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Now Found: Tibetan Works of the Banished Song Emperor

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Image result for "Zhao Xian"
Gongdi Emperor (1271-1323 CE).  From Wikicommons


Every now and then in the Tibeto-logical world something pops up that is truly astounding. For the life of me, I never ever expected to see a collection of works of this particularly fascinating individual of the late 13th century. He has recently been written about by Leonard van der Kuijp of Harvard University, and a peripatetic and precocious young scholar named Hua Kaiqi. Paul Pelliot’s treatment is an old but still good one. The Chinese name of the person in question is, in the old Romanization Chao Hsien, and in the new, Zhao Xian. As ruler, a position he held very briefly, he was called the Gongdi Emperor. He belonged to what is called the Southern Song Dynasty. The Mongols had already conquered the north. 

He ruled as an infant, obviously not without assistance, very briefly from 1274 to 1276. From that time onward he was little more than a captive of the Mongol rulers. In 1288 Khubilai Khan had him sent to Sakya in southern Tibet where he stayed in exile, a quite evidently involuntary exile, for almost all his life. He had taken on monastic robes even before moving to Sakya. In what would turn out to be very nearly his last days the Mongols recalled him from Tibet, and on his way back, in the Hexi Corridor area, he lost his life. My guess is the Mongols were concerned he could serve as a figurehead for an anti-Mongol rebellion and therefore preferred to have him securely out of the way. The Wiki article, which I am in no position to contradict, says he was forced to commit suicide on account of his poetry causing the Mongol ruler Yinzong displeasure.

Some four years ago when I was fortunate to hear Kaiqi’s lecture on the subject, I thought I could find out more about his life in Tibetan sources, but came up with disappointingly little. Well, his name does appear several times in colophons of Tibetan canonical texts as either translator or reviser of earlier translations, and there are Sakya histories that mention him briefly. We know he kept up his knowledge of Chinese in Tibet, since his translation activities were all based on Chinese.  

You can scarcely imagine my surprise to suddenly find out that he authored books in Tibetan during his 35-year-long exile in Tibet. Who knew? Nobody as far as I know. It happened just this morning, as I was looking at some texts newly uploaded by the recently renamed TBRC. Besides the writer’s name given as Chos-kyi-rin-chen, there was no further clue who the author was, and no cataloging of the content. I had no idea who he was when I started looking to see what was there and ran across what looked like a surprisingly long work of praise devoted to the famous Phagspa Lama. My interest piqued, I went on to look for the title in TBRC to see if it might appear elsewhere in their catalog (and thinking to perhaps in the process further identify the author). But no, the Phagspa praise seemed to be unique. It was only when I started checking my reference works to determine which Chos-kyi-rin-chen the author might possibly be that I started putting 2 and 2 together.  

Now I do not expect that the political scientists will be happy at what they find in his compositions, quite the contrary, although students of Tibetan Buddhism will find them fascinating without a doubt. Most of them, except nos. 2-5 with their lineage prayers and praises to the famed Sakya teachers Drakpa Gyaltsen and Phagspa, are on those difficult -to-comprehend and forbiddingly secret Vajrayâna practices of guruyoga (nos. 1 & 6), initiation and sâdhana. For today it isn’t so much that they are fascinating for what is written in them, but that they exist at all.


§   §   §

Here is a list of the titles for those who find it interesting:

1. Bla ma'i rnal 'byor dngos grub kun gyi 'byung gnas.  5 fols. (running nos. 1-5).

2. Rje btsun grags pa rgyal mtshan la rnam thar gyi sgo nas bstod pa.  3 fols. (running nos. 6-8). In the colophon the author gives his name as simply Byams-pa (but see the colophon of no. 3 that follows, where we see that Byams-pa was part of his name). It was composed at "Dpal-'byor-bkra-shis-'jom-pa'i Bla-brang.

3. 'Phags pa rin po che la bstod pa. 9 fols. (running nos. 9-17),  Author's name given on final folio as Dge-slong Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, scribe: Dge-bshes Smon-lam-'phel. This actually contains several prayers, and not just one as the front title would seem to indicate.

4. Bcom ldan 'das 'jam dpal khros pa'i bla ma brgyud pa la gsol ba 'debs pa sa lam ngo sprod ma byon.  6 fols. (running nos. 19-23).  Seems to include and continue a lineage prayer composed by 'Phags pa.  Colophon on final folio gives author as Shâkya'i Dge-slong Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, the scribe being Nam-mkha'-chos-dar.

5. A 2- fol. text with no front title, containing lineage prayers and a praise to Rje btsun Rnal 'byor ma. The author in the colophon on the final folio refers to himself by an interesting expression "ya pho ba'i lag tu shor ba'i spre'u lta bu'i rnal 'byor pa." I like to try and translate this as "Composed by a yogi who is like a monkey that fell into the hands of men of distinction." The translation of ya-pho-ba as 'men of distinction' is the problematic bit here. The rest is very clear.

6. Bla ma'i rnal 'byor dbang bzhi gdan thog cig ma.  1 fols. (running no. 26).  It says it was composed in the Lu-phu Chos-kyi Pho-brang, the scribe being Shâkya'i Dge-slong Nam-mkha'-chos-dar.

7. Dpal kye'i rdo rje'i lam dus kyi dbang gi chu bo ma nub par len pa'i man ngag dri med kyi byin brlabs.  10 fols. (running nos. 27-36).  Author gives his name as Shâkya'i Dge-slong Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, place of writing Bsam-rdzong Chos-sde'i Dben-khang Skyid-phug.

8. Dbang gong ma gsum gyi khrid yig gi zin bris.  14 fols. (running nos. 37-52).  A note on fol. 15 verso says that two folios were lacking (in the 'mother copy'), so it appears the text is not complete, and it ends suddenly without a colophon.  TBRC has scanned separately a ms. of unidentified authorship with this same title.

9. Bcom ldan 'das dpal chen po'i bdag 'jug sku bzhi mngon du byed pa'i thabs.  28 fols. (running nos. 53-82). In penultimate folio, the author names himself as Shâkya'i Dge-slong Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, location Se-mkhar-chung Rdo-rje'i Brag-gi Yang-rtse.  Scribe named as Dge-bshes Lha-dbang.

10. Dpal chen po'i rgyu dbang lam du bya ba ting nge 'dzin gyi dbang blang ba.  8 fols. (running nos. 83-90).  Author gives his name on final fol. as Shâkya'i Dge-slong Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, location Bsam-rdzong Chos-sde'i Dben-khang Skyid-phug.

11. Bcom ldan 'das rdo rje 'jigs byed kyi mngon par rtogs pa'i dka''grel gsal stong dbyer med kyi ngo bo rgyud gsum gyi rba rlabs g.yo ba. 165 fols. (running nos. 91-255).  Author gives his name as "nus pa med kyang nus ston gyi tshul gyis Dge-slong Rig-pa-'dzin-pa Byams-pa Chos-kyi-rin-chen, location Lu-phu Chos-kyi Pho-brang. The modest expression that precedes his name appears to be saying that he is one who seems to display ability while lacking the same.


Parting clouds



§  §  §

Tips for finding sources of knowledge & a few notes:

The cursive manuscript was scanned and posted by TBRC is labelled as being the Collected Works of Grub-chen Chos-kyi-rin-chen. In case you would like to try to gain access to it, you had best know that the work number is W3CN2940.

Hua Kaiqi, entitled “Journey of Zhao Xian (1271-1323) from Chinese Emperor to Tibetan Monk under the Mongols,” a lecture delivered on Nov. 26, 2013.

Leonard W.J. van der Kuijp, The Kālacakra And the Patronage of Tibetan Buddhism by the Mongol Imperial Family, Central Eurasian Studies Lectures series no. 4, Dept. of Central Eurasian Studies, Indiana University (Bloomington 2004), p. 57.

There is an entry “Facfur” in Pelliot's Notes on Marco Polo (Paris 1963), pp. 652-661, with the relevant part beginning on p. 657. If you go here, you may be able to get to the digitized version.

Our frontispiece is the only portrait I know about right now, and what you see is a bad xerox-quality b&w photo taken at an angle of something originally in color. At the moment this was the best I could do.

The southern Sung (Song) is rarely mentioned in Tibetan histories, and when it is it’s called something like Sman-rtse or Sman-rtsi, both of them Tibetanizing spellings of the borrowed Chinese term Man-tzu, or Manzi. 


If you don’t mind the cyborg voice — and you might! — Wikiaudio has put up a Youtube on the conquest of the south here.


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

STOP PRESS!

As it turns out, on the same day I put it up, I found out this blog has a nearly fatal flaw.  I'm going now to put up a second blog entitled "Not found! Those Are Not the Works of the Deposed Sung Emperor after All." It may not exist just yet, but I'm working on it.

Not Found! Those Are Not After All the Works of the Deposed Song Emperor.

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Break of Dawn

Today's is a guest blog by Rory Lindsay. Although I gave it a title and a frontispiece, everything else is in his words and not mine:

Many thanks to Dan for drawing our attention to the collected works of Grub chen Chos kyi rin chen (BDRC: W3CN2940) and for allowing me to be a guest blogger. This is a fascinating collection that I had not seen until now. It seems, however, that it was not authored by the banished Song emperor (as exciting as that would have been!), but rather by a later Sa skya pa scholar.

The first clue appeared while I was reading through volume three. This volume begins with a text titled Gzhan phan 'od zer gyi ngag 'don lag len gzhan phan gsal ba, which concerns Rje btsun Grags pa rgyal mtshan's (1147–1216) Kun rig gi cho ga gzhan phan 'od zer, an influential work detailing the funerary rites to be performed based on the Sarvadurgatipariśodhana Tantra. Given that my doctoral dissertation examines the Gzhan phan 'od zer and related texts, I started here. I soon discovered that it quotes Ngor chen Kun dga' bzang po's (1382–1456) Dpal kun rig gzhan phan mtha' yas on folio 12a: “gzhan phan mtha' yas las/ de nas phyag rgya bzhi'i rgyas gdab pa ni….” This passage appears (with some variants) on pg. 65 of the Sde dge edition of the Gzhan phan mtha' yas (see volume 4 of Ngor chen's collected works: BDRC: W11577). Since Ngor chen was born after the Gongdi Emperor’s passing, it would seem that we have another author on our hands.

After discussing this with Dan, I found references to a Grub chen Chos kyi rin chen in Jan-Ulrich Sobisch's “The 'Records of Teachings Received' in the Collected Works of A mes zhabs: An Untapped Source for the Study of Sa skya pa Biographies,” which is included in Tibet, Past and Present: Proceedings of the Ninth Seminar of the International Association of Tibetan Studies.Sobisch notes on pg. 176 that Chos kyi rin chen (aka Byams pa Chos kyi rin chen) was from Rdza zhul and was the founder of Lo phu dgon. He is included in a line that traces back to the Sa skya pa Rdzong pa Kun dga' rgyal mtshan (1382–1446), though his precise dates are not given.

After speaking further with Dan, he noted that some of the colophons in the collection reference the place name Lo phu, which would appear to confirm that this collection belongs not to the exiled emperor, but to the later Sa skya pa scholar Grub chen Chos kyi rin chen.

––––

Rory Lindsay
PhD Candidate, Department of South Asian Studies
Harvard University










Scriptural Letter Magic

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In a story well known to adherents of Bon, the Magic King Kongtse builds the most amazing temple on an island. To build it, Kongtse has to call upon some very dubious characters — a few of them with names that seem to come straight out of Indian epic literature — and these same characters tear it down again...*

(*This story has been told by Karmay Samten Gyaltsen and Gurung Kalsang Norbu, so I won’t repeat it here. Today’s blog is a continuation of this one.)



As part of this narrative of temple building, one of Shenrab’s wives is deluded by a demon into burning the “scriptural to bag” (bka'i gto sgro) that contains the set of scriptures known as the Four Bon Doors and Treasury making Five.*  Looking at the consecration literature of Bon, it eventually becomes more and more clear that the temple building of Kongtse and its consecration was the single past event that serves as paradigm for all later performances of consecration rites.
(*Some may want to take the syllable sgro to intend sgrom, meaning box, but no, it does indeed mean a bag or pouch.)

This story, told in all the three major biographies of Lord Shenrab, is also told in the first text that appears in the consecration volume of the Bon Kanjur.  Its title page is the one you see below.





This title conceals within it two texts each with its own colophon. The first of these gives the name of a concealer in the imperial period that you see here below in the 2nd line: De Gyimtsa Machung.





I would just like to point out that there is a person with a very similar name in the Old Tibetan Annals entry for the year 653, where one named “Spug Gyim-rtsan Rma-chung” is appointed governor of Zhang-zhung. Here is another one of those Bon connections with Dunhuang documents that needs to be studied and contemplated.* But anyway, as the text was hidden at Sham-po, we may understand that this, along with the other text, was a 12th-century discovery of Matön Sherabsengé, although he is not directly named here in this text.
(*There is the not-so-small problem that the initial syllables, in the position where we would expect a clan name or the like, are different. I don't know enough about Lde and Spug[s] as clan names to make arguments or come to conclusions. The Spug/Sbug[s] clan seems to have existed in imperial times in both Kokonor area and in southwestern Tibet. A figure named Spug Gyim-tang Rmang-bu surfaces three times in a Dunhuang document, PT1287, with the clan name given as both Spug and Spung.)




Out of the ashes of the incinerated scriptures emerge the Five Heroic Letters. These letters transmute into the complete set of scriptures that is then written down in five Volumes. Letter magic of Bon, in some part at least, corresponds with phonetic arrangements of the letters. So I would say their magic is not entirely disconnected with linguistic science. It could be closely linked together with it. The first chart you see below is based on a passage taken from a relatively recent Bon grammatical text. The Five Heroic Letters are given in the first column, with their elemental correspondences in the 2nd, while columns 3 to 9 are the letters generated from them. The yellow chart beneath it is placed here for comparison. It marks not only the elements, but also the points of articulation. The correspondences between the letters contained two charts may be only partial, but I suggest that they share larger ideas in common.






These volumes, as you would expect, are called glegs-bam, but they are, as it says, “bound into glegs-bam  (gleg-bam-du sbam, and we also find sbams-su sbams, bound into bindings). This active verb that means to bind you do not encounter very often. The sections that involve the punctuation marks and letters in this text are interesting, but I should like to mention a few other things found in it before moving on to the next. One substance that is not used in Chos consecrations, or more particularly in the exorcism rite that forms a part of every consecration ritual, is ephedra (mtshe).  In Chos consecrations gu-gul* and mustard seed are used, while in this Bon text it is ephedra and mustard seed.
 (* Although it does surely come from an Akkadian word for frankincense, in Modern Tibetan it  can mean Google, which is rad or even a bit wack. Ephedra has special usages in early Tibetan rituals that deserve more attention than I can give them here.)

The concealed 2nd title that begins on p. 55 is if anything even more interesting than the first. It is here that we find not only yet another section on the letters of scripture, but some interesting things about pens, ink, and paper. There is even a section that could be regarded as a semi-independent consecration rite specially done for the paper both during and after its making... oddly so, since consecrations are normally done only after the object is fully completed. This is a rarely spoken but hardly ever broken rule. I’ve made a draft translation of this passage, but will save it for another time after I find ways to improve it.

More unexpected details pop up, even a reference to the two string-hole circles (p. 61) called spyan-skor, or ocular circle. You can see them in this surely pre-Mongol and possibly even late imperial period example:


Folio no. 259 of the 4th volume of an Hundred Thousand Perfection of Wisdom manuscript

In another blog, we’ll continue taking notes, looking at some of the other texts found in the consecration volume of the Bon Kanjur. 



Next: “The Micro-Consecration of a Punctuation Mark.”


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On some sources on consecration and so on:  

For an extensive bibliography of both Indian Buddhist and Tibetan consecration literature, see Yael Bentor’s book, Consecration. Since it is brief and no more than an outline, we haven’t taken into consideration the text of the Great Translator Rinchenzangpo, although it is frequently cited in the later literature. Atiśa's text was composed in Sanskrit at Vikramaśīla Monastery near the Ganges River. He translated it together with his Tibetan disciple in around 1040 CE and apparently took the only copy with him to Tibet, as I know of no indication that it had any influence in India, no surviving Indian manuscript fragments and so on. The other Indic consecration works are detailed in Bentor, Consecration, pp. 349-353.




The Micro-Consecration of a Punctuation Mark

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 {KHA} ||Yig-ge Sgra-yi Mnga'-dbul bzhugs-s.hô||
Note: Click on the photos and they ought to expand
Every consecration rite of any significant length includes near its end a kind of paying tribute, or royal honors, or enthronement rite. I’m not sure which is the best way to translate it, or if it matters very much. This rite comes near the end because it is connected with the first offerings offered to the newly completed and, in effect, already-consecrated temple, image, book or chörten. I believe that one significance of the consecration is that it makes the work of Buddhist art or architecture into a field of merit, so that when offerings are made to it they actually aid the quest for Enlightenment. Or, to put it another way, they are enabled to serve as bases for the two accumulations: Merit (bsod-nams) is the first of the two accumulations (tshogs gnyis), the other Full Knowledge (ye-shes). These are like the two wings of a bird, both equally necessary for any progress to take place. I hope those are familiar terms, since they are quite basic to understanding Mahâyâna ideas about the Path to Enlightenment. In any case, it is interesting to see that for at least the last thousand years Tibetans of both the Bon and Chos sides are in considerable and substantial agreement when it comes to consecration, and the royal honors is one example of it among others. 

