Pavements Like the Sea

Vancouver, August 2010

For a long time I’ve wanted to immerse myself in the Tibetan accounts of Buddha’s life, and in the last few years I’ve found occasions to do just that. Almost all the good books in English that tell the stories are old ones.* More recent Buddha biographies, even many of those written by Buddhists, unfortunately think they have to tell what little they do tell of Buddha’s life as straight-on history, as if they were in a position to be able to tell that the less miraculous a story is, the more verifiable therefore.** 

(*John Strong's recent book is not the only exception to this rule, but definitely one of the better ones. I very much recommend it. ** Today’s blog is about stories that have hardly anything of the miraculous apart from remarkable mechanical skills and empirical verification... It’s all about ‘hard science’ [at least on the surface of things] but — and here’s a point worth making — that doesn’t necessarily assure us of their historical truth... and yes, of course, other truths besides historical ones may well be lurking there... They most definitely are!)

I was looking in one of those old biographies, the one done by Wm. Rockhill, “Second Secretary U.S. Legation in China,” when I saw something that provoked one of those (honestly) not-so frequent déjà vus. It was also a moment of utter perplexity. Is it possible, I was thinking, that the Nepalese Queen of Emperor Songtsen Gampo could be identical to the famous Queen of Sheba who went to marry King Solomon?  (Only with some role reversals?) As you can already tell, it’s necessary to backtrack a little or we won’t accomplish anything beyond spreading bewilderment about in the world more than is really warranted or wanted. Here’s what the footnote in Rockhill's book (p. 70) said:

“In the Mongol history entitled Bodhimur (Schmidt, Sanang Setsen, p. 342), we read of the Nepalese princess, wife of the Tibetan king Srong-btsan-sgam-po, building a temple on Mount Potala at Lhasa, in which was also a crystal floor. The king was also deluded when he first saw it.”

Tritsun, the Newar Queen of Songtsen Gampo

Not having any quick access to Rockhill’s sources, neither to the Mongolian text nor its German translation by Schmidt, I turned to The Mirror that Shines Light on the Generations of Kings, a 14th-century history, perhaps the most popular one with earlier generations of Tibetan readers. I searched and located the story, right there near the beginning of its chapter 15. The following, just to get us oriented in time, would have taken place somewhere around the middle of the 630’s:  

“When [the Nepalese queen] Tritsun opened the door of the [Trulnang] shrine to allow the king to enter, he saw that the floor resembled water and that everything above it was reflected upon it. Thinking that the former lake had burst forth, he dared not proceed. Tritsun therefore removed the ring from her finger and threw it to the floor, whereupon it skidded across the surface like a pebble upon the ice. Seeing this, the king resolved to enter and said to Tritsun, “This shrine of yours is indeed miraculous!”   (Taylor tr., p. 178).

der khri btsun gyis lha khang gi sgo phyes nas / rgyal po nang du byon par bzhed pa la mthil gyi zha la chu'i mdog lta bu / steng phyogs kyi gzugs brnyan thams cad de la shar ba gzigs pas / sngar gyi mtsho 'di brdol 'dug dgongs nas / nang du 'byon ma nus pa dang / khri btsun gyis sor gdub phud de gtor bas / khyag thog khar rde'u bskyur ba bzhin khrol gyis song ba dang / rgyal pos gzigs pas thugs ches te nang du byon no //  der khri btsun la khyed kyi lha khang 'di 'phrul du snang ngo gsungs /  

Compare the Sørensen tr., p. 285, with footnote no. 871, which has references to parallels in other history books that we ought to look up. Note a further description of the floor on Sørensen's p. 286:

“Its cement-floor is lapis lazuli-coloured,

[In which] the drawings [on the ceiling] above (steng) [i.e.] the fish and water-creatures

Are just like reflections in a mirror.”*

(*This bears a positively uncanny resemblance to the quote by Lehmann you will find below.)

Note the goat by the lake

This is the very story that supplies an explanation for the "Trulnang" part of Rasa Trulnang (Ra-sa 'Phrul-snang) Temple. Rasa means goat (ra) earth (sa) because the goats brought the earth that filled the lake (something alluded to in the quote above). Rasa was the original name of the city before it was changed to Lhasa.



Trulnang means ‘magical’ ('phrul) appearance or shining or reflection (snang). Or to keep it simpler, Trulnang just means a bewilderingly fantastic vision. Rasa Trulnang is the more correct name for the Jokhang (as most English speakers are likely to know it) or the Tsuglakhang, as locals are likely to call it. It’s only the most important temple in the entire history of Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism. And our water-floor story is being told about its builder and one of his wives, just as that other story is told about the most famous temple builder of the Middle East, King Solomon, and one of his many wives... I guess you can intuit where I may be going with this.

On the same pages of his book, Wm. Rockhill tells a canonical episode associated with Buddha’s life, but centered on a figure called Jyotishka. King Bimbisara was invited to Jyotishka's house, or rather we should say, the king, king that he was, had himself invited. As he passed through the wealthy man’s jeweled door,    

He saw before him like a lake of water, in which fish were made to move by machinery. The king, desiring to enter (the room), commenced undoing his shoes, when Jyotishka said, “Sire, why are you getting ready to bathe?”  

“Because I must wade in the water,” he replied. 

“Sire,” Jyotishka answered, “it is not water, it is a floor of jewels which looks like water.”  

“But those fish which seem to move about?”  

“Sire, they are made to move by machinery.”

rgyal pos de’i bar sgo’i phyogs rin po che’i rang bzhin las gyur pa rdzing chus gang ba lta bu de na nya dag rgyu ba ’dra ba’i ’khrul ’khor gyi sbyor ba byas pa dag mthong ste |  nang du ’gro bar ’dod nas lham dag ’dud par brtsams pa dang  |  me skyes kyis smras pa |  lha ci’i slad du chags dag bsil bar mdzad |  des smras pa |  gzhon nu chu la ’bog par bya ba’i phyir ro ||  me skyes kyis smras pa |  lha ’di chab ma lags te |  chab lta bur gda’ ba ni rin po che’i sa gzhi lags so ||  des smras pa |  gzhon nu nya rgyu ba dag ’di ltar snang ngo || lha ’khrul ’khor gyi sbyor ba las de dag rgyu bar gda’o.* 

(*The text was found at this website, in the context of the Vinayakṣudraka. I fixed a few things I was sure needed fixing, but didn’t check the Dergé Kanjur version yet.)

I’d like to point out that the word behind ‘machinery’ here is the very same yantra / mechanism we’ve considered at some length in an earlier blog. But, well, I see that my short story is already getting long, so let me quote from the scripture often known as the Koran (al-Qur'an), ch. 27 - The Ants, verse 44: 

Then she was bidden to enter the palace; but when she saw it, she thought it was a deep pool of water, and bared her legs. 

But Solomon explained, ‘It is just a palace paved with glass.'

And she said, ‘My Lord, I have wronged myself: now I submit myself along with Solomon, to God, the Lord of the Universe!’ 

Queen of Sheba, British Museum

Persian miniature ca. 1595

As the Mir article amply discusses, we are to understand by this that she simultaneously realized her error with regard to the floor being a water surface and her error at not believing in the one God. Seeing through error is what it’s about, is it?

There are a lot of retellings of the story in the Islamic world, some of them saying Solomon was not all that sure she was marriage material. What he really wanted to do was check and see if she had hairy legs or not, which was why he made the floor so shiny and reflective in the first place. It was just to trick her into lifting up her robe so he could satisfy his curiosity and make a better informed choice. But that's only one of many amusing tales. Most amazing thing of all, for me, is this:  At least one version of the Islamic story (told by Grierson as well as Elias, p. 64) says that Solomon's palace was built with a glass floor, with real fish and other sea creatures swimming beneath it. The stories do, after all, look quite a bit the same.

