appeared in the barn that night, and
the lamps being weak and dim rendered the appearance of the
assembly still more striking. It was, however, observed that about the
middle of the service a number of fellows came in with broad slouch
bonnets, and watch-coats or cloaks about them, who placed
themselves in equal divisions at the two doors, and remained without
uncovering their heads, two of them being busily engaged taking
notes. Before Mr Livingston began the last prayer, however, he
desired the men to uncover, which they did, and the service went on
to the end; but no sooner had the minister pronounced the word
Amen, than the group of late comers threw off their cloaks, and
drawing out swords and pistols, their commander, one General
Drummond, charged the whole congregation in the king’s name to
surrender.
A scene of the utmost confusion ensued. The lights being
extinguished, many of the young men burst through the roof of the
old barn in every direction, and though many shots were fired at
them in the dark, great numbers escaped; but Mr Livingston and
other eleven were retained prisoners, and conveyed to Edinburgh,
where they were examined before the council and cast into prison.
Among the prisoners were Mr Haliday and the identical young man
whom he had seen in the act of murdering the cavalier, and who
turned out to be a Mr John Lindsay, from Edinburgh, who had been
at the battle of Pentland, and in hiding afterwards.
Great was the lamentation for the loss of Mr Livingston, who was
so highly esteemed by his hearers. The short extracts from his
sermons in the barn, that were produced against him on his trial,
prove him to have been a man endowed with talents somewhat above
the greater part of his contemporaries. His text that night it appears
had been taken from Genesis:—“And God saw the wickedness of man
that it was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the
thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.” One of the quoted
passages concludes thus:—
“Let us join together in breaking the bands of the oppressors, and
casting their cords from us. As for myself, as a member of this poor
persecuted Church of Scotland, and an unworthy minister of it, I
hereby call upon you all, in the name of God, to set your faces, your
hearts, and your hands against all such acts, which are or shall be
passed against the covenanted work of reformation in this kingdom;
that we here declare ourselves free of the guilt of them, and pray that
God may put this in record in heaven.”
 These words having been sworn to, and Mr Livingston not denying
them, a sharp debate arose in the council what punishment to award.
The king’s advocate urged the utility of sending him forthwith to the
gallows; but some friends in the council got his sentence commuted
to banishment; and he was accordingly banished the kingdom. Six
more, against whom nothing could be proven farther than their
having been present at a conventicle, were sentenced to
imprisonment for two months; among this number, Haliday was one.
The other five were condemned to be executed at the cross of
Edinburgh, on the 14th of December following; and among this last
unhappy number was Mr John Lindsay.
Haliday now tried all the means he could devise to gain an
interview with Lindsay, to have some explanation of the
extraordinary scene he had witnessed in the cottage at midnight, for
it had made a fearful impression upon his mind, and he never could
get rid of it for a moment; having still in his mind’s eye a beautiful
country maiden standing with a pleased face, holding a candle, and
Lindsay in the meantime at his horrid task. His endeavours,
however, were all in vain, for they were in different prisons, and the
jailer paid no attention to his requests. But there was a gentleman in
the privy council that year, whose name, I think, was Gilmour, to
whose candour Haliday conceived that both he and some of his
associates owed their lives. To this gentleman, therefore, he applied
by letter, requesting a private interview with him, as he had a
singular instance of barbarity to communicate, which it would be
well to inquire into while the possibility of doing so remained, for the
access to it would soon be sealed for ever. The gentleman attended
immediately, and Haliday revealed to him the circumstances
previously mentioned, stating that the murderer now lay in the
Tolbooth jail, under sentence of death.
Gilmour appeared much interested, as well as astonished at the
narrative, and taking out a note-book, he looked over some dates,
and then observed—“This date of yours tallies exactly with one of my
own, relating to an incident of the same sort; but the circumstances
narrated are so different, that I must conceive either that you are
mistaken, or that you are trumping up this story to screen some
other guilty person or persons.”
