Some weeks ago I asked if any reader of my column could enlighten me on the significance of the number 108. There is no mention of the number in any of our sacred texts but it has somehow come to be regarded as holy. Who thought it out? When? And why? I received no answers to the first two questions and conflicting replies to the third. Then a reader from Patiala sent me a photo-stat copy of an entry entitled Japmala in Bhai Sahib Kahan Singh’s encyclopaedia, Mahankosh. It deals with rosaries used by people of different faiths. The materials the rosaries are made of vary from precious or semi-precious stones, vegetable seeds like rudraksh to plain cotton or wool used by the Sufis. Bhai Kahan Singh affirms that the figure 108 may have been arrived at by multiplying the 12 signs of the Zodiac with the nine planets. He also alludes to a text, Yoginitantra, by Mahadev which mentions rosaries of different sizes, culminating in 108, which is considered the best.

The Muslims tasbeeh apparently started with 9 beads standing for the 99 names of Allah. Nevertheless, many tasbees have 100 or 101 beads of different metals or semi-precious stones.

Christian rosaries had 150 beads of different sizes made of wood. The larger beads were meant to remind the worshipper to say Ave Maria (Hail Mary) and Pater Noster (Our Father). Catholics make do with rosaries of 50 beads.

Jains use rosaries of 111 beads.

In west Asia, a common sight is that of well-to-do sheikhs with small rosaries of amber, jade and other colourful stones. They turn the beads round and round between their thumbs and index fingers and toss them back as they stroll about or chat with friends. They are called ‘worry beads’ as they are supposed to ease tension.

I conclude that there are no answers to my questions and that we Indians find it very difficult to admit that we do not know.

Keeping the news alive

The information came by post from Farzana Contractor. The opening paragraph of the letter reads: “It is my unhappy duty to inform you that The Afternoon, the paper that Behram Contractor started 22 years ago is no more. It’s been killed. In the most appalling manner possible. And I, Behram’s wife, who did my utmost to keep it going, particularly in the last six-and-a-half years since Behram has been gone, am absolutely devastated.”

I did not get to know Behram Contractor too well yet I count him amongst the most unforgettable characters I have ever met. For some years we worked under the same roof of The Times of India building. He came every morning to deliver the column, “Busy Bee”, which he wrote for The Evening News. Occasionally he would glide into my office and take a seat across the table. He would fix me with a stare and ask, “So?”

“So what?”, I’d reply.

“How’s life?”

“Chalta hai.”

He never got down to serious subjects or even office gossip. After a few minutes he’d raise the palm of his hand, say “achha” and glide out. At times, I saw him wondering about like a lost soul in the crowded streets around Flora Fountain. He did not seem to be interested in the people or in looking at the shop windows. But he was taking in the scene and reproducing it in his column. He invented a canine companion, named Bolshoi — very much like Vinod Mehta, the editor of Outlook, has his dog named Editor. But while Editor can be vicious and bite people, Behram endowed his dog with worldly wisdom and made him pronounce on local, national and international matters without as much as a bow-wow. Readers lapped it up. Evening News owed its circulation entirely to Behram Contractor’s “Busy Bee”. When he decided to quit the job and start his own, The Afternoon Dispatch and Courier, Evening News ceased publication. Readers took to Behram’s paper. After he died six years ago, his Muslim wife Farzana took over as the editor. She kept her husband’s memory alive by reproducing his column and publishing them in book form.

Evidently, at some stage the millionaire, Kamal Morarka, acquired a majority of shares in Behram-Farzana’s company. Recently, he took umbrage over Farzana describing herself as editor of the paper and sent in his men to the office to take over. Farzana was abroad then. Her staff refused to vacate the premises. So war has been declared over what appears to me a verbal quibble. It is hard to battle against a money bag. But Farzana is a gutsy woman. I keep my fingers crossed.

The reluctant atheist

At the cul de sac, I heard him say —

“You have the right of way”

Some sense of humour —

What a heavenly blur —

And faith is to be borne out of this

doubt?

Is that all that you are all about?

Must my belief act as your fuel —

To help you mobilize and look real?

Turns the tables, doesn’t it?

Somewhere your omnipotent image

doesn’t quite fit.

Takes guys like St Augustine to

say —

‘I would not have sought you

Had I not found you.”

(Contributed by Soma Jha, Calcutta)