Monday, August 24, 2026

School series 104 visible speach

The Birth of Writing — When Speech Became Visible

For thousands of years, humans could speak—but their words disappeared the moment they were spoken.

A story could be remembered.

A song could be passed from parent to child.

An elder could teach the young.

But memory had limits.

Then humanity discovered something extraordinary:

thoughts could be made visible.

Before Writing

The earliest humans undoubtedly used marks and drawings long before true writing appeared.

A picture of an animal could represent that animal.

A series of marks could perhaps record how many animals had been hunted.

But a picture is not necessarily writing.

Writing begins when marks become a system of symbols that consistently represents language or information.

The First Great Step

One of the earliest known writing systems developed in ancient Mesopotamia, where people used wedge-shaped marks pressed into clay.

This became cuneiform.

It was initially used for practical purposes—recording quantities, goods, transactions and administration.

This is an important point:

Writing may have begun not with poetry, but with accounting.

Civilization had become sufficiently complex that memory alone was no longer enough.

Other Civilizations, Other Solutions

Ancient Egypt developed its magnificent hieroglyphic writing.

In China, an ancient writing tradition developed that eventually evolved into modern Chinese characters.

The Maya developed an intricate writing system in Mesoamerica.

Different civilizations found different ways of turning information into visible symbols.

The Alphabet Changes the Story

A particularly important development was the alphabet.

Instead of requiring a separate symbol for every word or idea, an alphabet uses a relatively small set of symbols representing sounds.

Once people had learned the symbols and their sounds, they could construct an enormous number of words.

The idea spread and evolved through several ancient writing traditions.

Greek developed an alphabet with vowels.

Latin eventually became the ancestor of the alphabet used by much of the modern world.

And What About India?

India has a remarkable writing history of its own.

The Brāhmī script, which became the ancestor of many Indian scripts, is attested in ancient inscriptions, including those of Emperor Ashoka.

Over centuries, scripts developed and diversified.

From these traditions emerged many of the scripts used in India today.

Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam, Devanagari, Bengali and several others have distinct forms, yet their histories are connected in fascinating ways.

Writing Changed Civilization

Once words could be preserved, knowledge could travel through time.

A king could issue an inscription.

A mathematician could record a discovery.

A physician could preserve medical knowledge.

A poet could leave behind a work for generations yet unborn.

Religious teachings, laws, histories, stories and scientific observations could all survive their creators.

Writing gave humanity a memory outside the human brain.

And something even more extraordinary happened.

Speech belongs to the moment.

Writing can survive for centuries.

A person who lived two thousand years ago can still speak to us through a page, a manuscript or an inscription.

The human voice had become visible.

And from this point onward, civilization could begin building its knowledge generation upon generation.

But India's story of language has an especially fascinating chapter ahead.

For here, an ancient civilization developed a tradition in which knowledge was preserved with astonishing precision even without writing.

That is the story of Sanskrit, the Vedas, Prakrit, Pali and the great language families of Bharat.

School series 103 one became many

When Languages Began to Separate — How One Became Many

If language began as a way for humans to communicate, how did the world eventually acquire thousands of different languages?

The answer lies largely in one simple fact:

People moved apart.

When Communities Separated

Imagine a small community speaking the same language.

One group migrates across a mountain range.

Another settles beside a river.

A third moves hundreds of kilometres away.

At first, they may all speak almost identically.

But they are no longer speaking with one another every day.

And language never stands still.

New words appear.

Old words change.

Pronunciation shifts.

Grammar slowly changes.

After hundreds of years, the differences become noticeable.

After thousands of years, the communities may no longer understand one another at all.

Geography Became a Powerful Force

Mountains, deserts, forests and oceans separated human communities.

But geography did not merely isolate people.

It also brought them into contact with new peoples.

When communities met, their languages influenced one another.

A word could be borrowed for a new food, object, place or idea.

Trade carried words across borders.

Migration carried them even farther.

Conquest and kingdoms sometimes introduced one language into regions where another was already spoken.

Languages therefore developed through both separation and contact.

Dialects Can Become Languages

There is often no precise moment when a dialect becomes a separate language.

Two neighbouring communities may understand each other easily.

Several generations later, understanding becomes difficult.

Eventually they may think of themselves as speaking different languages.

