China Kid's Drongjug

There is one incident of Drongjug in later Tibetan history that is rather well known, at least to more historically inclined Tibetans. It took place in the borderlands beyond the Tibetan region of Amdo in the Chinese-dominated area of Gansu in the year 1639. I first noticed mention of it in Dungkar Rinpoché's recently published encyclopedia of Tibetan culture. A most important source for the story (of course there may be others not yet known to me) was published in Beijing in 2005 and came into my hands only a few weeks ago. This publication is a newly typeset version of an older woodblock print. Although the work is anonymously authored, we do find a date in the opening pages, as part of a general chronology where it says it is “now the 16th Iron Horse year.” This translates to the year 1930, which we may take to be the date of its composition.

Before going into the Drongjug story itself, I would like to spend a little time on the earlier parts of this historical work, which bears as its poetic title Rare Beryl Mirror. In general it is an account of the Tongkhor Incarnates (Stong-'khor Sprul-sku), but it begins with a hundred pages detailing the previous rebirths, eleven in all, that preceded the birth of the First Tongkhor. The dates of the First Tongkhor are not very secure. One chronology gives him the dates 1476-1556, while our history says he was born in 1474. Our history prefers to call these incarnates by the name Zhabdrung (Zhabs-drung), a title we have met with in an earlier blog, rather than Tongkhor. The First Tongkhor was born in the far southeastern part of the Tibetan realm, in a region known on the maps as Markham ('Bar-khams being the usual Tibetan spelling), in a particular place in Markham called Tongkhor. This is an important point to be remembered to avoid possible confusions. The Tongkhor Incarnates as well as the monastery in Amdo (which shifted its location at one point) bear the name Tongkhor because that is the place where the first incarnation was born and for no other reason. At the time of his birth his family and all the surrounding area was dominated by the Bön religion. The First Tongkhor, his ordination name being Dawa Gyaltsen (Zla-ba rgyal-mtshan), went to Sera Monastery in Lhasa for his Buddhist studies. When he returned home he helped increase the Gelug school's presence there, this being his main historic role. He founded a monastic community in Tongkhor that, confusingly enough, is sometimes called Tashilhunpo (although do not, I repeat, do not imagine it to be the much larger and by far more famous monastery by that name far to the west at the city of Shigatsé).

The Tongkhor II, named Yönten Gyatso (Yon-tan rgya-mtsho) was born in 1557 within sight of the Tashilhunpo Monastery. In 1578 he went to meet Altan Khan and stayed with him for about four years before going to Central Tibet, where he spent another four years before at last arriving home in 1586. Unfortunately he died the very next year in 1587, only 30 years old. The Yellow Beryl history by Regent Sanggyé Gyatso tells us that he served for some time as the 16th Abbot of Sera Tegchen Ling.

The Tongkhor III was also born in Markham. His name was Gyalwa Gyatso (Rgyal-ba rgya-mtsho). After an eventful life that included traveling to meet a Mongol leader named Lochi in 1594, he died of smallpox in his 51st year in 1639.

If you have already read the blog backlog you will know that Vajrayana Buddhists who have mastered the Completion Stage practices may gain the ability to control the circumstances of their rebirth. Of course generally speaking this would mean choosing suitable parents living in a place where the Bodhisattva vows may be translated into beneficial actions. Although I've been told that there are Bön monasteries in Amdo where the succession of abbots is maintained through Drongjug rather than 'ordinary' reincarnation, in general the following account is quite out of the ordinary. I hope you will excuse me from my responsibility to explain all the geographic terms used here (any help along those lines would be appreciated).

In the region of Shudru (Shu-gru) on the banks of the Sugchu (Sug-chu, or Sug-cu) lived someone known as the China Kid (Gyatrug, Rgya-phrug), born in 1620. Apparently he was son of a Chinese mother and a Tibetan father (the text says he had a Tibetan 'bone' lineage, which at least indicates Tibetan ancestors on his father's side). Just the day after the death of the Tongkhor III, he was being carried to the graveyard when the Drongjug was performed. China Kid got out of his coffin, climbed on top of it and assumed a cross-legged position. Several persons witnessed this and called the members of his clan and other villagers to come and see. A large crowd of people gathered, armed with sticks and stones because they were terrified it might be an elemental spirit. Their blows didn't harm him in the least.

The chief of the region, a great general, was requested to intervene. Calling up his troops, they arrived swiftly and loosed a shower of arrows. However, just as when the Buddha was attacked by the army of Mara (personification of delusion), he remained sitting unharmed.

Some of the soldiers saw his body sending off rays of light with divine beings coming to make offerings to him. Some saw a lot of frightening cemetery animals come running away from him. Many other soldiers saw his body blazing in a fire. The resuscitated corpse took pity on them and wanted to reassure them, so he said in soft but confident words, “I am not a zombie. To the contrary, I am Tongkhor Gyalwa Gyatso. I performed the Drongjug in this way.”

Everyone was amazed at these words and paid him reverence, making prostrations. The Chinese general invited him with full honors while the soldiers went their own separate ways. The general immediately made out a report and sent it by imperial envoys. When they arrived at the encampment in the valley of Atsamokhor (A-tsha-mo-khor), they found that several details, including the shape of the landscape, the nationality (mi-rigs), etc., corresponded to prophecies the Third Tongkhor had written on white cloth and placed in the cracks between his cushions when on the point of death. A delegation was sent back to Sugchu and, before an audience of Chinese, Tibetans and Mongolians, they carried out the traditional method of verifying reincarnations. They showed him closely similar items and asked him to pick out the ones that had belonged to his previous embodiment. He recognized the correct items without any mistakes.

Everyone, including the imperial envoys, saw this as undeniable proof of his identity, so they brought him to Atsamokhor where a great feast was held in his honor. The Chinese general sent a petition to the Emperor, detailing the events and requesting that the remains of the previous Tongkhor together with his new embodiment might be permitted to cross the border on their way to Tongkhor Monastery. Permission was granted, and upon their arrival all the people of Amdo, people high and low, monastic and lay, were buzzing with excitement saying, "Oh goodness, such an amazing thing as this never happened before!" He soon received his novice ordination from Amdo's most famous classical poet, Kalden Gyatso (Skal-ldan rgya-mtsho, 1607-1677).

The biography continues, but one matter, being remarkable, deserves remark. The biography consistently gives his age starting from the time of the Drongjug in 1639 rather than the date of birth of the China Kid in 1620. This is why it says he was 'eight' (of course this means seven according to our way of reckoning age) when he visited Central Tibet, in 1646. While there he received full ordination from the Panchen Lama along with the name Dogyü Gyatso (Mdo-rgyud rgya-mtsho). At about this same time he went to Lhasa and visited the Fifth Dalai Lama. With the help of a digital text of the Fifth Dalai Lama's autobiography, it was quite easy to locate (in Dukula'i Gos-bzang, volume 1, folio 132) a separate account of his visit, which may be translated like this:

“The Tongkhor Incarnate Gyalwa Gyatso didn't need to take rebirth in a womb, but instead did the transference instantly, like a bird in flight, into the body of a China Kid who was about 20 years old as he was being carried to the cemetery. Saying ‘I am the one from Tongkhor’ he was recognized and became known as the Tongkhor who performed the Drongjug transference by the name of Dogyü Gyatso... As in the biography of Drogmi ('Brog-mi), it is explained that a master of attainment may once again enter his own body, but still it is taught that it is not an easy matter to pass [from death to rebirth] by means of Drongjug, so I am not sure about it.”

The Mongol ruler Gushri Khan made him a land grant, and in 1648 he founded Ganden Chökhor Ling (Dga'-ldan chos-'khor gling), commonly known as Tongkhor Monastery. He met the Fifth Dalai Lama once more as He was passing through Amdo on his way to Beijing (as told in an earlier blog). Late in his life his fame reached the ears of Shundri (i.e. Shunzi), the Manchu Emperor of China, who granted him a seal (cho-lo) with the title Chanzhi Manjushri (Chanzhi means 'Chan Master'). He died in 1683, his 45th year, of course counting from the time of the Drongjug. His body was about 63 years old.

There was a revolt in 1724, and the Tongkhor Monastery was destroyed. The Tongkhor V decided to locate it at a new site about 20 miles away from the ruins of the old monastery. Built in 1736, largely demolished in the anti-cultural 'Cultural Revolution,' and somewhat restored since the late 1980's, this is the Tongkhor Monastery that may be visited today.



Read more:

Anonymous, Zhabs drung 'jam pa'i dbyangs rim byon gyi 'khrungs rabs rnam par thar pa gsal bar byed pa'i rin po che baidûrya'i me long (Cover title: Stong 'khor zla ba rgyal mtshan sku phreng rim byon gyi rnam thar), Krung go'i bod rig pa dpe skrun khang (Beijing 2005).

Gyurme Dorje, Tibet Handbook, with Bhutan, Passport Books (Chicago 1996), p. 572.

Dungkar Rinpoché's encyclopedia — Dung dkar Blo bzang 'phrin las, Dung dkar tshig mdzod chen mo, Krung go'i bod rig pa dpe skrun khang (Beijing 2002).

