Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

"Iron Tower"

In Mr. Kimura Fusakichi's "Hotoke" published in the inaugural issue, my paper on statistical linguistic methodology (appearing in Kaleidoscope) that I had written years ago for Shisō was referenced; seizing this connection as an opportunity, I decided to set down some thoughts that had occurred to me.

Various intriguing facts exist regarding both "warau" (to laugh) and its counterpart laugh.
Laugh is said to derive from Old Saxon hlehhan - if we hypothesize that dropping the initial h yields English and German forms, with this h becoming ha before shifting to wa, it would appear to align phonetically with Japanese warau (to laugh).
In Greek gelao too, g transforms into gh before being dropped entirely to become ha.
"If this changes further to wa," I mused, "it becomes Japanese through and through - a most curious phenomenon."
While Latin rideo and French rire differ somewhat phonetically, they undeniably belong to the ra-line consonant group.
Expressions like guffawing ("gera-gera warau")...
...and mindless giggling ("hera-hera warau") suggest combinations like g+l or h+l might be fundamentally onomatopoeic.
Murray’s glak follows similar principles.
The term ilai for equine laughter shows particular proximity to Japanese phonology.

The 'asa' in 'azawarau' (to sneer) might derive from the 'asa' in 'asamiwarau,' but this actually connects to the Sanskrit root √has. Taking the first-person singular present form hasami made for a striking resemblance. Hāsita refers to something laughable and relates to hasutanai (indecent). That 'hashagu' means laughing boisterously while 'asamashii' could sometimes denote something laughable presented an intriguing duality.

In Semitic languages as well, (Ar.)basama meaning "to smile" resembled asamu and asamashii. However, the dahika in "warau" (to laugh) rather resembled "tawake". (Ar.)fariha meant "to rejoice" and resembled "warau" (to laugh).

The term "asamashii" also connected to (Skt.)vismayas in the sense of "to be surprised", but more fundamentally, its roots smi and smaya related to smiling.

(Skt.)garh primarily denoted criticism but could also convey scornful laughter. This (garh) also belonged to the g+r category. Speaking of which, "mockery" (gurō) similarly belonged to the g+r category, which remained quite curious.

"The term 'berabō' (absurd) had also been cited; regarding this, immediate examples included (Skt.) prabhū and parama, neither being entirely devoid of absurd connotations."
"Yet even balavat—derived from bala meaning 'strength'—showed some resemblance."
"'Rare/unusual' and 'unprecedented'"
"When written in Japanese-style romanization, even other terms like aprāpya and apurva fell into the p+r+b(m) category."
"These Sanskrit terms demonstrably sprang from entirely distinct roots, yet shared both phonetic commonalities and semantic overlaps—an utterly mystifying phenomenon."

English brave and bravo were also cousins of berabō, though there existed a theory positing their relation to (L.) barbarus. If this held true, barbaros in Greek appeared to have similarly functioned as a derogatory term for foreigners. However, this semantic shift to "brave" created slight dissonance. Conversely, Barbarossa meaning "red beard" presented its own curious dimension.

(Ar.) gharib and ghurabā ("abnormal") came to resemble warau when stripped of their velar 'g', while shifting 'h' to 'b' brought them closer to berabō. Thus the fascination lay in how warau and berabō became linguistically indistinguishable as either cousins or second cousins. Incidentally, the correlation between (Skt.) ullasitā denoting happiness and (L.) jocus relating to mockery offered further intrigue.

When considering barbarus, what came to mind were "yaban" (savagery) and (Skt.) yavana.
The latter term, which originally denoted Greeks (Ionians), later came to be used for foreigners in general or Muslims, making it fascinating as it corresponded precisely to the Greeks’ barbaros.
They belonged to the category of eastern and southern barbarians and were companions of hairy Westerners.
It would be remiss not to find intriguing nuance in how this “Yavana” connected to “barbarism” and resonated with “uncouthness.”

Moreover, this "ketō" (hairy Westerner) connected to the Greek "sea monster" kètos, and was not entirely unrelated to "kedamono" (beast) or "kisogui" (aloofness).