This is why the distinction between a “language” and a “dialect” is not always purely linguistic. History, geography, politics and identity can also play a role.

The Family Tree of Languages

Languages can therefore have ancestors, descendants and relatives—rather like a family.

English, German and Dutch belong to the Germanic branch of the Indo-European family.

Hindi, Bengali and Marathi belong to another branch of the same enormous family.

Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam belong to the Dravidian language family.

They are not simply unrelated languages that happen to exist near one another. Their similarities and differences preserve clues about their long histories.

Linguists study these patterns to reconstruct older stages of languages that may never have been written down.

A Language Is Never Finished

Even today, language continues to change.

Young people create new expressions.

Technology introduces new words.

Different communities influence one another through travel, films, music and the internet.

Some words disappear.

Others acquire completely new meanings.

The language spoken by our grandchildren will not be exactly the language we speak today.

And that is not a failure.

Change is what keeps a language alive.

The thousands of languages of our world are, in a sense, the branches of an enormous human story—a story of migration, separation, meeting, borrowing and change.

But for thousands of years, humans had only one way to preserve their words:

memory.

Then came a revolutionary idea.

What if a spoken word could be seen?

That would change human civilization forever.

School series 102 word to language

 From Words to Language — How Did Grammar Emerge?

Suppose our ancestors had learned a thousand words.

Would that be enough to communicate?

Not quite.

Knowing fire, water, hunt, child and danger is useful. But how do we say:

“The child saw the fire.”

rather than:

“The fire saw the child.”

Something more was needed.

That something was grammar.

From Words to Relationships

Language became powerful when humans learned not only words, but also the relationships between them.

Who did something?

What was done?

When did it happen?

Was it happening now, or had it already happened?

Was something a question, a command or a statement?

Different human communities developed different ways of answering these questions.

Some changed the order of words.

Some changed the form of the words themselves.

Some used endings, prefixes or additional words.

But every language developed patterns that its speakers understood.

Did Someone Invent Grammar?

Probably not.

Nobody sat down one day and announced:

“Today we shall create a grammar.”

Grammar emerged naturally from repeated use.

When people communicated with one another, certain patterns became familiar. Children heard those patterns repeatedly and learned them.

Over generations, the patterns became more established.

And languages continued changing.

A word that originally had one meaning could acquire another. A frequently used expression could gradually become shortened. A particular word order could become normal.

Grammar was therefore not imposed upon language. It grew out of language.

Children Are Remarkable Language Learners

One of the most astonishing parts of this story is the role of children.

A child does not normally learn a language by memorising a grammar book.

The child listens.

The child imitates.

The child makes mistakes.

The child notices patterns.

And gradually, almost invisibly, the child understands an enormously complicated system.

This happens across cultures and languages.

From Speech to Thought

As language became more sophisticated, humans could express increasingly sophisticated thoughts.

We could talk about the past:

“We went there yesterday.”

We could imagine the future:

“We will go tomorrow.”

We could express possibility:

“It may rain.”

We could ask questions:

“Why?”

We could even speak about things that had never existed.

That ability transformed human cooperation, storytelling and imagination.

Every Language Has Its Own Genius

There is no single “correct” way for a language to work.

English relies heavily on word order.

Tamil can use rich grammatical endings to convey relationships between words.

Sanskrit developed an extraordinarily elaborate grammatical structure.

Some languages have grammatical features that others do not.

Yet each allows its speakers to communicate an immense range of ideas.

Language is therefore not merely a collection of words.

It is an organised system for turning thought into communication.

And once human beings had words and grammar, something even more extraordinary became possible.

They could preserve their thoughts beyond the moment of speaking.

The next revolution was writing.

School series 101 the first word.


 The First Word — How Did Language Begin?

Imagine the first human ever to point at something and make a sound that meant “that.”

There was no dictionary. No grammar book. No teacher.

Yet somewhere in the distant past, human beings began doing something extraordinary: they gave sounds meanings—and remembered those meanings together.

Before Words

Our ancestors probably communicated long before they had true language.

A cry could mean danger.

A gesture could mean “come.”

A facial expression could show fear or affection.

A particular sound could warn others about a predator.

Many animals communicate in this way too. But humans gradually went much further.

We began using sounds not merely to express emotion, but to represent things, actions and ideas.

A particular sound could mean water. Another could mean fire. Another could mean food.