You have seen up above the title of the first section only of the Bon consecration volume. It contains a lengthy ritual recitation that goes through, one after the other, all the punctuation marks and letters, treating each one to what I would like to call a micro-consecration, following the pattern of a sâdhana in that it involves visualizing an exalted version of the mark or letter that is then brought down and unified with the lower physical one. It is interesting that this text has no colophon, and no sign of who composed or excavated it, but I suppose it’s just as old as the texts surrounding it and assume it, too, belongs to around the 11th-12th centuries. If you remember, the dang-thog (the word is unique to Bon, but not the thing itself) is that peculiar punctuation mark that appears on the front side of every leaf of a Tibetan text. You can see a rather fancy example here on the first folio verso. The ordinary form looks like this: ༄༅. Many people believe the origins of it lie in the forms of the syllable om when it appears in Indic scripts, although Bonpos are likely to have a different idea about this. But please, let’s leave those minor controversies behind, and concentrate on the punctuation mark itself, and what this consecration rite does with it:







To give a sketch of the structure of this passage, with a hope of clarifying what is going on, it brings to mind the ‘past event’ that in some sense preordains and justifies the rite. Later on, when the lights are emitted from the punctuation mark, it looks much like any typical sâdhana. Then, as is usually the case with mantras, the partially-Sanskritic Zhangzhung mantra found near the end of the passage is resistant to translation, although parts of it are intelligible and so I offer a half-hearted attempt. The last line of the mantra I haven’t even tried to translate. Some mysteries should remain mysteries, I suppose. Well, in any case they will.


(Today's blog is a continuation of this one that will itself be continued.)

A Conch Inscription, Then & Now

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I suppose my fairly big interest in conch inscriptions owes a lot to a letter of inquiry passed on to me back in 1984. It was from a person otherwise unknown to me, one named Carl Szego who at that time lived in Millburn, New Jersey.* These sorts of letters, dozens of them, ended up with me just because I was by then in my 11th year of Tibetan study and also did volunteer work for the Tibet Society. In an effort to embarrass myself and jeopardize what little reputation might remain after my major gaffe a few blogs back, I decided to do the little “comedy of errors” piece about myself you can see here before your eyes. 
(*I’ve only recently learned that the Hungarian surname Szego means ‘Cutter’.)

I imagined myself to be fairly advanced in my Tibetan reading skills back in those days, so hold on to your seats and prepare yourselves for some evidence to the contrary. Here I will type in my handwritten response to Mr. Szego, the owner of the conch:


Dear Mr. Szego: 

Prof. B. handed your letter over to me. The reading is difficult but approximately as follows —

A  —  དུང་ནི་ཆོས་ཀྱི་སྒྲ་ཡིན་པས་སྒྲོགས་པའི་ཚལ།། ཡེ་ཤེས་ཆ་མཚོ་འདི་རུ་ངག་གྱུར་ཏེ། ཆོས་རྣམས་ལ་ནོད་དེས་ངོས་[དོས་དོས་?]སུ་སྟོན་པ།  བཀྲ་ཤིས་ངེས་ཀྱང་ཆོས་པ་ཡང་ཐོབ་པ་ཤོག 
B  —  ཅེས་པ་དེ་ནི་སྦྲོ་བོ་[?]དཔོན་སློབས་དགེ་[?]དགེ་སློང་ངག་དབང་སང་ན་ཛི་རོ་ནས་ལྔ་པ་ཚེ་དབང་འབུལ་བ་འཕེལ།།    
Assuming many misspelled and semi-legible words, I interpret as follows —
A  —  “The Conch is the sound of Dharma, so it has the special power of ‘broadcasting.’ The ocean of Total Knowledge is Transmuted into sounds (words) in this. While the good fortune [of meeting] a teacher for a little instruction in the Dharma is inevitable, may the Buddhist as well obtain good fortune.”

And then the final dedication: 
B  —  “This is an offering from Spre-bo Teacher Monk Ngag-dbang-sang-na-dzi-ro to Snga-pa (=Sngags-pa?) Tshe-dbang.”

Based on the names,* I am thinking it comes from the easternmost Tibetan areas. If not, I am completely at loss what origin it may have had. Please let me know if I may be of more assistance. And if you feel the information worthwhile, a donation (and membership!) to the Tibet Society would be greatly appreciated. 

Sincerely, D.


(*An added note from 2017 — I think I was thinking this:  Snga-pa or Lnga-pa is perhaps Nga-pa in northern Szechuan? Or is it supposed to be Sngags-pa, or Mantrin?)


Well, where to get started? First and most importantly for the point I wish to make, Tibetan Studies has gone through a major revolution, along with many other fields of study, on account of the digitization of a large body of Tibetan texts. We can do things we could hardly hope to do before. Unlike the mid-80’s of the last century, students today can simply feed in a correctly spelled phrase and in this way locate the entire passage, allowing them to fix with ease the odd readings in the text they have on hand. Texts inscribed on metal are especially liable to be riddled with these oddities, given that the artists are not necessarily even literate, and likely to copy more-or-less what they see before their eyes. So let’s try this 21st-century experiment, and see just how rapidly we can search the million-page dataset of the TBRC for the words “dung ni chos kyi sgra.” After a few milliseconds, the first thing to pop up among the 41 “hits” is a consecration text from the Sakya Kambum:

དུང་ནི་ཆོས་ཀྱི་སྒྲ ་རྣམས་སྒྲོགས་པའི་ཚུལ། །
ཡེ་ཤེས་རྒྱ་མཚོ་ཉིད་དུ་དག་གྱུར་ཏེ། །
ཆོས་རྣམས་མ་ནོར་ཡོངས་སུ་སྟོན་པ་ཡི། །
བཀྲ་ཤིས་དེས་ཀྱང་ཚིག་དབང་ཐོབ་པར་ཤོག


“The conch in its way of broadcasting the sounds of Dharma  
has purified into the very ocean of Full Knowledge. 
In its fully indicating with no mistakes the dharmas,  
through this auspiciousness may we obtain mastery of the word.”



Well, I thought that was a nice try, but having a look at Yael Bentor's book, I see on p. 345 what seems to be a better translation:  

“The conch which is the means for proclaiming the sound of the Dharma, purifies into the ocean of enlightened wisdom itself, and expounds the Dharma without mistake. May this auspicious substance also attain the power of speech (for us).”

I’d like to say I’ve solved the riddle of who offered this conch to whom, but I still can’t. The donor’s statement isn’t clear enough, and I don't find any parallels for it right away. Let me know if anything occurs to you.


“The white conch that coils to the right symbolizes the deep, far-reaching and melodious sound of the Dharma teachings that, being appropriate to different natures, predispositions and aspirations of disciples, awakens them from the deep slumber of ignorance and urges them to accomplish their own and others’ welfare.”


§   §   §   §   §


Sources for consultation and consolation:


Yael Bentor, Consecration of Images & Stûpas in Indo-Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, E.J. Brill (Leiden 1996).  
Have some fun and try putting those same words “dung ni chos kyi sgra rnams” into the Google search-box, and one single result appears:  The Italian translation of Dagyab Rinpoche's wellknown popular study on Tibetan artistic symbolism (he wrote a more technical one in German). Try looking here.
Taking this clue from the Italian, I pulled my English version down off the shelf — Buddhist Symbols in Tibetan Culture, Wisdom (Boston 1995), tr. from German by Maurice Walshe, p. 62:  
“...the ruler of the gods, Indra...a right-turning conch shell...   Just as the conch proclaims the sound of the Dharma, one will become pure in the wisdom ocean and proclaim the Dharma without error and completely. Through this good fortune, may eloquence also be obtained.”
Dagyab Rinpoche identifies the ultimate source of this as Ratnaśīla’s Rdo-rje-rnam-par-'joms-pa zhes bya-ba'i [Gzungs] Dkyil-'khor-gyi Lag-len Go-rims Ji-lta-ba.  In what could possibly be the original Sanskrit title, this is: Vajravidāraṇa nāma Dhāraṇī-maṇḍala-prakriyā-yathā-krama.

Here’s another conch inscription drawn from Tibet. Klöster öffnen ihre Schatzkammern, Kulturstiftung Ruhr Essen (Villa Hügel 2006), p. 533:  Inscription on the ‘sleeve’ of a rare right-turning (clockwise spiraling outward) conch shell trumpet.  Transcribed in note 54 on p. 617:



rnam par rgyal ba'i phan bde legs bshad gling pa'i chos dung phun tshogs g.yas 'khyil 'di'i gshog pa gsar bzo'i rgyu rgyal dbang mchog gi sku gzhogs nas phra'i g.yu sbyang gnyis / de las chung chung tsam gnyis / de 'og che chung 'dres ma bco brgyad / chung ba lnga brgya dang dgu bcu thams cad rnams bka' drin bskyangs / mchod dpon blo bzang mthu stobs dang dbu mdzad blo bzang yon tan gnyis kyis gser zho lnga brgya thams pa / grwa tshang spyi so nas dngul srang nyi shu phyed rtsa drug bton pa'i / do dam gnyer pa dge bshes blo bzang sbyin pa dang dge bshes ngag dbang 'phrin las / bzo bo bal po brdung pa dha lam / bkra shis mgon po / 'phul pa shi nyi / dza shing / .da ki .ta / phra pa la na mu ne rnams kyis bgyis te / phur bu zhes pa sa pho spre'u'i lo hor zla bcu gcig pa'i tshes dge bar legs par grub pa sarba mangga lam //.




The authors of this section, Andreas Kretschmar and Geshe Pema Tsering, guess the date of this conch to be ca. 18th century. Even though an Earth Monkey date for making the gold and turquoise sleeve of the conch is given, it is often difficult in such cases to decide which Earth Monkey year that would be.* 

(*Still, I’m thinking it could date even earlier, to the time of the Fifth Dalai Lama. Although it needs a little more study to be sure of it, two of the persons mentioned as donors on the conch sleeve [I’ve highlighted their names in yellow] are also mentioned here** as donors of a copper pot for the use of Namgyal Dratsang. Namgyal Dratsang's lengthier name is given at the beginning of the conch inscription as “rnam par rgyal ba'i phan bde legs bshad gling.”  If this works, then the date of the sleeve works out to 1668 CE.)
(**The link should lead you to a minor piece in the collected works of the Fifth Dalai Lama. When you get there, notice the two names Mchod-dpon Blo-bzang-mthu-stobs and Dbu-mdzad Blo-bzang-yon-tan. These names are key to the  revised dating.)

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Postscript on Zhangzhung (ZZ) in a conch inscription:

Once I wrote up a bit on a conch inscription that contains surprising Zhangzhung-language elements in it. This inscription was published by Giuseppe Tucci after he found it in a Sakya Monastery. I put up something about it several years ago in a Bon Studies group on Ning, so I will have to see if I can go there and rediscover it. For me, conch inscriptions are just as interesting as those found on bells. Both bells and conches are clear symbols of the Word of the Buddha, which has always been an inspiration to me personally.




Well, since I managed to locate it I thought I may as well post it here. The Ning posting follows (note that here "ZZ" stands for Zhang-zhung):

Source:  Giuseppe Tucci, Tibetan Painted Scrolls.

On pp. 677, 763, is an inscription, quite a difficult one (as anyway inscriptions tend to be), on a conch shell which begins:  un hing 'dza leng.  These are quite apparently ZZ words, including the ZZ word for conch, which is un.  

This conch shell was kept at Spos-khang, although it doesn't look like Tucci ever made it explicit that this is the same Spos-khang silver conch casing he illustrates in his fig. 82 (see ibid., pp. 202-3).  It's really a magnificent work of metal casting, masterfully done, with dragon, horse, lion & deities included, although I don't see a place for an inscription (perhaps on the back of the sleeve, or 'inside' where the conch itself ought to be, but isn't).

Here's a Romanization of the Tibetan script inscription  (I must emphasize that the script is not Zhangzhung, since people do get confused on this point) as given by Tucci:

un hing 'dza leng rin chen kun krag 'di chu' cin kyi thog la pun mo tsha lha 'gar rgyal mtshan 'i lag rjes na bkris.



No wonder Tucci couldn't make much of what it says, although in his footnote he at least rightly identifies the lha-'gar as an alternative spelling for lha-mgar, or divine smith.  Of course Gyaltsen (Rgyal-mtshan) is the name of this divine smith (or rather, smith who makes divine images) who is further described as a nephew (or grandson) of some "pun-mo," whatever that means (Tucci wants to correct pun mo tsha to read dpon-mo-che, or great chieftainess).

The first four syllables are most definitely Zhangzhung.  I'm also sure of one thing, that the syllable un means conch (not that it's all that simple, since it may also mean dragon or the dragon's sound, which is thunder... just see Haarh's Zhangzhung dictionary).  There are plenty of examples of this. 

It's possible that un hing would be the same as un ting (there is a graphic similarity, especially in cursive script).  Hummel (on what basis I don't know) has defined Zhangzhung un ting as equivalent to Tibetan sgra-dbyangs, or melody.  However, analyzing the two syllables it's likely to mean conch and water, which could mean water-conch I suppose.  "Water-dragon" wouldn't be impossible, I also wonder...

The syllable leng does exist in ZZ, corresponding to Tibetan gling, or island, so perhaps the 'dza is after all just a Zhangzhung-like form for Tibetan 'dzam, and the two syllables together mean Jambu Island?  That means the whole world, or at least the Indian subcontinent.  That's my best guess at the moment.

I'm also thinking that the first four syllables are in Zhangzhung simply because this is the 'personal' name of the conch itself.   Particularly remarkable implements like this one have often gotten personal names (recall King Arthur's sword Excalibur).  This conch already had a name before the artist inscribed it on this conch cover (or conch holder/handle as you prefer).  And that name is a Zhangzhung name.

The next four syllables just mean with all kinds of variegated jewels (you can see the settings for precious stones in the photograph)...

(November 13, 2009 communication with Zhangzhung Studies Forum, by now perhaps no longer in existence, belonging to the Ning Network.)

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Note: I wish I did, but I don't possess any material copy of Patricia Berger's Empire of Emptiness, pp. 185-186, but I did locate fascinating paragraphs on the Panchen Lama's conch shell there, together with a photo:





Okay, just one more comment and I’ll be quiet. When I visited Sakya Monastery several years ago, I was impressed by a practice of having a monk sound a conch shell in memory of a deceased relative, so I made a small offering and pronounced the name of my grandfather who had died not long before. Mention of this conch is found in Sarat Chandra Das, Journey to Lhasa & Central Tibet, p. 242. I can’t really be sure, since it hardly seems believable, but they said that the conch being used was the same one given in offering to Phagspa Lama by Kublai Khan back in the 13th century. The only published depiction of that famous conch that I know about is in Precious Deposits, vol. 3, p, 11. Das said the minimum donation for blowing the famous conch was seven ounces of silver. My offering was much less, and while there is no way to be sure the sound of it reached my grandfather in the bardo, I know it did have a strong effect on my heart.



Hooking and Keeping Yang

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An Old Norwegian Postcard

So many years have gone by I shouldn’t be sheepish to admit that I once worked on cataloging the Tibetan manuscripts and woodblock prints belonging to the Berthold Laufer collection of the Chicago Field Museum. This was back in the early 80’s, when I was young and full of false pride. Only this summer I could rescue from storage one colophon to a Field Museum text that had often come to my mind when it was out of reach. Why? Well, because it’s one of those interesting places where a Gelugpa author shows an awareness that he is involving himself in something Bon (perhaps meaning by that indigenous?), and hesitates, but then goes ahead anyway. 

In truth anything having to do with the yang (g.yang) principle in Tibetan culture is very likely indigenous Tibetan. And when I say indigenous, I don’t claim that there is nothing in neighboring cultures that corresponds with it in some way, not at all. I’m not saying it’s autochthonous (sprung full-grown from local soil), another matter altogether. Instead it has long been my opinion that the yang as something that can be increased through ritual methods is also known in Southeast Asia, and that the connections may well lie in that direction, in the mythical land of Zomia.

Let me awkwardly paraphrase the colophon for you (if you are a Tibetan reader, go directly to the text typed in down below):


Agi, a bande of the U-cu-mu-chin (Üjümücin), who was born into the lineage of Chinggis the King of the Heavens (or appointed by Heaven), said that there was need of a Yang Calling rite that follows the tradition of the Golden Light Yang Protection. His behest was accompanied by offerings of horses and icon ornaments. Still the author hesitated, thinking it was very well known in those parts as being a Bon religious teaching (Bon-chos), and that there aren’t many clear sources for it in the New Schools (Gsar-ma).  
"Thinking it a little like bumping into each other in the dark, still, because the behest was repeated again and again, we also thought that it could turn out to be of benefit anyway in this or future lives, after the pattern of the ringsel that because of faith occurred on a stone, I Blo-bzang-bstan-pa’i-nyi-ma composed it, the scribe being Gsol-dpon Dge-tshul Blo-bzang-stobs-ldan."