Andreas Gruschke, The Cultural Monuments of Tibet's Outer Provinces, White Lotus (Bangkok 2001), vol. 1 (The Qinghai Part of Amdo), p. 47. This has a nice sketch of the history and present condition of Tongkhor Monastery (for a fine photograph of one of its older buildings, see fig. 62 on p. 138).

Samten G. Karmay & Yasuhiko Nagano, eds., A Survey of Bonpo Monasteries and Temples in Tibet and the Himalaya (Bon Studies series no. 7), National Museum of Ethnology (Osaka 2003). There is a fascinating account of Drongjug practice in the abbatial succession of a Bön monastery in Trikha, an area in Amdo just south of the Kokonoor, on pp. 330-31.

For information about a publication with very nice translations of the songs of Amdo's most famous classical poet Kalden Gyatso, with a CD included, see this
commercial link.

- - -

For the Peoples Republic of China's law, coming into effect on September 1, demanding that all "Living Buddhas" fill out the proper paperwork to receive official state approval, see the official Xinhua news release here. Outrageous but true.

Postscript - August 18, 2013

I would like to add the following two articles to the bibliography.

Daniel Berounsky, Entering Dead Bodies and the Miraculous Power of the Kings: The Landmark of Karma Pakshi's Reincarnation in Tibet, Part I, Mongolo-Tibetica Pragensia '10: Ethnolinguistics, Sociolinguistics, Religion & Culture [Charles University in Prague], vol. 3, no. 2 (2010), pp. 7-33.

Daniel Berounsky, Entering Dead Bodies and the Miraculous Power of the Kings: The Landmark of Karma Pakshi's Reincarnation in Tibet, Part II, Mongolo-Tibetica Pragensia '11: Ethnolinguistics, Sociolinguistics, Religion & Culture [Charles University], vol. 4, no. 2 (2011), pp. 7-29.

It should be possible to download PDF copies through the author's page at academia.edu.

Katsupari and the Living Slick Factor

It may be possible for human consciousness to exit the body and travel out into space. It may be possible, but then again it may not be desirable. It may be desirable but it may not be productive of anything of lasting worth. It may be convincingly real yet result in real and lasting delusion.

I can accept that people who belong to 'primal religions' like those of Australia, the Americas and Siberia might legitimately make use of trance-inducing techniques for going out into the 'astral' (starry!) planes peopled by spirit entities with the aim of solving specific problems for individuals or their communities. Even some of the most hard-minded of the anthropologists have been known to admit that it may in some way be effective. (Finding a wider context in which an illness makes sense may in itself have a palliative or healing effect.) When modern urban white-collar types start taking up shamanism or astral traveling I suspect it's neither legimate nor authentic. I'm not saying it absolutely couldn't be, just that it wouldn't seem very likely.

My brief acquaintance a few decades ago with some followers of Eckankar, while majoring in Religious Studies at university, didn't inspire me. Neither was I enthralled by my brief acquaintance with followers of Scientology and Theosophy; I never attended meetings or in any way belonged to these or any groups like them, although I did read some of their publications. I remember one Eckist telling me, "Well, we [we Eckists] are doing just what Milarepa was doing!" I also remember thinking that even though I was quite certain he was mistaken on this point there would be little point in trying to point this out to him, convinced and dogmatic as he was. I just kept silent, a silence he probably took as assent. And what I learned from the elaborate descriptions of psychic vampires encountered on the astral plane from another young Eckist with whom I accepted a ride hitchhiking one day didn't exactly inspire confidence. His peculiar brand of spirituality included what he called "materialing out," by which he meant owning every material possession possible.

These days it has become increasingly well known and well enough publicized that much of the literature composed by Paul Twitchell, the founder of Eckankar known as the Living Eck Master who died in 1971, was copied word-for-word (but with strategic alterations in the technical terminology) from various sources, in particular Julian Johnson's The Path of the Masters — a clear case of plagiarism (some examples given here [broken link]). At the same time there are those who argue that many of the names of the Eck Masters that came before him (and that might be encountered in the astral planes by Eckists everywhere today) were made up by him in order to conceal his real sources, who were largely from the Radhasoami, founded in the 1860's, itself a branching from (or a special form of) the Sikh religion. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Radhasoami was mainly inspired by the Sant Mat, in turn largely inspired by the early 15th-century mystic poet Kabir, while Kabir served as a major inspiration in the founding of the Sikh religion. Radhasoami was from the beginning infused with influences from Sikh religion, Nath Yoga, Bhakti (devotional Hinduism) and so forth. Mysticism of sound is a Radhasoami specialty from its origins, but astral projection per se is not. Twitchell imbibed techniques for astral travel at a tender age from the general popular occultism of his day (apparently through his own father), not from any pukka Indian source. Still, Twitchell's technical terminology is almost all from Punjabi Sikh (and/or Radhasoami sources), including the name Eckankar itself (ek[a] means 'one' and ankar is omkara in Sanskrit, meaning the 'syllable om').

In my point of view, if you were to come to realize that conscious plagiarism and other forms of deception occurred in the founding moments of your religion, and you want to continue with whatever you've found to be true in it, it would be logical to go back to the more original inspiration, which in this case would mean that Eckists would go back to the Radhasoami, and perhaps even take the next step and go back to the Sikh religion or the Sant Mat itself, or still another step to the Hindu/Muslim masters who inspired the early Sikhs? (Sufism is most definitely the source of one of the main Eck spiritual practices, reciting the syllable Hu, which means 'He' in Arabic, referring to Allah. This is taken from Sufi dhikr.) But don't all religions conceal from their followers, consciously or not, at least some of the actual sources of their revelations? Isn't this true of Buddhism which, for all its arguable originality, drew (and continued to draw) a lot from Hindu traditions, or Christianity taking much of its quite central 'suffering and resurrected savior' complex from paganism, etc. etc. I'm more than willing to think along those sorts of lines, but even after the most cynically deconstructive post-modernists have had their final deadly words about 'lineage construction' and 'legitimation,' I'm sure a lot of us humans will still find most meaning in a tradition of some kind or another. We seem to have a natural inclination to seek our truths within more long-lasting forms of collective religiosity. Spiritual development, after all generally a very slow and difficult process, would seem to require a context of the 'tried and true.' We need inspiration from the past in order to go forward with confidence. If that sounds rather conservative, I'd say it's manifestly superior to the extremist model of progress that says, 'Destroy it all and see what happens then.' The main progress that results from taking this approach consists in sins that will be visited on our descendents, wounds that won't heal for generations. Go ask China (for example).

But anyway, it was my intention neither to rant until you start suspecting me of neo-con-ism nor to go very far into the Eckankar controversies which may be easily located on the internet (try the official Eckankar website, but also look at the newspaper article here [broken link], the books and their rebuttals [broken link]). I do want to say something, something that might seem rather minor, about the reputed Eckankar-Tibetan connections from a Tibeto-logical perspective.

In 1951, long before Twitchell made Eckankar public in 1964-5, he claims to have met for the first time someone named Rebazar Tarz in the vicinity of Darjeeling. (In one place Twitchell says their first meeting took place in Greece, but without recognizing him at the time.) On an earlier visit to India in 1935 he had met one named Sudar Singh in Allahabad. These two persons, met in the flesh and not only on the astral plane, are often believed to have been the most important two sources for Eckankar teachings. There has been a lot of discussion (especially in internet sources, including some supplied above) about the identities of these two persons. One conclusion is that Sudar Singh (the 'Sudar' is definitely not an expectable Indian name) is a truncated version of Sudarshan Singh, a known figure in the Radhasoami history. Another is that it is more likely Kirpal Singh, whose actual name was at first acknowledged by Twitchell, but subsequently disguised under the name Sudar Singh.

Another possibility that is sometimes mentioned only to be passed over quickly is that Sudar Singh is Sundar Singh. Born in 1889, Sundar Singh converted to Christianity from the Sikh faith. He did missionary work among Tibetans starting in 1908. Tharchin Babu the Tibetan newspaper magnate [broken link], himself a convert to Christianity, met him. It's said that in 1929 he walked into the Himalayas and disappeared, never to be heard from again (with the implication that he may still be there!). Christian evangelicals nurturing hopes of converting Tibet to the only true way have made a special cult of his memory, and it seems to be difficult to obtain any information about him apart from what they provide. It is said he claimed he had met a 300-year-old Christian hermit at Mt. Kailash. Evangelicals generally fail to mention his approval of Swedenborg, encountered in a vision. Evangelicals are more than likely to remember Emanuel Swedenborg, if they remember him at all, for his associations with spiritualist mediums, and therefore "of the devil." These people will be surprised to learn (or rather refuse to learn) that the modern way of visualizing heaven, heaven as it appears in their own minds' eyes, owes a great deal to Swedenborg's visions. But more on that another time (meanwhile see the book of McDannell & Lang). The simplest explanation is that Twitchell used a truncated version of Sudarshan Singh, Sudar Singh, as a cover name to disguise the identity of Kirpal Singh (probably because they had a falling out). The parallelism between Sundar Singh's encounter with the 300-year-old Christian sadhu at Mt. Kailash and Twitchell's encounter in the vicinity of Darjeeling with the 400(500?)-year-old Rebazar Tarz is at least worth wondering over once or twice.