Changing the subject, a few days ago when I had dinner with some young people, an article from a certain newspaper claiming to explain the etymology of "sukiyaki" came up in conversation.
Before the Restoration, eating beef was prohibited, so people would secretly go out to the fields and build fires.
Then they would place meat pieces on an iron plow blade and hold it over the flames to grill slowly before eating.
We all laughed at this explanation being too pat to be true.
Among those theories was one suggesting that "suki" came from "steak."
Since Japanese speakers struggle with consonant clusters, reducing 'st' to 's' seemed plausible.
If plaster and stucco share roots through consonant shifts like this suki-steak theory posits...
Incidentally, Sanskrit jval means 'to burn.'
This connects conceptually with 'slowly and steadily.'

The "shigi" in eggplant "shigi-yaki" (grilled snipe) had various forced etymologies, but changing it to "shiki" gave rise to the suspicion that it might ultimately be the same as "suki."

Steak was apparently related to Icelandic steik, but what made this fascinating was how the "Hitaki" in "Hitaki no Okina" came to resemble "shitaki" when the pronunciation was slurred.
The character '焚' (to burn) connected to Sanskrit dah, but this connection seemed far more plausible.
Icelandic steik was related to steka and the English stick (sutekki), and apparently referred to food skewered and grilled over fire—what one might call "kushiyaki."
If we supposed this stick linked to German stechen (to stab), then "stab/poke" (tsuku/tsutsuku) approached steik, while a natural kinship emerged between the latter and "plow" (suku).

Such whimsical comparisons lay entirely outside modern linguistics' domain.
Yet these various mysterious phenomena remained mysteries that demanded scientific explanation.
Before dismissing them all as mere coincidence, we needed to sift them through rational methods and scrutinize them.
But linguistics rooted in oversimplified assumptions—viewing language evolution as merely linear and one-dimensional—offered no prospect of explanation.
At minimum, I believed we must attempt even the statistical methodology I had previously proposed.
The examples above should be regarded as mere specimens among the voluminous material required for such an endeavor.

If I may be permitted, I would like to occasionally record fragments of such material in the margins of this journal for future reference.
(December 1932, Iron Tower)

II

Both anchor and anger are pronounced "ikari."
However, from a Japanese perspective,the English words "anchor" and "anger" also resemble each other.
"Anchor" and "anger."

The word "anchor" derives from Latin _anchara_ and Greek _Ankiyura_ (meaning "curved hook"),and thus appears related to English _angle_.
In Persia.it is _lāngar_.
In Sanskrit,_lāngala_ refers to a plow but apparently also carries a meaning similar to anchor.
Simultaneously.it also carries meaning of _membrum virile_.
In Russia.it is _Yākori_.
In this case.it comes remarkably close to Japanese.
"Ikari" also resembles "_ikuri_."

The word anger was said to relate to terms denoting anguish like Icelandic ångr and Latin angor, while simultaneously connecting to Swedish ånger meaning remorse. This Swedish ånger bore resemblance to okoru.

The term choler—meaning anger—was noted to derive from Greek cholē (bile), with suggested connections to cholera, gall, and yellow. Assuming the initial 'i' in ikari served merely as a vocalic onset made this phonological convergence all the more intriguing.

What proved particularly fascinating about the Greek terms Karepos, Orgiros, and Agurios was how each consistently featured either k or g followed by l or r sounds.

In Russia, g corresponds to h.
In Japan, h corresponds to f.
Substituting fr for gr therefore corresponds to English fury, Latin furia, and furere.

In the Kyushu region, d corresponds to r.
Substituting gd for gr reveals its presence in the Arabic verb ghadiba (anger).
This final *ba* may at times lose its resonance through mere *b*.

In the Nagoya dialect, getting angry is reportedly called 'guzaru,' while Malay uses gusari.
In parts of Tosa, children's sulky grumbling of "guzu-guzu" is termed gujireru or gujikuru.
In Arabic, "to enrage severely" becomes ghāza.

Russia's "anger" *gniev* resembled the initial portion of the Greek verb *aganaktein*. The *Kojiki*'s "igofu" also bore resemblance. While changing *gn* to *hn* in the Russian style, removing the "心" component from "忿怒" and reading it in Go-on yielded *hnn*.

The English *gnarl* related to “to growl.” It also connected to *ganaru* (to howl). The English "vex" was related to Latin *vehere*, which carried the meaning of “transportation,” and was said to derive from Sanskrit *vah*. In Japan as well, it proved interesting how *okoru* (to get angry) and *okuru* (to send) resembled each other in contrast. Since *h* often corresponded to *kh* or *k*, *uehere* and *uokoru* stood not so far apart. It was noted that *weigh* too shared this connection. *Vah* linked to *to carry* (負う).