My cursory research reveals that agiis not only a word for wormwood in Mongolian, but also serves as a personal name Agi. I’ve been unable to identify who the sponsor (or behester) was. The identity of the author might seem easy, and in the end there can be no doubt that it’s the La-mo or Shri-thu Blo-bzang-bstan-pa’i-nyi-ma (1689-1772 CE). Regarded as the immediate reincarnation of the 45th Ganden Tripa (1635-1688), he is often known as Khri-chen Sprul-sku, or as Dga'-ldan Shi-re-thu. (I think Mongolian Shiretu is just a translation of Tibetan Khri-chen, or “Great Chair.”) He was known for his translations from Tibetan into Mongolian, including the biography of Milarepa, if I’m not mistaken. Our title is listed among titles of two whole volumes of his works in a catalog of Gelugpa Collected Works (pp. 323-325), along with a very brief biographical sketch: 

A native of Mongolia, he spent some years in a Lhasa monastery. Then he accepted the invitation of the Emperor Yu’u-dzi* and came to Peking to receive the title of Hu'i U-chan Dga’-ldan Shri-thu Hu-thog-thu. He spent most of his days in the chapel of the Sandalwood Buddha where he composed many of his works. His last days were once again spent in Mongolia at the Seven Lakes Monastery (Mtsho-bdun Dgon).

I’m really not sure but I suppose Yu’u-dzi could be the Manchu Emperor Yongzheng, who ruled from 1678 to 1735. Mtsho-bdun means Seven Lakes, as does Mongolian Dolon Nor in present-day Inner Mongolia, said to be the site of Khublai Khan’s summer capital Shang-tu, inspiration for Coleridge’s Xanadu. You know, where Alph the sacred river ran...

“Bumping into one another in the dark,” is a Tibetan expression or proverb, listed as such as no. 7510 in C. Cüppers & P.K. Sørensen's A Collection of Tibetan Proverbs and Sayings (Stuttgart 1998). I suppose such unexpected meetings create a bit of stress, not knowing how to act because we don’t know what or who we’re dealing with and have to feel our way. I’m not familiar with the expression translated “the ringsel that because of faith occurred on a stone,” but I think the meaning is clear.  Ringsel are crystalline beads that emerge miraculously from the remains of saints or from holy objects like images or chortens. They do not normally emerge out of stones, but if a stone is sufficiently venerated they still might, against all odds, appear there too.

Defining yang can be as simple or complex, as practical or mystical, as you have the time for it. If you are part of a tour group rushing through on a tight schedule, it’s just ‘good luck,’ like everything else these simple people do. Or, if you can slow down for a minute, it’s all about being blessed with trouble-free ever-increasing livestock and the prosperity this is bound to bring along with it. It needs to be preserved, enclosed in something, a box or a bag or the like, so it doesn't have a chance to fly off.* This is yang as closely as I can imagine defining it for the present, although I’ll be the first to admit that I still find it sophisticatedly mystical. But more important than understanding it is to be sure the yang remains with you.


(*That’s why the Yang Hooking rite gets included in the wedding ritual, since the bride leaving her family to join her husband’s is one of those dangerous junctures when it might try to make its escape.)



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Field Museum: 303.09.
(I underline proper names and book titles)

TITLE; phyogs bcu'i g.yang 'gug gter gyi bum bzang zhes bya ba bzhugs s.ho //  

COLOPHON: (14) ces pa 'di ni ching ges gnam gyi rgyal po'i rgyud las 'khrungs pa'i u cu mu chin bande a gis gser 'od g.yang skyob ltar gyi g.yang 'bod cig dgos zhes  rta dang lha rdzas bcas bskul na'ang phyogs 'di bon chos su grags che ba las gsar ma'i khungs gsal bo ma mthong gshis / mun nag 'dom 'jal lta bu 'dug na'ang  yang yang bskul tshe dad pa byas na rdo la ring bsrel gyi dpe ltar 'di phyir phan par 'gyur ram snyam / blo bzang bstan pa'i nyi mas sbyar ba'i yi ge pa ni gsol dpon dge tshul blo bzang stobs ldan no // mangga lam //



Title: ཕྱོགས་བཅུའི་གཡང་འགུག་གཏེར་གྱི་བུམ་བཟང་ཞེས་བྱ་བ་བཞུགས་སྷོ།། 

Colophon: [༡༤]ཅེས་པ་འདི་ནི་ཆིང་གེས་གནམ་གྱི་རྒྱལ་པོའི་རྒྱུད་ལས་འཁྲུངས་པའི་ཨུ་ཅུ་མུ་ཆིན་བནྡེ་ཨ་གིས་གསེར་འོད་གཡང་སྐྱོབ་ལྟར་གྱི་གཡང་འབོད་ཅིག་དགོས་ཞེས་རྟ་དང་ལྷ་རྫས་བཅས་བསྐུལ་ནའང་ཕྱོགས་འདི་བོན་ཆོས་སུ་གྲགས་ཆེ་བ་ལས་གསར་མའི་ཁུངས་གསལ་བོ་མ་མཐོང་གཤིས། མུན་ནག་འདོན་འཇལ་ལྟ་བུ་འདུག་ནའང་ཡང་ཡང་བསྐུལ་ཚེ་དད་པ་བྱས་ན་རྡོ་ལ་རིང་བསྲེལ་གྱི་དཔེ་ལྟར་འདི་ཕྱིར་ཕན་པར་འགྱུར་རམ་སྙམ། བློ་བཟང་བསྟན་པའི་ཉི་མས་སྦྱར་བའི་ཡི་གེ་པ་ནི་གསོལ་དཔོན་དགེ་ཚུལ་བློ་བཟང་སྟོབས་ལྡན་ནོ།།  མངྒལཾ།།


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Imagine my surprise and chagrin, when a search of TBRC revealed that the very same title can be found in the works of Lcang-lung Paṇḍita 
(1770‑1846 CE). Since I don’t have access to the Field Museum text, apart from the title and colophon, I’m unable to compare the contents of the two. However, looking at the TBRC colophon, it says the colophon to the text it copied was unclear (mdzad-byang mi-gsal-zhing), that the recitation parts were expanded for this edition, to make it more useful for people unable to consult their original texts (or for those who have not yet memorized them, I think he means).  Then the author’s name is given as Ngag-dbang-chos-ldan. There is more than one person by this name from that time period, but I believe since the colophon explicitly says he was a tutor, and had the title of “[Master of] Ten Difficult [Subjects],” an old-time way of saying he was a qualified Geshé, I believe this means the First Lcang-skya incarnate Ngag-dbang-blo-bzang-chos-ldan (1642-1714). At the very end a lineage for the reading permission, the lung of the text, is supplied starting with [1] the just-mentioned teacher, then [2] the Third Lcang-skya incarnate Rol-pa'i-rdo-rje, then [3] his student and attendant Dge-legs-nam-mkha' (known to me as author of a guidebook to Wutai Shan), and finally [4] Lcang-lung Paṇḍi-ta.

Well, based on our Field Museum text, we know the author was very surely Shri-thu Blo-bzang-bstan-pa'i-nyi-ma (1689-1772 CE), so this leads us to wonder, Whatever would be the sense of making a reading permission lineage for it descending from someone else? Unable to look into the question further, I will just leave you with the puzzle to work out to your own satisfaction. 

Here I will type in for you the title and colophon of the text as attributed to the First Lcang-skya:

Source:  The Collected Works of Lca-lu Paṇḍi-ta ag-dba-blo-bza-bstan-pa'i-rgyal-mtshan, Mongolian Lama Gurudeva (New Delhi 1975+), vol. 6, pp. 459-482.

Title: phyogs bcu'i g.yang 'gug 'dod dgu'i char 'bebs zhes bya ba bzhugs so //

Colophon:  zhes phyogs bcu'i g.yang 'gug 'dod dgu'i char 'bebs zhes bya ba 'di ni / gser 'od g.yang skyabs kyi g.yang 'gug gi lhan thabs mdzad byang mi gsal zhing / 'dod cha rnams thog mtha'i tshig gis bsdus pa'i lag tu blang bde zhing kha gsal ba zhig mthong ba la gzhi byas / de la gzhung gi 'don cha rnams rgyas par bkod de / lhan thabs dang g.yang skyabs kyi dpe ma 'dzom pa dang bsdebs mi shes pa rnams kyis 'don bde bar bsams nas dka' bcu'i ming can ngag dbang chos ldan gyis bsgrigs pa'i yi ge pa ni dpyod ldan bsod nams phun tshogs so // 'dis kyang 'gro ba rnams dbul phongs kyi sdug bsngal las grol bar gyur cig /

'di'i lung brgyud ni mdzad pa po yongs 'dzin dka' chen ngag dbang chos ldan / khyab bdag 'khor lo'i mgon po lcang skya rol pa'i rdo rje / ong nyod ja sag bla ma grub pa'i dbang phyug dge legs nam mkha'/ des lcang lung paṇḍi tadgyes bzhin du gnang ba'o //  //



Title: ཕྱོགས་བཅུའི་གཡང་འགུག་འདོད་དགུའི་ཆར་འབེབས་ཞེས་བྱ་བ་བཞུགས་སོ།།


Colophon: ཞེས་ཕྱོགས་བཅུའི་གཡང་འགུག་འདོད་དགུའི་ཆར་འབེབས་ཞེས་བྱ་བ་འདི་ནི།གསེར་འོད་གཡང་སྐྱབས་ཀྱི་གཡང་འགུག་གི་ལྷན་ཐབས་མཛད་བྱང་མི་གསལ་ཞིང་། འདོད་ཆ་རྣམས་ཐོག་མཐའི་ཚིག་གིས་བསྡུས་པའི་ལག་ཏུ་བླང་བདེ་ཞིང་ཁ་གསལ་བ་ཞིག་མཐོང་བ་ལ་གཞི་བྱས། དེ་ལ་གཞུང་གི་འདོན་ཆ་རྣམས་རྒྱས་པར་བཀོད་དེ། ལྷན་ཐབས་དང་གཡང་སྐྱབས་ཀྱི་དཔེ་མ་འཛོམ་པ་དང་བསྡེབས་མི་ཤེས་པ་རྣམས་ཀྱིས་འདོན་བདེ་བར་བསམས་ནས་དཀའ་བཅུའི་མིང་ཅན་ངག་དབང་ཆོས་ལྡན་གྱིས་བསྒྲིགས་པའི་ཡི་གེ་པ་ནི་དཔྱོད་ལྡན་བསོད་ནམས་ཕུན་ཚོགས་སོ༎ འདིས་ཀྱང་འགྲོ་བ་རྣམས་དབུལ་ཕོངས་ཀྱི་སྡུག་བསྔལ་ལས་གྲོལ་བར་གྱུར་ཅིག།

འདིའི་ལུང་བརྒྱུད་ནི་མཛད་པ་པོ་ཡོངས་འཛིན་དཀའ་ཆེན་ངག་དབང་ཆོས་ལྡན། ཁྱབ་བདག་འཁོར་ལོའི་མགོན་པོ་ལྕང་སྐྱ་རོལ་པའི་རྡོ་རྗེ།

ཨོང་ཉོད་ཇ་སག་བླ་མ་གྲུབ་པའི་དབང་ཕྱུག་དགེ་ལེགས་ནམ་མཁའ། དེས་ལྕང་ལུང་པཎྜི་ཏ་དགྱེས་བཞིན་དུ་གནང་བའོ།། །།


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Directions of further research to confuse matters even more than is absolutely necessary:



Our author can be located in TBRC, although it may not be all that easy given that there are supposed to be about 150 persons with the name Blo-bzang-bstan-pa'i-nyi-ma. His correct identification number is P348. You ought to thank me for saving you the trouble of searching through the long list. There are a couple of works listed in TBRC that are connected to him as subject or author, but TBRC has not listed the contents of his collected works that ought to fill four volumes. I wonder why the Chicago Field Museum doesn't invite TBRC to come and scan their Berthold Laufer Tibetan collection to make it available to the world?

The one place I know of that lists titles of our author’s works only supplies titles for two volumes, vols. 3-4 (GA and NGA): Gsung 'bum dkar chag (=Zhwa ser bstan pa'i sgron me rje tsong kha pa chen pos gtsos skyes chen dam pa rim byung gi gsung 'bum dkar chag phyogs gcig tu bsgrigs pa'i dri med zla shel gtsang ma'i me long), Lhag-pa-tshe-ring et al.eds., Bod ljongs mi rigs dpe skrun khang (Lhasa 1990), pp. 323-325.


If the subject of ringsel interests you, as I think it should, have a look at D. Martin’s “Pearls from Bones: Relics, Chortens, Tertons and the Signs of Saintly Death in Tibet,” Numen, vol. 41 (1994), pp. 273-324.


Dieter Schuh long ago studied, as part of a study of Eastern Tibetan wedding rituals, a Yang Hooking rite. See “Die Darlegungen des tibetischen Enzyklopädisten Ko-sprul Blo-gros-mtha'-yas über Osttibetische Hochzeitsgebraüche,” contained in: Serta Tibeto-Mongolica [Heissig Festschrift], Harrassowitz (Wiesbaden 1973), pp. 295-350.


Curiously enough, Bon and Chos each has its own G.yang-skyob ritual associated with a particular sûtra, in both cases called by a similar title including the words Golden Light. The two texts are hardly the same in their content — see Michael Walter, “Prolegomenon to a Study of the Gser 'od nor bu 'od 'bar gyi mdo,” contained in: Per Kvaerne, ed., Tibetan Studies: Proceedings of the 6th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies Fagernes 1992, The Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture (Oslo 1994), vol. 2, pp. 930-938 — but they are similar in having Yang Hooking rites as ancillary texts.

Daniel Berounsky, “Tibetan Myths on ‘Good Fortune’ (phya) and 'Well-Being' (g.yang),” contained in: Mongolo-Tibetica Pragensia '14, vol. 7, no. 2 (2014), pp. 55-77 (this whole volume of MTP is devoted to “Indigenous Elements in Tibetan Religions”).  Idem., Prosperity in a Whirlpool of Symbolic Contexts: Some Notes on Tibetan G.yang 'gugs and Buryat Dalga Rituals, contained in: Jaroslav Vacek & Alena Oberfalzerova, eds., Mongolica Pragensia '06, Triton (Prague 2006).  G.yang-'gug.

Rolf A. Stein, Tibetan Civilization, p. 199: 
“Take for example the ceremony of calling for good fortune (g.yang-'gug), for which a beribboned arrow, a mirror and a ‘good-fortune bag’ (g.yang-khug) are used: ‘The material of the good-fortune bag is wool. The father was the sky sheep Reddish-white, the mother the earth sheep Reddish. These two united and had sons. Of five kinds were the lambs.’ ”

Jacques Dournes, “Yang: The Sacred Connection, Sacrifice, and the Ritual of Counting among the Austroasiatic and Austronesian Ethnic Groups,” contained in: Yves Bonnefoy, ed., Asian Mythologies, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 1993), pp. 218-221.  I’m not going to claim that this yang in southernmost Viet Nam and the Tibetan yang are identical concepts, but both do have a lot to do with prosperity, and both can be influenced through ritual methods.

Geoffrey Samuel, Zomia: New Constructions of the Southeast Asian Highlands and Their Tibetan Implications, contained in: Gerald Roche, et al., eds., Centering the Local [Asian Highland Perspectives no. 37], pp. 221-249.






To Bind a Book is to Protect it from the Elements

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Taking up where this one left off, we continue looking at the contents of the consecration volume of the Bon Canon. Following is a translation of an interesting passage from its third title, followed by a brief comparison of early Tibetan texts that talk about the binding elements that go into the making of a scriptural volume. This leads to further intriguing questions, as for instance the meaning of The Seven Seals” that we will go into in some future blog or essay.





The binding elements are intended to provide protection from the natural elements that might damage them. The Bon text has a remarkably pragmatic approach to this. Now, for comparison, a passage on the binding elements from the consecration work by the 12th-century Sakya master Grags-pa-rgyal-mtshan, first in Tibetan letters, and then in English translation:




Now we can add in information on the binding elements from the Atiśa text based on a draft translation done back in about 1988, albeit with more recent revisions. Here is how the three 11th-12th century works compare. The items in red are unique ones that ought to receive special attention.



A bookboard displayed in the Crow Collection exhibit last year (for more look here).



Thanks are due to Dagkar Geshé Namgyal Nyima, since I could not have translated the Bon consecration passage without his help. The translations you see here, which still require thinking and rethinking, will eventually be published as part of an article, so any suggestions for improvement will be appreciated, and acknowledged if they prove useful or interesting.



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The Tree of Kumbum

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After Filchner


The tree of Kumbum with leaves miraculously manifesting divine images — or Tibetan or Sanskrit or Senzar letters according to some — has a long history of discussion outside Tibet. My point today is not to rehash all those discussions, although if you are short for time, you can just look at the Huc & Gabet, the Mdm. Blavatsky and the Van Manen testimonies, these being the most influential voices among them. 

I might be disclosing my Tibeto-centric biases in saying so, but I think the Tibetan evidence* carries more weight of meaning than all the rest, although I leave it up to you where exactly to weight the meaning, as I always do. It’s hardly ever my aim to rule my readers here in Tibeto-logic, to confine them to thinking a certain way. Not that the evidence speaks for itself — you need to prepare yourself to hear it rightly — but I assume you’re ready. I assume you know that sacred images and letters often manifest themselves spontaneously on the Tibetan plateau, and not just on trees, but indeed primarily on rocks and bones.** As you will see if you take the time to read through today’s blog offering, the missionaries are ironically eager in the extreme to supply naturalistic explanations for a miraculous phenomenon, as if miracles never happened to Christians, as if they too wouldn’t send us searching for the rationalizations rationality can (sometimes all too readily) supply. Even in our day everyone looks for health in their own ways. Everyone hopes for a miracle.
(*This Tibetan evidence comes in the form of a devotional guidebook for pilgrims to Kumbum, the one we will transcribe presently, that has unfortunately never been taken into consideration in those just-mentioned discussions.) (**When they appear on water and sky, I suppose we would just call them visions.)