 Haliday disclaimed all such motives, and persevered in his
attestations. Gilmour then took him along with him to the Tolbooth
prison, where the two were admitted to a private interview with the
prisoner, and there charged him with the crime of murder in such a
place and on such a night; but he denied the whole with disdain.
Haliday told him that it was in vain for him to deny it, for he beheld
him in the very act of perpetrating the murder with his own eyes,
while Gabriel Johnstone’s daughter stood deliberately and held the
candle to him.
“Hold your tongue, fellow!” said Lindsay, disdainfully, “for you
know not what you are saying. What a cowardly dog you must be by
your own account! If you saw me murdering a gentleman cavalier,
why did you not rush in to his assistance?”
“I could not have saved the gentleman then,” said Haliday, “and I
thought it not meet to intermeddle in such a scene of blood.”
“It was as well for you that you did not,” said Lindsay.
“Then you acknowledge being in the cottage of the dell that night?”
said Gilmour.
“And if I was, what is that to you? Or what is it now to me or any
person? I was there on the night specified; but I am ashamed of the
part I there acted, and am now well requited for it. Yes, requited as I
ought to be, so let it rest; for not one syllable of the transaction shall
any one hear from me.”
Thus they were obliged to leave the prisoner, and forthwith
Gilmour led Haliday up a stair to a lodging in the Parliament Square,
where they found a gentleman lying sick in bed, to whom Mr
Gilmour said, after inquiring after his health, “Brother Robert, I
conceive that we two have found out the young man who saved your
life at the cottage among the mountains.”
“I would give the half that I possess that this were true,” said the
sick gentleman. “Who or where is he?”
“If I am right in my conjecture,” said the privy councillor, “he is
lying in the Tolbooth jail, under sentence of death, and has but a few
days to live. But tell me, brother, could you know him, or have you
any recollection of his appearance?”
“Alas! I have none,” said the other, mournfully, “for I was
insensible, through the loss of blood, the whole time I was under his
protection; and if I ever heard his name I have lost it, the whole of
that period being a total blank in my memory. But he must be a hero
in the first rank; and therefore, oh, my dear brother, save him
whatever his crime may be.”
“His life is justly forfeited to the laws of his country, brother,” said
Gilmour, “and he must die with the rest.”
“He shall not die with the rest if I should die for him,” cried the
sick man, vehemently. “I will move heaven and earth before my
brave deliverer shall die like a felon.”
“Calm yourself, brother, and trust that part to me,” said Gilmour.
“I think my influence saved the life of this gentleman, as well as the
lives of some others, and it was all on account of the feeling of
respect I had for the party, one of whom, or, rather, two of whom,
acted such a noble and distinguished part toward you. But pray,
undeceive this gentleman by narrating the facts to him, in which he
cannot fail to be interested.” The sick man, whose name, if I
remember aright, was Captain Robert Gilmour, of the volunteers,
then proceeded as follows:—
“There having been high rewards offered for the apprehension of
some south-country gentlemen, whose correspondence with Mr
Welch, and some other of the fanatics, had been intercepted, I took
advantage of information I obtained regarding the place of their
retreat, and set out, certain of apprehending two of them at least.
“Accordingly, I went off one morning about the beginning of
November, with only five followers, well armed and mounted. We
left Gilmerton long before it was light, and having a trusty guide,
rode straight to their hiding-place, where we did not arrive till
towards the evening, when we started them. They were seven in
number, and were armed with swords and bludgeons; but, being
apprized of our approach, they fled from us, and took shelter in a
morass, into which it was impossible to follow them on horseback.