The expressions *hara o tateru* and *haradatsu* (both meaning "to get angry") were considered likely examples of phonetic borrowing (*ateji*). By replacing the *k* in Sanskrit *krudhyati* with *h*, one could at least obtain the phonetic sequence *hrdt*. When compared with the consonants of *haradati*, these proved identical. Were this considered coincidental, it would constitute a correspondence of rather low probability. Russian *serditi* likewise showed some resemblance. The similarity between "to become irritated" (苛立つ) and "irritate" (L. irritare) remained evident.

It is also a fact that the "araburu" in "the raging god" bears resemblance to the Latin rabere = to rage.

"It is puzzling why 'tokoya' (床屋), literally 'bed shop,' refers to a barber."
"It appears to derive from 'kamiyui-doko' (hairdressing shop)."
"The origin of this 'doko' remains unclear."

In Malay, shaving head hair is called *chukor*, and shaving women’s hair is called *tokong*.
In Dutch East Indies, the store is called *toko*.

In Malay, a barber is called *tukang chukor* or *tukang gunting*.

In Arabic, "shop" is dukkan, and in Persian as well it is dukan.
In Persia, barbers are called *dallak*.

In Greece, shaving is called *xurein*, which connects to our *suri*.
In the sense of cutting hair, *cheirein* connects to "kiru" (to cut) and "karu" (to shear).

Sanskrit *kshura* is a razor.
If *krit* is taken to mean "to cut," there is nothing strange about this.

What's interesting is that in Tosa during my childhood, when engaging in competitive kite flying, they would attach razor blades to tree branches along their own strings with the aim of cutting their opponents' kite strings.
They named this blade "Shūrai."
This closely resembles the aforementioned Sanskrit "Kushūra."
This is certainly puzzling.

It was puzzling why "tokoya" (床屋) referred to a barber, but it also remained unclear why "Hatagoya" (ハタゴヤ) meant a hotel.

It was interesting that Greek inns bore some resemblance to pandocheion.
They were Padokeya and Hatagoya.
Pan and dechomai—meaning "to receive anyone"—was said to be its origin.
The fact that the Buddha who delivers all beings was called *hotoke* constituted an accidental pun.

In Latin, expressions for "either A or B" included *alius A, alius B*, *alias A, alias B*, and *vel A, vel B*.
Though *alius* and *vel* were distinct entities, their phonetic resemblance to Japanese *aru* proved intriguing.
The English "or" too showed faint similarities.
In Sanskrit, the equivalents for "or"—つまり「または」「あるいは」—were *athawa*.

In Russia, *znatchiti* is used to mean “namely” or “that is.”
It resembles Japan’s *snaati*.

The term *tak kak* is used in various meanings, but in the sense of “whereas,” it bears connection to the Japanese *tōkaku*—an idiom literally meaning “rabbit horns” that conveys “be that as it may.”
Such rabbit-horned absurdities prove utterly unmanageable.

The German *noch* (=nun auch) resembled Japanese *naho*.
The Italian *eppure* shared equivalent meaning with the Japanese *yappari*.

Even if the causal relationship remained unclear, the fact of their resemblance was nevertheless a fact.

Collecting linguistic facts constituted the first step toward the science of language.
Before one could distinguish between jewels and stones, stones too had to first be collected and examined.
If one feared stones and did not reach out, jewels would never be obtained.

(April 1933, Iron Tower)

III

The Latin word for spring (haru) is *ver*, while Portuguese *verão* means summer.
In Persian, spring is *bahár*; in Mongolian (Khalkha), it is *h'abor*.
If we assume German *Frühling* derives from *früh*, this involves consonants *f* and *r*.
When written in kana, what interests me lies in their connection to ha-row and ra-row consonants.
The Ainu word for spring *Paikara* differs considerably; however replacing p with b and k with h brings it closer to Persian *bahár*.
This substitution proves not implausible.

Words like "haru" (to swell), "fueru" (to increase), and "haruru" (to swell, archaic) also combined h or f with r.
full, voll, πλέως and others similarly evoked these phonetic patterns.