Here is what my 1928 Hazlitt translation of Huc& Gabet, vol. 2, p. 53 & ff. has to say:

The mountain at the foot of which Tsong-Kaba was born became a famous place of pilgrimage. Lamas assembled there from all parts to build their cells, and thus by degrees was formed that flourishing Lamasery, the fame of which extends to the remotest confines of Tartary. It is called Kounbuom, from two Thibetian words signifying Ten Thousand Images,* and having allusion to the tree which, according to the legend, sprang from Tsong-Kaba's hair, and bears a Thibetian character on each of its leaves. 
It will here be naturally expected that we say something about this tree itself. Does it exist? Have we seen it? Has it any peculiar attributes? What about its marvellous leaves? All these questions our readers are entitled to put to us. We will endeavour to answer as categorically as possible. (*My note: This is inaccurate, as Sku-'bum means ‘One Hundred Thousand Images.’)
Yes, this tree does exist, and we had heard of it too [p. 54] often during our journey not to feel somewhat eager to visit it. At the foot of the mountain on which the Lamasery stands, and not far from the principal Buddhist temple, is a great square enclosure, formed by brick walls. Upon entering this we were able to examine at leisure the marvellous tree, some of the branches of which had already manifested themselves above the wall. Our eyes were first directed with earnest curiosity to the leaves, and we were filled with an absolute consternation of astonishment at finding that, in point of fact, there were upon each of the leaves well-formed Thibetian characters, all of a green colour, some darker, some lighter than the leave itself. Our first impression was a suspicion of fraud on the part of the Lamas ; but, after a minute examination of every detail, we could not discover the least deception. The characters all appeared to us portions of the leave itself, equally with its veins and nerves. The position was not the same in all ; in one leaf they would be at the top of the leaf ; in another, in the middle ; in a third, at the base, or at the side ; the younger leaves representing the characters only in a partial state of formation. The bark of the tree and its branches which resemble that of the plane tree, are also covered with these characters. When you remove a piece of old bark, the young bark under it exhibits the indistinct outlines of characters in a germinating state, and, what is very singular, these new characters are not unfrequently different from those which they replace. We examined everything with the closests attention, in order to detect some trace of trickery, but we could discern nothing of the sort, and the perspiration absolutely trickled down our faces under the influence of the sensations which this most amazing spectacle created. More profound intellects than ours may, perhaps, be able to supply a satisfactory explanation of the mysteries of [p. 55] this singular tree ; but as to us, we altogether give it up. Our readers possibly may smile at our ignorance ; but we care not, so that the sincerity and truth of our statement be not suspected. 
The Tree of the Ten Thousand Images seemed to us of great age. Its trunk, which three men could scarcely embrace with outstretched arms, is not more than eight feet high ; the branches, instead of shooting up, spread out in the shape of a plume of feathers, and are extremely bushy : few of them are dead. The leaves are always green, and the wood, which is of reddish tint, has an exquisite odour, something like that of cinnamon. The Lamas informed us that in summer, toward the eighth moon, the tree produces large red flowers of an extremely beautiful character. They informed us also that there nowhere else exists another such tree ; that many attempts have been made in various Lamaseries of Tartary and Thibet to propagate it by seeds and cuttings, but that all these attempts have been fruitless. 
The Emperor Khan-Hi, when upon a pilgrimage to Kounboum, constructed, at his own private expense, a dome of silver over the Tree of the Ten Thousand Images...
Now let’s have a look at the Tibetan guidebook to the holy tree. I won't translate it in its every detail — I imagine some young Tibetologician is or soon will be working on it — just draw attention to some of the ideas it contains. It says that the tree grew out of a part of the physical body (sku'i cha shas) of Tsongkhapa. Which part? It says soon after his birth, when his umbilical cord was cut, a drop of blood fell on the ground and from it grew the tree, which this text goes on to describe at considerable length. It says it is a white sandalwood tree, extremely white, its roots very thick and sticking downward, its peak pointed upward with several hundreds of branches arrayed outward, resembling the upraised mandala of a parasol beautified with leafed twigs an hundred thousand in number and as green as the wings of the parrot; it has a sweet scent that carries a great distance, and on each of its leaves may be seen marked, as if drawn by a skilled artist, an image of the Victor in the form of Lion’s Roar, seemingly alive (or so I understand 'sense bases entirely there') and entrancing. It is on its basis that this place is everywhere known as Kumbum, or ‘Hundred Thousand Images.’


Then the Lord [Tsongkhapa] himself, in making his mother’s funeral arrangements, made the sandalwood tree with its hundred thousand images of Lion’s Roar into the Life Wood used in erecting a Lotus Stack Chorten. But out of the root of the tree sprouted a branch, and this is the sandalwood tree that is seen nowadays in front of the Great Temple (Lha-khang Chen-mo). Upon its bark are a number of self-produced letters including both consonants and vowels, and these are there today clearly to be seen by all visitors both high and low. Our author goes on to quote from the Kadam Legbam in support of the idea that the letters on the tree bark are Tsongkhapa's compassionate manifestations. Then he quotes the Gaṇḍavyūha Sūtra to the effect that Buddhas may manifest in the form of a tree. The author expresses his own idea, which is that the tree, however ordinary its appearance may be, is without any doubt brought into being as nothing other than a natural manifestation of the great Tsongkhapa’s Full Knowledge.


Then, after a discussion of the benefits of seeing and touching this holy object, and also of prostrating to, circumambulating, making offerings and offering prayers to it, we are told that the author wrote this work at the behest of a Mantrin Ngawang Puntsok. Who was the author? He is named as “Dkon-mchog-'jigs-med-dbang-po,” but we may with ease identify him as the Second Jamyang Zhepa (1728‑1817).


Finally, a printer's colophon tells us that the printing blocks were carved at Kumbum Monastery itself.


§   §   §


sku 'bum byams pa gling gi rten gyi gtso bo tsan dan ljon shing gi lo rgyus bzhugs so //

[1v] bgrangs yas rgyal ba kun gyi mkhyen brtse'i dpal //
gcig bsdus blo bzang grags snyan gdugs dkar gyis //
sa gsum dkyil 'khor kun khyab bstan pa'i bdag //
'jam dpal snying pos rtag tu dge legs stsol //

sku 'bum zhes grags 'dzam gling gi //
rgyan gyur de nyid mdzes byed pa //  [2r]
tsandan dkar po'i ljon shing gi //
ngo mtshar mdor bsdus tsam zhig bri //

de la mdo smad bstan pa'i 'byung gnas sku 'bum byams pa gling gi rten gyi gtso bo tsandan gyi sdong po 'di nyid dus gsum sangs rgyas thams cad kyi ngo bo rje rgyal ba gnyis pa'i sku'i cha shas las byung ba yin la / de yang rnam 'dren rgyal ba'i [2v] dbang po thams cad mkhyen pa blo bzang grags pa'i dpal zhes snyan grags kyis ba dan dkar po srid pa gsum na ches cher g.yo ba de nyid me mo bya'i lo la mdo smad tsong kha'i yul du yab klu 'bum dge dang / yum shing bza' a chos gnyis kyis sras su sku bltams pa'i tshe smra bsam gyi ra ba las 'das pa'i ngo mtshar ba'i ltas dpag tu med pa byung tshul rnam thar du gsal ba ltar legs shing / khyad par du bdag nyid chen po 'di btsas nas ring po ma lon par lte ba bcad pa'i tshe khrag gi thigs pa sa'i steng du lhung ba las tsandan dkar po'i sdong po dung gi ljon pa ltar mchog tu dkar zhing / rtsa ba [3r] rab tu sbom pa thur du zug pa / rtse mo gyen du 'phags pa las yal ga brgya phrag du ma phyir gyes pa gdugs kyi dkyil 'khor bsgreng ba dang mtshungs pa la / ne tso'i gshog pa ltar sngo ba'i yal 'dab 'bum phrag tu mdzes pa / dri zhim po dpag tshad kyi bar du ldang ba / 'dab ma re re'i ngos la rgyal ba seng ge'i nga ro'i sku ri mo mkhan gyis bris pa ltar skye mched rdzogs shing yid 'phrog pas mtshan pa rang byon du 'khrungs par gyur to // de la brten nas gnas 'di nyid la sku 'bum zhes phyogs kun tu grags so //

de nas rje bdag nyid kyi gsung ltar yum gyi [3v] thugs khur bzhes te seng ge'i nga ro'i sku 'bum phrag dang ldan pa'i tsandan gyi ljon shing chen po srog shing du byas nas padma spungs pa'i mchod rten bzhengs par mdzad do //

sdong po de'i rtsa ba nas yal ga gcig phyir gyes pa lha khang chen mo'i mdun na yod pa'i tsandan gyi sdong po 'di yin zhing / 'di'i shun lpags kyi steng du dbyangs dang gsal byed kyi yi ge 'bru du ma rang byon du yod pa da lta mchog dman kun gyi mig gis mngon sum du mthong ba 'di lags so //

de yang bka' gdams glegs bam las /

bdag gi sprul pa dam pa gcig //
res 'ga' dge slong nyid [4r] du sprul //
de ni gnas de skyong bar byed //
res 'ga' byis pa'i gzugs su 'ong //
res 'ga' dbul phongs sprang po'i gzugs //
res 'ga' byol song bya khyi'i gzugs //
res 'ga' gsol debs dbyangs kyi gzugs //
res 'ga' yig 'bru gzungs kyi gzugs //
grags pa can gyi dge slong ngo //
bstan gnas bar du yang yang 'ong //

zhes gsungs pa 'di la dpags na / yig 'bru rnams kyang rje rang nyid kyi sprul pa yin par gor ma chag go //

der ma zad mdo sdong po bkod pa las /

de dag dgon par ljon shing [4v] chen por 'gyur //
sman dang rin chen mi zad gter rnams dang //
yid bzhin nor bu 'dod pa 'byin shing dang //
lam gol 'khyams pa rnams la lam ston 'gyur //

zhes sangs rgyas dang byang sems rnams ni ljon shing gi gzugs kyis 'gro ba'i don byed par gsungs pa ltar ljon shing 'di nyid kyang thun mong du sdong po'i rnam par snang yang nges pa'i don du na rgyal ba tsong kha pa chen po'i ye shes kyi rang snang 'ba' zhig las grub par gdon mi za'o snyam du kho bo sems so //

de ltar ngo mtshar ba'i khyad par du ma dang ldan zhing byin rlabs kyi gzi 'od 'bar [5r] ba'i tsandan gyi sdong po byang chub gyi shing dang dbyer ma mchis pa 'di nyid bsod nams kyi zhing mchog tu gyur pa yin te / skye bo gang dag sems rab tu dang ba'i sgo nas mthong ba dang / reg par byed pa de dag ni ngan song du skye ba'i sgo khegs shing / bde 'gro lha mi'i go 'phang thob pa dang / rje bdag nyid chen pos rjes su 'dzin cing byin gyis rlobs pa dang / las dang nyon mongs pa'i sgrib pa zad nas rim gyis bla na med pa'i byang chub thob par 'gyur ba'i phyir / de ltar gnas skabs dang mthar thug gi phan yon bsam gyis mi khyab pa [5v] yong bar shes par byas nas / phyag dang bskor ba dang / mchod pa 'bul ba dang / gsol ba 'debs pa sogs la brtson par byas na 'di phyi'i legs tshogs yid bzhin du 'grub par 'gyur bas dang ldan kun gyis de bzhin du mdzad 'tshal lo //

smras pa /  'gro la gcig tu phan mdzad rgyal ba'i sras //
kun dga'i rol rtsed mdzad pa ljon shing gi //
ngo mtshar cung zad bsnyad pa'i bsod nams kyis //
'gro kun bla med byang chub myur thob shog //


[author's colophon:]
ces pa 'di ni dang brtson rnam dpyod dang ldan pa rkang tsha byang 'dren sngags rams pa ngag dbang phun tshogs kyis bskul ba'i ngor shâkya'i [6r] dge slong dkon mchog 'jigs med dbang pos sbyar ba dge legs 'phel //  //

[printing colophon:]
zhes pa 'di ni sku 'bum byams pa gling du dpar du bsgrubs pa'o //  // sarba mangga la /

—  —  —

MY NOTES:  I should add that at the top of the title page are two English-language inscriptions in two distinct hands.  The shorter one, in larger letters in the upper right reads  "Sacred Tree."

The longer added inscription, in faint letters on my photocopy, seems to read Se-gei a-ro = Sihadhvani 4 [+?] mantras [new line] sacred to Manjughosa [last 4 letters invisible]  [new line] JASB 1882 [?], p. 53. I believe this may be in the handwriting of Berthold Laufer himself.

I went to archive.org to check the reference, and landed in the middle of an article by John Cockburn with the title "On the Habits of a Little Known Lizard,” but seeing I was in the "Natural History Section," I changed course and found the right volume here.  I thought I had this same set of essays by Sarat Chandra Das in a reprint book form, so I went to pull it off the shelf, but it wasn’t there. So I looked in my physical file drawers under "Das" and found photocopies of some sections of the reprint book, just not the necessary one. So really, the only access I had was to the archive.org version. Just goes to show the importance of digital resources on days like today when it’s too hot to go all the way to the library.

Sarat Chandra Dás, Contributions on Tibet VI: Life and Legend of Tso Khapa (lo-ssa-tagpa), the Great Buddhist Reformer of Tibet, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal (1882), p. 53:



“Tso-kha-pa was born in 1378, A.D. in the town of Tso kha (or Onion valley) in Amdo in Eastern Tibet. His father's name was Lubum-ge, and that of his mother Shi-ssa-à-chho. The house in which he was born was overhung by a sandal-wood tree rich in foliage. It is said to have borne a hundred thousand leaves, on every one of which was visible the naturally grown picture of Tathágata S'egé-a-vo (Siha dhvani). There having spontaneously appeared on the bark of that wonderful tree the mantras sacred to Manjuśrí, the protector of the three classes of beings, viz., men, suras and asuras, the men of the place erected a chaitya at its foot. A large monastery containing 10,000 monks was established near it and called the monastery of Kubum Chamba-li. It is said that the marvellous leaves of the selfsame sandal tree are even at the present day observed by pilgrims to bear the Tathágata's image inscribed, as it were, by nature.”

I should have taken the trouble to look into around fifty distinct Tibetan-language titles on the life of Tsongkhapa if I had time for it. If just because I have a handy copy of it on hand, I did scan through the first parts of the lengthy 1845 biography by Lobzang Trinlé Namgyel (Xining 1981). It does confirm something the missionaries said about the leaves being ingested for healing illnesses. So I'll just transcribe the paragraph for you (p. 104):
bltams pa'i rjes su tha mal pa'i snang ngor sku'i lte ba bcad pa'i tshul las mtshal khrag byung ba sa la 'phos pa las tsandan dkar po'i sdong bo khyad par du 'phags pa zhig rang shugs su 'khrungs pa'i lo ma rnams la rgyal ba seng ge'i nga ro'i sku dang a ra pa tsa na'i yi ge sogs byon pa rim gyis 'bum ther du longs pas sku 'bum tsandan zhes yongs su grags shing / phyis rje nyid kyi 'phrin las las phyogs der dgon sde chen po chags pa la yang sku 'bum dgon du grags pa dang / ljon shing de'i lo ma'i cha shas phra mo tsam khar song bas kyang nad gdon grib dang mi gtsang ba sogs sel nus pa ni da lta'i bar du kun la mngon sum du gyur pa 'di kha'o //
Interesting, isn’t it? This was written around the same time Abbé Huc was at Kumbum viewing the tree.