Rebazar Tarz is an especially significant figure, since it was from him that Twitchell claims to have received the 'rod of power' that signifies the transmission that made him into the Living Eck Master. It assuredly does not appear to be a Tibetan name, at least not all of it. It looks like faux-Farsi or Turkish. I'm thinking that while Reba could be taken to be Tibetan Repa (ras-pa, cotton clad one) as in Milarepa, it's more likely that it's Reb/Rab, an old Syrian and Aramaic word for 'teacher, master' eventually borrowed into Hebrew as Rebbe, and into Arabic as Rabb (English: Rabbi). With the first syllable Reb being a title, what remains to explain is the 'proper' name Azar Tarz, which sure looks like Turkish or Persian to me. Azar Hoshang is an early Zoroastrian teacher (here Azar means 'fire'), and although I haven't learned much if anything about him, he apparently had some legendary connections with the Azeris, the Turkic-language-speaking Azerbaijanis of today... These entertainable ideas may be fun and even worth pursuing for other reasons, but they don't help us in understanding how and in what manner Rebazar Tarz was supposed to be 'Tibetan,' or what he was doing in Darjeeling. The Eckist literature places him in the Hindu Kush, meaning in mountains in Afghanistan. He really does look like an Afghani in the full-bearded portrait of him found in Eckankar publications and websites. And to tell the truth I'm not very fond of the explanation that finds the source of Rebazar in street-sign Spanish Rebasar (look here [broken link]). Amusing, yes.

{{Note: Since writing these words, I've learned that Āzar is a proper name that occurs once in al-Qurʾān, where it refers to (or is a nickname of) the father of Abraham, who is called Terakh in the Tanakh ("Old" Testament according to those who accept that there is a "New"). In the Hebrew at least, his name means 'laggard' (someone who is on a perpetual slow-down strike, or perhaps someone who had CFS before such a condition became known). Terakh was originally from Ur, but later moved his family to Haran, where he died at the age of 205. For more interesting discussion, see the Encyclopaedia of the Qurʾān, the entry for Āzar — Firestone, Reuven. "Āzar." Encyclopaedia of the Qurʾān. General Editor: Jane Dammen McAuliffe, Georgetown University, Washington DC. Brill, 2007.

The most usual (not for that reason necessarily correct) explanation of the name Azarbayjan or Azerbaijan is that it comes from Persian. "Azarbayjan is an Arabicized form of the Persian word Azarpadgan meaning the Place of Guardians of Holy Fire (Azar=fire, pad=guard, gan=prefix of place)." See this. The mountains of this region have been known for many centuries as site of many natural gas fires. See this. But it seems that the problem of the 'true' Azerbaijan is a point of controversy on the basis of both historical considerations and contemporary politics. See for example this.}}

At first I was thinking that Fubbi Quantz might have been formed by changing a letter or two of 'Ruby Quartz,' but to be perfectly honest I don't know what to make of it. This name, too, has nothing conceivably Tibetan about it. He's supposed to reside in a monastery in northern Tibet that houses a part of the scriptures Eckists call Shariyat-Ki-Sugmad (the one in the ethereal Akashick Records, or the one available from Amazon, I'm not sure which). The name they give for this monastery is Katsupari. This does indeed look like, and I believe is, a Tibetan name for a monastery. L. Austine Waddell published something on it long ago in 1895 in his book The Buddhism of Tibet, or Lamaism, as part of a list of monasteries in Sikhim (an old spelling for Sikkim) on page 285. Waddell spelled it Ketsuperri, supplied the exact Tibetan spelling as Mkha' spyod dpal ri, which he explained as meaning "The noble heaven-reaching mountain," telling us that it had eleven monks. This Khachöpelri (this just being my preferred method of phoneticizing it; the 'ch'/'ts' variation is common in Nepal... the 'l' is in any case scarcely audible) is one of the important holy places in Sikkim. The travel literature available to me pays attention to the holy lake, and hardly ever mentions the monastery further uphill. Tourists are told the charming tale that leaves are never allowed to settle on the lake's surface since birds immediately snatch them up.

I am really not sure why this particular lake, known to the tourism literature by the name of the nearby monastery (which itself looks like the name of a mountain!), was supposed to be all that holy. Apparently it has some legendary connection to Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava). Some Lepcha legends do connect their tribal origins with lakes. Like you, I don't have in my library the only extensive English-language source about Sikkim's history, which still exists only in the form of an unpublished manuscript (long ago Rock, and more recently Steinmann, made use of it), and I haven't looked into the several Tibetan-language guidebooks to the holy places of Sikkim that are available to me. Not yet. My thinking is that while Twitchell was visiting Darjeeling, he may well have heard the name of this place, only about 30 miles away as the crow flies. He could have even gone there, I suppose. I imagine that Eckists will sooner or later catch on to this connection. Well, so long as they pay due respect to the fragile local Eck-osystem, it doesn't bother me that they will start pounding the forest paths up to Khatsupari Monastery. The lake, at least, is already on the regular tourist route. And I imagine the monks in residence won't mind if people stop by to ask them a few puzzling questions about Fubbi Quantz and the Shariyat-Ki-Sugmad. They will probably welcome both the company and the entertainment. I recommend a long stopover in Azerbaijan.



Read more:

Martin Boord, A Pilgrim's Guide to the Hidden Land of Sikkim Proclaimed as a Treasure by Rig 'dzin rgod kyi ldem 'phru can, Bulletin of Tibetology, vol. 39 (2003-2005), pp. 31-53. Available as PDF here.

Alka Jain and H. Birkumar Singh, S.C. Rai, E. Sharma, Folklores of Sacred Khecheopalri Lake in the Sikkim Himalaya of India: A Plea for Conservation, Asian Folklore Studies, vol. 63, no. 2 (2004), pp. 291-302.  You may be able to get there directly from here.

Colleen McDannell and Bernhard Lang, Heaven: A History, Vintage Books (New York 1988), especially Chapter 7: "Swedenborg and the Emergence of a Modern Heaven."

Joseph F. Rock, Excerpts from a History of Sikkim, Anthropos, vol. 48 (1953), pp. 925-48.

Eric J. Sharpe, The Riddle of Sadhu Sundar Singh, Intercultural Publications (New Delhi 2004).

Brigitte Steinmann, The Opening of the Sbas yul 'Bras mo'i gshongs according to the Chronicle of the Rulers of Sikkim: Pilgrimage as a Metaphorical Model of the Submission of Foreign Populations, contained in: Alex McKay, ed., Pilgrimage in Tibet, Curzon (Richmond 1998), pp. 117-42. Notice the picture-map for pilgrims on p. 118, and the small hilltop monastery labeled "Khe Choe Palri" in the lower lefthand part.

D.P. Walker, The Astral Body in Renaissance Medicine, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 21, nos. 1-2 (January 1958), pp. 119-133. The concepts of the astral body and astral travel of modern popular occultism are rooted in later forms of Neo-Platonic philosophy, perhaps Proclus. See this entertaining but as usual rather scattered Wikipedia entry.

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Another Disquieting Bell and Its Inscription

I can't speak for anyone else, but whenever I catch sight of those light-brown colored country houses dotting the Nepalese landscape from the window of the airplane I feel a deep sense of being at home at last. I love Nepal, and of course that means that I find much of the recent news from there very discouraging. Yet news in more recent days would seem to justify optimism. As a Tibeto-logical thinker I cannot ignore the fact that with all the positive things that could be said about Tibeto-Nepalese relations over the last 1400 years or so, there was one period in particular that is still causing problems. I mean the war that took place in the late 18th century. Nepalese memories of this war are still rather fresh, children learn about it in school, and so it nowadays has a lot to do with the popular 'image' of Tibetans in Nepali minds. Once I lived in Nepal for a year and a half, and visited several times more, and while I can't pretend to be an expert on that rather small yet extremely diverse and complicated country, as a student of Tibetan I was often perplexed by Nepali attitudes to their Tibetan neighbors. One Nepali friend told me how they are taught in school that the Tibetans were all cowards. And that was by no means the worst of what I heard. I found these negativities troubling, especially given that many elder Newars in the valley have spent long periods of time in Tibet, and given that there are so many practitioners of Tibetan Buddhism among the inhabitants of northern Nepal, and given that some Newars in the valley practice Tibetan Buddhism, or combine it in interesting ways with Newar Buddhism, as well they might, since both have the same source in Buddhism of the Vajra Vehicle.