Both "Natsu" (summer) and "Netsu" (heat) combined the consonants n and t.
In modern Chinese pronunciation, "heat" is jo in the fourth tone.
The character 如 was read as *jo* and *nyo*, just as 然 was read as *zen* and *nen*.
In Mongolian, summer became *jün*.
In Korean, "natsu" signified daytime.
However, the Korean word meaning summer was "yeoreum," while heat was "yeol."
Changing y to j and replacing the final r with t – this substitution being not particularly unreasonable – yielded modern Chinese pronunciation.
In Hungarian, summer appeared as nyár (ニヤール).
In Cockney English, "hot" transformed into "ot," resembling the Japanese atsu.
The French *été* for summer presented an interesting parallel.
While the Ainu *sak* for summer stood apart from these examples, its faint resemblance to Arabic *saif* proved noteworthy.
The final k carried potential to become h from kh, while in Japan, h developed into f.

There appeared to be a theory positing connections between autumn (aki) and concepts like "to be satiated" (ak-u) or "red" (aka), but there seemed to be no definitive evidence.
It was interesting that the English 'autumn' resembled 'atsumu' (to gather).
This undoubtedly came from the Latin autumnus, but there was also a theory that this Latin term derived from augeo.
This aug bore some resemblance to aki.
“Ageru” (to give) and “ōkii” (large) were also brought to mind.

In contemporary Japanese usage, autumn (シュウ) shares its pronunciation with the characters for "harvest" (収) and "gather" (聚).

Winter (Fuyu) related to "hiyu" (to cool), connected to "kōri" (ice), and also linked to χιών (snow).
The Russian *zima* resembled frost (*shimo*), cold (*samu*), the Sanskrit *hima* (snow), the Latin *hiems* (winter), the Greek *cheimon* (winter), and also the Persian *sarmai* (cold).
The Finnish *kuura* (frost) closely resembled the euphonic reading of Japanese "kōri" (ice).
The English 'cold' corresponded to the '*kōru*' in *kōru mīto* ("cold meat").
It was close to freezing.
In Korean, winter is *gyeoul*.
In Hebrew, the word for cold is also *kōru*.

It might have been observed that Winter bore some resemblance to the Japanese *iteru*.

The French winter term *hiver*, likely derived from Latin *hibernum*, presented an intriguing comparison with the Japanese verb "hiyeru" (to cool).

In Japanese topography, mountains were typically designated as either "so-and-so-yama" or "so-and-so-dake."
At first glance, the Arabic *jabal* and Persian *jebel* appeared phonetically distant from Japanese *yama*, yet considering frequent consonant shifts (j→y and b→m), their connection remained plausible.
(Ja transforms into Ya,
while Horse becomes *Ba* and *Ma*.)

The Turkish word for mountain, *dagh*, resembled "dake." In Central Asia, there were various mountains bearing *tagh* in their names. *Tagh* resembled *ta'uge*.

The German word for roof, *Dach*, was connected to the aforementioned *dagh*. The connection between "mune" (ridge) and "mine" (peak) followed a similar pattern.

The Ainu word "Nupuri" connected to "ascent," while "Tapuka," meaning mountaintop, bore some resemblance to "mountain pass (tōge)."
The theory that 峠 (tōge) derived from a euphonic alteration of *tamuke* could not be accepted.

Mountain (shan/san) counterparts proved elusive; however, the Ainu *shin* was said to mean both land/earth and "mountainous region" (as opposed to flatlands).
"Shinnu"—formed by adding a pluralizing suffix—showed an amusing resemblance to "Shinano" across numerous mountainous areas.

The Ainu word *shiri* has various meanings, among which it could also signify "land." When combined with other words, *shiri* apparently could also mean "mountain." There appeared to be a possibility that this *shiri* connected to the Sanskrit word for mountain, *giri*. This *giri* seemed linguistically akin to the Russian *gōra*, evoking Hakone’s Gōra region. In Shinshu there existed a mountain named Gōro, while part of Takai Fuji also carried the place name Gōro. The Ueda regional dialect reportedly used "Gōro" to mean "stony ground." The mountains of Tosa too contained a location named Nakagiri.

It should be noted that there were numerous mountain names in Japan ending with "Kara" or "Kura".
The term "kyūryō" (hill) also contained k and r.