But wait, take a minute to reflect on what it means to be obvious. Humans can’t take a single step without implicitly trusting in the ground to hold them up. The story upsets the expectation of being grounded, at least for a time. Their eyes are not failing them, yet they don’t see what’s there. Maybe it’s about rethinking our assumptions, our fundamentalisms, even? Hell, I don’t know what the story is about any more. I might have thought I did. If you are in a mood to wonder about it some more, have a look at the Lethaby passages I’ve typed up for you down below. Architecture has its sky above and its earth/waters below just like our world does. That much seems so clear it ought to go without saying. But there, I said it anyway. I hope you’ve enjoyed these small reflections. I hope you didn’t find them too limiting.

The “frozen sea” in the Hagia Sophia, Istanbul
(read the Barry essay and all will be clear)

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Literary works:

Fabio Barry, Walking on Water: Cosmic Floors in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Art Bulletin, vol. 89, no. 4 (2007), pp. 627-656.

Rosemarie Haag Bletter, The Interpretation of the Glass Dream-Expressionist Architecture and the History of the Crystal Metaphor, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 40, no. 1 (March 1981), pp. 20-43.

William M. Brinner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender and Culture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, Journal of the American Oriental Society (January-March 1996).  Digital version here.

W. Crooke, The Queen of Sheba, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, new series vol. 45, no. 3 (1913), pp. 685-686. 

“The tale of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon is current at the present day in Palestine, and an old Saracenic bath-house near the Bâb el-Asbât, or ‘Gate of the Tribes,’ in the eastern wall of Jerusalem is pointed out as the scene of the incident. This building was demolished in 1906...  Tales of walking into a place supposed to be full of water are common...” 

Lois Drewer, Fisherman and Fish Pond: From the Sea of Sin to the Living Waters, Art Bulletin, vol. 63, no. 4 (December 1981), pp. 533-547. Besides the illuminations on the symbolism of fish and fishing, there are some illustrations of mosaic floors with fish swimming in them.

Jamal Elias, Prophecy, Power and Propriety: The Encounter of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.  Look here. And if that doesn’t work, look here and scroll down to try and find it. At his footnote 1 you will find a lot of references to writings I haven’t made use of here.

G.A. G[rierson], Duryodhana and the Queen of Sheba, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, new series vol. 45, no. 3 (1913), pp. 684-685.

“In order to prevent Solomon marrying Bilqis, the Jinns told him that her legs were covered with hair, and that she had ass's hoofs instead of feet. To discover if this were true, Solomon built a marvellous palace with a glass floor, beneath which was water supplied with fish and other sea animals swimming therein. He sat on his throne in the midst of the palace and called Bilqis to him. When she came to the glass floor she tucked up her dress in order to wade through the apparent water, and Solomon saw that, sure enough, her legs were hairy...”

Jacob Lassner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender and Culture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 1993). This is another book I should have read through before blogging about the subject, but haven’t yet. See parts of it for free here.

Karl Lehmann, The Dome of Heaven, The Art Bulletin, vol. 27, no. 1 (March 1945), pp. 1-27. Page 5:  

“[A] persistent interrelationship exists between ceilings and floor decorations. In most cases, we see projected upon floors the schemes which were originally developed on ceilings. Sometimes, and as early as the first century B.C., we meet a direct representation of a ceiling on a floor, as if it were reflected in a mirror.”

William R. Lethaby (1857-1931), Architecture Mysticism & Myth, Solos Press (Bath 1994) reprint of 1891 edition. Especially the chapter 9, “Pavements like the sea,” and chapter 10, “Ceilings like the sky.”

“Now, there is an Eastern legend of Solomon laying a floor like the sea in his wonderful palace in Jerusalem:—'When the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon, she came to prove Solomon with hard questions' (Book of Chronicles). These, according to Eastern tradition, were riddles, like those which passed between Solomon and Hiram of Tyre. But 'there was nothing hid from Solomon,' and, en revanche, he retorts by transporting the throne of Queen Balkis to his palace by the aid of the genii who ever served him, so that on her arrival she was confronted by her own throne. 'It was said unto her: enter the palace. And when she saw it she imagined it to be a

p. 206

great water, and she discovered her legs, by lifting up her robe, to pass through it. Whereupon Solomon said unto her: Verily, this is a palace evenly floored with glass' (Koran xxvii.) Or, as some understand, adds Sale, this was in 'the court before the palace, which Solomon had commanded to be built against the arrival of Balkis; the floor or pavement being of transparent glass, laid over running water in which fish were swimming. Fronting this pavement was the royal throne, on which Solomon sat to receive the Queen.'

A similar floor is given to the palace of The City of Brass, in the 'Arabian Nights,' probably the most wonderful piece of architectural imagination in literature. The Emeer Moosa and his followers came to a high-walled city, from the midst of which shines the tower of brass. They entered and pressed on to the palace, and found a saloon constructed of polished marble, adorned with jewels. 'The beholder imagined upon its floor was running water, and if any one walked upon it he would slip. The Emeer Moosa therefore ordered the Sheykh Abd-Es-Samad to throw upon it something that they might be enabled to walk upon it; and he did this, and so contrived that they passed on.'

The story, incorporated in the Koran soon after the year 622, is probably from the Talmud, which contains this version:—All the kingdoms congratulated Solomon as the worthy successor of his father David, whose fame was great among all nations, save one, the Kingdom of Sheba, the capital of which was called Kitore.

To this kingdom, Solomon sent a letter.

'From me, King Solomon, peace to thee and to thy government. Let it be known to thee, that the Almighty God has made me to reign over the whole world, the kingdoms of the north, the south, the east, and the west. Lo, they have come to me with their

p. 207

congratulations, all save thee alone. Come thou also, I pray thee, and submit to my authority, and much honour shall be done thee; but if thou refusest, behold I shall by force compel thy acknowledgment.

'To thee, Queen Sheba, is addressed this letter in peace, from me, King Solomon, the Son of David.' When Solomon heard that the Queen was coming he sent Benayahu, the son of Yehoyadah, the general of his army, to meet her. When the queen saw him she thought he was the king, and she alighted from her carriage.

Then Benayahu asked, 'Why alightest thou from thy carriage?' and she answered, 'Art thou not his majesty the king?'

'No,' replied Benayahu, 'I am but one of his officers.' Then the queen turned back and said to her ladies in attendance, 'If this is but one of the officers, and he is so noble and imposing in appearance, how great must be his superior the king.'

And Benayahu, the son of Yehoyadah, conducted Queen Sheba to the palace of the king.

Solomon prepared to receive his visitor in an apartment laid and lined with glass, and the queen at first was so deceived by the appearance that she imagined the king to be sitting in water.

And when the queen had tested Solomon's wisdom and witnessed his magnificence, she said, 'I believed not what I heard, but now I have come and my eyes have seen it all; behold, the half has not been told to me. Happy are thy servants who stand before thee continually, to listen to the wisdom of thy words. Blessed be the Lord thy God, who hath placed thee on a throne to rule righteously and in justice.'

There is a practically identical story in another of the quarry books of the world, the Sanscrit epic of the Mahabharata, which sings the long strife of rival royal

p. 208

houses. One of the Rajas celebrates a royal sacrifice. 'When the sacrifice had been fully accomplished, Duryodhana entered the place where it had been performed, and saw very many beautiful things that he had never beheld in his own Raj at Hastinapur. Amongst other wonders was a square, made of black crystal, which appeared to the eye of Duryodhana to be clear water, and as he stood on the margin he began to draw up his garments lest they should be wetted, and then throwing them off he plunged in to bathe and was struck violently on the head against the crystal. Then he was much ashamed and left that place.'