§   §   §
After Filchner




Biblio refs: 
John Algeo, “Senzar: The Mystery of the Mystery Language.”  Look here. The author was president of the U.S. Theosophical Society.
Anonymous, “Lamasery [Kumbum],” Life, vol. 24 (February 16, 1948), pp. 76-81. Try to link to the article at this link. The tree is mentioned on p. 80.
Edouard Blanc, “Note sur l'arbre à priéres du Monastére de Goumboum.” (Extracted from Bulletin du Muséum d'histoire naturelle, 1895 no 8, and 1896 no 1).  I’m not sure of the bibliographical details, because I’ve never actually set eyes on it.  It seems it is also found in Le Globe, vol. 46, pp. 78-82.
Helena Blavatsky, “The Sacred Tree of Kumbum,” The Theosophist, vol. 4, no. 6 (March 1883), pp. 130-131. Available online here.
W. Bosshard, “Living Buddha Smiles: Visit to Kum Bum,” Asia, vol. 34 (October 1934), pp. 624-627.
T.H.R. Candlin, “Dagoba or Kumbum Lamasery,” Asia, vol. 34 (October 1934), pp. 620-623.
A.A. Fauvel, “Caractères tibétains sur des feuilles d'arbre,” T'oung Pao, vol. 4 (1893), p. 389.
Wilhelm Filchner, Das Kloster Kumbum in Tibet. Ein Beitrag zu seiner Geschichte, Ernst Siegfried Mittler und Sohn (Berlin 1906), in 164 pp.  It should be possible to locate a PDF on the internet. Other works by the same prolific author are on Kumbum, but the only one on my library shelves is Kumbum. Lamaismus in Lehre und Leben, Rascher Verlag (Zurich 1954). In it, on p. 50, is a brief account of how the tree grew from the spot where the child Tsongkhapa's clipped hair fell to the ground.
Harrison Forman,  “The Butter Gods of Kum Bum,” Canadian Geographical Journal, vol. 36 (1948), pp. 40-50.  In general, this author’s works have never been well regarded by Tibetologists because  they suffer from “an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic and an underdeveloped devotion to facts.” I intended to include only pre-1950’s literature here, finding it more interesting than the modern travelogues. Still, quite a few early travelers passed through Kumbum, and it would be too much exercise for me to compile a full list of them.
Joseph Huc & Régis-Evariste Gabet, Travels in Tatary Thibet and China, 1844-1846, tr. by William Hazlitt, Harper & Brothers (New York 1928). If you like you may compare another translation in Régis-Evariste Huc, Lamas of the Western Heavens, tr. by Charles de Salis, The Folio Society (London 1982), pp. 107-109. The translator, Charles de Salis, added his own note:  
“The miraculous tree of Kounboum (Kumbum). Peter Fleming described it in 1935 as a white sandalwood, and said that the monks sold the leaves which were ‘miraculously stamped with the image of Tsong-k'apa’ ; but he added that there were no leaves on the tree when he visited the lamasery. André Migot, in Tibetan Marches, describing a journey made in 1946, said that the leaves were supposed to be marked with the characters of the mani: ‘The original tree is now sepulchred in a chorten inside the temple. A new tree has been grown from a cutting, but there was no sign of lettering on the leaves.’ ”

J. Karsten, A Study on the Sku-'bum/T'a-erh Ssu Monastery in Ch'ing-hai, doctoral dissertation, Auckland University (1997). Unseen.
Rudolf Kaschewsky, Das Leben des lamaistischen Heiligen Tsongkhapa Blo-bza-grags-pa (1357-1419) dargestellt und erläutert anhand seiner Vita “Quellort allen Glückes.” 1. Teil: Übersetzung und KommentarAsiatische Forschungen Band 32, Otto Harrassowitz (Wiesbaden 1971), p. 73, gives a summary:   
An der Stelle, an der das Nabelblut des Heiligen zur Erde getropft war, wuchs ein Sandelholzbaum, auf dessen Blättern Bilder Sihadhvanis, aber auch Mañjuśrīs, Yamāntakas und Mahākālas erschienen, ferner auch die mystische Formel Arapacana. 
Besides agreeing with the Tibetan text about the umbilical blood, this supplies new information: that the leaves had images not only of Lion’s Roar, but several other divine images. It identifies the letters as being the Arapacana, the "Camel Lip” alphabet once used in Gandhara, and now used to invoke the Bodhisattva of Wisdom Mañjuśrī (and in this agreeing with the testimony of Das) — perhaps what was meant was the Arapacana alphabet in its Tibetan script form ཨ་ར་པ་ཙ་ན་ or A-ra-pa-tsa-na. I should say I also looked in R. Thurman’s and Elijah Ary’s books on Tsongkhapa’s life and found nothing relevant to our tree story.
Frank Doggett Lerner, Rusty Hinges: A Story of Closed Doors Beginning to Open in North-East Tibet, The China Inland Mission (London 1933). For this missionary’s photo of the tree, and his accounting for it, see pp. 86-87. The photo is particularly worthy of being seen: 

Directly in front of the temple stands a big sacred tree. It is a species of syringa, and is the one which is claimed to have sprung up from the shorn locks of the boy Tsong K'aba. It is asserted by all devotees of Lamaism that each leaf of the tree bears a hiero-[p. 87] glyphic for the word ‘Buddha.’ We are standing now beneath the tree. A Lama is beside us. We notice the leaves are falling in the cool breeze. As they flutter to the ground, the lama is picking them up and placing them in a little wooden box, first examining each leaf carefully.
“Friend,”  I say to him, “why do you not gather the leaves from the tree rather than waiting for them to fall?”
“That would be a great sin,” he replies, “for no one is allowed to pluck them. As the wind blows they fall of themselves, and then only is it permitted for me to touch them.”
“And why do you look so carefully at each leaf?” I further ask.
“Do you not know,” said he, “that on every leaf there is a character for Buddha?”
He thereupon takes a leaf carefully from his box, and hands it to me. I examine minutely but can decipher no writing. The lama is eagerly watching my face.
“Can you not discern it?” he asks.
“No, I see nothing!” I reply.
Thereupon with a look of scorn, he exclaims,“Then surely you are not a believer, for only believers can see!”
We afterwards learn that the leaves are sold to pilgrims for medicinal purposes. They are pounded to dust, stirred with water, and drunk. The mixture is claimed to be a cure for any disease!

Johan van Manen, “The Wonder Tree of Kumbum,” The Theosophist, vol. 34, pt. 2 (1913), pp. 44-57. Try double-clicking here, then scroll down to the 1180th page, and while you are doing that, thank Jonathan Silk of Leiden for finding this link where I had failed. As a life-long student of Theosophy, it is a wonder that van Manen could criticize Theosophical Society founding figure Helena Blavatsky so bluntly albeit “with due respect.”
Y.P. Mei, “Kumbum, the Cradle of Protestant Lamaism,” Asia, vol. 41 (1941), pp. 676-678.  [1] Tsongkhapa was born there and [2] he was the “Martin Luther of Tibetan Buddhism.”  Ergo: “Cradle of Protestant Lamaism.” No, better drop the idea before being forced to enter the weirdly tortuous mental tight spots that would then open up. I’d say he was the Thomas Aquinas, but after saying so I’ll immediately take it back, and we’ll agree to forget it entirely.
Johannes Schubert, “Eine Liste der Äbte von Kumbum,” Artibus Asiae, vol. 4, fascicle 4 (1934?), pp. 220-227. There is precious little European-language-literature exclusively devoted to Kumbum Monastery besides this and the works of Filchner, and of course some modern picture books that at least have the virtue of having pictures. That’s the only reason I list this “list of abbots” here, not because it is an especially valuable resource. A much better list is found in Mdo-smad-pa Yon-tan-rgya-mtsho's book 7Gong-sa rgyal-mchog bcu-bzhi-pa Chen-po'i Sku'i Gcen-po Sku-'bum Khri-zur Stag-mtsher Mchog-sprul Thub-bstan-'jigs-med-nor-bu'i Thun-mong Mdzad-rin Mdor-bsdus... [full title here] (U.S.A. 1989), pp. 25-32, listing 78 abbots in all. I suppose there may be something in J. Karsten's dissertation, but I’ve never seen it, have you? My point here is that Yon-tan-rgya-mtsho lists the author of our Tree Guidebook as having been the 30th abbot of Kumbum Monastery, a position he took up in 1765, and relinquished in 1768. I guess this gives us a general time frame for the composition of this work, making it a whole lot earlier than all the European and missionary discussions that started, I suppose, with Huc’s 1844 Tibet visit.


















Star Water

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“I thought of a labyrinth of labyrinths, of one sinuous winding labyrinth that would encompass the past and the future and in some way involve the stars.”
—Jorge Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths (1942)


Almost ten years ago, our friend Malcolm at Bhaisajya blog, wrote about the therapeutic use of star water. If you don’t believe me, have a look here.* At the time I was so taken aback — really, star water was something I had never even heard of before — I whipped off a comment to the author asking him if this was indeed a thing, and he wrote back to assure me it was. Okay, I can no longer deny it. Star water is a thing. A remarkable thing, in my opinion.
(*If you read Malcolm’s blog, you will find there wasn’t much reason for me to write this reblog.)

So maybe you would expect my surprise at encountering something like this star water in quite a different context, this time in the much-deciphered yet undecipherable Voynich Manuscript purchased in 1912 from a Jesuit college outside Rome by a rare book dealer named Wilfrid M. Voynich. There have been many ideas about who the author of the book was, but all of them have been overthrown by carbon dating of the parchment. Now we can say with some certainty that it dates to around the year of the death of Tsongkhapa.* Look here to find out what some may have considered its first successful decipherment, but along the way see how stars might have something to do with water for use in bathing. Witness what the author Nicholas Gibbs says in the article:
The position of the Pleiades, the Dog star, and the Arc of Arcturus, along with the most favourable days of the month – known as “the critical days” – were all-important. Such astrological observations were inextricably bound up with the quest for a successful medicinal outcome. And that quest included bathing.
(*Thanks to Edward Proctor for his email with a link to the TLS story.)
Well, if nothing else, the Voynich would seem to agree with the idea that medicinal bathing needs to be done under the right stars, and ideas along these lines are traced back to the classical Graeco-Roman masters of medicinal arts.

If you are getting ahead of me, or if you already had a look at Malcolm’s blog, you might be wondering if star water of the therapeutic kind has a direct or indirect connection with the Tibetan bathing festival that takes place in late summer or early autumn, when the star Riji rises in the sky.* Well, now that I’ve gotten you wondering about it, I can say I’m sure the connections are there. In Buddhist India the rise of a southern star marked the end of the rainy season that meant the release of the monks from their annual retreat. The rains ended, the Indian Ocean becalmed, and one more thing we might think to be indigenous to Tibet turns out to come from India. What is, in fact, the Kumbha Mela, an event sometimes said to be the largest gathering of humans on earth? Among other ways it might be described, one is this: a collective bath with its date determined by the positions of the stars.

(*This Riji, Ri-byi in the Wylie, is a highly peculiar Tibetanization of Sanskrit ṛṣi, or [Vedic] sage, generally translated as drang-srong in Tibetan. It would seem on the face of it to mean ‘mountain mouse,’ although that is absurd, I know. The Vedic sage alluded to is supposed to be Agastya, and the associated star then would be the Canopus Star, the second brightest star in the night sky, and the star that India knew by the name Agastya in very early times. Canopus is actually a southern hemisphere star that only appears above the horizon for a short period each year, but being an exceptionally bright one, Tibetans would be bound to notice it, especially since in my experience, the stars are nowhere brighter or clearer or more splendid than in Tibet’s higher altitudes.)

But enough of these ruminations, I trust you will be so kind as to excuse me. The water has almost filled up the tub, and soon the stars will be out in their full autumnal splendor. See you again soon, friends. Meanwhile, treat yourself to some water, water with stars in it. Because you know, if you can’t see the puzzling interconnections in your life, you’re not quite living it. The same goes for seeing the beauty and the sadness.





Explorable literature on therapeutic star water:

If you are interested in the Voynich manuscript (Beinecke 408) — and who isn’t? — your optional first stop if you’re a beginner may be this Ted Talk. That finished, go to this page, then click on either the words “View a detailed description” or “View a digital version,” depending which you would like to do. There have been so many vainly heroic attempts to decipher it, it can be difficult to believe that this newly proposed one of Nicholas Gibbs is at long last the final word. Indeed some experts have been quick to call it rubbish (look here, too). It is proposed to read the whole of Beinecke 408 as a medical text primarily about astrology in relation to women’s health and medicinal baths, and as written in a shorthand version of Latin in which the consonants of each word (or the beginning and end of each word, rather like Tibetan cursive abbreviation practices) are combined into what looks like a single letter (but the Tibetan kind is not really shorthand, even if it shares shorthand's motives of making things faster and saving space). Meanwhile, looking around the internet, I found something really interesting: Nicholas Gibbs wasn't the first to find abbreviated or shorthand Latin in Beinecke 408. I believe it was first proposed by William Newbold in 1921 (see Brumbaugh, p. 92). And have a look at this 2012 blog by Nick Pelling, without neglecting the lengthy comment by Helmut Winkler you can find there. Some of the comments bring up the subject of balneology, too!* My take on this is that while Gibbs may not supply the definitive solution, there are good reasons to think his ideas are on track, just that those ideas are not his alone, but were suggested at least as far back as 2012, if even as far as 1921.
(*Just as there is a series of starmaps, there is also a series of illustrations showing women bathing together or separately in tubs linked together with bizarre tubes, the idea of the spa comes immediately to mind. In another of Pelling's blogs you can find "The Zodiac Bath Hypothesis," which is very relevant.)


Beinecke 408, fol. 70 verso:
Women Bathing in Half-Barrel Tubs Holding Stars

Robert S. Brumbaugh, “The Voynich Cipher Manuscript: A Current Report,” The Yale University Library Gazette, vol. 61, nos. 3-4 (April 1987), pp. 92-95. There is so much more literature out there, I balk at the idea of trying to list everything. For what may be the most reasonable, interesting and extensive websites on the subject, look here.

Olaf Czaja, in his article “The Administration of Tibetan Precious Pills: Efficacy in Historical and Ritual Contexts,” Asian Medicine, vol. 10 (2015), pp. 36-89, at p. 50, note 39. The context is a broad discussion of the ideal astrological conditions for taking medicines:

The sage Agastya, in Tibetan Ri-shi or Ri-byi, is based on Indian astrological lore that was also transmitted in Indian Ayurvedic treatises, such as Vāgbhaṭa’s Aṣṭāṅga-hṛdaya-saṃhitā, that were translated into Tibetan; see, for instance, Vogel 1965, pp. 164f. Agastya is the bright southern star Canopus. In medical texts, as well as in classical poetry, it is said that the waters are cleaned with the rise of this star Agastya, ibid.; Mythrey et al. 2012, p. 770. Its rise occurs on the seventh day of the second half of the Bhādra month in Indian astrology, and on the seventh day of middle autumn month Mon-gru in Tibetan astrology, respec-tively. Rain that falls on that day is said to be endowed with the eight qualities.


Sde-srid Sangs-rgyas-rgya-mtsho, Gso-ba Rig-pa'i Bstan-bcos Sman-bla'i Dgongs-rgyan Rgyud Bzhi'i Gsal-byed Bai-ḍūr Sngon-po'i Ma-lli-kā (reproduced from a print of the 1888-1892 blocks preserved in the Lha-sa Lcags-po-ri Rig-byed 'Gro-phan-gling), SSS series no. 51, T. Y. Tashigangpa (Leh 1973), in 2 vols.  Volume 1, chapter 20 (pp. 393-547) is on materia medica. At p. 526, line 3, is this brief entry on star water:  
skar chu la spyi dang 'dir ming gcig / de'ang skar mar btang ba'i chu lus la bran pas tsha ba 'joms shing smin tshad lam nas bzlog.   
“For star water in general and in this particular context one name is used. When water that has been left out in the stars is soaked into the body it overcomes fevers and even ripened fevers are reversed from their course.”


Practically every Tibetan-Tibetan medical dictionary has an entry on skar-chu (སྐར་ཆུ་), but I won’t go to them right now.

I searched through the full texts of the Tanjur medical works translated from Indian languages, and found not a single bona fide occurrence of the term skar-chu. Searching the Vienna site covering the entire Kanjur and Tanjur, I only found one bona fide usage, in a magical recipe contained in the rgyud (tantra) section of the Lhasa Kanjur (perhaps this would repay closer investigation, but really, it’s just part of a list of ingredients).

For an entry to star water in the dictionary of Sarat Chandra Das, p. 86, go to this link, and find the 3rd entry in the left-hand column. And notice Das's entry for ri-byi on p. 1177, top of the right-hand column: “a corruption of the word ri-shi, a sage, and applied to the name Agastya.”

Bkra-shis-bzang-po, “May All Good Things Gather Here: Life, Religion & Marriage in a Mi nyag Tibetan Village.”  This is same as volume 14, of Asian Highlands Perspectives. See if this link will take you to the exact page (p. 98) about star water used for Losar / New Year preparations.

On Tibet’s autumn swimming festival, you can read short descriptions in English in Hugh Richardson's book Ceremonies of the Lhasa Year, p. 109, and in Tsepak Rigzin, Festivals of Tibet, p. 54.

That Tibetan Bell in Armenia Once More

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What do we do with matter out of place? Do we ignore or even reject it? Or do we find ways to accommodate it? Is it the exception that only serves to prove the rule? Or does it break and in doing so invalidate the rule? The existence of a bell with a Tibetan inscription in the heart of Armenia is so worthy of comment, we might wonder why it isn’t mentioned much more. But what ought to pique our interest instead risks embarrassing our grand sweeping theories, risks getting swept aside in the Big Sweep of historical narrative.


Map to show the distance the bell would have travelled.    


If you find it disconcerting that a Tibetan bell could possibly pop up in Armenia you should not for that reason feel lonely. After all, the distance "as the crow flies" from Lhasa to Yerevan is 4358 km, or about 2,700 miles, much further than the width of the contiguous-states part of the United States of America. In terms of long-distance horse-back riding, that would mean around 135 days of travel, more than 4 months, carrying an extraordinarily heavy object that would slow down even our hypothetical horse averaging 20 miles a day. Adjusting for the weight of the load and the indirectness of the routes, I’d say we’re talking at least 200 days of travel, perhaps even a year. Today, with two stopovers in Kathmandu and Qatar, you can do it in 17 hours.

Holy Etchmiadzin, the Mother Cathedral of Armenia.

The truth is that this bell has been discovered over and over again for a couple of centuries now, and each time people who hear about it find it surprising news. If you have a short memory, as we tend to, you likely forgot the 2006 blog on the subject called “The Mysterious Whitehead.” What I have to say today is yet another sounding of an alarm clock set at regular intervals in order to tell the world, Yes, what you’ve heard is true, no matter how unbelievable it may sound. But then people say, Okay, now I’m convinced, I can believe it’s there, but that only makes me want to ask you more questions about the hows, the whens and the whys.