The exact first words are forever lost to us.

Why Did Language Become Necessary?

As human communities grew, life became more complicated.

People had to cooperate in hunting, gathering food, protecting children, making tools and sharing knowledge.

A gesture worked when the object was in front of you.

But how do you communicate about something that is far away—or something that happened yesterday—or something that might happen tomorrow?

That required something revolutionary:

symbols in the mind.

A sound could stand for something that was not physically present.

From Sounds to Sentences

Once people had many shared words, they needed to combine them.

“Water.”

“Bring water.”

“Bring water here.”

“Bring water before night.”

Slowly, patterns emerged.

Words acquired relationships. Sounds became organised. Grammar developed.

Nobody sat down and designed the first grammar.

Language evolved through countless acts of communication between generations.

Children learned the language of their parents, modified it slightly, and passed it on. Over thousands of years, these tiny changes accumulated.

The Greatest Human Invention?

Language transformed human beings.

Knowledge no longer had to die with the person who possessed it.

A skilled hunter could teach others.

A parent could warn a child about danger.

An elder could describe places they had visited.

Stories could preserve memories.

And eventually humans could speak about things that could not be seen at all:

love, justice, gods, dreams, numbers, time and the future.

That may be the most remarkable step of all.

Language allowed the human mind to share what existed inside it with another mind.

We Will Never Know the First Word

There was no single inventor of language and probably no single “first language.”

It emerged gradually, over an immense span of human history, through cooperation, imitation, memory and constant adaptation.

The first word has disappeared forever.

But its descendants are everywhere.

Every time we say mother, water, home, love, tomorrow or why, we are participating in an achievement that began in the deepest past.

The first word may be lost.

The human ability to give meaning to a sound is still with us.

And that is where the extraordinary story of language begins.

EXTRAORDINARY BONDS — 16

Maharana Pratap & The Three Who Stood Beside Him

When Loyalty Took Three Different Forms

Some bonds are between two people.

But sometimes, one extraordinary person inspires many different forms of loyalty.

The story of Maharana Pratap is one such story.

He was a king who lost much of his kingdom but refused to surrender his independence.

He endured hunger.

He lived in forests.

His family suffered.

His people suffered.

Yet he would not accept terms that he believed compromised his honour and freedom.

But Maharana Pratap did not stand alone.

Three remarkable men stood beside him.

Bhama Shah.

Hakim Khan Sur.

Jhala Manna.

Each gave something different.

One gave wealth.

One gave his sword.

One gave his life.

Together, they reveal something extraordinary about loyalty.

Maharana Pratap — the man who would not surrender

Born in 1540, Maharana Pratap became the ruler of Mewar at a time when the Mughal Empire under Akbar was expanding across northern India.

Many Rajput rulers entered alliances with Akbar.

Pratap chose another path.

He would not accept a settlement that, in his understanding, compromised the independence and dignity of Mewar.

The decision came at an enormous cost.

His family lived through hardship.

His forces were smaller.

His resources were limited.

He was forced to move through the forests and hills of the Aravallis.

Yet he continued.

For Pratap, the issue was not simply a throne.

It was freedom and honour.

And that conviction inspired extraordinary loyalty.

1. Bhama Shah

The man who gave his wealth

There are people who admire a great cause.

And there are people who put everything they possess behind it.

Bhama Shah was one of the latter.

A trusted minister and supporter of Maharana Pratap, Bhama Shah is remembered for making a remarkable contribution when Pratap's resources were severely depleted.

He placed his wealth at the Maharana's disposal.

The traditional accounts describe the contribution as sufficient to support a large army for a considerable period.

The exact figures vary in accounts, but the essential story is clear:

Bhama Shah gave Pratap the means to continue the struggle.

Imagine what that meant.

A king without adequate resources could have been forced to give up.

A generous supporter could have protected his own wealth.

Instead, Bhama Shah effectively said:

“What I possess is at the service of the cause.”

Wealth became service

Money is often regarded as something we accumulate for security.

Bhama Shah showed another possibility.

Wealth can become service.

He did not merely express admiration for Pratap.

He made a sacrifice that had practical consequences.

It gave the Maharana the ability to reorganise his forces and continue his resistance.

The value of Bhama Shah's contribution therefore cannot be measured simply in gold.

Its real value was hope.

