Near the snow,near the sun , in the highest field
See how those names are feted by the wavering grass,
And by the streamers of white cloud,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those who in their lives have fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they traveled a short while towrads the sun.
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields, See how these names are fêted in the waving grass And by the streamers of the white cloud And whispers of the wind in the listening sky. The names of those who in their lives fought for life, Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre. Born of the sun, they travelled a short while toward the sun And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

On Monday the 9th of the first Jumada, we got out of the suburbs of Agra, on our journey (safar) for the Holy War, and dismounted in the open country, where we remained three or four days to collect our army and be its rallying-point...On this occasion I received a secret inspiration and heard an infallible voice say: 'Is not the time yet come unto those who believe, that their hearts should humbly submit to the admonition of Allah, and that truth which hath been revealed? Thereupon we set ourselves to extirpate the things of wickedness...
Above all, adequate thanks cannot be rendered for a benefit than which none is greater in the world and nothing is more blessed, in the world to come, to wit, victory over most powerful infidels and dominion over wealthiest heretics, these are the unbelievers, the wicked.'In the eyes of the judicious, no blessing can be greater than this....Previous to the rising in Hindustan of the Sun of dominion and the emergence there of the light of the Shahansha's (i.e. Babur's) Khalifate the authority of that execrated pagan (Sanga) - at the Judgment Day he shall have no friend - was such that not one of all the exalted sovereigns of this wide realm, such as the Sultan of Delhi, the Sultan of Gujarat and the Sultan of Mandu, could cope with this evil-dispositioned one, without the help of other pagans...
Ten powerful chiefs, each the leader of a pagan host, uprose in rebellion, as smoke rises, and linked themselves, as though enchained, to that perverse one (Sanga); and this infidel decade who, unlike the blessed ten, uplifted misery-freighted standards which denounce unto them excruciating punishment, had many dependents, and troops, and wide-extended lands....The protagonists of the royal forces fell, like divine destiny, on that one-eyed Dajjal who to understanding men, shewed the truth of the saying, When Fate arrives, the eye becomes blind, and setting before their eyes the scripture which saith, whosoever striveth to promote the true religion, striveth for the good of his own soul, they acted on the precept to which obedience is due, Fight against infidels and hypocrites...
The pagan right wing made repeated and desperate attack on the left wing of the army of Islam, falling furiously on the holy warriors, possessors of salvation, but each time was made to turn back or, smitten with the arrows of victory, was made to descend into Hell, the house of perdition: they shall be thrown to bum therein, and an unhappy dwelling shall it be. Then the trusty amongst the nobles, Mumin Ataka and Rustam Turkman betook themselves to the rear of the host of darkened pagans...
At the moment when the holy warriors were heedlessly flinging away their lives, they heard a secret voice say, Be not dismayed, neither be grieved, for, if ye believe, ye shall be exalted above the unbelievers, and from the infallible Informer heard the joyful words, Assistance is from Allah, and a speedy victory! And do thou bear glad tiding to true believers. Then they fought with such delight that the plaudits of the saints of the Holy Assembly reached them and the angels from near the Throne, fluttered round their heads like moths.

Far away from Oshoro in Nara Prefecture on the island of Honshu, there is a sacred mountain called Miwa-Yama. In a pattern with which I was now becoming familiar, this entire pyramid-shaped mountain is considered by Japan's indigenous Shinto religion to be a shrine, possessed by the spirit of a god who 'stayed his soul' within it in ancient times. His correct name is Omononushino-Kami (although he is also popularly known as Daikokusama) and according to the ancient texts he is 'the guardian deity of human life' who taught mankind how to cure disease, manufacture medicines and grow crops. His symbol, very strikingly, is a serpent — and to this day serpents are still venerated at Mount Miwa, where pilgrims bring them boiled eggs and cups of sake.

While the annual festival in which the god is taken over- night to the banks of the Coleroon river, a little to the south-east of Srirangam — a festival lasting a few hours — was being celebrated, tidings came that an army of the Muhammadans had come in and occupied parts of the Tondamandalam (the two Arcots and Chingleput) and a small body of troops was marching rapidly towards Samaya- varam about five miles from the north bank of the Coleroon. The principal Brahman citizens of the town, who had assembled at the celebration of the festival and who were in charge of the temple, not having got through the festival cast lots in the presence of the idol whether to stay or to go. They got an answer directing them to stay. They stayed over therefore to complete the festival, and in the meanwhile information was brought to them that the flying column of the Muhammadans was dashing past Samaya- varam. They therefore made haste to wind up proceedings, and, sending away the god and the goddess, in a small palanquin under the escort of Lokacharya (Pillai Loka- charya) and a few stout-hearted followers and carriers, the assembled multitude got themselves ready for the attack. They had not to wait long before they were actually attacked, and destroyed in large numbers. From out of this massacre Vedantacharya escaped, with the two little sons of Srutaprakasikacharya, and the single manuscript of his famous commentary on the Sri Bhashya, and betook himself through unfrequented roadways to Satyamangalam on the borders of Mysore. Lokacharya and his companions took their way to the south for safety. Fearing that they would be overtaken if they went along the road, they seemed to have kept more or less close to the road, but avoided the road-way and proceeded slowly through jungles and unfrequented tracts across the state of Pudukotta. .... They therefore made a further detour to the east and getting through a more or less dense forest region, they came to a place called Jyotishkudi (Jyotishmatl- pura), where they lived a few months. During their residence there, information reached them that the bulk of the citizens of Srirangam were massacred, the temple itself sacked and desecrated, and all those citizens that Lokacharya knew and cared for had suffered death. On hearing this distressing account of what happened to his friends and companions he got ill and died. ....When they felt the road ways safe, they carried the image across to Tirupati. The story closes that from Tirupati, the image was taken over to Ginji by Gopana and ultimately got back to Srirangam.