A number of times I've taken off a whole day to take the walk out of the city of Kathmandu across the river to Swayambhu Nath Stupa (the "Nath," 'Lord,' is an element of high respect added by Hindus, who will often insist on its use). I think it cannot be considered a proper pilgrimage if it doesn't take at least a few hours to walk to the sacred site. Of course it's possible to take a taxi up the back side and be there before you know it, but that would feel like cheating, like some kind of violation. And there is something truly awe-inspiring about Swayambhunath, which is surely an ancient site, although the stupa has undergone considerable enlargement and renovation over the centuries. The very name means something that wasn't created, wasn't crafted, that emerged on its own, owing its existence to none. Everything is magical about it, even the nagging nudnik hustlers and beggars, even the monkeys who slide down the central handrail as you are struggling to reach the top, snatch the bag of bananas from your hands and gobble them down right in front of you. Tibetans call it Pagpa Shingkun ('Phags-pa Shing-kun). It's usually explained to mean the Holy ('Phags-pa) All-Trees (Shing Kun). Of course there are some very impressive trees surrounding the lofty hill of Swayambhu, not as many as there used to be, but I doubt this meaning was really intended. The Shing-kun could be a disguised borrowing from a Newar name that means something else. Such things do occur (as in the case of the Tibetan name of Bodhnath Stupa on the opposite side of the city). But at the moment I'm tending toward an explanation that seems to me an obvious choice. Shing-kun is the regular Tibetan word for what is called hingula in Sanskrit, and mostly simply 'hing' in the marketplaces. If I tell people the usual English name for hing they usually wrinkle their noses in disgust. The 'English' name asafoetida most people believe is related to fetid, and therefore imagine it to be inedible. Quite the contrary, if used judiciously, if you crush a single tiny glob of the dried resin (or if you take an eentzie pinch of the diluted powdered stuff) before adding it to the onions and cooking oil, it yields such a wonderful aroma and flavor that curry just cannot be made without it or at least, I would say, the result can't be called curry. I personally never make dal (lentils) without it.

Yes, but where was I? Oh yes, as you are approaching the top of this stairway to heaven, clinging tightly to the railing, heart pounding and gasping for air, hovering high above the panoramic view of Kathmandu, you finally catch sight of a giant gilded metal vajra, called dorjé in Tibetan, which symbolizes the indestructible mind of Enlightenment (the subjective side of Enlightenment, as if there were one). As you probably are aware, the vajra is constantly paired with the bell in Newar and Tibetan Buddhist rituals. The bell in this case represents the 'realm of Dharmas' or the full picture of the factors that together make up the external world as it is experienced by the Enlightened mind. Of course you're right in thinking that in Enlightenment there is no such duality of subjective and objective. Given the general pairing of vajras and bells, it ought to be no surprise at all that there is a bell, actually two bells, situated close to the giant Vajra. On one of these bells is a long Tibetan inscription, which I remember reading as best I could on site, recognizing the name of one of the Red Hat Karmapas on it. I should have taken a photograph, but here is a photo of at least one of those large hanging bells up there.


For another picture, with part of the inscription visible, look here. Try viewing this marvelous photograph by Manish Shakya at the highest magnification.

Now the name of the Red Hat Karmapa evokes, well, at least for Tibetanists, the very unusual and interesting story of a reincarnate lama who was officially forbidden to reincarnate. But wait one minute, it would be more accurate to say that his followers were forbidden to recognize his reincarnation. Quite a few Tibetans believe the Tenth Red Hat Karmapa was involved in treachery, or was maybe even a traitor to Tibet. But as always it isn't so much the story but the way it is told that leads us to empathize with or despise the hero or villain. And there are many unclear parts of the story, so one often wishes that someone with the necessary language abilities would do a thorough study of the immense body of literature in Tibetan, Chinese and Nepalese sources. I will just roughly tell the story as it has already been told. In 1772 the Bhutanese invaded the land to their south known as Cooch Bihar and took the king prisoner. This disturbed the British in Bengal who sent an army to fight off the Bhutanese. This in turn disturbed the Panchen Lama who petitioned the British to put an end to the fighting. The connections thus formed led to the mission of George Bogle to Bhutan first, and then to the residences of the Panchen Lama near (and later in) Tashilhunpo in November 1774. Bogle and the Panchen Lama conversed in Hindi and became very good friends, they say. British-Tibetan relations were warming up. Bear in mind that the Panchen Lama was not the ruler of Tibet and had no power to make official treaties with foreign powers. Nonetheless he was a very influential person and could make agreements of his own regarding matters such as trade. As part of their discussions the Panchen Lama asked to build a Buddhist temple near Calcutta, and the request was granted (see the Bysack article). It's interesting that monks from Tashilhunpo had built a monastery in Bhaktapur in the Nepal Valley already in 1666, as known from a surviving inscription. If looked into further we might find that Tashilhunpo had a policy of building religious edifices outside Tibet (as they were certainly doing in Ladakh as well). Then the Panchen Lama was invited to visit the Manchu Emperor in China for the occasion of the Qianlong Emperor's 70th birthday party. He arrived in the middle of 1780 and died that same autumn in Beijing. He surely died of smallpox, in my opinion, although there are those who suspect something more insidious. Rumors of foul play, perhaps started by Abdul Kadir Khan, an agent of the British in Benares, are themselves part of the story. Still, his death in Beijing so soon after his arrival was an acute embarrassment to his Manchu hosts, so much so that they decided it would be best to pay restitution. (Dhungel says this amounted to the considerable sum of 12,000 gold coins.)

It may not be too far beside the point to mention that smallpox, which we now think was successfully eradicated in the mid-1970's, was a fairly constant terror in all of Asia in those times. When Bogle first met the Panchen Lama in November 1774, he was staying outside the city in a place known as "Desheripgay" (Bkra-shis-rab-rgyas?), since there had been a recent epidemic in Shigatse. Just to hint at the wealth of interesting information that would be gained from a close study of the Panchen Lama's 13 volumes of Collected Works, we might take note of a short text in an anthology of miscellaneous works in volume 7, written in the Water Dragon year (1772 CE), which can only be understood as a response to the smallpox epidemic. It is a monastic 'ritual' (or more like a script for a business meeting) that involves choosing eight monks (distributing 'ballot slips' made of wood and collecting them again) who would then be responsible for removing the blankets and other personal items of those who had succumbed to the disease. At the end of the text, the Panchen Lama recommends the recitation of the Entering Vaishali Sutra (Vaiśālī Praveśa Mahāsūtra) on the doorsteps outside the cells of those who are sick, and the reading of sutras on the verandas of those who are not sick. Most people are probably not aware that innoculation using the 'live' virus, as distinguished from vaccination, was a wellknown practice in those days. This involved taking a diluted form of the virus, using tissue taken from the scabs of its victims, and blowing it into the nostrils. That Panchen Lama himself was well aware of this, is clear in another short text immediately following the one just mentioned. He could have been innoculated, but wasn't.

Trouble with Nepal had been brewing for some time. Tibet was using as its main currency silver coins minted in Nepal. Already in 1751 the Seventh Dalai Lama had sent letters to Nepal protesting the fact that they were constantly debasing the silver by adding more and more copper. In 1769 the Gurkhas had established their power in the Nepal Valley. There is a story, evidently first told by the Capuchin Father Giuseppe, that the Gurkha leader punished the people of Kirtipur for resisting his sieges by cutting off the nose of every male over the age of 12. This story, although often repeated, has sometimes been hotly denied by Nepali authors. Tibetans tried to bring Nepal's ruthless new ruler up to speed about Tibetan trade issues, and meanwhile took the opportunity to complain about the debased coins they had been getting.

Then in 1775 Tibetan relations with Nepal were further soured since Lhasa gave support to Sikkim when she was under attack by the Gurkhas. Nepal sent the message to Tibet that now only the purest silver coins were being minted, and that the old debased coinage would therefore have to be devaluated. This was a demand, not a suggestion. Nepal threatened to take three large chunks of Tibetan territory and hold the Red Hat incarnate hostage until their demands were met. Devaluation would have meant a serious monetary crisis in Tibet, and the Tibetan government, the Kashag, only agreed to this reluctantly, and even then it was a relatively slight devaluation.

Meanwhile the Red Hat incarnate, who was a brother of the Panchen Lama, as well as yet another brother named Drungpa Rinpoche who was placed in charge of the late Lama's estate at Tashilhunpo, were making conflicting claims on both the restitution offered by the Manchus as well as the late Panchen Lama's property in Tashilhunpo (I admit this part of the story is very unclear to me and requires close research... Who took what from where and when?). The Red Hat sought support from the Gurkhas for his claims, and the Gurkhas in turn took this as a justification for doing what they wanted to do anyway, and invade Tibet, which they did in 1788, although they were stopped at Shelkar, which is not that far from the northern borders of Nepal. The short-lived treaty that ensued was not exactly favorable to the Tibetans, since it involved occupation of lands on the Tibetan plateau as well as payment of a hefty annual tribute. Growing more dissatisfied with these conditions, Lhasa decided to sent a delegation to negotiate with the Nepalese in 1791. The delegation was thrown into prison and the Gurkhas set off on a looting spree at Tashilhunpo Monastery in Shigatsé. Lhasa was not only paying close attention to these events, many important people were terrified, bracing themselves for a siege or packing their valuables in preparation for flight. But in 1792 the Nepalese were forced into retreat. The Red Hat incarnate is said to have committed suicide in that same year by ingesting poison. This time the peace treaty was not so favorable to the Nepalese. They were required to hand over all the followers of the Red Hat along with the Tibetan prisoners and the booty taken from Tashilhunpo (100 porters had to be hired to carry it all). A pillar was erected in Lhasa with a trilingual victory inscription in Tibetan, Manchu and Chinese. The Qianlong Emperor, who at the request of Tibet's government had sent a large contingent of troops (just how many is a matter for dispute) to assist the Tibetans in evicting the Gurkhas, considered this the tenth and last in a series of great victories of his reign (Waley-Cohen). Where the Manchu Emperor saw a triumph of his rule later Chinese would see evidence of their power over Tibet. To Tibetans it was a sign of Tibet's power that it could call upon its patron-priest relationship with the Emperor to bring them assistance in a time of need. To Nepalis, the Tibetans were such cowards they were unable to fight their own battles without bringing in the Manchu troops. Thinking about these different positions leaves your thoughts spinning.