Mr Talboys Wheeler suggests that this may be borrowed from the Koran, but allows that it may have had an independent origin. There can, however, be little doubt that these transcendental palaces, which are handed on through milleniums of Indian story, find their origin in the structures of the land which is not subject to winter's wind, nor any decay—The City of Gold founded in the waters above the firmament.

In the fifteenth century Italian romance, called the Hypnerotomachia, the author seems to have collected all the architectural wonders of history and romance; but how should he come by this same story? Poliphilus, after penetrating zone after zone of gardens, which occupy an island, comes at last to a circular temple, open to the sky, and on entering it was astonished to find 'a marvel more grand and stupefying than anything he had ever seen;' the whole area of the amphitheatre was apparently paved with one sole stone of obsidian, entirely black and of invincible hardness, so polished and shining that at the first moment he feared destruction by walking into an abyss. It reflected the light of day so perfectly that he contemplated the profound and limpid sky as in a quiet sea: everything was reflected as in a polished mirror.

p. 209

According to the story in the Koran, Solomon's throne seems to stand on the waters, just as was imagined of God's throne. 'It is He who hath created the heavens and the earth in six days, but His throne was above the waters, before the creation thereof' (Koran xi.). 'For the Mohammedans supposed this throne, and the waters whereon it stands—which waters they imagine were supported by a spirit or wind—were, with some other things, created before the heavens and the earth. This fancy they borrowed from the Jews, who also say that the throne of glory then stood and was borne on the face of the waters by the breath of God's mouth' (Sale). An account of this pavement of waters above the firmament is given in Smith's 'Dictionary of the Bible'—'Further, the office of the rakia (firmament or solid expansion) in the economy of the world demanded strength and substance. It was to serve as a division between the waters above and the waters below . . . . and accordingly the rakia was created to support the upper reservoir (Psalms cxlviii. 4 and civ. 3), where Jehovah is represented as "building His chambers of water," not simply in water, that being the material of which the beams and joists were made.'

In Ezekiel's vision of a perfect temple, after he has seen every court and chamber, and measured them with his reed, he is brought again to the door (Ezekiel 47:1):—'And, behold, waters issued out from under the threshold of the house eastward: for the forefront it of the house stood toward the east.' The waters came from the south of the altar, and after passing through the court and the outer gate became a mighty river flowing to the sea. It is the river of the water of life, 'and everything shall live whither the river cometh.'

p. 210

To return to Constantinople once more: an account of the emperor's bed-chamber, in the imperial palace, is given by Bayet (L’Art Byzantin.), quoting from Constantine Porphyrogenitus. A range of the palace called 'Cenourigion,' was built by Basil, the Macedonian; one of the rooms had sixteen columns, of green marble, and of onyx, sculptured with branches of the vine, and the vault was covered with golden mosaic. 'But nothing could equal the royal bed-chamber. The pavement was of mosaic, the centre was a peacock in a circle of Carian marble, surrounded by rays, and an outer circle. From this second circle issued, as it were, streams or rivers of green marble of Thessaly, which flowed, seemingly, to the four angles of the room (comme des ruisseaux ou des fleuves de marble vert de Thessalie); the four interspaces left between the marble streams had eagles wrought in mosaic, which seemed to live and to breathe. The lower part of the walls were encrusted with glass, in many pieces of varied colour, in the forms of flowers. Above a gold band, the walls were covered with mosaic, on the golden field of which were enthroned Basil and Eudoxia, and their children around them. In the centre of the ceiling glittered a cross of emerald glass on a star-lit sky.' In the same book (Bayet) is a story taken from Codinus, of flooding Sta. Sophia with water, which, although not questioned by the author, seems to be an expedient so impracticable and injurious as to be obviously a myth—just such a myth as would arise to account for a pavement representing water. 'When the dome fell in Anthemius and Isidore were dead, but the latter had left a nephew, who was charged with the works. He increased the elevation of the cupola, and at the same time gave greater solidity to the great arches. They this time left the centres longer in place, and all

p. 211

the scaffolding. They also inundated with water the lower part of the church, so that pieces of wood in falling should not cause any injury.'

In the great area of Sta. Sophia it is not possible to see the floor, but in one of the galleries a green marble pavement is still uncovered. It is formed of very large slabs of antique Cipollino (Browning's 'onion stone'), the slabs being laid in such a manner....  ___  [Read the whole chapter here.] 

Mustansir Mir, The Queen of Sheba's Conversion in Q. 27:44: A Problem Examined, Journal of Qur'anic Studies, vol. 9, no. 2 (October 2007), pp. 43-56.

Christopher R.A. Morray-Jones, A Transparent Illusion: The Dangerous Vision of Water in Hekhalot Mysticism, a Source-Critical and Tradition-Historical Inquiry, Brill (Leiden 2002). I’d love to read this book but, as it is quite expensive, we have to regard ourselves as fortunate to be able to read the parts of it made available here.

W. Woodville Rockhill, The Life of the Buddha and the Early History of His Order, Derived from Tibetan Works in the Bkah-hgyur and Bstan-hgyur, Followed by Notices on the Early History of Tibet and Khoten, Pilgrims Publishing (Varanasi 2004), reprint of 1901 edition. The relevant passage is on p. 70. 

Per Sørensen, Tibetan Buddhist Historiography: The Mirror Illuminating the Royal Genealogies: An Annotated Translation of the XIVth Century Tibetan Chronicle: rGyal-rabs gsal-ba’i me-long, Harrassowitz Verlag (Wiesbaden 1994).

John S. Strong, The Buddha, a Short Biography, Oneworld (Oxford 2001/2002).

McComas Taylor & Lama Choedak Yuthok, trs., Sakyapa Sonam Gyaltsen, The Clear Mirror: A Traditional Account of Tibet’s Golden Age, Snow Lion (Ithaca 1996).

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Out on the web:

For an argument in favor of the Qur'anic source being older than the Judaic source, look here:

http://www.islamic-awareness.org/Quran/Sources/BBsheba.html

You can see a lot of artworks inspired by the Queen of Sheba here:

http://emc.eserver.org/1-3/jones.html

° ° °

And I saw something like a sea of glass mixed with fire, and those who had been ....The very sight of the pavement, therefore, on which they stood ...  Revelations 15:2 (in a visionary description of a heavenly throne room).

I Feel Free
    by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown, from the album Fresh Cream (1966).

Feel when I dance with you, We move like the sea. You, you're all I want to know. I feel free... I can walk down the street, there's no one there Though the pavements are one huge crowd. I can drive down the road; my eyes don't see, Though my mind wants to cry out loud. I feel free... Dance floor is like the sea, Ceiling is the sky. You're the sun and as you shine on me, I feel free, I feel free, I feel free.

- - -

Further support for the idea that it was the floor that gave the Jokhang the 2nd half of its original name Rasa Trulnang...  