From another perspective, when considering how *g* in Russian was substituted with *h* and occasionally pronounced like *v*, the Finnish mountain term *vuori* and Czech *hora* became equivalent; similarly, when *h* disappeared or *v* vocalized, Greek *oro* and Mongolian *oola* converged into a unified form.
Moreover, it was curious how the Hebrew mountain *har* also joined this family.

The German *Berg* differs considerably; however, rendering *g* fluidly and changing *b* to *v* brings it closer to Finnish terms while guiding *b* to the labial *m* makes it resemble Tamil *malai*.
The latter bears similarity to the “mori” in “mori-tsuchi” (earthen mound).
It remains unclear whether the frequent occurrence of “Mori” in Japanese mountain names universally signifies “forest.”

The Romance languages’ *mons*, *monte*, *montagne*, and *mountain* form a distinct group that appears distantly related to those discussed above.
He could not quite recall any Japanese terms similar to these.
If one were to force a connection—comparing manju to “mound”—this struck him as absurd.

It was curious that the Hungarian word for mountain, *hegy* (haji), resembled "Hida." This "g" was rather a sound approximating "d." The Japanese *hitawo* signified a small hill.

The Persian term for small mountain, *kuh* (kufu), showed connections to "hill" and "hillock." The Ainu *komu* also bore some resemblance. This “Komu” represented both a small hill and a protuberance. Replacing m with b yielded the Japanese "kobu" (protuberance). Related terms included the English *knob*, *hump*, *hummock*, and German *Knopf*, *Knauf*. Other counterparts encompassed Malay *gmbal*, Russian *gorb*, Zulu *kuhan*, and Hungarian *gomb* with *csomó*.

There exists a theory that Orochi represents the "spirit of hills." It posits that the "O" signifies "hill," while the "Ro" functions as a suffix. What intrigues is how this "Oro" shows striking phonetic alignment with mountain terms in Greek and Mongolian.

"Mure," said to be an archaic Japanese term for mountains, bears some resemblance to the aforementioned Tamil *malai*. This connection appears closer than its Korean counterpart *Moi*. Furthermore, based on previously stated principles, it demonstrates phonetic kinship with German and Finnish.

As I have repeatedly stated, I merely point out similarities as factual observations; since I have no intention of imputing any causal relationship, I earnestly hope there will be no misunderstanding.

(July 1933, Steel Tower)

IV

The Hebrew word for "umi" (sea) is *yām*.
Yomi no Kuni refers to the underworld, but I seem to recall there was also a theory interpreting it as representing "the sea".
What intrigues me is how this *yām* bears closer resemblance to *yama* (mountain) than to *umi*.
In West Greenland Eskimo, *imaq* denotes "sea" while *imeq* means "water".
Given how *q* undergoes various phonetic shifts, both *ima* and *ime* correspond to "umi" (sea) and water respectively.
If one removes the final *d* from the English word "humid"—meaning moisture—it approaches "umi", while extracting only its second character yields "mizu" (water).

The English word *sea* derives from the Teutonic *sæ*.
*Saiwiz* was also connected.
This bore a slight resemblance to the *shio* in "Ushiho" (Ushio).

The *wada* in "Wadatsumi" and "Wadanohara" resembled water-related words like English *water* and Russian *voda*, while also showing similarity to *wade* (L. *vadere*) and related terms meaning "to cross".
When the Sanskrit *udadhi* ("sea") appeared in the singular accusative case with an added *m*, it approached “Wadatsumi.”

“Oki” (offshore) resembles the head portion of the Greek “Ōkeanos.”

“Kata” (lagoon) resembled the Tamil word for sea, *kadal*.

The Korean *pātā* could also be grouped within the “wata” category.

“Nada” showed similarity to the Sanskrit river term *nadi*.

“Kaha” (川、河、カワ) appeared to share an actual connection with “河” (river).
Beyond this, it bore only faint resemblance to Sinhalese Ganga (river), with no other counterparts discernible.

“Nagare” was of course “flow,” but according to someone’s account, “Naga” would signify “long” while “ruru” represented “flow.” If one reads this as “Riu,” it approaches the Greek *leo* (to flow). The Turkish *nehr* (river), when substituting h with the aforementioned g, approximates “nagare” (flow). Considering how identical Korea’s “Nai” (river) and Ainu’s “Nai” (river/valley) appeared identical, I reasoned there must exist place names within mainland Japan employing this same term to denote rivers.