I have climbed mountain Iwato of Higo in Kyushu to pay homage to heaven, pray to Kwannon, and kneel before Buddha. I am a warrior of Harima province, Shinmen Musashi No Kami Fujiwara No Genshin, age sixty years. From youth my heart has been inclined toward the Way of strategy. My first duel was when I was thirteen, I struck down a strategist of the Shinto school, one Arima Kihei. When I was sixteen I struck down an able strategist Tadashima Akiyama. When I was twenty-one I went up to the capital and met all manner of strategists, never once failing to win in many contests.

The columns of mounted men moved forward, passed out through the gates of the Palace of Karma, turned off the roadway and headed up the slope that lay to the southeast of the city of Mahartha, comrades blazing like the dawn at their back.

NOVEMBER 29th – At length, I obtained a view of this, perhaps the most renowned of all the shrines of India, ‘the city’ par eminence, more reverentially styled Deva-Puttun, ‘the city of the god,’ or still more accurately, Deva-Pat’han, ‘the chief dwelling of the deity.’…As we approached, we crossed the Triveni, or three united streams, viz. the Vrijini, the Sarasvati (a name of the Hindu Minerva), and the Hiranya, or ‘golden.’…What a host of associations arose to one who had indulged the hope of making a pilgrimage to this the most celebrated shrine connected with Hindu and Mooslem history! Pressing on to the goal, I passed, with mingled prejudice and contempt, the place of sepulture of the Mooslem saint, Abbi-Sah, nor halted for breath, until within the “temple of the sun,” deserted, desecrated, a receptacle for kine, the pinnacle, to its spring from the cella, demolished, and the fragments strewing the ground. There is nothing of immensity, though there is great solidity, in the structure, which is of the order of sacred architecture called Sikra-bund, or ‘pinnacled,’ and with all the details of decoration laid down in the Silpi-sastra. The figures are bold in design, the attitudes of some striking, but the material, a coarse gritty sand-stone, does not give great scope or facility to the chisel; yet, as a whole, the edifice is imposing. The jambs and lintel of the entrance-door are of a well-polished yellow-coloured mineral, apparently jasper, though it may be that species of marble akin to the jaune antique. The munduff, or central dome, is not above sixteen feet in diameter, supported by strong, slightly ornamented columns, having a portico all round, terminated by square pilasters abutting from the external wall. Beyond the munduff, there is a domed vestibule, with pillars and pilasters, leading to the sanctum, where a globular patch of red paint, placed by the cowherds, is now the only symbol of the sun-god. The sovereigns of Nehrwalla had repaired the injuries done by Mahmoud, but the spire, again thrown down by the sanguinary Alla, has never been re-erected. North of the temple is the Surya-coonda, excavated from the solid rock. The descent to it is by a steep flight of narrow steps. The water is said to cure the diseases of both body and mind, the term of ablution and probation being one solar revolution, during which, not only faith, but good works must be manifested, in order to make the remedy efficacious…

When, in 586 A.D., the Emperor Yomei died, the succession was contested in arms by two rival families, both of them politically devoted to the new creed. Prince Shotoku Taishi, who had been born, we are told, with a holy relic clasped in his infant hand, led the Buddhist faction to victory, established the Empress Suiko on the throne, and for twenty-nine years (592-621) ruled the Sacred Islands as Prince Imperial and Regent. He lavished funds upon Buddhist temples, encouraged and supported the Buddhist clergy, promulgated the Buddhist ethic in national decrees, and became in general the Ashoka of Japanese Buddhism. He patronized the arts and sciences, imported artists and artisans from Korea and China, wrote history, painted pictures, and supervised the building of the Horiuji Temple, the oldest extant masterpiece in the art history of Japan. Despite the work of this versatile civilizer, and all the virtues inculcated or preached by Buddhism, another violent crisis came to Japan within a generation after Shotoku’s death.

It was a time of anxiety and danger; and for our captive, of hardship and distress. During a lull in the pursuit, we woke up among the rocks just as a brilliant dawn was breaking over the crest of Mount Ida. We had been toiling over it, through snow and then rain, for the last two days. Looking across the valley at this flashing mountain-crest, the general [Kriepe] murmured to himself:<blockquote>Vides ut alta stet nive candidum, Soracte...</blockquote>

The commemoration is a healing experience.

And so their spirits soared
as they took positions own the passageways of battle
all night long, and the watchfires blazed among them.
Hundreds strong, as stars in the night sky glittering
round the moon's brilliance blaze in all their glory
when the air falls to a sudden, windless calm...
all the lookout peaks stand out and the jutting cliffs
and the steep ravines and down from the high heavens bursts
the boundless bright air and all the stars shine clear
and the shepherd's heart exults - so many fires burned
between the ships and the Xanthus' whirling rapids
set by the men of Troy, bright against their walls.
A thousand fires were burning there on the plain
and beside each fire sat fifty fighting men
poised in the leaping blaze, and champing oats
and glistening barley, stationed by their chariots,
stallions waited for Dawn to mount her glowing throne.

Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns:
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.