The Extensive History of the Dharma's Emergence in India and Tibet, composed by Khepa Deu (ca. 1260's), at p. 292:

“After this speech, the king (Songtsen Gampo) was accompanied by his sixteen ministers as far as the low valleys in the east.  He remained there for thirteen years.  When the temples were finished, after he had constructed Total Completion Very Happy (Yongs-rdzogs Rab-dga') Temple, he returned to the center where Ongjo had built the Temple of Ramoche and Tritsun had built the Temple of Goat Earth with three storeys.* He went to the top of the building and from there it was clear that the inside of Goat Earth was full of water.  So he threw down his staff and it was plain to see that it was floating back and forth on the surface of the water.  But then he was delighted when he tossed away his ring and it made a clear ringing sound.  He declared, "Tritsun's temple here appears to be miraculous ('phrul-du snang)."  From then on the temple was known as Miraculous Appearance ('Phrul-snang).”

blon po bcu drug dang bcas te mdo smad shar phyogs su [phebs] / dgung lo bcu gsum bzhugs te lha khang rnams tshar nas / yongs rdzogs rab dga'i lha khang bzhengs su gsol nas / dbus su byon pa dang / ong cong gis ra mo che'i lha khang bzhengs / khri btsun gyis ra sa'i lha khang sum thog bzhengs 'dug nas / rtser byon pa dang / ra sa'i nang chus gang bar mngon nas / phyag gi lcag bor bas / chu'i kha na lcag yom me 'dug par mngon / sor gdub bskyur bas / sing khrol la song bas mgu ste / khri btsun gyi lha khang 'di 'phrul du snang ngo // gsungs pas 'phrul snang du grags so / 

(*Ongjo is his Songtsen's wife from China, Tritsun (Khri-btsun) his wife from Nepal.  "Goat Earth" translates Ra-sa, meaning the Jokhang Temple.)

 ° ° °

A note on illustrations —  Our frontispiece was photographed at the Sun Yat Sen Chinese Garden in Vancouver in 2010, immediately after the IATS was over. The final photo is taken from the floor of the Greek Chapel (the Catholicon) of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. If you didn’t notice already, look at it again and tell me if what you see is a flat surface. Maybe not?  Look again. Still don’t see it?  I read quite a harsh review of it, so I have to say, if you would like to see the most beautifully conceived and produced book in the recent history of Buddhist studies, I warmly recommend Jan Westerhoff's Twelve Examples of Illusion. You start to appreciate the book before you even open it, such an amazing dust cover covers it. And you don’t have to be a philosopher or a Buddhologist to read it, such amazingly clear prose was used to write it. This book may not really exist. It has illusion written all over it.

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Add-on - May 18, 2012:

I was just looking over the English translation of Ven. Chetsang Rinpoche’s history book today, and noticed this bit translated from the Feast for Scholars (Mkhas-pa'i Dga'-ston). The context is a description of the freshly built Rasa Trulnang Temple (here dated to the "Iron Bull year 641"):

“All the flooring, as blue as lapis lazuli, bore drawings of water fowl and water, on top of which appeared marvelous drawings of fish, crocodiles, birds, and so on.”

Source:  Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang, A History of the Tibetan Empire:  Drawn from the Dunhuang Manuscripts, tr. by Meghan Howard and Tsultrim Nakchu, Songtsen Library (Dehra Dun 2011), p. 223.

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Here’s the passage from the Tibetan version of the history (published in 2010), where it may be found at p. 236:

“de yang mthil zhal thams cad bai .dûrya sngon po ltar ngang pa chu'i ri mo can la / steng gi nya dang chu srin dang / bya la sogs pa'i ri mo dang 'phrul gyi gzugs snang ba...”

Contemplating the Tibetan, I think there is a slight inadequacy in the English translation. As I read it, it’s saying that the forms such as fish, makaras, birds and so on that were painted above (steng-gi) were reflected in the pavement that had the water designs in it as well as ducks (ngang-pa) down below.  The translation obscures another essential message of the original since it doesn’t convey to us that the 3rd and 4th syllables that go into the name of the temple, Rasa Trulnang, are included here.  Really, the miraculousness in the temple name is owed entirely to its floor, which would be one of the main points I wanted to make, actually, in this blog effort.

Try to visualize together with me if you can, how the water designs, the waves and ripples in the floor, might have combined with the reflections of the fish and so on coming from the ceiling above, when you stepped into the room. How would they move in relation to each other as you moved about the room... Could we call it a ‘shifting of planes’? Remarkable, isn't it, even to just imagine it! If you see it there’s no need for me to say more. If you see it, it isn’t just a dream.

The Vajra as Implement, Emblem and Symbol

Vajra and Bell     

The Tibetan ritual implements coming next (after this) on our itinerary are not just artistic representations to be ‘read through’ to the high religio-philosophical matters of which they are, in some in-truth mysterious way, both medium and indication, only to be then dispensed with; they are objects in their own right, not just stand-ins for something else. Neither were they meant to lay immobilized as ‘objects’ in museum display cases, however justifiable this might seem from an aesthetic or ethnological point of view. They are supposed to do things. One thing they do is ‘mark’ deities, telling those who are versed in iconography their identity.  In this iconographical context (and occasionally in ritual contexts as well) they are called, in Tibetan, chagtsen (phyag-mtshan), literally, ‘hand-signs’ (or perhaps more simply ‘marks’), or less literally yet preferably, ‘emblems.’ They are also instruments for performing a broad range of ritual actions. They might in truth be called the ‘tools-of-trade’ of most every Tibetan religious specialist.[1]

In ritual texts, they are usually called lagcha (lag-cha, literally, ‘hand-piece’ and less literally yet certainly ‘tools’), although they might be subsumed under broader categories like yojé (yo-byad, ‘requisite items’), Damdzé (dam-rdzas ‘sacred commitment substances’) or damtsiggi yenlag (dam-tshig-gi yan-lag, ‘sacred commitment appendages’). These latter categories include a large number of the concrete items employed in the course of the ritual, and not just the implements as such, but even substances intended as offerings and/or sacraments. While a great variety of these items may be ‘required’ in the conduct of a particular ritual, this does not mean that they all need to be visible to the eye of an innocent bystander. The items employed in tantric rituals are very frequently mentally transformed (or as the ritual texts also say, ‘generated’) into much bigger or more elaborate versions of themselves, or even at times into something else altogether.  

Consulting the Tibetan text that describes a monastic ritual, the newcomer to a Tibetan monastery in India or Nepal may be surprised to see that the throwing of flowers called for in the text has turned into the throwing of rice in the ritual performance (barley corns were used for this purpose in old Tibet). This is no problem to the monk participating in the rite. For them the grains of rice are flowers, and are conceived of as such. Some ritual requisites might be difficult or impossible to procure. If the ritual handbook calls for an elephant to be present, to give one real example, Tibetan ritual officiants would most likely not do like Hannibal and bring an elephant over the mountain passes from India and try to squeeze it through the temple doors. Rather they would make use of a ritual ‘flash-card’ (called tsa-ka-li) with a picture of an elephant while they conceive in contemplation the presence of an actual elephant.  

In some, or even many cases the contemplative conception of the item is considered sufficient, and no external representation is needed.  Ritual implements likewise may on some occasions be substituted with flash-cards or other illustrations,[2] or they might be generated in the mind of the contemplative. Vajras, for example, are very frequent in visualization practices that were never even intended to be ‘acted out’ externally in a ritual. Clearly the boundaries between contemplative visualization and concrete ritual action are and probably always have been open to a certain amount of re-negotiation. Although it would, it is true, be highly desirable to record all the ritual, liturgical and contemplative contexts in which each implement occurs, in what follows we will have to be content with some occasional and limited indications of ritual utilization. The Tibetan ritual world is vast, exceedingly complex, and does not lend itself to fast and easy encapsulation. I have no hope of knowing everything about it in this life.

Furthermore, all these things belong to the realm of esoteric ritual. They are ‘secret,’ although this word requires some comment. ‘Secret’ belongs to the traditional triadic classification system of outer, inner and secret. Here I offer little more than a superficial description of outer appearances (as well as historical developments in the same) and a few glimpses into the interior symbolic aspects. These inner aspects are for the most part not my own intuitions (or theoretical deductions), but those of my Tibetan or, less often, Indian authorities. These same authorities have their own standards of what may be expressed in language and divulged in books with black letters. To go beyond these would be to break the ‘bonds’ (dam-tshig) of the relationship between the Vajrayānists and the divine image of their high aspirations or, which is to say practically the same thing, between the Vajrayānists and their lineages of teachers.  