In Tosa, the Nahari River and Ioki River lay side by side.
Interestingly, the Arabic word for river is *Nafuru*, while the Hebrew equivalents are *Naharu* and *Nābāru*.
In Finnish, the word for river is *yoki* 「ヨキ」.
Of course, I do not believe there could have been any direct connection.
Moreover, regarding the aforementioned river names as well, it remained unclear whether the river names came first or the place names.
There was also Nabari Mountain.

The Korean *Mūru* appeared to be Mongolian.
The Karka language’s river was *mürën*.

In relation to the human head—*koube* (archaic term for head) and *kubi* (neck/head)—came *kabuto* (helmet).
*kamuri* (crown), *kaburi*, and *kabu* (stock/stump).
*kabu* (head).
*kubu* (kubutsuchi), *kobu* (protuberance).
“kabura” (turnip) and “kabu”; “kabura” (arrowhead).
“Komura” (calf), “komura” (ή), and Malay *kpala* belonged to the same category as *kamuri* (crown) and *kaburi* (wearing).

It is said that the *Wamyōshō* records "顱 (skull) – Japanese name *Kajirano Kahachō* – brain lid," and "*Kahara*" refers to the head. It was nearly identical to Greek and Malay.

The Arabic skull *qahfun* is “kafufu,” which approximates *koube* (archaic head).

The English cupola reportedly derives from Latin *cupa* (barrel), though contemporary usage groups them together.

The English “head” originates from Teutonic terms like *haubd*, yet phonologically stands distinct from Latin’s *capt*.
However, this *Haupt*—within our present framework that disregards such phonetic laws—still aligns with the *kabuto* category.

The head may also be termed “tsumuri.”
This shares homophony with L.’s *tumuli* (mound).
*Cumuli* (積雲) corresponds rather to the ‘kamuri’ classification.

*Atama* also denotes the head.
The Sanskrit *ātman* signifies both "spirit" and "self."
*Tama* phonetically relates to *top*.

The act of taking an enemy's head was termed "*shirushi o ageru*" (presenting proof).
If we interpret *shirushi* as meaning "head," this parallels the Sanskrit *siras* and *sirsham* (both meaning head).

The eight-headed serpent bears the name *Yamata no Orochi*.
Should this *mata* component signify "head," it shares roots with Bengali *māthā*, Gujarati *māthoon*, and Hindustani *mund*.
Through consonant shift, this transforms into *tama*.

A skull was called *sarekōbe*.
This “sare” might have meant “exposed,” but the Persian *sar* meant “head.”

“Tōjiwage” was called “karawa.” It was noted that in the *Nihon Shoki*, Azeki had been glossed as “agemaki karawa”—perhaps suggesting an evolution from “karawa”... I considered whether “karawa” might have originally signified “head.” Indeed, Russian *golova*/*glava*, Czech *hlava*, and Zulu *inhloko* (*in*- being prefixed) all showed striking phonetic resemblance to “karawa.” Through consonant shifts—as previously outlined—these terms would align with the broader khr cluster group.

The term “Iso” in *Rigen Shūran* defines “the area covering from forehead to crown,” while Sinhalese *isa* denotes “head.” In Hungarian, *esz* serves similarly. Yet “Iso” also signifies crown edges or instrument rims. As it further describes sea margins, direct cranial comparison proves tenuous—though note how “上” sometimes receives the “hotori” (edge) reading.

Into this *kōbe* (head) category I tentatively place *kami* (神/god), *ue* (上/upper), and *kami* (髪/hair).

The Korean "Mōri" (head) was compared to the "muri" component in "tsumuri."
"I could not determine the origin of the 'tsu' element,"
while the Mongolian Karka term *tologai* was found to correspond with the Tamil *taläi*.

"I could not readily find anything resembling 'kashira'."
However, Latin’s *capillus* was said to originally be a diminutive of *cap* (head), with *caput* and the Greek "*Kephale*" also belonging to the same category.
This *capillus* came to be used in the sense of "hair."
Through phonetic evolution from "*Kahira*," this could become "*Kashira*."
According to the *Genkai* dictionary, since “kashira” was also used to mean “hair,” the etymological calculation aligned perfectly.
Thus did “kashira” ultimately belong to the same linguistic group as “kamuri” and “kaburi.”

(August 1933, Iron Tower)