Today I’m going to suggest some ideas from a Tibetocentric perspective, naturally, about how those questions might possibly be answered. I’ll supply some probable scenarios in terms of time and place. But regardless of the near impossibility of solutions, we ought to be able to find significance in our failures. So I don’t believe our time dwelling on this fascinating topic will go to waste.

 Two views of Etchmiadzin’s exterior.


The First Christian building was placed there in around 302-303 CE on the site of an ancient fire temple. Here Gregory the Illuminator beheld a vision of Christ descending from heaven.

   
Etchmiadzin in central position in a floor mosaic in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. 
Views of the bell towers.











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This shows a bell consecration ritual for newly constructed St. Gevorg Church of Berd, in Armenia in 2014. This helps to demonstrate the importance of bells in Armenian Christianity, as objects worthy of their own consecration rituals. The Armenian “Book of Rituals” includes a special rite for the anointment and consecration of bells. Sometimes, on special occasions, divine service (or “mass”) was performed in the bell towers rather than in the main part of the church.


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Now that the Armenian side has been introduced, I’d like to go with some care through the bits of evidence about the Tibetan bell in 19th-century, primarily western European publications. 


Title page of Frédéric Dubois de Montpéreux.


As far as I know right now, this is the first notice of the bell within the context of a published book. It is based on the author’s own visit to Etchmiadzin in 1831.




The author in the footnote makes reference to the Mani Mantra as if it were relevant to the inscription on the bell, a misunderstanding that took on a life of its own, as confusions tend to do.



Dated 1837 — A notice by Brosset and Schmidt in St. Petersburg, based on the finding of Dubois.

“The bell of the convent of Edchmiadzin carries a Tibetan legend repeated three times on the outer edge: ôm â houm.

“M. Schmidt, in giving us the reading of this inscription, which was collected by the seasoned traveler M. Dubois, in 1831, has communicated to us the following note:” 





The same, continued


“In the Tibetan grammar of Csoma of Körös we find among the interjections* the three mystical characters of the bell of Etchmiadsin explicated as follows: o is the symbol of the substance or the person of Buddha or of a divinity in general, aḥ is the symbol of the word of Buddha etc. and hû the symbol of his grace and mercy. This all together forms the idea or symbol of the Buddhist trinity, commonly called the three precious ones, whose representatives are: Buddha or his image, sacred books and the clergy.”

(*My note: I find in the Csoma grammar [1834], p. 105 on internet, heading the class of interjections, "oṃ, a mystical interjection, denoting the essential body or person of a Buddha or any other divinity. aḥ, ditto, denoting the word or doctrine of ditto. hûṃ, ditto, denoting the mind or mercy of ditto.)
(Another note:  The script is here actually metal type for Tibetan that Schmidt himself developed in just about this same time. This same type would continue to be used in St. Petersburg publications for the following century.)



“The religious of Edchmiadzin do not know when and by what route this bell has been brought into their convent. It can hardly be doubted that it dates back to the Mongol era.”




Everybody knows Helena Blavatsky as a founder of the Theosophical Society. Long before that, in 1849, she had a very brief, eventful and unconsummated marriage with a Russian vice-governor of Yerevan Province in Armenia. It would have been after their supposed honeymoon, or around the end of August of that year when she visited Etchmiadzin Cathedral. For some time I was fooled by a passage in the book by Marion Meade, Madame Blavatsky, the Woman behind the Myth, that seems to imply that she had taken note of the Tibetan bell during this trip, but further investigation led nowhere, so I’ve abandoned the idea. I think the modern biographer simply slipped in this bit of interesting information for the benefit of her readers. Searching through the 15 volumes of Blavatsky’s online Collected Works, she displays no interest at all in Christian Armenia, only in its pagan and Zoroastrian past, and with only a few mentions of Etchmiadzin, there is nothing at all about any bell there.

She also mentions “Chaldean” inscriptions. As background, we may say that Friedrich Schultz had discovered what we now know to be Urartian inscriptions near Lake Van in 1826. These began being deciphered only in the 1850’s, with success reported in 1882. The oldest inscription in Urartian dates to 9th century BCE. This does help us with the context for understanding why the monks first described the bell inscription as Chaldean.

James Bryce account.


As you see there is a bare mention only in Bryce’s 1878 book.


Chart of 19th-century sources on the inscription on the bell. 


To be continued...


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Blogography

For background, as if you needed any, have a look at these:

The Mysterious Whitehead, Tibeto-logic blog, December 21, 2006. Notice also, “Renewed Bell Appeal,” May 15, 2007; and “Bell Envy,” June 15, 2009.

That Tibetan Bell in Armenia - Part Two

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Title page from Ghevond Alishan’s book Ayrarat of 1890.
Today we will pursue those questions on Armenia’s Tibetan bell a little further by first looking at what I believe is, as of the present moment, our best available evidence on what its Tibetan inscription looks like. Then, after saying a little about the types of bells, we will go on to consider the two historical periods of contact between Armenia and Tibet that would best explain the bell being there in the first place.

Taken from the 1890 book Ayrarat. This shows what appears to be an eye-copy of the bell inscription, perhaps the only one in existence. Notice the character that looks like a number '6' or a 'g' at the end is a slightly misinterpreted version of the yig-mgo very often found at the beginning of any piece of Tibetan writing.  My point: If we imagine the inscription as entirely circling the cylinder of the bell, it would prove easy for an innocent copyist to confuse whether it belongs in the beginning or the end. (Indeed, to have a unique punctuation mark to initialize a piece of text is a thing not often seen in the languages of the world.)  I think this detail is quite telling and helps argue for it being an authentic eye copy. 


A clearer image of it.


Showing one of the uncommon but clear examples of a subscribed length-mark with the O (more on this later). This is one of those miraculously self-produced artifacts called rang-byung, one found at the holy place known as Yerpa, not too far from Lhasa, where a number of them can be seen today.

In the next blog we will go more into the epigraphical questions, so for now, just some words about the significance the shape of the bell might have for us, if we only had any clue what shape it actually does have, which we do not. We only know it was a foot and a half high (roughly a cubit, or the distance from your elbow to the tip of your middle finger).



Already in imperial times, Tibetans borrowed the word as well as the form of the Chinese bell. Tibetan bells may have been locally casted, but the casting of large temple bells was done by Chinese artisans. And today we’re really only considering the large temple bells, and not hand-held bells,  the ones with handles used in rituals. They have very different names and are never confused. There is also a type of flat bell, with a clapper, used mainly by Bonpos and spirit mediums. It also has its own distinct name, shang (gshang), borrowed like the instrument itself, from the Persian realm. Curious fact:  One type of Tibetan bell along with its name came from China, another type along with its name came from Persia.


The Dpa’-ris and the Bsam-yas bells, showing typical shapes of Tibet’s imperial period bells.


A typical shape for a European bell is shown for comparison



Erford [Erfurt] Cathedral bell in Germany is, in a well-known volume by Athanasius Kircher, placed side-by-side with a Peking bell for comparison. The Erfurt bell was christened “Maria Gloriosa.” Weighing in at 13 tons, it was cast in the year 1497 and first rung two years later. This 17th-century illustration helps us to underline the point that European and Chinese bells have contrasting shapes.

So, there are two important kinds of information we do not have that would help us a lot in understanding the provenance of the Tibetan bell. First is, as we just showed, the shape of the bell, whether it is a European-style or Chinese-style bell. Just knowing which type it is could sway our arguments. (No need to mention just yet the possibility of metallurgical analysis.) Secondly, we need to know precisely the actual shapes of the letters for a paleographical analysis. Photographs, not just eye-copies, are needed. Later on, I’d like to say more about this. But first, a little discussion on a question of obvious relevance, What are the most likely times in history when a Tibeto-Armenian bell exchange would have taken place? 


The lectionary of Het’um. Het’um actually visited the Mongol Khan Mongke (1209-1259) in 1254. Please note the phoenixes and dragons, but especially the deer in the upper right-hand corner.

Basically there are two likely time frames: [1] The early Mongol Ilkhanid period in second half of thirteenth century, and [2] the second half of the seventeenth century, when Armenian tradesmen labored in Lhasa. These were the two historical periods when significant Tibeto-Armenian contacts are known to have taken place. Let’s start with the earlier period, with Hulegu and the Ilkhanid Dynasty that descended from him.

Between 1261 and 1265 the Mongol ruler Hulegu built a Buddhist monastery called Labnasagut in the Armenian central highlands. Hulegu could draw revenues from lands designated for that purpose (called appanages in the literature) in Tibet, and some of the letters written to him by the Tibetan abbot (who in some way or another represented his interests there) have been published only a few years ago, and some of these were translated with a Tibetan colleague Jampa Samten.  Although I have been unable to identify any particular individuals, it is sure that Tibetan monks were physically present in Armenia in those times. And it is sure from Armenian historical sources that temples with images of the Buddhas Shakyamuni and Maitreya existed there as well.

Not just any old deer.

• As a side issue, I think I can go a little further than Dickran Kouymjian, in his study of the lectionary of Het’um, and help him with his arguments. We can identify the deer depicted here as the one with antlers replaced by the lingzhi fungus of immortality (another lingzhi is held between its teeth). Of this fungus it is said that only deer can ever find them. For ordinary unprepared persons wandering in the mountain they would be invisible. I only delve into this because it seems to show that quite distant cultural elements could be produced by artists in residence in Armenia in the early days of the Mongol Empire.  
The lingzhi deer is a very specifically Chinese element, even more than the dragon and phoenix that are also represented in these tiles from around the same place and only a little later.









If I may be allowed to speculate about possibilities, the Tibetan-inscribed bell could have been (locally?) made for Labnasagut or some other neighboring Buddhist temple, and later got salvaged from the ruins and handed over to Etchmiadzin not far from the place of its original intended use. This is just an idea, just one of the questions we can ask.



Now let’s travel forward a little more than 400 years. Csoma de Körös published an 1833 article about Hyde’s 1700-published version of a Tibetan lam-yig, often translated as passport, but perhaps best understood as a letter of safe conduct, dated 1688. Turrell V. Wylie and Hugh Richardson also wrote about it; Richardson comments that it “appears to be the first example of Tibetan writing to be published in the west.” Wylie and Richardson identified the four travelers, including one named I-wang-na, or John, as Armenians.* Iwangna, although this may be difficult to recognize, has the same name as Armenian Hovhannes who stayed five years in Lhasa from 1686 to 1692, and whose trade ledger has been preserved and studied separately. Richardson says that two Armenians named John stayed in Lhasa at the same time, the John of the so-called passport and the John who kept the ledger.**
(*Hyde goes without saying, but no other European in his day could read or understand it; Hyde even says quite mistakenly that it was to be read from right to left. Truth be told, quite a few otherwise well-taught students of Tibetology still today can’t read cursive letters, let alone the official language of civil documents. A little more truth: even those with experience in these documents constantly run into difficult problems understanding them. **I’ve looked, and found no mention of a bell in the literature about the ledger. ) 


The lam-yig that Hyde published in 1700, itself containing the date 1688.


This is just to show that, after Hyde's book, bits of Tibetan writing started to appear here and there in
European sources as the 18th century wore on, leading up to the Alphabetum Tibetanum in 1762.

These Armenians came from New Julfa just outside Isfahan, in Persia. And New Julfa continued to be the center of their trade operations. So they had continuing ties not only with Armenia, but also with Persia. These ties could reasonably explain how the bell got to Armenia. Being international traders by profession they had all the right connections to be able to transport the bell. 

It may not be irrelevant to ask the question, When were the Etchmiadzin bell towers built? The main bell tower was finished in 1657 by the Catholicos Yakob, and was further decorated in 1664. Soon after, in 1682, three further bell towers were added by Catholicos Eliazar. The building of the bell towers and the activities of the Armenian traders in Tibet very closely coincided in time, yet it is possible to regard the coincidence as ‘circumstantial’ and hardly sufficient to clinch any argument. 

Well, let me say, it could conceivably turn out to be meaningful as part of a future argument not quite ready to be made. And if my experience can serve as a guide, these arguments tend to form slowly and change their shape as new evidence emerges and as old evidence is reconsidered in a new light.


  • Next time, in the concluding blog, we’ll look more at the Tibetan inscription itself, and ask why this particular inscription might be found on this bell or any other for that matter.



§   §   §

Some of the publications mentioned here:

Hyde — Thomas Hyde (1636-1703), Historia religionis veterum Persarum, eorumque magorum: ubi etiam nova Abrahami, & Mithræ, & Vestæ, & Manetis, &c. historia, atque angelorum officia & præfecturæ ex veterum Persarum sententia: item, perfarum annus ... Zoroastris vita, ejusque et aliorum vaticinia de Messiah è Persarum aliorumque monumentis eruuntur, primitiæ opiniones de Deo & de hominum origine referantur, originale Orientalis Sibyllæ mysterium recluditur, atque magorum Liber Sad-der, Zorastris præcepta seu religionis canones continens, è Persico traductus exhibetur: dantur veterum Persarum scripturæ & linguæ, ut hæ jam primo Europæ producantur & literato orbi postliminio reddantur, specimina: de Persiæ ejusdemque linguæ nominbus, déque hujus dialectis & à moderna differentiis strictim agitur [1700]. Find the whole book at archive.org.


Kouymjian — Dickran Kouymjian, “The Intrusion of East Asian Imagery in Thirteenth-Century Armenia: Political and Cultural Exchange along the Silk Road.” Prepublished galley of a "Chapter 6,"posted at academia.edu.  


Hulegu's coins feature a hare above a lunar crescent for some
reason or another. Any idea?

Martin & Samten — D. Martin & Jampa Samten, Letters for the Khans: Six Tibetan Epistles of Togdugpa Addressed to the Mongol Rulers Hulegu and Khubilai, as well as to the Tibetan Lama Pagpa,” contained in: Roberto Vitali, et al., eds., Trails of the Tibetan Tradition: Papers for Elliot Sperling, Amnye Machen Institute (Dharamshala 2014), pp. 297-332. Look there for references not supplied in this blog. 

Norwick — Braham Norwick, “The First Tsha-tshaPublished in Europe,” contained in: B.N. Aziz & M. Kapstein, eds., Soundings in Tibetan Civilization, Manohar (New Delhi 1985), pp. 73-85.

Richardson — Hugh R. Richardson, “Reflections on a Tibetan Passport,” contained in: High Peaks, Pure Earth: Collected Writings on Tibetan History and Culture, Serindia (London 1998), pp. 482-485. This article was first published in 1984.

Wylie — Turrell V. Wylie, “Notes on Csoma de Körös’s Translation of a Tibetan Passport,” contained in:  Christopher I. Beckwith, ed., Silver on Lapis: Tibetan Literary Culture and History, The Tibet Society (Bloomington 1987), pp. 111-122.  Get it here.

On the dates of the bell towers of Holy Etchmiadzin, see “The Mysterious Whitehead.” Or for a quick reference covering the phases of construction of the cathedral, look here.


  • I would like to thank both Isrun Engelhardt and Ruben Giney. Without their help via email communications of 2013-2014 I would probably never have gained access to the book of Frédéric du Bois de Montpéreux as well as the Armenian-language book by Ghevond Alishan that you see in the frontispiece. Both of these books provide key information.



“Water.” Photograph taken at D.T. Suzuki Museum in Kanazawa, April 16, 2016.

Translator Trip-Ups 1 - Script

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With a sense of hope to a degree justifiable, we may think that these oddities, the things that can and do trip up even some of our best translators of Tibetan texts, are a disappearing phenomenon. After all, when they make sense they are no longer odd. The stumbling block becomes a stepping stone that helps us rather than hindering as it had been doing. I’ve divided up my examples of oddities into 3 types: [1] oddities of script or letter. [2] oddities of spelling. [3] word oddities. Along the way you may notice some odd examples that remain ambiguous which type they belong to. And beyond these three, there are still more types we will not intentionally address, like oddities of grammar, syntax, ideas... After all, an oddity is an oddity no matter which classification we place it under. Oddity is itself an odd concept. True, our recognition of oddities as such may be subjective, but we definitely know them when we see them. And oddities can be puzzlers, puzzlers that can at times prove to be even more challenging, frustrating and fun than riddles are. I hope you will see what I mean.

And please do remember this is a group-participation blog. I expect input from you if you have an idea how to make any improvements in its content. This is *not* a record of my successes. There are still some hard nuts to crack in case you want to try your hands and heads at them. And my proposed solutions may not prove to be correct, or entirely correct. Esoteric? Sure, but does the word always have to have that negative ring to it? I hope that even non-Tibetologists will keep reading, to get a sense of what translators need to do, how far they have to go. Know that it can be a struggle.  Worthwhile, but also a struggle.


Most of my examples of script oddities come from “book cursive” and may also have to do with the abbreviation practices that are found most often in cursive manuscripts. I know that numerous Tibeto-logicians, specifically the ones who are not native speakers, spend their entire careers without ever even trying to pass “The Cursive Test.”  Thirty-five years ago while I was working with the Laufer Collection of the Chicago Field Museum when it was on loan to I.U., I was in the difficult position of needing to catalog cursive texts, most of them belonging to the Bon school. To begin with I was largely self-taught in this area, and there was a lot of trial and error. I came across some supremely discouraging examples of cursive abbreviations, with four-syllable names collapsed into one syllable for example. I thought of them as fully analogous to train wrecks. or was the train wreck me? Nobody ventured to help me with them. Even traditionally learned geshés were left scratching their heads. It was a truly disheartening situation, with sparks of light here and there but not much hope of any fuller illumination.