The rule to be followed here is never to use the words ‘it is nothing but,’ but to remain open to as-yet unsuspected meanings. Given the requirement of prior experience, ‘secrets’ are such because they keep themselves secret from those who are not well enough prepared to see what’s there. Secret-ness, too, is the very platform on which revelations are made. Without secrecy there would be no mystery, without hiddenness or mystery, no revelation. I think that mystification, meaning secrecy for its own sake or for self-aggrandizement, if not entirely absent, was not the usual motive.  (Craft guilds’ trade secrets may be another matter.) Anyway, no secrets will be told here, and none should be expected. We will deal with sources that are already public, and in most cases published. I fear some will become impatient if everything doesn’t become entirely transparent all of a sudden, once and for all. If you are like that you will soon be disappointed. But if you are ready to go on, well, let’s get started.

The Vajra, together with its counterpart the Bell is, of all the various symbolic implements used in Tibetan Buddhist ritual, iconography and literature, the most significant from several perspectives. It is precisely its pervasiveness within the tradition of tantric Buddhism[3] which is most frequently identified by the name Vajrayāna, ‘the Vehicle of the Vajra,’ that make its meanings so difficult or impossible to pin down with any grand illusions of simplicity. It will be very important for readers of the following comments to distinguish our contemporary historical constructions from Buddhist, both Indian and Tibetan, understandings and usages. Here, as is so often the case, the meanings we find through historical tracing and etymology may have little to do with (or may on occasion, even if not here, directly contradict) the understanding of the particular religious culture that actively employs the symbolic item. Origin is, after all, not necessarily destiny.  

In this place we would rather give greater weight to interpretations found in Tibetan-language sources, since for Tibetan Buddhists these things are very much part of a living world of tradition, and as such demand respect. Furthermore, Vajrayāna may be defined quite simply as Buddhism of the esoteric kind; ‘esoteric’ because it requires initiation and a personal relationship with a lineage holder, as well as personal experience of that which is symbolized (to translate this into plainer English: Those who demand a full and fully genuine comprehension of the symbolism might do well to stop reading this and instead pursue the traditional methods).  While the simpler aim here is to find explanations — preferably not made up explanations — that are historically demonstrable (or disprovable, or at the very least traceable) and intellectually satisfying, these explanations should also be tested for their resonance with the general realm of Things Buddhist and Things Tibetan.

It is usual to understand the Vajra to mean originally a thunderbolt, while Tibetan Buddhists understand it to mean ‘adamant’ or ‘diamond.’ Often Tibetans have simply transcribed the word Vajra into their own alphabet as Badzra (Ba-dzra), but the Tibetan translation for Vajra is Dorjé (Rdo-rje), which might be etymologically analyzed as ‘Stone’ (rdo) ‘Lord’ (rje), an epithet for the diamond, Lord of Stones.[4] As we will see, the symbolic significances of Indra’s weapon (which may or may not be precisely or exclusively a thunderbolt) and of the diamond are united by the qualities of hardness and durability.

It is certain that the first mentionings, about two hundred and seventy-five in all, of something called a ‘Vajra’ occur, very approximately four thousand years ago, in the then-oral text of the Rig Veda as a hand-held weapon of the god Indra.[5] Even if commonplace, the statement that this Vedic Vajra is a thunderbolt excites controversy. Its identity as a thunderbolt may be at least in part a product of nineteenth-century comparativists who preferred to find natural (and therefore universal) phenomena behind mythological items.[6] Most twentieth-century Indologists[7] see Indra’s Vajra as an at least partially metallic — gold, copper or iron — instrument along the lines of a hammer, axe or club (or even, according to one not very well received suggestion, a harpoon[8]) which Indra kept always in hand. It is sometimes said to have a thousand knots or a thousand edges.[9] The Vedic Vajra might be thrown at the enemy and made to rotate in its flight, or used in hand-to-hand combat in order to cut like an axe or smash like a club. It was made up of a wooden shaft tied to the metallic head with a kind of twine. 

It is interesting that there are passages in the Rig Veda that describe the Vajra-weapon as ‘stable’ and ‘durable,’ since these words could equally apply to the Tibetan understanding of the Vajra as a diamond. Another scholar of Vedic studies[10] has connected the Vajra to some rather large (one to two hand-lengths in size) copper instruments found in Indian archaeological sites which have two sharpened prongs extending outward forming a ‘V’-shape. In their appearance, they are somewhat anthropomorphic (and hence called ‘anthropomorphic figures’ in archaeological works), with the extended prongs looking like outspread human legs. 

Anthropomorphic Figure, so-called

These might have originally been attached to a wooden shaft to form an instrument for striking. 

Regardless of these speculations, I think it was a weapon for battle. It may be that some more obvious metaphors for war, the gathering storm cloud of soldiers with lightning-like weapons, came to the foreground as time went by. Battle imagery is always being used for peaceful purposes. Poetry has no problem plowing with metaphorical weapons.

The other types of instruments that we will look at now are, unlike the Vedic weapon, not meant to be held by an attached handle. They are rather ‘scepters’ in form, relatively small at the center where they are most usually held, and with each of the two ends being a mirror image of the other. This type of Vajra is found, with more or less minor variations, in all the ‘Northern’ Buddhist countries as well as in medieval Indian art. Although there are many problems that cannot all be addressed here, it is most probable that the form of this Buddhist and Indian Vajra had its transmission from Greece by way of the Middle East, perhaps as early as the Hellenistic Period. The medieval Indian and Tibetan (and Silk Route, Japan, etc.) Vajra is strikingly similar to the Keraunos held by Zeus in Greek art. Behind the shape of the Keraunos may be still earlier Mesopotamian and Hittite representations of lightning held in the hands of depicted deities.[11]

Weather God Hadad at Gaziantep, Turkey
(I believe the photo has been reversed)

It may not be at all obvious that our usual contemporary representation of the lightning bolt as a (usually single) zig-zagged line is itself a cultural product that was not even in use just three hundred years ago.[12] The oldest recognizable human representations of lightning in Middle Eastern history (ranging from about 2000 to 1000 bce) are rather fork-shaped, with two or three long and wavy tines.[13] It was in about 1000 bce that lightning became most commonly represented in a similar manner, but having a double-ended form that begins to approach the form of the Tibetan Vajra. In another century or two, the central tine became straight and tapered to a point, while the tines on either side tended outward, often in a form reminiscent of the horns of an ox. This is the typical form of the Greek Keraunos.

Detail from an ancient Greek vase
(look here)

It is tempting to see this Greek divine weapon of Middle Eastern origins as the source of transmission of the Buddhist form of the Vajra, given their obvious similarities that have often been noticed.[14] The main differences are not in the major outline but in the details. Where the outer prongs of the Keraunos bend outward, they always turn inward toward the central prong in the Tibetan versions, and very often touch it, as we will see. The shaft (including the central prongs) of the Keraunos often has a spiralling incision in it, while they may or may not have something like the rounded bulge at the center that is always seen in the Tibetan Dorjé.