So, I hope I have at least whetted your appetite to learn more (see the reading list below). Not being attached to the academy at the moment, I find my position as a Tibeto-logical researcher to be quite different from the undergraduate lecturers who want to impress their captive audiences with objects of knowledge about which they've already made up their minds. I haven't resolutely made up my mind about any aspect of this story, but I do hope to find out more myself. If one day you do have the opportunity to walk out to Swayambhunath and climb those steps, make sure to stop a moment at the top to have a look at that bell, and think about that holy person, whether hero or villain, who shortly after donating it committed suicide (?). It appears that popular views of the Red Hat's motives were shifting during the war, and it even seems probable that, as Martinov (p. 155) suggests, he supplied a convenient scapegoat for all the problems only after he was dead and the war was over. This could be just another example of how inscriptions on bells can ring out their own stories, even when history comes out sounding like a long string of question marks. Like it or not, the present is the product of arguments from the past. Forgetting history means nothing ever gets resolved.

In closing, here is my translation of the inscription on the bell. I've added some comments afterward to aid comprehension and provoke reflection:

By the virtue of offering this amazing bell of appealing melody
to the supreme precious support of the Victor's Dharma Body,
may I myself and the sentient beings connected with me
find peace from the troubles brought on by inimical circumstances
while increasing long life, disease-lessness, Dharma and wealth.
May we dedicate ourselves to Dharma with the three doors,
so that the negative forces will be powerless to oppress us.
May we obtain the holy Royal Coronation of the Four Bodies,
and until we do, wherever we might dwell,
may we never lose sight of the altruistic enlightened thought.
May we always hear the Dharma melodies of peace.

May it be just as written in these words of prayer by the Tenth Red Hat Incarnate Chödrub Gyatso. Jayantu!

The price of the 170 dharni of bronze that went into making this bell, added to the wages of the artists, totals 1,360 tamkas.


Line 2: All this line is describing the Swayambhu Stupa itself, the holy object to which the bell is given as a meritorious offering. Stupas (chortens in Tibetan) are always conceived as icons of the Buddha's mind. 'Victor' (Jina) is an epithet of the Buddha. For the word "support" read 'icon.' On Dharma Body, see the note on line 8. Aside from being the term by which Buddhism is known to the Buddhists, what most of us nowadays know as 'Buddhism,' the word Dharma has a rich range of meanings that are difficult to encapsulate.

Line 3: This means all beings endowed with thoughts and feelings, since all beings are in any case interconnected.

Line 6: The three doors are those of body, speech and mind. Through ethical disciplines and various practices, Buddhists aim to transform them into Buddhabody, Buddhaspeech and Buddhamind.

Line 8: Royal Coronation is a way of speaking about Vajra Vehicle empowerment. Generally in Tibetan Buddhology one speaks of Three Bodies of the Buddha, the formless Dharma Body, the visionary Enjoyment Body and the generally visible Manifestation Body. Occasionally a body number four, an Essentiality Body, is added.

Line 9: "Wherever we might live" I take to contain an allusion to his state of exile from Tibet. I could be wrong.

Line 10: 'Altruistic enlightened thought' is a way of translating Bodhicitta, the resolve to attain Enlightenment for all sentient beings.

Line 12: The correct spelling of the Tenth Red Hat Karmapa's name is Chos-grub rgya-mtsho. He is sometimes called Könchog Chökyi Nyima (Dkon-mchog chos-kyi nyi-ma). His dates are 1742 through 1792.

Line 13: It is quite common to mention the materials and costs involved in making devotional offerings (for example in offering lamps donated to temples). Since the inscriptions are generally done by the artists, for them it serves as a kind of permanent receipt. It is extremely likely that the bell was cast in Kathmandu or Patan, and not in Tibet. And the monetary term used here, tamka (a word of Mongolian or Turkic origins), very likely means what Tibetans usually call beltam (bal tam), meaning precisely the Nepalese-minted silver coins that were then being used in Tibet. According to Dhungel (p. 193), the Tibetan syllables rdar-ni stand for Nepalese dharni, a unit of weight that some estimate to be over two kilos, perhaps closer to 2 and ½ kilos.


Here is a Wylie transcription of the Tibetan-script version published by Ramesh Dhungel, of the Tenth Karmapa's inscription cast on a bronze bell from Swayambhu. Dhungel gives the date 1791, although I am not sure on what basis he arrives at it:

rgyal ba'i chos sku'i rten mchog rin po cher //
dbyangs snyan dril bu rmad 'byung 'di phul dges //
bdag dang bdag la 'brel bcas sems can rnams //
gnas skabs mi mthun rgud pa zhi ba dang //
tshe ring nad med chos nor yongs 'phel zhing //
sgo gsum dam pa'i chos la bzhol ba la //
nag phyogs rnams kyis brdzi bar mi nus cing //
snying po don mchog gnas lugs legs rtogs nas //
sku bzhi rgyal thab dam pa thab pa dang //
de ma thob kyi bar du gar gnas kyang //
byang chub sems dang nam yang mi 'bral zhing //
zhi ba chos kyi sgra dbyangs rtag thos shog //
ces pa'ang zhwa dmar bcu pa chos grub rgya mtshos smon tshig tu bris pa ltar 'grub par shog // dza yantu /
dril bu 'dis sgyur li rdar ni brgya dang bdun bcu'i rin dang / bzo gla bcas sdom .tam stong phrag gcig dang gsum brgya drug bcu song //




A plate from Daniel Wright's History of Nepal, published in 1877. Notice the giant vajra on the lotus stand at the top of the stairway, looking much like it still does today. The vajra is generally attributed to the reign of Pratap Malla (1641-1674 CE), who constructed the large towering white temples to either side.


Read more!

Sanderson Beck. Try this link.

Lucette Boulnois, Poudre d'or et monnais d'argent au Tibet (principalement au XVIIIe Siècle), Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (Paris 1983).

L. Boulnois, Chinese Maps and Prints on the Tibet-Gorkha War of 1788-92, Kailash, vol. 15, nos. 1-2 (1989), pp. 83-112. Available in PDF format here.

Gaur Das Bysack, Notes on a Buddhist Monastery at Bhot Bagan (Howrah), on Two Rare and Valuable Tibetan Mss. Discovered There, and on Puran Gir Gosain, the Celebrated Indian Acharya and Government Emissary at the Court of the Tashi Lama, Tibet, in the Last Century, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (Calcutta Branch), vol. 59, pt. 1 (1890), pp. 50-99.

Phanindra Nath Chakrabarti, Trans-Himalayan Trade, a Retrospective (1774-1914): In Quest of Tibet's Identity, Classics India Publications (Delhi 1990).

Ramesh K. Dhungel, Nepal-Tibet Cultural Relations and the Zhva-dmar-pa (Shyamarpa) Lamas of Tibet, Contributions to Nepalese Studies, vol. 26, no. 2 (July 1999), pp. 183-210. For the bell inscription, see Appendix 3 on p. 205. For the PDF, click here.

Keith Dowman, A Buddhist Guide to the Power Places of the Kathmandu Valley, Kailash, vol. 8, nos. 3-4 (1981), pp. 183-291, especially pp. 208-213 on Swayambhunath. For an internet version, press here.

Karl Gabrisch, Geld aus Tibet, Stadt Winterthur Departement für Kuturelles & Tibet-Institut Rikon (Winterthur 1990). Catalog for an exhibit at the Money Museum (Münzkabinetts) of the city of Winterthur held from Autumn 1989 through Summer 1990. This is one of the finest introductory studies of Tibetan numismatics, and for this reason ought to be translated into English.

Father Giuseppe [Giuseppe da Rovato], Account of the Kingdom of Nepal, Asiatick Researches, vol. 2 (1801), pp. 307-332

Mayura Jang Kunwar, China and War in the Himalayas, 1792-1793, The English Historical Review, vol. 77, no. 303 (April 1962), pp. 283-297. Available from JSTOR with subscription.

Kesar Lall, The Newar Merchants in Lhasa, Ratna Pustak Bhandar (Kathmandu 2001).

Clements R. Markham, Narratives of the Mission of George Bogle to Tibet and of the Journey of Thomas Manning to Lhasa, Cosmo Publishing (New Delhi 1989), first published in 1876, revised 2nd edition in 1879.

A.S. Martinov, The Sa-skya Episode in the Nepal Campaign of 1791-1792, contained in: L. Ligeti, ed., Tibetan and Buddhist Studies: Commemorating the 200th Anniversary of the Birth of Alexander Csoma de Koros, Akadémiai Kiadó (Budapest 1984), pp. 153-8.

Harish Naraindas, Crisis, Charisma and Triage: Extirpating the Pox, Indian Economic and Social History Review, vol. 40, no. 4 (2003), pp. 425-457. Available from Sage Publications if linked through a subscribing institution.

Hugh Richardson, George Bogle and His Children, contained in: Hugh Richardson, High Peaks, Pure Earth: Collected Writings on Tibetan History and Culture, Serindia (London 1998), pp. 468-81.