When resources were running out, someone stepped forward and said:

“Continue. You are not alone.”

2. Hakim Khan Sur

The man who gave his sword

The second bond is perhaps even more striking.

Hakim Khan Sur was a Muslim Afghan warrior who fought alongside Maharana Pratap.

Here was a Hindu Rajput ruler resisting Mughal expansion.

Beside him stood a Muslim warrior.

Their alliance reminds us that the deepest bonds of loyalty are not always formed by sharing the same religion or background.

They can be formed by sharing a principle.

Hakim Khan Sur believed in the cause for which Pratap was fighting.

And he was prepared to fight for it.

At Haldighati

In the famous Battle of Haldighati in 1576, Hakim Khan Sur commanded a contingent of Pratap's forces.

He fought at the front.

He did not merely advise.

He did not remain safely behind the lines.

He placed himself in danger.

His sword became his offering.

The battle itself did not produce the decisive victory Pratap sought, but Pratap survived and continued his resistance.

Hakim Khan Sur did not live to see the full course of that struggle.

He died fighting.

A bond beyond identity

This is why Hakim Khan Sur deserves his place in Extraordinary Bonds.

His story challenges simplistic ideas about history.

Loyalty does not always follow religion.

Courage does not belong to one community.

A shared cause can bring people together across boundaries.

Hakim Khan Sur did not have to be a Rajput to stand beside a Rajput king.

He simply had to believe that the cause was worth defending.

He gave Pratap his sword.

3. Jhala Manna

The man who gave his life

And then comes perhaps the most dramatic example of loyalty.

During the Battle of Haldighati, Maharana Pratap was in grave danger.

The fighting was fierce.

The Mughal forces were overwhelming.

Pratap was a conspicuous target.

Jhala Manna, one of his loyal commanders, saw the danger.

According to the traditional account, he took the royal insignia from Pratap and placed it upon himself.

Suddenly, the enemy could mistake Jhala Manna for the Maharana.

The attention of the opposing forces shifted towards him.

Pratap was able to escape.

Jhala Manna remained behind.

He knew what this meant.

The ultimate sacrifice

Jhala Manna fought knowing that he had become the target.

He sacrificed himself so that his king could survive.

There is something almost unbearable about the simplicity of the act.

He did not give money.

He did not give advice.

He did not merely fight alongside his king.

He gave Pratap the one thing he could never recover: his own life.

And because he did so, Maharana Pratap lived to continue the struggle.

Three men. Three offerings.

Now the three stories stand together.

Bhama Shah gave wealth.

He ensured that the struggle could continue.

Hakim Khan Sur gave his sword.

He fought for a cause that transcended religious identity.

Jhala Manna gave his life.

He placed his king's survival above his own.

Three men.

Three different backgrounds.

Three different sacrifices.

One loyalty.

And what did Pratap give them?

This is perhaps the question we should ask.

What was it about Maharana Pratap that inspired such extraordinary devotion?

It was not wealth.

He had very little.

It was not comfort.

He could offer almost none.

It was not an easy life.

He himself lived through extraordinary hardship.

Perhaps what he offered was something far more powerful:

a cause worth believing in.

He lived according to his convictions.

And people saw that.

When a leader is willing to suffer for his principles, others may become willing to suffer beside him.

The greatness of Pratap

Maharana Pratap's greatness therefore does not lie only in the battles he fought.

It lies also in the loyalty he inspired.

A leader's true strength is not measured only by the size of his army.

Sometimes it is measured by the number of people who will stand beside him when the army is small.

Pratap lost palaces.

He lost territory.

He endured poverty.

But he retained something that no enemy could take from him:

his conviction.

And that conviction attracted people who were prepared to sacrifice everything.

A lesson beyond history

The story has meaning even outside the battlefield.

Every leader needs people who believe in the purpose behind the work.

Every great cause needs someone willing to contribute resources.

Someone willing to contribute effort.

Someone willing to take risks.

And sometimes, someone willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Bhama Shah teaches us:

Give what you have.

Hakim Khan Sur teaches us:

Stand for what you believe is right, even beyond the boundaries of identity.

Jhala Manna teaches us:

True loyalty may demand everything.

And Maharana Pratap teaches us:

Never ask others to sacrifice for a principle you are unwilling to live by yourself.