The main problem that confronts us is how to account for the transmission from Greece to India and beyond. The logical time and place for us to look is the Gandhāran art of the early centuries ce. It was in Gandhāra, in the area of modern northern Pakistan, that the Buddha image was produced under strong Greek artistic influences (even if the Buddha image might have originated, as many Indian scholars argue, in the city of Mathurā in northern India). The Vajra does exist in Gandhāran Buddhist art, but in a form that does not very closely resemble either the Keraunos or the Indian and Tibetan Vajra. The Gandhāran Vajra looks like a plain, solid squared beam about the length of the forearm of the figure bearing it, only attenuating at the center where it is held.[15] This very different form makes it impossible to claim that this apparent Greek influence reached Indian Buddhism by way of Gandhāra. This leaves us still in the dark about a particular route of transmission that would explain the similarities of the Keraunos and most non-Gandhāran Buddhist Vajras.

To briefly summarize, we may say that while the Vedic Vajra weapon seems to have had a form of some kind of club or axe with an attached handle, the Buddhist Vajra has its particular form because of influence, at some as yet not precisely specified time, by way of the Middle East, or very possibly by Greeks residing in areas to the northwest of India. Even given the likelihood that this historical picture is basically defendable or even simply true, we still haven’t gained much idea about what the Vajra means in Buddhism, and more particularly in the Buddhism of Tibet, which is pervaded by the tantric form of Mahāyāna (‘the Great Vehicle’) known as Vajrayāna (‘the Vajra Vehicle’).

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[1] One way of thinking about these weapons/tools, in Sanskrit āyudha, is from the perspective of the one who makes them, the traditional Indian artisan.  From this point of view, the making of tools requires tools, and there is the ever-present danger that the artisan may be injured by the very tools required in the creative process. This entails a cult of tools, in which the tool, often more or less identified with a deity (or the ‘weapon’ of a deity), requires ritual propitiation. More material for thinking along these lines may be found in Brouwer (1988). Risking banality, we might dryly note that these tools, however divinized they may be, are necessary for the construction of divine images.

[2] I have in my personal library copies of two different woodblock prints of ‘substitution drawings’ (dod ris [this does not mean just ‘representation’!]) of items that tantric initiates ought to have in their possession. One of the two texts, printed on a single long folio, was acquired in 1993 at the monastic printery of Sera Monastery near Lhasa in Tibet.  The other is a photocopy of a seven-folio print originating from Kumbum (Sku-’bum) Monastery in Amdo, northeastern Tibet, probably in the 19th century (from the personal library of Thubten J. Norbu, former abbot of Kumbum), which in its colophon mentions two still earlier versions. Illustrated in both are a wide variety of tantric requisites, including Vajra, Bell, Bone Ornaments, drums, rosaries, Bodhisattva ornaments, skullcups, fire offering implements, ritual vases, animal hides, ropes, snares, hooks, choppers, swords, banners, and still more. The Sera print is quite similar, down to the details, to the more artistically rendered Sku-’bum version. In both versions, the first two implements illustrated are, quite properly, the Vajra and Bell.

[3] All the Tibetan sects accept tantra in its Buddhist form, even while simultaneously continuing to revere and practice non-tantric forms of Buddhism. This distinguishes Tibet from other ‘Northern’ Buddhist countries such as China and Japan where tantric texts, rituals and ideas tended to be made the exclusive preserve of separate tantric schools. I leave discussion of the Bon school and the similarity of their chags-shing sceptre with the vajra for another occasion.

[4] In order to refer without ambiguity to the mineral substance ‘diamond,’ Tibetans use the word pha-lam or, very often, rdo-rje-pha-lam (a compound of near-synonyms). It has been suggested that the specific meaning ‘diamond’ is also reflected in the use of the word vasira in a Khotanese text, which might imply a route of influence, although the time and reasons for the linkage of the concept of ‘diamond’ with the Vajra remain, in my opinion, obscure (see Gibson 1997: 50).  It may be worthy of note that the verbal root behind the Sanskrit form vajra is vaj, which generally means ‘to go, move, roam about,’ a meaning not very well suited to diamonds, but fully appropriate for a self-propelling magical weapon.

[5] See Chakravarty (1997: 96); Kumar (1996). In the Iranian Avesta, the vazra is a weapon used by the god Mithra. Earlier artistic representations of Indra in India do not bear anything that might correspond to the Vajra. These Hindu Vajra representations seem to make their first appearance in in art of the 10th to 12th centuries in a form quite similar to Indian Buddhist and Tibetan Vajras (Devendra 1965: 130-131). In other words, Indian Buddhist artistic representations of pronged Vajras seem to occur before Hindu representations of Indra with a Vajra. Some have perceived the earliest artistic occurrences of Vajras in decorations for early Buddhist stūpas at Sanchi and Bharhut (see Banerji 1980: 171), but then again, while these are surely identifiable as Vajras (especially when seen in the hands of the Buddhist form of Indra!), they do not yet have the familiar shape (see drawings in Sivaramamurti 1949: 22-23, figs. 2 a-d and 3 a-b). These statements should not be considered to be anything more than tentative. Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin (1994: 312-313) tells a story, evidently of Puranic Hindu origins, of how the first Vajra used by Indra was made from the footbone of a sage (rishi) named Curd Drinker (Drang-srong Zho-’thung). This is none other than the Sage Dadhīka, discussed by Giuliano (2008), with the story briefly told in Granoff (2009: 61). According to this context, the Vajra weapon could not be harmed by any other weapon. It would throw itself at all who showed ill will, hit anyone at whom it was thrown, kill anyone it hit, and guide to liberation whoever it killed. There is more on the Puranic sources in Agocs (2000: 65-67), and for Epic sources, see Whitaker (2000). Of course in more recent times the Vajra came to be held in the hands of other Hindu deities besides Indra, and was used in Jaina iconography (Banerji 1980).

[6] One may note the remarks on the symbolism of the Vajra by Guenon (1962/1995: 121-128, 224-5) and Snodgrass (1992: 174-177), which are both comparativist and universalist, but in the area of metaphysics or cosmology rather than ‘nature’ per se (which is not to deny the particular information that is to be found in these and other writings by the same authors). We wouldn’t pretend to entirely escape the perils of comparativism here, but it is our main aim to find and convey particular, and particularly Tibetan, understandings of the symbolism, whenever possible. ‘Nature’ and ‘the universe’ will be given their due when warranted by the sources. I see little reason for polemic against the ‘traditionalist’ school largely inspired by René Guénon, including in particular the Bostonian art historian Ananda Coomaraswamy, or for that matter against the ‘history of religions’ school from Mircea Eliade, except for the fact that they tend to universalize ahead of time, before letting traditional particularities of culture and locale, not to mention history, have their say (on Eliade’s pan-Babylonianism, see the critique by Korom [1992], which also contains pertinent remarks about the comparative enterprise). In any case, we should probably remind ourselves constantly of the human tendency to approach dialogue by first creating ‘linkages,’ in particular etymologies (and apparent linguistic cognates) both false and supportable, as a method of developing rapport, which might then be used to promote a sense of common cause in political or other fields. This etymological method is by no means limited to word-history, but to other aspects of history as well, including artifacts and, yes indeed, symbols. (Consider for a moment the not entirely hypothetical but nevertheless truly preposterous example of European [neo-?]Nazis seeking to create linkages with Chinese Buddhists or Tibetan Bonpos on the basis of one supposedly ‘shared’ symbol.)  Seeing our own sacred symbolism in use in another culture produces a shock of recognition that can as quickly be followed by a shock of non-recognition (like an Israeli seeing a Star of David [Magen David, widely known as the Seal of Solomon] in use in a Newari or Tibetan Buddhist ritual, for example). Certainly if there is anything ‘to’ the universality of symbols, it isn’t in the symbolic forms themselves, but rather in that which they might serve to symbolize. The very strong Buddhist insistence on the Bodhisattva ideal of helping everyone under the motivation of the universally applied emotions of love and compassion ought to preclude the very possibility of its symbols being appropriated by persons who live on hatred of the ‘other.’ Still, the world is a confused and confusing place, and, as a quick internet search may reveal, just such appropriations are taking place at this very moment.