But perceiving three more men on another hill, I thought there was
no time to lose, so giving one of my men our horses to hold, the rest
of us advanced into the morass with drawn swords and loaded horse-
pistols. I called to them to surrender, but they stood upon their
guard, determined on resistance; and just when we were involved to
the knees in the mire of the morass, they broke in upon us, pell-mell,
and for about two minutes the engagement was very sharp. There
was an old man struck me a terrible blow with a bludgeon, and was
just about to repeat it, when I brought him down with a shot from my
pistol. A young fellow then ran at me with his sword, and as I still
stuck in the moss, I could not ward the blow, so that he got a fair
stroke at my neck, meaning, without doubt, to cut off my head; and
he would have done it had his sword been sharp. As it was, he cut it
to the bone, and opened one of the jugular veins. I fell; but my men
firing a volley in their faces, at that moment they fled. It seems we
did the same, without loss of time; for I must now take my narrative
from the report of others, as I remember no more that passed. My
men bore me on their arms to our horses, and then mounted and
fled, trying all that they could to stanch the bleeding of my wound.
But perceiving a party coming down a hill, as with the intent of
cutting off their retreat, and losing all hopes of saving my life, they
carried me into a cottage in a wild lonely retreat, commended me to
the care of the inmates; and after telling them my name, and in what
manner I had received my death wound, they thought proper to
provide for their own safety, and so escaped.
“The only inmates of that lonely house, at least at that present
time, were a lover and his mistress, but intercommuned Whigs; and
when my men left me on the floor, the blood, which they had
hitherto restrained in part, burst out afresh and deluged the floor.
The young man said it was best to put me out of my pain, but the girl
wept and prayed him rather to render me some assistance. ‘Oh,
Johnny, man, how can you speak that gate?’ cried she. ‘Suppose he
be our mortal enemy, he is aye ane o’ God’s creatures, an’ has a soul
to be saved as well as either you or me; and a soldier is obliged to do
as he is bidden. Now Johnny, ye ken ye were learned to be a doctor o’
physic; wad ye no rather try to stop the bleeding, and save the young
officer’s life, as either kill him, or let him bleed to death on our floor,
when the blame o’ the murder might fa’ on us!’
“‘Now, the blessing of heaven light on your head, my dear Sally!’
said the lover, ‘for you have spoken the very sentiments of my heart;
and, since it is your desire, though we should both rue it, I here vow
to you that I will not only endeavour to save his life, but I will defend
it against our own party to the last drop of my blood.’
“He then began, and, in spite of my feeble struggles, who knew not
either what I was doing or suffering, sewed up the hideous gash in
my throat and neck, tying every stitch by itself; and the house not
being able to produce a pair of scissors, it seems that he cut off all the
odds and ends of the stitching with a large sharp gully knife, and it
was likely to have been during the operation that this gentleman
chanced to look in at the window. He then bathed the wound for an
hour with cloths dipped in cold water, dressed it with plaster of
wood-betony, and put me to bed, expressing to his sweetheart the
most vivid hopes of my recovery.
“These operations were scarcely finished when the maid’s two
brothers came home from their hiding-place; and it seems they
would have been there much sooner had not this gentleman given
them chase in the contrary direction. They, seeing the floor all
covered with blood, inquired the cause with wild trepidation of
manner. Their sister was the first to inform them of what had
happened, on which both the young men gripped to their weapons,
and the eldest, Samuel, cried out with the vehemence of a maniac,
‘Blessed be the righteous avenger of blood! Hoo! Is it then true that
the Lord hath delivered our greatest enemy into our hands!’ ‘Hold,
hold, dearest brother!’ cried the maid, spreading out her arms before
him. ‘Would you kill a helpless young man, lying in a state of
insensibility! What! although the Almighty hath put his life in your
hand, will He not require the blood of you, shed in such a base and
cowardly way?’
“‘Hold your peace, foolish girl,’ cried he, in the same furious strain.
‘I tell you, if he had a thousand lives I would sacrifice them all this
moment! Wo be to this old rusty and fizenless sword that did not
sever his head from his body when I had a fair chance in the open
field! Nevertheless he shall die; for you do not yet know that he hath,
within these few hours, murdered our father, whose blood is yet
warm around him on the bleak height.’
“‘Oh! merciful heaven! killed our father!’ screamed the girl, and
flinging herself down on the resting-chair, she fainted away. The two
brothers regarded not, but with their bared weapons made towards
the closet, intent on my blood, and both vowing I should die if I had a
thousand lives. The stranger interfered, and thrust himself into the
closet door before them, swearing that, before they committed so
cowardly a murder they should first make their way through his
body.