The classic work on cursive is one by Bacot published in 1912, and it is still useful. I made use of it myself when I was first trying to learn cursive. If you are interested, I could also recommend some modern Tibetan-language treatments that have all appeared since those bitter-sweet days I spent with the Laufer texts.





Here you see some of the most extreme examples Bacot gave in his article. I only encountered a few somewhat similar ones when I was working with the Bon texts. Quite unusual and odd beyond all doubt, you see there are pile-ups of the same vowel, in almost every case an odd number of seven or nine vowels. This reflects an Indic kāvyaidea to use nothing but ‘a’s or ‘i’s or ‘o’s in a verse or line of verse. Such verses are known for example in poetic works of Tsongkhapa, who received some kāvya training as a young man. The vowel pile-ups are mostly encountered in verses for chanting, in the repeated lines or refrains. If you have the prayer memorized it jogs your memory just enough... In their contexts, they are not nearly as impenetrable as they may seem after Bacot extracted them.





Just below the lime-green splotch in the full page above and the detail coming up below, you can see an example of an extreme abbreviation practice in a Bon text from the canon.* I’m still not sure how to correctly read it, although fairly sure about the second syllable, the one that looks like a backward ‘na’ (we’ll see what that is in a moment), not so with the first.
(*This means the 192-volume one kept in Oslo that was catalogued. You can see the volume and folio numbers scrawled in the right-hand margin. I’ve shown the odd script to some of the best people in Bon and Tibetan studies, and they expressed puzzlement and nothing more.)





Here you see a close-up of the bizarre ligatures. We will leave it for now and look at similar examples.


From the same volume of the Bon Kanjur:



Here the arrow points to an example of the use of something that appears as if it were (but actually isn’t) the number 3, a 3 with an extra slash at the bottom. In the context it’s a colophon that ends in a lineage, a lineage that ends in ego.


Above is a close-up of the same, and my own transcription, that should make it clearer. I guess Tibetanists will be able to see from the context, even those who may tend to be skeptical, that the odd character we see here stands for the Tibetan first-person reference, bdag, ‘myself.’ How did this odd thing come into being?

Then after being transmitted from one generation to the next, it now [was transmitted] to me.

The solution revealed: Although Bonpos may not entirely appreciate my saying so, I believe the true origins of this sign are in the Sanskrit avagraha. In Devanagari script the avagraha looks rather like a hook or an ‘s’ with a larger, more opened curve at the bottom - . Tibetanists are most likely to encounter it in sādhana texts where it in fact is used to indicate the elision of the initial ‘a’ in aham, meaning ‘I’ or ‘myself.’


Can you read this? In actual practice, the cursive shorthand version of the avagraha can look like a simple nya as in the word for fish. But what is the backward ‘na’ doing here, any idea?



Well, here you see the answer. It would have been good to give actual manuscript examples of this phrase, but unfortunately I was unable to come up with a clear one at this moment, so this time you will have to take my word for its existence. 

Here is an example from a medical history of the reversed ‘na’. At the same time we also get a chance to see yet another common trip-up, an abbreviation for the word that means palace.


Roughly translated:  [seated] upon a silk cushioned throne made of precious substances inside
the pillarless Pangtang Palace.  (I’m planning a blog on the medical history.)



There is no Tibetan word phrong, although I wonder how many people have stumbled over it thinking it is one, flipping through the pages of their Jaeschke and Das in utter frustration.

And finally here below is an example I simply cannot understand it with any assurance, so the responsibility is all yours. You can spot it in the exact center of the text (I've put a blue box around it in the shadow version), two syllables that make no sense to me.



I do have a guess about what the two syllables stand for, but only because of context, and not because it makes sense of the syllables. I’m tempted to read mtshams med, as in [mtshams med] pa’i las (karma with immediate consequence that comes from performing a particularly heinous crime), is the thing that could be expected here. I don’t see it, though, so unless you have something to add we had better just move on.


Here is yet another excellent oddity. Let me give a rough translation of the passage replacing the oddity with an “X.” ‘When engaged in erecting a scriptural volume, what are the X in inscribing the initial flourish (dang-thog)?’* There is no doubt that a “ya” with its own subscribed ‘ya’ is something that requires some explanation. Not to keep you in suspense:






Now that you think about it, as I hope you have, the ya + ya-btags doesn’t seem so odd after all. It just follows the pattern of the preceding sa + ya-btags and tha + ya-btags for Buddha’s Speech and Mind.** Therefore it stands for yon-tan, and means Qualities or Talents or Virtues (of the Buddha, in this case). Are you still with me? Hope so. We’re not done with oddities yet. Not by a long shot.



Please do join in the discussion by leaving a comment.


Coming up:  Odd spellings.


Endnotes:

(*The dang-thog is a kind of punctuation mark, explained in an earlier blog. It looks more-or-less like this: 

 ༄༅ 
(**Generally speaking, when used to make cursive abbreviations, the subscript ya can only take the place of a prescript or postscript ga, and there is no ga in yon-tan.*** But here we have an exception to that rule that works only because of an idea to continue the series. The abbreviation of phrin-las presents a special problem. Theoretically it could reduce to phris, but that would invite confusion with an existing word that means reduced or diminished, which is absolutely not a good way to think about Buddha Activity according to anyone I know.)
(***Although it is true enough that there is currently no ga in yon-tan, the second syllable was probably originally spelled gtan, and yon-gtan meant an abiding or always-present gift, hence a good quality or talent. The late Michael Hahn made this etymological argument. For an analogous word, note also the second syllable of nan-tan, meaning ‘persistence’... I still have a problem with this solution (if that is what it is), and that is that the subscript ya is commandeered to take the place of a ga prescript [primarily] or [secondarily] a postscript ga in the first syllable of the abbreviated form only, and anyway the first consonants of the second syllable are always simply dropped with nothing at all representing them, the only exception being the little flag in the case of tsa, tsha & dza.) 

§   §   § 

A final note:  This and two more blogs that will be posted before too long come from a presentation given at the translators' conference held at the University of Colorado in Boulder earlier this year. The illustrations found here were created on the basis of the slides that were shown there, although I’ve added a few new ones. I've also omitted materials not my own, submitted by the co-presenter or by members of the panel.

Tibetan Bell in Armenia - Concluding

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We continue where this blog left off.
This hand bell or drilbu, taken from an online auction site, has the mantra oṃ aḥ hūṃ in vertically stacked (not horizontal like ours), raised letters on the interior of the bell.  Click on the photo and perhaps you will see it better. This bell is rather unusual in its appearance, and although there are textual recommendations to place the mantra inside the slope of the bell, this seems to have presented some technical difficulties since it is rarely done. I assume our triply-repeated mantra was written in the form of a band encircling the outside of the slope of the bell, although I admit this is an assumption that could be proved untrue.

In general, what we can say about this three-syllable mantra — more ubiquitous in Secret Mantra Buddhism than the world-famous Mani Mantra — is that it is for blessing offerings.  The three syllables are for the Body, Speech and Mind of the Buddha. The mantra brings the blessings of all three to the offerings being made, whatever they may be. In practically every ritual you can see how the name of the offering is placed immediately after the first two syllables and before the third. In the case of our bell, my intuition is that it isn’t exactly or exclusively intended for offering purposes. For one thing, it is repeated three times, and this kind of repetition seems to be found mostly in food blessings and the like. I think our bell inscription has a consecratory significance, primarily, but I’m open to better suggestions.
 I


So while we are drawing to a close, with a fervently whispered hope for an actual photograph of the inscription, since having one would further our investigation like nothing else could, I’d like to draw attention a few of its interesting features. As we mentioned, it is usual to write oṃ without the length-mark. That the bell inscription surely has this length-mark appears to mark it as archaic or at least archaizing. The visarga here seen as two small circles one on top of the other is missing in the Alishan eye-copy, although it would be strange if it were just overlooked. Schmidt’s metal-type does have it (his own correction based on Csoma de Körös? How can we be sure?). And finally, it violates more recent writing standards to put a tsek-mark, the syllable-dividing mark, in this case, immediately before the shad sentence-ending mark (the vertical stroke). In truth, in writing Indic mantras such as this, it ought to be the rule, a rule not always followed, that no tseks should be used at all. After all, it is Sanskrit language, where nothing like the tsek is needed to begin with. 
 


Just one more example of the lengthmark, perhaps the earliest one known to me right now, comes from the Tibetan imperial (or early post-imperial) period. It is a “pen-testing” or doodling paper found in Dunhuang.* Here you can see twice the o with the lengthmark beneath. The scribe amused himself, and us, by making the two wings of the vowel ‘o’ look, well, like wings ready to lift off and flutter about the room. This only helps with the point that the lengthmark is indeed found in early times.

(*I seem to remember Sam van Schaik was the first to draw attention to this, although at the moment I can't find the exact blog in Early Tibet. On the pen-testing papers, see Takeuchi.)

Now we should make some brief comments on modern ideas about the bell and the reasons for its unavailability. In 2014, I asked world-renowned Armenian Studies savant Prof. Emeritus Michael Stone some questions via email, and he is the one who suggested to me to have them circulated to an Armenian Studies discussion list. There were a number of responses, but since I haven't asked for let alone received permissions from them to repeat their words, I will just state my own generalizations, additionally based on modern literary sources both on and off-line, such as those you see just below:

Some interesting ideas on how the bell got there, found in recent literary sources.


To judge from the responses received back in 2014, we may say: There seem to be two opinions among the experts about why the bell itself is currently unavailable for inspection. One that it is still at Etchmiadzin Cathedral, but placed in storage somewhere. The other that a public address system was installed and the bells (the Tibetan bell presumably among them) subsequently distributed to churches in other parts of Armenia. My general impression is that for Armenians today, the existence of the Tibetan bell is a matter for pride, and one more indication among many of the wide-ranging activities of their ancestors.


A conclusion for the time being


If we were to draw analogies between philology and archaeology — and I think doing so could make very good sense — I would say that paleography is the pottery analysis of the text philologist. Together with the paper-and-ink analyses now gaining in popularity, paleography can prove a powerful tool for dating physical manuscripts and inscriptions, similar to the dating of archaeological strata through pottery. No serious paleography can be done on Armenia’s Tibetan bell inscription without first having an accurate record of the letters and their very shapes. This is the primary motive for our bell quest. Similar to paper-and-ink analyses, we might add, a 21st-century metallurgical analysis of the Armenian bell could allow certain conclusions about the places where the metal was mined. How unfortunate it is for us that the possibility of paleographical and metallurgical findings seems to have receded out of our reach.

Holy objects present us with the ever-mysterious numen normally out of our grasp in our everyday lives, but they may be the very things that make us hold on to religions as tightly as we do. As objects, they persistently present themselves to us, as if they possessed the formed solidity of text-book materiality, Aristotle’s forma et materia forever superglued together. Some objects are hard to ignore and demand our attention. Out-of-place objects particularly so.

Armenia’s Tibetan Bell bears on its surface an inscription identifying it as a consecrated Buddhist object, made holy through a consecration ritual. And what is consecration but a ritual agreement that with all the odds against it happening the holy can indeed be localized within the most material of things.* And there are reasons this unholy and theologically improbable union should be regarded as helpful.

(*See King Solomon's speech at the consecration of the Jerusalem temple in II Chronicles 6:18 where he brings up exactly this kind of objection.)

Out-of-place artifacts — and I think our Tibet Bell in an Armenian church must surely be seen as an example — threaten our normative academic discourses of difference and belonging. They are matter out of place, so to speak. They violate the normative philological principle of ‘fit’ (the demand that a new bit of evidence can only be accepted in evidence if it fits within a range of earlier well-established evidence). They seem to say, No more business as usual, it’s time for a change of view.

And in the case of our bell, despite all the objective materiality it ought to have, it remains elusive and untouchable, perhaps even hiddenfrom our eyes, our touch, and most significant of all, our hearing.We can only hope that this out-of-place artifact turned mis-placed artifact will turn up soon to help us answer the remaining questions burning in our minds. Until then, I guess we can give the quest a short rest.













Some literature:

The blog called “The Last Yak,” entry dated November 3, 2010: How do You Spell Oṃ Maṇi Padme Hūṃ Anyway?

Yael Bentor, Consecration of Images and Stûpas in Indo-Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, Brill (Leiden 1996).

Tsuguhito Takeuchi, Glegs tshas: Writing Boards of Chinese Scribes in Tibetan-Ruled Dunhuang, contained in: Brandon Dotson, Kazushi Iwao and Tsuguhito Takeuchi, eds., Scribes, Texts, and Rituals in Early Tibet and Dunhuang, Reichert Verlag (Wiesbaden 2012), pp. 101-109, 150-153. 


A hare on a bell?  A highly curious modern sculpture to be seen in Yerevan, at the cascades.
Could this be a clue in favor of Hulegu?




Translator Trip-Ups 2 - Spelling

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The first blog in the series, about script oddities, is here.

In this blog we’ll look at some odd spellings. For the most part these are not exactly misspellings, more like unexpected spellings that anyway occur with some regularity in a particular time or context. That means someone, at least, thought them acceptable. Thinking about pre- and post- Samuel Johnson English, you may wonder when and how any kind of spelling standards may have taken effect among Tibetan writers. For those concerned, there have been a lot of dag-yig, or correct letters texts meant to help them. 

The truth is Tibetan literary culture was and remained for most of his history a scribal culture, despite the eventually increasing popularity of woodblock printing technology. That means even works written by good spellers might get copied by bad spellers, or even worse, copyists who regarded themselves as good spellers. At some point a body comes to accept things like the absence of the final -s when it ought to be there, and its presence when it shouldn't, and this despite any number of treatises written by Tibetan savants precisely on that subject. It isn't a popular thing to be a good speller, so I hesitate to say just how good I was at it at a very young age, and proud of it, too. Even before I started primary school, I knew how to spell a number of short words thanks to my parents and my older brothers. So I'll dedicate this blog to them.

Our first example is difficult to recognize, indeed quite odd and one that puzzled me in the past:



This 'byal turns out to be an uncommon spelling for one of the most common verbs. I‘ve seen it in quite a range of works, mainly early compositions, mostly pre-Mongol period (roughly pre-mid-13th century).


In this example you see above, taken from the Zhijé History that appears in the Zhijé Collection (more on it in a minute!), Padampa Sangye encounters one of his disciples, a woman, during his travels in Tibet. There are many examples of this 'byal spelling, and despite its oddness there is really no doubt about it. And in the ZC it is the normal spelling (I haven’t noted the normally regarded as ‘normal’ spelling mjal at all). I’ve observed this in other early texts, including manuscripts of Zhang G.yu-brag-pa’s 12th-century works. However, doing the million-page search at TBRC I only come up with 13 “hits,” and only a few of these turn out to be valid examples on closer inspection.* Despite this, we can say that in particular texts this highly unusual spelling is the usual one. 
(*There are reasons for this. After years of efforts OCR can now work, and it has become a great tool for Tibet research, but it only works well with publications produced with 21st-century computer fonts. [What computers produce they can be taught to read?]  That means not only that works existing only in manuscript are entirely excluded, it also means that modern editors, being bound to dictate their own ideas of what right spelling is, have very likely eliminated all the interesting ones.)

Here you may be able to make out that there is or was a title there on the title page of the Zhijé Collection as filmed by the Nepal-German Manuscript Preservation Project. I’ve mentioned this collection a lot in earlier blogs, so I assume you know of it.

The Zhijé Collection, inscribed some time around 1245, is my main source of the unusual spellings that we will look at. Here you can see how the title is given in the published version. I point out parts that require correction:





Assuming my corrections are good, and I think that would be a good assumption, we can translate it as “Among the Zhijé Teachings at the Heart of the Holy Dharma, this is the Later Transmission [Collection Known as] The Exceptionally Profound. This is the copy that belongs to the small residence in Tingri Langkor.” Later Transmission simply means that it belongs to the most recent of Padampa’s three periods of teaching in Tibet, the time he spent in Tingri up until his death. If you think there is something pejorative about labeling it as later, would you prefer to call it the Latest Transmission? I for one won’t mind.


Wolfenden, in his old article “Significance of Early Tibetan Word Forms,” comments how a glossary of Amdo dialects very often replaces various prescript consonants, and most often the ‘g’ and ‘d’ prescripts that are replaced with the superscript ‘r’ are pronounced as such (a commonly encountered example of this is rtsang-po in place of gtsang-po. Knowing that a shift of this kind happens is a very important key to understanding the text. Still, I’m not sure if we ought to conclude that the ‘s’ in the Padampa text was actually pronounced. It seems not, since it isn’t systematically applied, only some of the time. I also doubt it was a deliberate effort to make the text less readable, I’m just not sure enough to remark on it.

In general, linguistically speaking, odd spellings sometimes prove interesting for finding out obsolete historical pronunciations, or for identifying dialectical differences. In some 21st-century performances of Shakespeare’s plays actors have favored reconstructions of the “original pronunciation.” Three things that have proven especially useful are rhymes, spellings and puns. I really can’t say if our text’s odd spellings may of interest for reconstructing early pronunciations or not, just saying it’s conceivable.