[7] See Apte (1957), for example.

[8] Kumar (1996) supports this idea.

[9] Chakravarty (1997: 97).

[10] Gupta (1975).  Gupta’s suggestion about ‘anthropomorphic figures’ being identifiable with the ancient Vajra has not been especially well received (see for example Smith 1979).

[11] Smith (1962) shows how an iconographical form of Zeus, which he calls the ‘Striding Zeus,’ derived from Middle Eastern sources.  In this form, Zeus wields a Keraunos in the right hand as if ready to hurl it at an (absent) opponent (many examples in Cook 1925: 740 ff.; for arguments about historical transformations in the shape of the thunderbolt starting from the ancient Near East, see the same work, pp. 764-785). For a 1st-2nd century Roman example that appears to be walking, yet holding the Thunderbolt in a resting position, see Polichetti 2010.

Striding Zeus
wielding a Keraunos

The ‘Striding Zeus’ bears a striking artistic resemblance to some depictions of Vajrapāṇi (for examples, see especially Santoro 1979). According to Cook (1925: 722), the thunderbolt is the most frequent attribute of Zeus from the 6th century BCE onward, although he also argues that its importance gradually waned in subsequent centuries. Generally the thunderbolt would be held in the right hand, whether or not it was wielded above the shoulder level, and the left hand might be extended straight out to form a perch for an eagle (often missing in the surviving examples; this latter attribute has no visual analogue in Tibetan art, but perhaps it has an elusive mythic analogue in the relationship between Vajra Wielder and the garuḍa bird). 

"Vajra Man" in the Jokhang, after Schroeder

Intriguing, too, in this regard are depictions of a Vajra Man (Vajrapuruṣa), with a half-Vajra emerging from his head, in reliefs found in Nagarjunakonda, in Andhra, South India (see Giuliano 1998). Anthropomorphized weapons are quite frequent in Indian religions and certainly date back at least as far as the 5th century or so CE, since they are mentioned by the famous Indian poet Kālidāsa (see Agrawala 1964 for a study of the humanized forms of Viṣṇu’s weapons, but see also Agrawala 1965: 211-212). The Vajra Man makes an appearance also in the carved wooden lintels of chapel doors in the Jokhang, which may date from the 7th century (Schroeder 2001: I 429, 474-477). One author (Vajracharya 2004: 44) suggests that we ought to locate the origins of humanoid weapons (āyudha puruṣa) in the classic textbook of Indian drama, the Nātyaśāstra, which says that separate actors should represent and bear the attributes and vehicles of the deity. This solves a problem of stagecraft, since deities could not be so easily represented on stage with all their multiple hands, or actually riding on their accustomed vehicles.

In Gandhāra, we find some images of Vajrapāṇi that incorporate aspects of the iconography of Hercules, such as the use of lion-skin clothing (and otherwise near-nudity). The club of Hercules was replaced with the Gandhāran form of the Vajra (illustrated in Mustamandy 1997: 24, fig. 4), which is itself relatively club-like. For a fascinating comparative study of Vajrapāṇi and Hercules, see Flood (1989). For a very impressive collection of artworks inspired by Hercules, see this page.

[12] Wilk (1992).

[13] The tines might also be ‘zig-zagged,’ but with the zig-zags formed entirely of obtuse angles. One may easily observe from viewing actual thunderbolts, that they tend to fan out into a fork-like pattern as they approach the ground. The Hittite storm god holds a lightning symbol, composed of three wavey tines emerging upward from the closed fist of his left hand, an axe wielded high in his right (see Hawkins 1992 for illustrations).

[14] See especially Blinkenberg (1911: Chapter 6, ‘The Classical Greek and the Tibetan Thunderweapon’).

[15] Many examples are illustrated in Santoro (1979). With its square-shaped ends, the Gandhāran Vajra does seem to resemble the cube-ending chags-shing of the Tibetan Bon religion more than any other known type of Vajra. This is interesting in light of the Bon idea that their religion originated in a place to the west of western Tibet which they call Stag-gzig (pronounced ‘Tazik’). Note an example of an unusual sculptural representation of a Vajra from Mathurā in North India (probably nearly contemporaneous to the Gandhāran Vajras) which, having three triangle-shaped proto-‘prongs’ visible at each end, seems to approach the later form of the Vajra. See the illustration in Coomaraswamy 1971, pt. 1: plate 15, figure 2. Perhaps from approximately the same epoch we have an example of a Vajra from the gateways surrounding the Stūpa at Sāñcî (see Hummel 1953: 983, fig. 6; 984). This latter Vajra has a shape all its own, attenuating toward the center like the Gandhāran Vajra, but with a rounded rather than a squared form, and with a single obtuse spike sticking out of each of the two circular ends. Still another very different type may be found in the art of the Silk Routes of Central Asia, in which each of the two ends looks like a rhombus (the obtuse angles at the sides and the acute angle at the ends), with tiny circular ‘jewels’ set into each of its angles (Hummel 1953: 983, figs. 3-4). Another, quite early, Central Asian version had the shape of the fleur-de-lys at each end (a very clear sculptural version from the 4th or 5th century site Rawak, northeast of Khotan, illustrated in Rhies 1999: I fig. 4.66). LaPlante (1963: 272, cited in Linrothe 1999: 42, n. 4) says that pronged Vajras probably did not come into wide use before the 8th century, and the 8th century, we might add, was the very time when Buddhist tantra was (well, by this time most certainly) emerging into the light of history. LaPlante also has a worthwhile discussion of earlier forms the Vajra took.

Varied historical forms of the Vajra, after Hummel

...More on the Buddhist symbolism of the Vajra and its parts in the continuation, where there will be more references to the Tibetan-language sources...
click HERE if you want to go there now.

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On the internet:

My vote for the best presentation on the subject of Vajras on the internet is at khandro.net:

http://www.khandro.net/nature_thunder.htm

http://www.khandro.net/ritual_vajra.htm

You can see an amazing array of visual material for thunderbolt-related iconography at this page that forms a part of Noosphere:

http://atil.ovh.org/noosphere/trident.php

This other page by Dante Rosati is profusely illustrated, and arranged chronologically:

http://drilbudorje.tripod.com/_Dorje.htm

Thunder, Perfect Mind:

http://www.gnosis.org/naghamm/thunder.html

This page is also worthwhile:  

http://www.sundial.thai-isan-lao.com/sundial_vajra_literature.html

There is a very impressive and unusual Korean example in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston displayed here.

Here is an article I want to return to, one about the lightning of Zeus in Greek myths.

I've ignored commercial sites, or sites I regard as overtly or overly sectarian, but if you see other interesting sites, I'd like to add them, so do send us the link in the "comment" box, if you will.

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What does the Tibetan thog-lcags or lightning metal have to do with lightning? This is an interesting question (not followed up on in this particular blog), although it might be answered along the lines of Blinkenberg's 1911 book, as well as the article that ought to be found in a PDF form here.  

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References to literature:

Agocs, Tamas 2000 — The Diamondness of the Diamond Sūtra, Acta Orientalia Hungarica, vol. 53, nos. 1-2 (2000) 65-77.

Agrawala, R.C. 1964  — Cakra Puruṣa in Early Indian Art, Bhāratîya Vidyā, vol. 24, nos. 1-4 (1964), pp. 36-45.

Agrawala, V.S. 1965 — Studies in Indian Art, Vishwavidyalaya Prakashan (Varanasi 1965).