 “Samuel retreated one step to have full sway for his weapon, and
the fury depicted on his countenance proved his determination. But
in a moment his gallant opponent closed with him, and holding up
his wrist with his left hand, he with the right bestowed on him a blow
with such energy that he fell flat on the floor among the soldier’s
blood. The youngest then ran on their antagonist with his sword and
wounded him, but the next moment he was lying beside his brother.
As soon as her brothers came fairly to their senses, the young woman
and her lover began and expostulated with them, at great length, on
the impropriety and unmanliness of the attempt, until they became
all of one mind, and the two brothers agreed to join in the defence of
the wounded gentleman, from all of their own party, until he was
rescued by his friends, which they did. But it was the maid’s simple
eloquence that finally prevailed with the fierce Covenanters.
“When my brothers came at last, with a number of my men, and
took me away, the only thing I remember seeing in the house was the
corpse of the old man whom I had shot, and the beautiful girl
standing weeping over the body; and certainly my heart smote me in
such a manner that I would not experience the same feeling again for
the highest of this world’s benefits. That comely young maiden, and
her brave intrepid lover, it would be the utmost ingratitude in me, or
in any of my family, ever to forget; for it is scarcely possible that a
man can ever be again in the same circumstances as I was, having
been preserved from death in the house of the man whom my hand
had just deprived of life.”
Just as he ended, the sick nurse peeped in, which she had done
several times before, and said, “Will your honour soon be
disengaged, d’ye think? for ye see because there’s a lass wanting till
speak till ye.”
“A lass, nurse? what lass can have any business with me? what is
she like?”
“Oo, ’deed, sir, the lass is weel enough for that part o’t, but she may
be nae better than she should be for a’ that; ye ken, I’se no answer for
that, for ye see because “like is an ill mark”; but she has been aften
up, speiring after ye, an’ gude troth she’s fairly in nettle-earnest now,
for she winna gang awa till she see your honour.”
The nurse being desired to show her in, a comely girl entered, with
a timid step, and seemed ready to faint with trepidation. She had a
mantle on, and a hood that covered much of her face. The privy
councillor spoke to her, desiring her to come forward and say her
errand, on which she said that “she only wanted a preevat word wi’
the captain, if he was that weel as to speak to ane,” He looked over
the bed, and desired her to say on, for that gentleman was his
brother, from whom he kept no secrets. After a hard struggle with
her diffidence, but, on the other hand, prompted by the urgency of
the case, she at last got out, “I’m unco glad to see you sae weel comed
round again, though I daresay ye’ll maybe no ken wha I am. But it
was me that nursed ye, an’ took care o’ ye in our house, when your
head was amaist cuttit off.”
There was not another word required to draw forth the most
ardent expressions of kindness from the two brothers, on which the
poor girl took courage, and, after several showers of tears, she said,
with many bitter sobs, “There’s a poor lad wha, in my humble
opinion, saved your life; an’ wha is just gaun to be hanged the day
after the morn. I wad unco fain beg your honour’s interest to get his
life spared.”
“Say not another word, my dear good girl,” said the councillor; “for
though I hardly know how I can intercede for a rebel who has taken
up arms against the government, yet, for your sake and his, my best
interest shall be exerted.”
“Oh, ye maun just say, sir, that the poor Whigs were driven to
desperation, and that this young man was misled by others in the
fervour and enthusiasm of youth. What else can ye say? But ye’re
good—oh, ye’re very good! and on my knees I beg that ye winna lose
ony time, for indeed there is nae time to lose!”
The councillor lifted her kindly by both hands, and desired her to
stay with his brother’s nurse till his return, on which he went away to
the president, and in half-an-hour returned with a respite for the
convict, John Lindsay, for three days, which he gave to the girl, along
with an order for her admittance to the prisoner. She thanked him
with the tears in her eyes, but added, “Oh, sir, will he and I then be
obliged to part for ever at the end of three days?”