Alexander von Rospatt, A Historical Overview of the Renovations of the Svayambhûcaitya at Kathmandu, Journal of the Nepal Research Centre vol. 12 (2001), pp. 195-241. The same author wrote an unpublished Habilitation on the same subject at Hamburg in 2000.

Tsepon W.D. Shakabpa (Rtsis-dpon Zhwa-sgab-pa Dbang-phyug bde-ldan), Tibet: A Political History, Yale University Press (New Haven 1973), pp. 153-72.

Hemraj Shakya, Śrī Svayambhū Mahācaitya: The Self-Arisen Great Caitya of Nepal, Svayambhu Vikash Mandal (Kathmandu 2005). I haven't seen this English-language book yet, but it is supposed to have a chapter on the Red Hat incarnate's bell donation.

Kate Teltscher, The High Road to China: George Bogle, the Panchen Lama and the First British Expedition to Tibet, Bloomsbury (London 2006). Find it at Amazon if you want it.

Prem R. Uprety, Nepal-Tibet Relations, 1850-1930: Years of Hopes, Challenges and Frustrations, Ratna Pustak Bandhar (Kathmandu 1998), first published in 1980. See especially pages 20-54, the chapter entitled "An Assertive Nepal in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries."

Joanna Waley-Cohen, Commemorating War in Eighteenth-Century China, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 30, no. 4 (October 1996), pp. 869-899.

Renewed Bell Appeal

I would just like to broadcast the plea once more. I urge anyone who might have the opportunity to make a digital photograph of the Tibetan inscription on the bell at Holy Etchmiadzin in Armenia: Please do step forward and let it be known to the world.

At the moment we have two conflicting testimonies about what this inscription might be. James B. Bryce,traveling in Armenia in 1876, said that it is inscribed with Om Om Hrum. Following a comment by Andrew West we see that according to Fridtjof Nansen's Armenia and the Near East, it says Om Ah Hum. It is unlikely either of these two travel writers could personally read Tibetan letters, and it is possible that there is more to the inscription than just the three syllables. One clear photograph could easily solve the problem.



Here is a photograph of the mosaic of the Cathedral of Etchmiadzin that is found on the floor of the Armenian Chapel of Saint Gregory the Illuminator. It is reached by a stairway leading down from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. On the stones of the walls of this stairway are thousands and thousands of engravings of small Crusader-period crosses.A stairway down the right side of the Chapel of St. Gregory leads still further down to the cave where St. Helena, mother of Constantine, ‘invented’ (i.e. discovered) the True Cross in 326 CE.



So please, come forward with a photo that would be placed on this blog with much thanks. I’m not too proud to beg.

Another piece of the mosaic: Noah’s ark.

It is said that a relic of the wood of the ark is kept today at Holy Etchmiadzin.

§  §  §

Postscript (August 19, 2012):

Another bell I would like to know more about is one in Korea made in 1346, with both Sanskrit (Lantsa script) and Tibetan letters on it.  This is another example, at least, of a Tibetan-inscription bell located far away from the Himalayan plateau.  Here's a reference to the only article I know of at the moment:

Yuyama Akira, Die Sanskrit-Texte in Lan-tsha und in tibetischer (dBu-can) Schrift auf der im Jahre 1346 gegossenen Glocke des Tempels Yeon-bog-jeol in Korea.  XXIII. Deutscher Orientalistentag, Ausgewählte Vorträge (Stuttgart 1989) 429-434.

By the way, I’m still waiting impatiently for that Armenian bell photograph...  Does anybody out there hear my pleas?

A Few More Early Incidents of Drongjug

Semodo is a sizeable island in Lake Namtso, the 'Heaven Lake' of Vikram Seth fame. It is one of Tibet's largest lakes located several hours drive north of Lhasa at the edge of the Northern Plateau (Changtang), fantastically beautiful and not entirely uninhabitable. Back in the 12th century it was an especially popular place for hermit yogis, who could house themselves well enough in the natural caves, although getting food and fresh water could sometimes be a problem. Once, when Ölkhaba was in a strict meditation retreat with his teacher Gampopa at Semodo, he injected his own consciousness into the body of a dead goose, which flew around the island three times.

There are some other occurrences of Drongjug in the history of the Second Spreading period that begins toward the end of the 10th century. The next is based on the Dharma History by Butön Rinchen Drub, written in 1322, and the somewhat earlier history by Khepa Deu. It goes like this: A Newar named Padmaruci was sent by a Tibetan king to invite two Indian pundits named Trala Ringwa and Smriti to come to Tibet. Unfortunately Padmaruci, who was supposed to serve as their translator, had died of cholera* while waiting for them in the Nepal Valley. Neither of them could speak a single word of Tibetan, so Tibetans had no way of learning just how learned they really were. Smriti — his name means 'memory' as well as 'traditionally transmitted knowledge' — had to work for years as a shepherd in Tanag until he finally picked up the language. Then he wrote and translated a number of Buddhist works and a well-known grammar. His Tibetan got good enough he could do 'solo translations' (rang-'gyur), without any Tibetan assistance. He even founded a school specializing in the study of Abhidharma, which means teachings on cosmology, psychology and other associated Buddhist sciences.

*Of course it's rather beside the point here what Padmaruci died from exactly. Butön says he died of pho-log, but Khepa Deu says pho-lang. Pho-lang looks like pho-long, meaning stomach (pho) and caecum (long). Pho-log is better known as a disease term, but precisely what it might be in modern medical terms is a mystery. It is definitely a type of stomach disorder accompanied by sharp stabbing pains and spasms. That might mean cholera. Or it might mean something else. It could just as well be some serious form of dysentery.

Apparently Trala Ringwa (Phra-la-ring-ba, sometimes re-Sanskritized as Sūkṣmadīrgha, although this seems no better than a guess), whose name means 'fine and long' or perhaps more likely 'thin and tall,' didn't fare as well as his traveling companion. In Öbermiller's translation (p. 215) we read the following, and I quote precisely,

"The Paṇḍit Sūkṣmadīrgha became the curator of Roṅ-pa Chö-s'aṅ and Roṅ-pa came to the knowledge of numerous kanonical texts."

That's right, kanonical. Puzzled by what it might mean to become the curator of a person (perhaps Öbermiller was purposefully using a long-obsolete meaning of the English word that once meant 'caretaker for a young person,' but nowadays it always seems to mean someone who takes care of a collection of things that are meant to be displayed), looking at the original Tibetan text of Butön's Dharma History becomes unavoidable. But what do we find when we do look there?

Paṇḍi-ta Phra-la-ring-bas Rong-pa Chos-bzangs-la grong-'jug byas-pas / Rong-pas chos mang-po tol-shes-su byung-ba yin-no //

Did Öbermiller understand Drongjug to mean 'curator' based on a literal reading 'entering the house'? It looks as if he did. Anyway, what this passage says is more like this:

"The Pundit Trala Ringwa performed Drongjug on Rongpa Chözang, so Rongpa knew many Buddhist teachings naturally, without even trying."

Not much is recorded in the histories about Trala Ringwa. More is known about Smriti (longer name: Smṛtijñānakīrti) because of his literary legacy, especially his grammar, and because he is often considered to be the very last translator of Old Tantras or, according to others, the very first translator of New Tantras. Smriti has a significant and perhaps even pivotal historical role that therefore makes him of more interest to historians. There is much known about Rongzompa (another name for Rongpa Chözang). He is often called a Paṇḍita (which, when used of Tibetans, always denotes knowledge of Sanskrit), and they even say he uttered Sanskrit words as a child. He was a very important figure for the history of the Nyingma school (as the followers of Old Tantras might have been called by his time) and his many compositions, which surely display a good level of Sanskrit learning, may still be read today. But in general there is very little information on this particular incident of Grongjug, so we should just leave it behind to look at a different story.

Tenné was a member of the exceptionally esoteric one-to-one transmission of the Zhijé teachings that descended from Padampa Sanggyé (died 1105) through his immediate disciple Künga and Künga's disciple Patsab. Our source says that Tenné demonstrated his ability to perform Drongjug to a group of people in the 'Dharma Enclosure' (Chos-ra) of Ngog José (Rngog Jo-sras). Tenné lived a long life, from 1127 to 1217, so it isn't sure when this event occurred, and the Blue Annals is lamentably laconic here. I quote the Roerich translation precisely (Blue Annals, p. 936):

"He (Ten-ne) acquired (the power) of the transference of the vital principle (groṅ-'jug, parakāyapraveśa), and made an exhibition of the transference of the vital principle at the religious college (chos-ra) of rṄog Jo-sras."

This name José (no, this is not Spanish, so please don't pronounce it like it is) is not a proper name. It means the son, most likely the eldest son, of a revered spiritual teacher. Here Ngog, without any doubt, refers to the hereditary lineage of tantra teachers who descended from one of the four main disciples of the translator Marpa, namely Ngog Chöku Dorjé (d. 1102). But it isn't sure which member of his later Ngog lineage is the one intended here.

If we look to what is very likely the original source behind this statement in the Blue Annals, we can add a few more details. The source is the Zhijé Collection (vol. 4, p. 415), in the context of the biography of Tenné that forms a part of the Zhijé History by Rog Zhigpo — a direct disciple of Tenné — composed around the first decades of the 13th century. As we learn there, Tenné usually concealed the results of his advanced practices from other people, but one day he took control of the air (meaning the internal bodily prana) and ascended cross-legged into the sky. A local shepherd saw this and ran away in fright. The text immediately continues,

"In Yamda,* while he was studying the tantras of the Marpa school with Ngog José, he demonstrated Drongjug to three brother tantrics who praised him."