The extraordinary bond

Together they tell something much greater.

Maharana Pratap stood firm.

And around that firmness gathered three extraordinary forms of loyalty.

One gave his wealth.

One gave his sword.

One gave his life.

And the Maharana carried their loyalty forward.

He continued the struggle.

He rebuilt his strength.

And eventually recovered much of Mewar.

The story therefore does not end with defeat.

It ends with resilience.

The final reflection

We began Extraordinary Bonds with Krishna and Sudama—

friendship beyond status.

We travelled through devotion, brotherhood, guru–disciple relationships, friendship, marriage, intellectual companionship and transformation.

And now, at No. 16, we arrive at something different.

A bond between a leader and those who believed in him so completely that each was willing to sacrifice in a different way.

Perhaps the greatest tribute to Maharana Pratap is not simply that he refused to surrender.

It is that others looked at his determination and said:

“Then neither will we.”

Bhama Shah gave his wealth.

Hakim Khan Sur gave his sword.

Jhala Manna gave his life.

And Maharana Pratap gave them something in return:

a cause worthy of sacrifice.

One gave wealth.

One gave courage.

One gave life.

And one gave them a reason to give it.

That is an Extraordinary Bond.

And now, perhaps, we let Extraordinary rest.

Sixteen stories.

Sixteen different kinds of human connection.

Enough to leave us with a question worth carrying:

What makes a bond extraordinary?

Perhaps it is not how long it lasts.

Nor how famous the people are.

Perhaps it is simply this:

What are we willing to become for one another?


EXTRAORDINARY BONDS — 15Swami Vivekananda & Sister Nivedita

Swami Vivekananda & Sister Nivedita

When a Teacher Gave a Life a New Purpose

Sometimes a teacher gives knowledge.

Sometimes a teacher gives inspiration.

And sometimes a teacher changes the direction of an entire life.

The relationship between Swami Vivekananda and Sister Nivedita was such a relationship.

Margaret Elizabeth Noble was born in Ireland and became a teacher in England.

She was already intellectually curious and deeply concerned with education and society.

Then she encountered Vivekananda.

The meeting changed her life.


The meeting

When Vivekananda travelled to the West, he spoke about Vedānta, spirituality and the dignity of human life.

Margaret heard him speak.

Something in his vision spoke directly to her.

She began asking questions.

She wanted to understand India.

She wanted to understand the spiritual philosophy he represented.

And gradually, the relationship between teacher and student deepened.


A new name

Vivekananda gave Margaret a new name:

Nivedita.

It means “the dedicated one.”

The name was not merely symbolic.

It described the life she was about to undertake.

She came to India.

She embraced a new way of living.

And she dedicated herself to the service of the country and its people.


Education became her mission

Vivekananda believed deeply in the education of women.

Nivedita took that idea seriously.

She established a school for girls in Calcutta.

It was not simply a school in the conventional sense.

She wanted education to build confidence, character and strength.

She worked tirelessly.

She visited homes.

She persuaded families to allow their daughters to attend.

She taught.

She organised.

She served.

The teacher's vision had become the disciple's mission.


India became her life

Nivedita did not remain an observer of India.

She entered its life deeply.

She studied Indian culture.

She wrote about India.

She supported Indian art and intellectual life.

She worked during times of crisis and epidemic.

She became increasingly committed to India's awakening.

Her relationship with Vivekananda had transformed her from someone interested in India into someone dedicated to India.


A disciple who grew beyond the classroom

One of the most remarkable things about Vivekananda's relationship with Nivedita was that he did not expect her simply to repeat his words.

He challenged her.

He pushed her.

He demanded strength.

He wanted her to discover her own capacity for service.

A great teacher does not create dependence.

He creates purpose.

Nivedita gradually developed her own voice.

She became an educator, writer, social worker and advocate for India's cultural renaissance.


The bond continued through separation

Vivekananda's life was short.

He passed away in 1902.

Nivedita was devastated.

But his physical absence did not end the relationship.

His vision continued to guide her.

She continued the work.

She continued writing.

She continued serving.

She continued advocating for Indian education and culture.

The disciple had become a carrier of the teacher's legacy.


Why is this bond extraordinary?

Because Vivekananda did not merely teach Nivedita about India.

He helped her discover what she could give to India.

And Nivedita did not merely admire Vivekananda.