“Keep up your heart, and encourage your lover,” said he, “and
meet me here again, on Thursday, at this same hour, for, till the
council meet, nothing further than this can be obtained.”
 It may well be conceived how much the poor forlorn prisoner was
astonished when his own beloved Sally entered to him with a
reprieve in her hand, and how much his whole soul dilated when, on
the Thursday following, she presented him with a free pardon. They
were afterwards married, when the Gilmours took them under their
protection. Lindsay became a highly qualified surgeon, and the
descendants of this intrepid youth occupy respectable situations in
Edinburgh to the present day.
 GRAYSTEEL:
A TRADITIONARY STORY OF CAITHNESS.

In a beautiful valley in the highlands of Caithness, lies embosomed

a small mountain tarn, called the Loch of Ranag. The hill of
Bencheildt, which ascends abruptly from the water’s edge, protects it
on the north. On the south it is overlooked by a chain of lofty
mountains, individually named Scarabine, Morven, and the Pap,
which form a natural barrier betwixt Sutherland and Caithness.
Morven, the highest in the range, is nearly two thousand feet above
the level of the sea, and turns up conspicuously over the
neighbouring summits, like a huge pyramid. The extensive wild lying
between this magnificent chain of hills and Ranag, is clothed in the
autumnal season with rich purple heather; and here the plover and
the grouse, the denizens of the solitary waste, live unmolested,
except by the murderous gun of the sportsman. Near the north edge
of the loch to which we have just alluded, there is a small island, on
which may be still seen the ruins of an old keep or castle. The last
proprietor of this fortalice is said to have been a noted freebooter of
the name of Graysteel, who kept the whole county in alarm by his
predatory incursions from the Ord to Duncansbay Head, and, like
Rob Roy and others of the same stamp, rigorously exacted “black
mail,” or protection money. Tradition also reports, that, besides
being possessed of great bodily strength, he was an expert
swordsman, and a person of such a jealous and tyrannical
disposition, that none durst venture to hunt or shoot on his grounds,
without being challenged to single combat; and it may be added, that
none whom he encountered trespassing in this way ever escaped
alive out of his hands. It happened that one of the family of Rollo,
while pursuing his sport in the direction, one day unfortunately
encroached on the sacred property of the robber. Being informed by
some of his retainers that a stranger was hunting on the west side of
the lake, Graysteel immediately sallied forth, and, running up
towards the sportsman with menacing looks and gestures, gave him
the accustomed challenge. Rollo saw he had no alternative but to give
him combat, and being a high-spirited young man, he instantly drew
his sword; and, although he defended himself for some time with
great skill and courage, it is needless to say that he sank at last,
mortally wounded, under the more powerful arm of his antagonist.
The ruffian afterwards stripped the dead body of every thing that was
of any value, and then threw it into the loch.
The account of this melancholy occurrence, as soon as it reached
the family and relatives of the unfortunate youth, plunged them into
the deepest distress; but none did it inspire with more poignant
regret than the young laird of Durie, who was his bosom friend, and
had just been affianced to his sister, a very beautiful and interesting
girl of sixteen. The moment he heard of Rollo’s tragical death, he
determined to avenge it, although he knew he had little chance of
surviving a personal encounter with such a desperado as Graysteel.
Accordingly, having furnished himself with a good Highland
broadsword, and without communicating his intention to any one, he
set off for the residence of the freebooter. Nor was the route he had
to take, any more than the occasion of the journey, agreeable. A
trackless moor, of some miles in extent, lay between him and Ranag,
so very bleak and barren, that, in the words of the poet,
The solitary bee
Flew there on restless wing,
Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.

He had not gone far, however, when he was overtaken by a severe

storm, which rendered it impossible for him to continue his journey.