Ya[r]-mda'-ru Rngog Jo-sras-la Mar Rgyud mnyan-ba'i dus-su / mched sngags-pa gsum-la grong-'jug-gi ltad-mo bstand-pas sngags-pa dang....

*The text reads Ya-mda', but Yar-mda' ought to be the correct reading. This means the region of the lower (in this case meaning the northern) part of the Yarlung Valley. There are other unusual spellings here, although I haven't 'corrected' them.

It is interesting that this demonstration took place at a religious center belonging to the Ngog family. Probably this was their main center at Treuzhing, the birthplace of Ngog Chöku Dorjé, a place where many generations of Kagyü students, regardless of their differing lineages, went for more specialized studies in Buddhist tantras. (And not only Kagyüpas, Tsongkhapa studied with one of them.) Perhaps further investigation would find that the Ngog family, which carried on teaching lineages directly from Marpa, had a special interest in the practice of Drongjug. True, it is generally believed, despite bits of counter-evidence here and there, that Drongjug practice disappeared from the Kagyü school after Marpa, although a 14th-century treasure revealer by the name of Dungtso Repa may have revived it. It is also interesting that a follower of Padampa's Zhijé lineage is seen here demonstrating it to members of the Ngog lineage. Just one small example of the inter-lineage exchanges taking place in the 12th century, one among many. There is a fantastic and amusing story about how Padampa himself practiced Drongjug, but we'll save that for another posting another day.



Sources:

E. Öbermiller, tr., The History of Buddhisn in India and Tibet by Bu-ston, Sri Satguru Publications (Delhi 1986), reprint of Heidelberg 1932 edition.

Zhijé History — Rog Zhig-po Rin-chen-shes-rab (1171-1245 CE), untitled history of the early Zhijé School, contained in: The Tradition of Pha Dampa Sangyas: A Treasured Collection of His Teachings Transmitted by Thugs-sras Kun-dga', "reproduced from a unique collection of manuscripts preserved with 'Khrul-zhig Rinpoche of Tsa-rong Monastery in Ding-ri, edited with an English introduction to the tradition by Barbara Nimri Aziz," Kunsang Tobgey (Thimphu 1979), vol. 4, pp. 324-432.

Added note (July 12, 2008):

I'd like to add that in the conference of the International Association of Buddhist Studies held this year in Atlanta, Georgia, Daniel Berounsky, Professor in Prague, gave a paper entitled "Entering Dead Bodies and the Miraculous Power of the Kings: Notes on Karma Pakshi's Reincarnation in Tibet."

This article tells of several quite early accounts of Drongjug, but the most remarkable thing about it is that it locates an incident of it precisely at the point in Tibetan history when recognized reincarnations of famous teachers (apparently) originated, that is, 1283 CE when the Second Karmapa incarnated as the Third. Many thanks to Prof. Berounsky for making the unpublished draft of his paper available to me, and for permitting me to mention it here.

The Latest Thing in Old Histories

Although I can imagine that the blogosphere as a whole will find little thrill in it, I am personally overjoyed to report to whoever might be interested on a very new publication of an old Tibetan history book. It is so new I could only discover very few mentions of it on the entire internet. You can see the details of the publication here. A transcribed version of the Tibetan text has been made available here.

This history was written in 1474 CE, in the same year the First Dalai Lama died and the Upper Tantra College was founded in Lhasa. The front title says "Precious Dharma Origins of India and Tibet" (Rgya bod-kyi chos-'byung rin-po-che) but the title at the end, in the colophon, is much more colorful, "Biographies of Holy Personages: The Geese of Faith Frolicking in the Ocean of Learning" (Skyes-bu dam-pa'i rnam-thar thos-pa rgya-mtshor dad-pa'i ngang-mo rnam-par rtse-ba). The title is clarified in the closing verses: The biographies are the ocean on which we the readers are to swim about and derive blessings from them (the biographies), just as the geese (according to an old Indian poetic conceit adopted by Tibetan writers) can extract milk that has been mixed into the water, and thereby attain Buddhahood quickly. It was written by Geyé Tsültrim Senggé, a person about whom little is known. He wrote several other books that may be found listed here and there (the books themselves do not seem to be around any more). One is a life of the Buddha. Another is on poetics (kavya in Sanskrit, or nyängag [snyan-dngags] in Tibetan). And still another is on vocabulary of Indic inspiration favored in Tibetan literary works (abhidhana, or ngönjö [mngon-brjod]).

In its content it has a lot in common with Gö Lotsawa's history known as The Blue Annals, which was written between the years 1476 and 1478, just a few years after Geyé's history. Both Gö's and Geyé's histories are even-handedly ecumenical. They encompass all the Tibetan Buddhist schools and spiritual lineages of note, although both might be faulted for neglecting the traditions based on Nyingma revelations called terma as well as Bon. Geyé differs from Gö in being much much briefer, and therefore rather thin on details. Still, there is much information that will be of interest to Tibet historians. I've noticed that some otherwise undatable persons are given birth and death dates here that appear to be perfectly correct as best I can see.

There is no Chapter One here. It should have been on the life of the Buddha, but perhaps his separate Buddha biography was supposed to serve as the first chapter. Chapter Two covers Buddhism in India. Chapter Three tells how Buddhism came to Tibet, covering the dynasty of the Tibetan emperors quite briefly. Chapter Four is on the spread of monasticism in what is known as the Later Spreading, starting in the late 10th century. Chapter Five is on the Bengali teacher Atisha and the founding of the Kadampa School by his Tibetan student Dromtönpa in the 11th century. Chapter Six is devoted to the Sakyapa school. Chapter Seven is on the Kagyüpa and its many lineages. Chapter Eight is on the Tibetan transmissions of the Kalachakra. Chapter Nine covers a variety of what were, in those days at least, less prominent or less well established spiritual lineages. This includes the Gendenpa (better known in later times as the Gelugpa), the Zhijépa lineages from Padampa Sanggyé, the Shangpa Kagyüpa from Kyungpo Neljor and his Indian teacher Niguma, the Bodongpa, and the Kharag Korsum.

Many thanks to Otani University for at last making available to the Tibetan-reading world this 500-year-old history that seems to exist today only in the form of a unique manuscript in their library. The publication details follow:

History of Indo-Tibetan Buddhism by dGe ye Tshul khrims seng ge: A Critical and Facsimile Edition of the Tibetan Text with Summary and Index, Otani University Shin Buddhist Comprehensive Research Institute, Tibetan Works Research Project (2007). The editors are Khetsün, Shin'ichiro Miyake, Maho Uichi, and Shoko Mekata. Congratulations on what appears to be a meticulous job in the editing, also. This will be a work of permanent reference value for all Tibeto-logical historians. Thank you thank you thank you and thank you!

The Emergency Death Meditation Known as Changing Your Dwelling

Daoist internal alchemists from the Tang Dynasty up until the 15th century or so were, under some circumstances, recommended to practice something called Changing Your Dwelling (yishe). This practice is remarkably close to the Tibetan Buddhist practice of Drongjug, and of course also Rampa's Transmigration. I learned about this from reading a new article in the journal T'oung Pao (vol. 92 [2006], pp. 373-409) entitled "Emergency Death Meditations for Internal Alchemists," by Stephen Eskildsen of the University of Tennessee (if you are linked through a subscribing institution I could recommend downloading this article via www.brill.nl).

It is quite clear that these Daoists were in some degree in debt to Buddhist sources that had been translated into Chinese in previous centuries (and no doubt in debt to ideas that were "in the air" thanks to Chinese Buddhists), particularly to Vajra Vehicle ideas that were introduced during the Tang. It is true that as far as the earlier Buddhist sources on the Intermediate State (Bardo or Barmado) are concerned, one might benefit from a knowledge of karmic causation in the sense that one could do well to perform actions during the present life that would result in an upgraded experience in the post mortem state. But the Taoist and Vajra Vehicle sources agree that different strategies could be used at the point of death or even in the post mortem state itself to control, transform or otherwise manipulate the karmic forces. Karma isn't denied. It's recognized and, in some manner and degree, evaded.

There are differences, naturally. Buddhism knows nothing of the incubation of the Spirit in the shape of a developing embryo, located first in the stomach and later on in the head. Neither does it know of the Three Corpses, Nine Worms and Seven Po Souls, all negative forces that reside in the three elixir fields of the head, chest and lower abdomen. Most Buddhists would find fault, too, with the goal of some Chinese alchemists to eternalize the physical body.

From a Tibeto-logical point of view, I see only two small faults in Prof. Eskildsen's paper. I think he doesn't entirely comprehend the significance of the Daoist passage on how to enter a womb that he translates: "What is [the method for] entering a womb? Its essence lies merely in recognizing one's external surroundings. If you see large houses and high buildings, these are dragons. Thatched shacks are camels and mules. Wool-covered carts are hard- and soft-shelled turtles. Boats and carts are bugs and snakes..."