She reorganised her life around the ideals he had awakened within her.

She left behind the familiar.

She crossed continents.

She entered a completely different civilisation.

She chose a life of service.

Her teacher gave her a direction.

She gave that direction her entire life.


The meaning of “Nivedita”

Perhaps the most beautiful part of the story is contained in her name.

Nivedita — the dedicated one.

It became a description of what she became.

Not because she abandoned herself.

But because she discovered a purpose greater than herself.

Vivekananda gave her the vision.

Nivedita gave that vision a life.

And through her school, her writings, her service and her advocacy, the influence of that relationship continued long after the teacher was gone.

The teacher opened a door.
The disciple walked through it.
And then she held the door open for others.

That is an Extraordinary Bond.

EXTRAORDINARY BONDS — 14 Rabindranath Tagore & Mahatma Gandhi 

 Rabindranath Tagore & Mahatma Gandhi 

When Two Great Minds Could Disagree and Still Honour Each Other 

Some friendships are easy because two people think alike.

The more extraordinary friendship is one in which two people can disagree profoundly—

and still listen.

Still respect.

Still admire.

Still remain connected.

The relationship between Rabindranath Tagore and Mahatma Gandhi was such a bond.

They were two of India's greatest modern thinkers.

They shared a deep concern for India's future.

But they did not always agree about how that future should be shaped.

And that is precisely what makes their relationship so remarkable.

Two very different personalities 

Tagore was a poet, philosopher, educator, artist and thinker.

Gandhi was a political leader, reformer and advocate of non-violence.

Tagore looked at India through the worlds of culture, education, freedom of thought and universal humanism.

Gandhi approached the national struggle through mass action, self-discipline, satyagraha and social reform.

Their methods were different.

Their temperaments were different.

Yet both cared deeply about India's freedom and dignity.

“Mahatma” 

Tagore famously addressed Gandhi as “Mahatma”.

The title became inseparably associated with Gandhi.

Gandhi, in turn, held Tagore in extraordinary esteem and referred to him as “Gurudev.”

These were not empty titles.

They reflected genuine admiration.

One saw the other as a great soul in a different but complementary sphere.

When they disagreed 

Their friendship was not free of disagreement.

They differed over questions surrounding nationalism, education, non-cooperation, the spinning wheel and other aspects of India's political and social life.

Tagore sometimes worried that political nationalism could become too narrow.

Gandhi believed disciplined national action was essential to India's liberation.

They could argue strongly.

But disagreement did not become disrespect.

That distinction is increasingly rare.

The debate over non-cooperation 

When Gandhi launched the Non-Cooperation Movement, Tagore expressed reservations.

He feared that political mobilisation could become destructive of intellectual freedom and universal human fellowship.

Gandhi understood Tagore's concerns but did not abandon his own convictions.

They debated.

They exchanged ideas.

Neither treated disagreement as betrayal.

This is perhaps the greatest lesson of their friendship.

You do not have to agree with someone to honour them.

Two visions of India 

Tagore dreamed of an India open to the world.

His educational vision at Śāntiniketan sought to cultivate creativity, freedom and a broad human outlook.

Gandhi envisioned an India rooted in self-reliance, village life, moral discipline and service.

Their visions were not identical.

But both wanted an India that was free not only politically, but morally and culturally.

They were looking at the same civilisation from different windows.

Mutual influence 

Their relationship was not simply one of debate.

They influenced one another.

Gandhi admired Tagore's intellectual and artistic greatness.

Tagore recognized the extraordinary moral force of Gandhi's leadership.

They visited one another.

They corresponded.

They continued to engage with each other's ideas.

Their disagreements never erased their affection.

Why is this bond extraordinary? 

Because it demonstrates something we desperately need to remember.

Respect does not require agreement.

In an age when disagreement can quickly become hostility, Tagore and Gandhi offer a different model.

Two extraordinary minds could challenge one another without diminishing one another.

They could say:

“I disagree with you.”

without saying:

“I do not respect you.”

Their friendship was strengthened, not destroyed, by intellectual honesty.

Perhaps that is why their bond remains so valuable.

They did not become smaller by disagreeing.

They became larger by continuing the conversation.

Two minds disagreed. Two hearts remained connected. And India was enriched by both. 

That is an Extraordinary Bond.