Apte, V.M. 1957 — Vajra in the Rigveda, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (Poona), vol. 37 (1957), pp. 292-295.

Banerji, Arundhati 1980 — Vajra: An Attribute of the Hindu, Buddhist and Jaina Deities, contained in: Journal of the Bihar Purāvid Pariṣad, vols. 4-5 (January-December 1980-81) [Dr. K.K. Datta Commemoration Volume], pp. 169-177.

Blinkenberg, Chr. 1911 — The Thunderweapon in Religion and Folklore: A Study in Comparative Archaeology, University Press (Cambridge 1911).  Read it HERE.

Brouwer, Jan 1988 — Coping with Dependence: Craftsmen and Their Ideology in Karnataka (South India), doctoral dissertation, Rijksuniversiteit (Leiden 1988).

Chakravarty, Uma 1997 — Indra and Other Vedic Deities: A Euhemeristic Study, D.K. Printworld (New Delhi 1997).

Cook, Arthur Bernard 1925 — Zeus God of the Dark Sky (Thunder and Lightning) (identical to volume 2, part 1, of Zeus: A Study in Ancient Religion), University Press (Cambridge 1925).  Available HERE.

Coomaraswamy, Ananda K. 1971 — Yakṣas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).

Devendra, D.T. 1965 — A Note on Lightning in Iconography with Special Reference to the Vajra, contained in: Parnavitana Felicitation Volume (Columbo 1965), pp. 123-134.

Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin 1994 — Bzo-gnas Skra Rtse’i Chu-thigs [‘The Arts: A Drop at the Tip of the Brush Hairs’]  Krung-go’i Bod-kyi Shes-rig Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 1994).  A modern textbook on Tibetan art history and techniques, ‘Drop of Liquid on the Tip of the [Brush-]hairs.’

Flood, F.B. 1989 — Herakles and the ‘Perpetual Acolyte’ of the Buddha:  Some Observations on the Iconography of Vajrapāṇi in Gandhāran Art, South Asian Studies, vol. 5 (1989), pp. 17-28.

Gibson, Todd 1997 — Inner Asian Contributions to the Vajrayāna, Indo-Iranian Journal, vol. 40 (1997), pp. 37-57.

Giuliano, Laura 1998 — Il Vajrapuruṣa in due rilievi di Nâgârjunakoṇḍa, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 72 (1998), pp. 143-176.  The same author has written an Italian doctoral dissertation about the early Indian Buddhist and Central Asian Vajra, although I haven’t been able to see it yet.

Giuliano, Laura 2008 — Some Considerations on a Particular Vajra Iconography: The Skambha, the Yūpa, the Bones of Dadhīca amd Related Themes, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, n.s. vol. 81 (2008), pp. 103-126.

Granoff, Phyllis 2009 — Relics, Rubies and Ritual: Some Comments on the Distinctiveness of the Buddhist Relic Cult, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 81 (2009), pp. 59-72.

Guenon, René 1962/1992 — Fundamental Symbols: The Universal Language of Sacred Science, tr. by Alvin Moore Jr., Quinta Essentia (Cambridge 1992). First published in French in 1962, as a compilation of previously published articles.

Gupta, Tapan Kumar Das 1975 — Der Vajra: eine vedische Waffe, Alt- und Neu-Indische Studien series no. 16, Universität Hamburg, Franz Steiner Verlag (Wiesbaden 1975).

Hawkins, J.D. 1992 — What Does the Hittite Storm-God Hold? contained in:  Diederik J.W. Meijer, ed., Natural Phenomena:  Their Meaning, Depiction and Description in the Ancient Near East, North-Holland (Amsterdam 1992), pp. 53-82.

Hummel, Siegbert 1953 — Der lamaistische Donnerkeil (Rdo-rje) und die Doppel-axt der Mittelmeerkultur, Anthropos, vol. 48 (1953), pp. 982-987. On the author, look here.

Korom, Frank 1992 — Of Navels and Mountains: A Further Inquiry into the History of an Idea, Asian Folklore Studies, vol. 51 (1992), pp. 103-125.

Kumar, Arun 1996 — The Vajra of Indra: An Archaeological Approach, contained in: C. Margabandhu and K.S. Ramachandran, eds., Spectrum of Indian Culture: Professor S.B. Deo Felicitation Volume, Agam Kala Prakashan (Delhi 1996), pp. 447-452.

LaPlante, John D. 1963 — A Pre-Pāla Sculpture and Its Significance for the International Bodhisattva Style in Asia, Artibus Asiae, vol. 26 (1963), pp. 247-284.

Linrothe, Rob 1999 — Ruthless Compassion: Wrathful Deities in Early Indo-Tibetan Esoteric Buddhist Art, Serindia (London 1999).

Mustamandy, Chaibai 1997 — The Impact of Hellenised Bactria on Gandharan Art, contained in: Raymond Allchin, Bridget Allchin, Neil Kreitman, Elizabeth Errington, eds., Gandharan Art in Context: East-West Exchanges at the Crossroads of Asia, Regency Publications (N. Delhi 1997), pp. 17-27.
Polichetti, Massimiliano A. 2010  —  Tantra in Asylum — The Veiovis of Monterazzano's Thunderbolt: Harbinger of Indian Tantric Vajra?  Contained in:  Pierfrancesco Callieri & Luca Colliva, eds., South Asian Archaeology 2007: Proceedings of the 19th Meeting of the European Association of South Asian Archaeology in Ravenna, Italy, July 2007, Volume II: Historic Periods, BAR International Series no. 2133, Archaeopress (Oxford 2010), pp. 255-257.  Offprint courtesy of the author.

Rhies, Marylin Martin 1999 — Early Buddhist Art of China & Central Asia, Brill (Leiden 1999), vol. 1: Later Han, Three Kingdoms & Western Chin in China and Bactria to Shan-shan in Central Asia.

Santoro, Arcangela 1979 — Il Vajrapāṇi nell’arte del Gandhara: Ricerca iconografica et interpretativa (Parte prima), Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 53 (1979), pp. 293-341.

Schroeder, Ulrich von 2001 — Buddhist Sculptures in Tibet, Visual Dharma Publications (Hong Kong 2001), in 2 vols.

Sivaramamurti, C. 1949 — Geographical and Chronological Factors in Indian Iconography, Ancient India: Bulletin of the Archaeological Survey of India, no. 6 (1949), pp. 21-63.

Smith, Robert Houston 1962 — Near Eastern Forerunners of the Striding Zeus, Archaeology, vol. 15 (1962), pp. 176-183.

Smith, R. Morton 1979 — Review of Gupta (1975), contained in: Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 99, no. 3 (1979), pp. 536-537.

Snodgrass, Adrian 1992 — The Symbolism of the Stupa, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1992).

Vajracharya, Gautama V. 2004 — Atmospheric Gestation: Deciphering Ajanta Ceiling Paintings and Other Related Works (Part 2), Marg (Mumbai), vol. 55, no. 3 (March 2004), pp. 40-51.

Whitaker, Jarrod L. 2000 — Divine Weapons and Tejas in the Two Indian Epics, Indo-Iranian Journal, vol. 43 (2000), pp. 87-113.

Wilk, Stephan R. 1992 — The Meaning of the Thunderbolt, Parabola, vol. 17, no. 4 (Winter 1992), pp. 72-79.

Although I haven’t absorbed its content yet (I just located it), I very much recommend the article by Monika Zin that can be found HERE.

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Storm god Hadad of Aleppo, late Hittite, 9th century BCE, said to have been brought as war booty to Babylon by Nebuchadnezar II.  Seen in the Archaeology Museum, Istanbul, 2012.