The wind, which blew at times with irresistible fury, dashed the rain
in his face, mingled with hail, and howled like a maniac on the naked
moor. Clouds of turbid vapour, issuing, as it were, from a vast
furnace, hurried across the sky; and now and then the rolling of
thunder, while it prognosticated a continuance of the storm, added
not a little to its terrors. Driven by the wind, and battered by the rain,
our traveller began anxiously to look around him for some place of
shelter. At length, to his great joy, he espied, a few hundred yards
distant, a small solitary cottage, situated on the edge of the moor.
Thither he immediately directed his steps, and, on entering, found its
sole occupant to be a poor aged widow, who lived upon the
gratuitous bounty of the public. There was something, however, in
her appearance, though bent down with years and infirmities, that
spoke of better days. On a small stool beside her lay the Bible, which
she seemed to have been just reading. She welcomed in the stranger
with a look of much cheerfulness, and kindly offered him such
accommodation for the night as her scanty means could afford. As
the storm continued to rage with unabated violence, Durie gladly
accepted the proffered hospitality; and, in the meantime, the
venerable hostess did all in her power to make him comfortable, by
putting an additional peat or two on the hearth, and furnishing him
with something to eat. On examining the scanty furniture of the
apartment, which was now more distinctly seen by the light of a
blazing turf-fire, he observed, in one corner, a very uncommon-
looking sword, with the appearance of which he was not a little
struck. The hilt and blade were covered over with a variety of strange
characters and fantastic devices, plainly indicating that it was of
foreign manufacture, and belonged to a remote period. His curiosity
was powerfully excited; and on asking the old woman how she came
by such a magnificent weapon, she gave him the following particulars
regarding it. The sword, which had originally belonged to a noble
Saracen, was that of her deceased husband, who had been a
volunteer in the regiment of Highlanders that had gone over to
Holland under the command of Lord Reay. He had received it as a
present from a Polish Jew, whose life he had saved in a moment of
extreme danger. She, moreover, informed him that her husband,
while on his deathbed, had strictly enjoined her not to sell or dispose
of it in any way, but to preserve it as an heirloom of the family. On
getting this account of the sword, Durie told the woman who he was,
and the errand on which he was going, and begged of her to give him
the use of it for a single day. After much entreaty, she at last agreed
to give it, on the condition that it should be strictly returned.
The storm, which was short-lived in proportion to its violence,
gradually died away towards morning; and at the first peep of dawn
our hero, who burned with impatience to measure weapons with the
murderer of his friend, was up, and, with his enchanted sword firmly
girt on his side, pursuing his solitary route across the moors. His
spirits were now buoyant with hope; and he beheld with a feeling of
sympathy the universal gladness which, after the late convulsion of
its elements, was diffused over the face of nature. Already the “bird
of the wilderness” sang blithely overhead, whilst the beams of a
brilliant morning sun were beginning to dissipate the mists which lay
thick and heavy upon the hills. Our traveller was not long in reaching
the brow of Benchieldt; and scarcely had he descended half way
down the side fronting the castle, when he was met by Graysteel,
who, as usual, challenged him for intruding on his grounds, and
desired him to draw and defend himself. “Villain!” cried Durie,
unsheathing his weapon, which flashed in his hand like the
Scandinavian monarch’s celebrated elfin sword—“villain! you
wantonly slew my friend, and you shall this day atone for it with your
heart’s blood!”
The robber chief laughed scornfully at what he considered an
empty bravado, and immediately made a thrust at his opponent,
which the latter parried off with admirable dexterity. A desperate
struggle now ensued. Graysteel fought with the fury of an enraged
mastiff; but young Durie pressed upon him so hard with his never-
failing blade, that he was obliged to give way, and at last received a
mortal wound. After this, the hero of our tale went immediately
home, and, having raised a body of stout followers, proceeded back
to Ranag, took the castle, and nearly levelled it with the ground.
The denouement of our little story may be anticipated. After a
decent period for mourning had elapsed, Durie led his beautiful
bride to the hymeneal altar. Nor, in the midst of his happiness, did
he forget his good friend, the old woman of the moor. The sword,
which had proved so invaluable an auxiliary to him in the hour of
need, he not only returned to her, but he took her under his
protection, and kept her comfortable for the rest of her days—
Joy seized her withered veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours.