In Nanda Entering the Womb Sutra, which Eskildsen himself notes was first translated into Chinese during the Western Jin Dynasty (265-316 CE), and in other sources at least comparable in age, karma induces visual clues to the nature of the womb (and hence the body) one will enter: "When the consciousness without good merit enters the womb, it feels fear and has the idea it is running to hide in a grass house, a leaf house, a walled place, a thick mountain forest, a cave etc. If it has great merit, it has the idea it is climbing on top of a tower or high roof, or is entering a palace to sit on a throne." (Norbu article, p. 58). Of course the Daoist account is more detailed and varied. But in general, as in the Buddhist Sutra, the womb itself is conceptualized as a dwelling, a house, a walled place, or a conveyance of some kind (in the Daoist passage we even find clothing and armor, which does make sense). The Buddhist sources sometimes suggest that the Bardo entity is driven to take refuge in these "houses" by loud and alarming sounds or other environmental annoyances.

Here is a long passage from the Nanda Entering the Womb Sutra (Derge Kanjur, vol. 41, leaf no. 312): "Previously accummulated karma induces mistaken conceptualizations. There are the conceptions of cold, a strong wind, a great rainshower, an overcast landscape, the cacophony of a great crowd of people. Then there are ten imperfect conceptualizations that depend on the highness or lowness of karmic causes. These are: 1. I am now entering inside a house. 2. I am now climbing on top of a multistoried building. 3. I am entering a temple. 4. I am climbing on a throne. 5. I am entering a grass hut. 6. I am entering a house made of leaves. 7. I am entering a dense thicket. 8. I am entering a forest. 9. I am burrowing into a hole in a wall. 10. I am entering a crack in a woven bamboo mat. Depending on these thoughts, Nanda, at that time the intermediate entity, even while thinking such thoughts, enters into the womb of its mother."

It should at least be clear that these are not just 'visions' but rather deluded conceptualizations with a basis in 'fact' at least to the degree that they indicate more and less fortunate rebirths.

The other fault is just a fault of omission. Eskildsen does indeed look into and recognize a number of parallels with Tibetan Buddhist completion stage processes (in particular those associated with the Bardo), but he never once mentions the existence of Drongjug practice in Tibetan (or Indian) Vajra Vehicle Buddhism. An opportunity is missed.

As far as India is concerned, it may be that the idea was a bit more widespread than has been generally recognized. There is of course the well-known story of Shankara's entry into a dead woman's body to learn, in an eminently practical way, the arts of love in order to win a debate (Antarkar's article...obviously as a monk Shankara was not prepared to debate on the subject, and as a man, certainly not from a woman's perspective). There are other indications in Indian sources that certain non-Buddhist esoteric groups knew of it. For hints to possible reasons why Drongjug might be called such, see what Hartzell says in his dissertation, p. 717: "[The Trika system.] This is a further step in the type-identity hierarchy whereby the group of cosmic principles or planes intersecting with the individual bio-psyche (tattvas) is called a grāma or village— since the tattvas refer to both the constituent elements of the individual and those of the cosmos." White's book, p. 378, n. 73, mentions an Ayurvedic rejuvenation technique called kuṭī-praveśa, 'entering the hut,' and notes that there is a close Daoist parallel. We know that sometimes Sanskrit grāma was translated into Tibetan with the drong (grong) of Drongjug, so it is very possible that the Buddhist Vajra Vehicle texts written by Indians could have used the term Grāma-praveśa, since this would explain the Tibetan translation much better than other possibilities, like Parakāyāpraveśa ("Entering Another's Body"). The Drong might be a shortened version of drongkyer (grong-khyer), which means 'village.' Our problem is that the main Indian Buddhist texts that describe the practice are preserved in Tibetan translations, and no Sanskrit originals are now available (I surely could be proven wrong on this point).

Then there is evidence in an Indian play by Bodhāyana entitled Bhagavadajjuka (see Clasquin's article). Since this drama is mentioned in a 7th-century inscription, it must be at least that old. Here there is a story involving just what Tibetans call Drongjug. A holy man takes over the dead body of a prostitute. When the death lords want to return the prostitute's soul to her body they find it already occupied, so they place the soul in the holy man's body instead. This story seems of interest for two main reasons apart from its relative antiquity. First of all, it supplies a remarkable account of a mutual or 'double' Transmigration. The two consciousnesses end up completely exchanging bodies. This is unusual. The second reason: Here we might be able to see with some clarity one of the more troubling ethical issues associated with the practice, which is that the deceased consciousness might return to her or his body after death (in Tibetan they call such persons 'das-log, 'returnees from the beyond'). If a stranger's consciousness were to step in at that moment and take over the body, it would prevent the consciousness of the deceased from returning. It might look like stealing (disregarding the "finders keepers" excuse which doesn't hold much water here), in the sense of taking over a body without the agreement of its former inhabitant. But more important, it could look something like murder, in the sense that someone who otherwise might have returned to live on still longer is prevented from doing so.

One Daoist text (Eskildsen, p. 395) recommends the body of a young man who "had not been ill from wind and coldness, and whose essence was firm and full." The health of the corpse, while an important issue for the "walk-in," is of little ethical consequence. The Daoist author further suggests that it should be the corpse of an acquaintance, perhaps implying a bit of prior consent from the deceased or the deceased one's family. The Daoist texts very rarely broach the possibility of entering another person's body before that person has died, and even then only to express abhorrence at the very idea. Eskildsen suggests that Changing Your Dwelling was phased out of Daoist practice precisely because of the potential for ethical ambiguities and abuses. The same may be true of the phasing out of the practice in Tibetan Buddhist esoteric traditions. I doubt if any time soon we will hear of people carrying in their wallets "walk-in consent cards" in addition to their organ donation cards. First we would need to have more adepts capable of making use of the opportunities so generously provided. These cards could clear away some of the ethical qualms. As the western alchemists used to say, "Life is short and the Art is long."

________________

Read more:

W.R. Antarkar, The Incident of Parakāyāpraveśa in the Life of Ādiśaṅkarācārya, Bhāratīya Vidyā, vol. 58 (1998), pp. 1-20. Antarkar argues that the episode of Shankara's Parakāyāpraveśa, since it is found in most biographies, is an essential and not an apocryphal one.

Michel Clasquin, Real Buddhas Don't Laugh: Attitudes towards Humour and Laughter in Ancient India & China, Social Identities, vol. 7, no. 1 (2001), pp. 97-116.

James F. Hartzell, Tantric Yoga: A Study of the Vedic Precursors, Historical Evolution, Literatures, Cultures, Doctrines, and Practices of the 11th Century Kasmiri Saivite and Buddhist Unexcelled Tantric Yogas, PhD dissertation, Columbia University (1996).

Thubten Jigme Norbu, The Development of the Human Embryo According to Tibetan Medicine: The Treatise Written for Alexander Csoma de Körös by Sangs-rgyas Phun-tshogs, contained in: Christopher I. Beckwith, ed., Silver on Lapis: Tibetan Literary Culture and History, The Tibet Society (Bloomington 1987), pp. 57-62. Freely available in PDF format at THDL website.

David Gordon White, The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 1996).

Armenian Bell Update

So far all my small efforts to obtain a photograph of the Tibetan inscription on that Bell in Etchmiadzin have failed to bear fruit. I'll keep you updated whenever some new information comes up, just as I am doing right now.

In 1876, James B. Bryce, a Viscount and influential politician in England, took a trip to Armenia with the goal being to climb Mt. Ararat. He found a piece of wood at 13,000 feet, which excited some speculation that it just might be a bit from Noah's ark. I'm not sure he could verify that it was truly gopher wood or not, and in any case if we start looking for the ark, it will take us too far away from our present quest. His travel account is not available to me at the moment, but here are the details: James Bryce, "Transcaucasia and Ararat, Being Notes of a Vacation Tour in the Autumn of 1876," Macmillan (London 1896), with earlier and later editions.

While using the search facility at Oxford journals archive, with 'Tibet' in the search-box, I stumbled upon a reference to Bryce's book which answers one important question about that Tibetan bell in Armenia. It tells us what Tibetan words were inscribed on it. Let me quote it in full (or try this link, which may not work if you don't have an institutional subscription). It's in the periodical entitled "Notes and Queries," 5th series, no. 10 (September 7, 1878), p. 188:

"Ôm Ôm Hrum." — Prof. Bryce, in his Transcaucasia, p. 309, tells us that in the great Armenian convent at Etchmiadzin there is a bell bearing in Tibetan the Buddhist formula, "ôm ôm hrum." What is the meaning of the inscription, and who brought the bell from Tibet to Armenia? — A.L. Mayhew, Oxford."

Anthony Lawson Mayhew (b. 1842) was indeed an Oxford Don best known for his Concise Dictionary of Middle English. He knew just what questions to ask. Unfortunately, as far as the search engine is concerned, nobody seems to have responded to his question in subsequent issues of the journal.

Beyond just saying that "Om" is the Om you know, while "Hrum" is a syllable that does occur sometimes in mantras both Hindu and Buddhist, I don't know what would explain the motive for putting this particular mantra on this particular bell. But of course a misreading is entirely possible, so please, if you are planning a summer trip to Armenia (and of course if you are already there), try to photo the Tibetan bell with its complete inscription and email the digital image to me right away. Meanwhile, have a look at the comments. And add your own!