—John O’Groat Journal, 1836.

 THE BILLETED SOLDIER.

In the autumn of 1803, the Forfar and Kincardine militia,—then an

infantry regiment of about 1000 strong,—en route from the south of
Scotland to Aberdeen, along the coast road, happened to perform the
march between the towns of Montrose and Bervie on a Saturday. The
want of the required accommodation in Bervie for so many men
rendered it necessary that a considerable portion should be billeted
in the adjoining villages of Johnshaven and Gourdon, and on farmers
and others on the line of march. In carrying out this arrangement, it
so happened that one private soldier was billeted on a farmer or
crofter of the name of Lyall, on the estate of East Mathers, situated
about a mile north-west of the village of Johnshaven. David Lyall,
gudeman of Gateside, was a douce, respectable individual, a worthy
member, if not an elder, of the secession church, Johnshaven. His
wife, Mrs Lyall, possessed many of the good qualities of her worthy
husband, whom she highly venerated, and pithily described as being
“as gude a man as ever lay at a woman’s side.” Mrs Lyall was a rigid
seceder, a strict Sabbatarian, stern and rigorous in everything
relating to the kirk and kirk affairs, deeply learned in polemical
disquisitions, had a wondrous “gift of gab,” and by no means allowed
the talent to lie idle in a napkin.
The soldier produced his billet, was kindly received, treated to the
best as regarded bed and board, was communicative, and entered
into all the news of the day with the worthy couple. Everything ran
smoothly on the evening of Saturday, and an agreeable intimacy
seemed to be established in the family; but the horror of Mrs Lyall
may be conceived, when, on looking out in the morning rather early,
she saw the soldier stripped to the shirt, switching, brushing, and
scrubbing his clothes on an eminence in front of the house.
 “Get up, David Lyall,” she said, “get up; it ill sets you to be lying
there snoring, an’ that graceless pagan brackin’ the Lord’s day wi’ a’
his might, at oor door.”
David looked up, and quietly composing himself again, said, “The
articles of war, gudewife, the articles of war; puir chiel, he canna help
himsel—he maun do duty Sunday as well as Saturday.”
The soldier, after cleaning his clothes and taking a stroll in the
romantic dell of Denfenella adjoining, returned in time to breakfast,
which was a silent meal. With Mrs Lyall there was only “mony a sad
and sour look,” and on the table being cleared, she placed on it, or
rather thrust, the “big ha’ Bible” immediately in front of the soldier.
“Weel, mistress,” said the soldier, “what book is this?”
“That’s a beuk, lad,” said the gudewife, “that I muckle doubt that
you and the like o’ ye ken unco little about.”
“Perhaps,” was the reply; “we shall see.”
On opening the book the soldier said, “I have seen such a book
before.”
“Gin ye’ve seen sic a book before,” said Mrs Lyall, “let’s hear gin ye
can read ony.”
“I don’t mind though I do,” said the soldier, and taking the Bible
he read a chapter that had been marked by Mrs Lyall as one
condemnatory of his seeming disregard of the Sabbath. The reading
of the soldier was perfect.
“There, lad,” said David Lyall, “ye read like a minister.”
“An’ far better than mony ane o’ them,” said the mistress; “but gifts
are no graces,” she continued; “it’s nae the readin’ nor the hearin’
that maks a gude man—na, na, it’s the right and proper application—
the practice, that’s the real thing.”
David saw that “the mistress was aboot to mount her favourite
hobbyhorse,” and cut her lecture short by remarking that “it was
time to make ready for the kirk.”
“Aye, ye’ll gae to the kirk,” said Mrs Lyall, “an’ tak the sodger wi’
ye; and see that ye fesh the sermon hame atween ye, as I am no gaun
mysel the day.”
The soldier acquiesced, and on their way to church Mr Lyall
remarked, among other things, that “the gudewife was, if anything,