I’ve given some relatively clear examples, chosen because I believe they look quite convincing in context. Still, I think if you opened the volumes of the Zhije Collection with no clue that this alternative spelling system was in place you would find it quite bewildering and difficult to decipher. Just as I did when I first looked at it 35 years ago. Let me tell you: Recognizing this odd spelling tendency of the text is key to beginning to understand it. Knowing it, you can move ahead to deal with its other difficulties, like the odd vocabulary items we’ll go into in an upcoming blog.





PS: I can't resist adding something about a general tendency to switch between the root letter ch- and two root letter clusters, khy-  and  phy-:

ཆ་  = ཁྱ་ =  ཕྱ་*

(*So, if you see a syllables such as  འཆལ་, it could stand in place of  འཁྱལ་, which could stand in place of འཕྱལ་ and so on.)

Regardless of how different they look on the page, all three are pronounced exactly the same, so there is good reason for the spelling confusion. What this means in practical terms is, if you want to find a word in the dictionary that has one of these three in it, and you're not finding it, you may need to try looking under the other spelling.


Let us know about other odd spellings you’ve encountered in the comments section below. Meanwhile, spell well, or at least well enough.


༓་་་༓་་་༓་་་༓་་་༓


  • A note on texts: If you are the type of person to be intrigued by the abuse of the final -s rules, just go to TBRC and search for the term sa-mtha' (ས་མཐའ་). This will result in a list of texts on the subject. You can try doing the same with dag-yig (དག་ཡིག་), but be warned that in modern usage it has come to mean dictionary in the modern sense (well, dictionaries are, or used to be before spellchecking, the main force for standardizing spellings).


  • On the Original Pronunciation of Shakespeare:  Shakespeare was himself an unusual speller, although I'm not sure we ought to accept that as your excuse. If you want to know more about “original pronunciation” (like mu-si-see-yun for myuzishun) go to the video link just given. Or for more fun try this video.

Ten Things Most Dear

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Ten Things Most Dear: An Advisory Song


If there were no such lamas and instructors,
attended upon for the longterm yet this time around
acting under the influence of hate and lust, it would be enough for us.
To attend on a virtuous friend with all the right qualifications is most dear.


However great the efforts we put into learning, if there were no such studies
of dry technical terms that keep the attainment of full knowledge at a distance
it would be enough for us.  Learning and reflecting on the profound precepts
that express the quintessence of the tantra texts are most dear.


However much the meditating, if there were no pushing and striving
for the kind with turnoffs and diversions, poor in experiences and realization,
it would be enough for us.  Practical engagement without letting go to waste
the precepts passed down within a lineage is most dear.


Even if it happens in groups of two or three, if there were no exchange
of idle chatter when people gather in their homes imitating one another
it would be enough for us.  Staying on in a secure place
with a few Dharma-minded companions is most dear.


When they have a couple of marks and signs of no account, if they were not
making a big deal of them as if they were seeing dharmas as they truly are
it would be enough for us.  As with the louse and the finger,
confidence and cheerfulness at the moment of death is most dear.


If there were none who were the best of Buddhists in happy times
but turn ordinary as soon as misfortunes come to them
it would be enough for us.  The equanimity that bears all things,
both good and bad, is most dear.


If there were no followers of the kind who in the thick of the battle
are running for Dharma, but helpless and without a clue
when it comes to following it, it would be enough for us.
A supporter doing as instructed out of faith is most dear.


If there were no people with certain religious qualities who
out of their fear of death, strive for liberation for themselves alone
it would be enough for us.  Leading a life of love for each and every
animate being as if for an only child is most dear.


If there were no people laying out plans in hopes of permanence
at the same time claiming to believe in impermanence
it would be enough for us.  A reversal of attachments that sees
the true nature of things as compounded is most dear.


If there were no people with "good interests in mind"
who beguile the minds of others with their wealth and devious posturings
it would be enough for us.  Benefitting others by first taming
one's own mind and then employing the Four Gatherings is most dear.



— These words of advice were for the monk and meditator Sherab Pelden.



Translator's notes:  I choose the translation "most dear" for gces-pabecause it helps to carry the meanings of rarity, exceptionality and endearment or even cuteness.  Each of the ten verses shares the same parallel structure and rhythm, although in the interest of easy intelligibility I decided not to preserve this fully in the English. In the final verse, the Four Gatherings (four ways of gathering disciples) means [1] giving them what is needed, [2] speaking to them kindly, [3] not opposing their worldly aims, [4] acting for the benefit of the aspirant.  I admit that the louse metaphor doesn't make much sense to me, but I imagine that the louse is most lively just on the point when it is going to be picked out and crushed. A thirty-year-old translation emerged from my recovered archive and seeing it had many mistakes I did my best to improve it, thinking it is applicable to things that are happening these days in our world. The Tibetan text, too, has been emended to make it better, putting in a few missing vowel signs, correcting confusions between nga (ང་) and da (ད་), reading yong-gtam (ཡོང་གཏམ་) as long-gtam (ལོང་གཏམ་)  and the like.་As of yet I have been unable to find out more about Sherab Pelden, the person to whom these verses were directed. You can find an entry on the author here at Wikipedia.



Source:  'Brug-chen IV Padma-dkar-po, Gsung-'bum, vol. 20, pp. 367-368.  TBRC work RID code no. W10736.



གྲོས་འདེབས་ཀྱི་གླུ་གཅེས་པ་བཅུ་པ་ཞེས་བྱ་བ།།

རིང་དུ་བསྟེན་ན་ཆགས་སྡང་དབང་གིས།།
རིས་གཅོད་པའི་བླ་མ་སློབ་དཔོན།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་མཚན་ཉིད་ཀུན་ལྡན།།
དགེ་བའི་བཤེས་སུ་བསྟན་པ་གཅེས་སོ།།

འབད་པས་སྦྱངས་ཀྱང་རྣམ་མཁྱེན་ཐོབ་ལ།།
ཁ་ཐག་རིང་བའི་ཐ་སྙད་སློབ་གཉེར།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་རྒྱུད་སྡེའི་ཉིང་ཁུ།།
གདམས་ངག་ཟབ་མོའི་ཐོས་བསམ་གཅེས་སོ།།

མང་དུ་བསྒོམས་ཀྱང་ཉམས་རྟོགས་བུལ་ཞིང༌།།
གོལ་ཤོར་འབྱུང་དེར་བརྩོན་ཅིང་འགྲུས་པ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་རྒྱུད་ལྡན་གདམས་པ།།
ཆུད་ཟོས་མེད་པའི་ཉམས་ལེན་གཅེས་སོ།།

གཉིས་གསུམ་ཚོགས་ཀྱང་ལོང་གཏམ་འཕེལ་ལ།།
མང་དུ་ཚོགས་ན་མིག་ལྟོས་ལད་པ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་ཆོས་མཐུན་གྲོགས་རེ།།
བཙན་ས་ཟིན་ཟིན་བསྟན་པ་གཅེས་སོ།།

རྟགས་དང་མཚན་མ་བྲང་བྲེང་རེ་ལ།།
ཆོས་ཉིད་མཐོང་བའི་ཁོང་ཡུས་ཆེན་པོ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་ཤིག་དང་འཛུབ་བཞིན།།
འཆི་ཀར་བྲོད་པའི་གདེང་ཚད་གཅེས་སོ།།

སྐྱིད་པའི་སྐབས་དེར་ཆོས་པའི་བཟང་ཤོས།།
རྐྱེན་ངན་སླེབ་ཚེ་ཐ་མལ་འགྱུར་བ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་བཟང་ངན་ཀུན་ལ།།
ཐོག་ཏུ་བརྫི་བའི་རོ་སྙོམས་གཅེས་སོ།།

འཐབ་མོས་བསྐུལ་ནས་ཆོས་ལ་བྲོས་ཤིང༌།།
ཆོས་བཞིན་གཅུར་ན་ཡར་བའི་འཁོར་རྣམས།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་དད་པའི་དབང་གིས།།
ཅི་གསུང་བསྒྲུབ་ན་སྐྱོང་བྲན་གཅེས་སོ།།

འཆི་བས་འཇིགས་ནས་རང་ཉིད་གཅིག་པུ།།
ཐར་པ་སྒྲུབ་པའི་ཡོན་ཏན་སྣ་ཚོགས།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་འགྲོ་བ་ཀུན་ལ།།
བུ་གཅིག་ལྟར་བརྩེའི་སྤྱོད་པ་གཅེས་སོ།།

མི་རྟག་འཇིག་པ་ཁ་ནས་བཤད་ཀྱིན།།
རྟག་ཏུ་རེ་བའི་བཤོམ་ར་འདིང་པ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་འདུས་བྱས་དངོས་པོའི།།
ཆོས་ཉིད་མཐོང་བའི་ཞེན་ལོག་གཅེས་སོ།།

ནོར་དང་གཡོ་སྒྱུ་ཚུལ་འཆོས་དབང་གིས།།
གཞན་སེམས་འདྲིད་པའི་ཚུགས་ཁྱེར་བཟང་པོ།།
མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་སྟེ་རང་སེམས་བཏུལ་ནས།།
བསྡུ་བ་རྣམ་བཞིས་གཞན་ཕན་གཅེས་སོ།།

ཞེས་པ་འདི་དགེ་སློང་བསམ་གཏན་པ་ཤེས་རབ་དཔལ་ལྡན་ལ་གདམས་པའོ།། །།







Translator Trip-Ups 3 - Words

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We’ve covered our choice specimens of script and spelling oddities already, so now it’s time to move on to actual vocabulary items that are somehow odd, inexplicable, hard to define or liable to confuse us poor translators working with Tibetan texts. You know, words that cause us to stumble or get stumped. Have fun with them, and please do write in the comments if anything comes to mind that is somehow related to any of it.


Our first example is the word zho-sha. It was used in the sense of fee or payment in 12th-century works of Zhang Yudrakpa (Zhang G.yu-brag-pa) and Jigten Gönpo (’Jig-rten-mgon-po). In sense of mental or athletic strength, we find it in the Zhijé Collection. In Old Tibetan contexts Hugh Richardson rendered it as sustenance, considering it to be a combination of the words for meat and yoghurt, both believed to be quite strengthening and nutritious foods. It’s been understood to mean revenues from agricultural estates (which after all were paid ‘in kind’). And it is also a word used until now in the names of a class of medicinal plants, apparently used for strengthening various internal organs.  Dorji Wangchuk, like Goldstein’s modern dictionary, agrees it is an obsolete term even if we see it preserved in the plant names. Search of OTDO site yields 14 results, not a lot, but still a respectable number. 

The first example you see above contains one of Padampa’s favorite expressions, “It’s a dog!” which could be translated nicely, in my belief, as “That’s a load of crap!” — “In athletic events, when there is indecision the strength of the athlete amounts to just so much crap!” In the second example, sri means a kind of constriction or diminishment** — “Don’t constrict [the flow of] dynamism in your mental continuum.”
(*The literal translation dog doesn't work for anyone belonging to the dog-loving cultures of our times, where dogs are petted rather than despised and avoided.)(**It can also be the name of a vampire-like spirit mostly studied in Paris these days.) 


Meanings of tha-rams found in dictionaries and glossaries:

[1] bad thing. [2] filling. [3] binding rope. [4] an herb, perhaps a type of “fleaseed husk” or the Sat Isabgol used in India for both diarrhea and constipation (don’t ask me how, but it does work both ways), a sub-type of the herb called ram-pathat grows in fallow soil (tha-ba). [5] the breadth of a plain (but this last meaning is limited to Schmidt’s Tibetan-German dictionary).

The spelling that lacks the final ‘s’ is more likely to refer to the herb (meaning no. 4 above), but one finds so many counter examples, it makes no sense to make a rule. The new Munich Tibetan-German dictionary (Wörterbuch der tibetischen Schriftsprache) does have an interesting meaning of a sealing, or closure.


In Darma language, a language I’m especially interested in because of its demonstrable historical relationship to Zhangzhung, one finds tarum with meaning of ‘key.’ I think this is acting according to what the Tibeto-Burmanists call “genital flop-flop.” Similarly, one may discover that words for bow and arrow often get crossed when you cross from one Tibeto-Burman language to another. Examples of usages of tha-rams in post-Mongol-era Tibetan become extremely few and unexpected and therefore odd, although I have noticed it in a book title from the  sixteenth century where the meaning lock is very clear. What can I say? Deliberate archaisms do happen. Did you get it? Tha-rams had the meaning of lock in early Tibetan.


Quick examples from Zhijé Collection:

1. Stag-zil: probably a type of snail.
2. Ba-ded: several good examples, but no idea about meaning.
3. Be-phum: meaning unknown.

4. Ste[s]-dbang: force or strength?
5. ’Or-che-ba: great kindness (said to be regional dialect, it’s found in both the Zhijé Collection and the works of Jigten Gönpo).
6. Me-mar: = mar-me. The switched order of the syllables is awesomely odd.
7. Sa-rde: one dictionary gives meaning as persistence, but I’m not sure what it means (three good examples of usage).

8. Pad-pa, a leech (srin-bu pad-pa).
9. Pe-ta, woodworm, but also a type of tree (this last probably a mistake for be-ta, coconut palm).
10. Ka-’ji: a kind of touchstone used for testing gold.





This word is interesting because you can trace some of its evolution. The Old Tibetan term stangs-dbyal in particular means a union or balance between the male and female principles, and each syllable is also used individually.  See an odd old blog for more:  Couples Constantly Facing Off.

Where Modern Tibetan has gtan-zhal, Old Tibetan has stangs-dbyal.  How do we get from one to the other? The Old Tibetan word is found in Dunhuang documents (Old Tibetan Annals entry for year 710 CE), in the Samye bell inscription, and in early Bon works. Bon works are the only ones to preserve the archaic form over the centuries until today. The Old Tibetan form is in the Guhyagarbha Tantra, which is interesting in itself, but otherwise nowhere to be found in all of the Kanjur and Tanjur.

Yel-’phyois an even rarer oddity with a close-to-same meaning, noticed only in Nyingma tantras.


For thig-le nyag-cigI like to use the translation ‘integral drop.’ The sûtra quoted by Phag-mo-gru-pa must be a translation of the Nairātmyapariprcchā Sûtra older than the one found in Derge (Tôh. 173).* 
(*Another place to find it is in Matthew Kapstein’s “The Commentaries of the Four Clever Men,” East and West, vol. 59, nos. 1-4 (2009), pp. 107-130, at pp. 109, 111.)



That the form bhai is simply translated without comment as ‘meditation’ in Liberation through Seeing with Naked Awareness, is a good example of how true oddities are routinely glossed over in our translations. They simply disappear from view. This is unfortunate. I would think somehow the reader ought to be better informed than that.

By the way, the anti-Nyingma polemic writer Drigung Pendzin was not, as commonly presumed, a Drigung Kagyüpa. His known teachers and associates were Sakyapas.


Bon example of bhom: Above is an example ultimately drawn from Bon texts of the Aural Transmission from Zhangzhung, a Dzogchen cycle. Bhom for ‘meditation’ is listed among a number of spelling/word anomalies by the modern editor of the volume. Some of the other examples given there are also interesting.



’Big-toI have no idea what this means. The closest term I could come up with (and it isn't actually close) is sdig-to, a word for evildoer. (??) The English version of Chetsang Rinpoche’s history (Meghan Howard et al. tr.), p. 283, translates ’big-to as commanders of a hundred troops (meaning a centurion?). If this is correct where did it come from? I consulted a number of experts on this, and they all said it made no sense to them. I had the idea, which I offer without conviction, that ’big-to could mean a record or list (to, =tho) that is kept by means of piercings of perforations (’big) in wood or paper. 

Note as of possible relevance that there is a Tibetan word to-dog, a borrowing from Chinese, used for a military commander of one sort or another. This word appears quite a few times in Old Tibetan documents from Dunhuang.

The Thub-bstan-bsam-’grub dictionary, p. 513, gives ’bog-do (also spelled ’bog-to, ’bog-tho, and ’bogs-do) as a synonym of ’bog-chen, a special hat worn by Tibetan officials of the past. ’Bog-do is said to be a borrowing from Mongolian, so it doesn’t seem that it would have been in use before the Mongol advent in the early 13th century. However, there are earlier Khotanese and probably ultimately Turkic usages of this term before that time. On this last point, see F.W. Thomas, “Bogdo,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (April 1937), pp. 309-313. We would have to have a good reason to emend 'big-to to 'bog-to, but hats don’t seem to make sense in the context anyway.




Here is the present form of my translation of this passage, in order to supply a context for it. Perhaps it will help us guess what it means? We’ll just leave it for now.



The word ya-lad may be described as archaic, or pre-1300 more or less. My vocabulary entry as of now reads as follows. I quote it as is, with the bibliographical abbreviations and all:

[1] equipment, armor, helmet, sword (soldier’s equipment in general). OT = go cha spyi. = [skabs thob kyis] rmog. Bla 285.4, 516.6. go cha. rmog. ral gri. Btsan-lha. go cha. Dbus-pa no. 025. Lcang-skya. Namdak. Skt. kavaca (probably source of borrowing for Tib. go cha). Mvy.6072 (in Skt. it seems to mean armor or coat of mail, primarily as chest protection). Rolf Stein’s Tibetica Antiqua 154. Two occurrences of this word located on OTDO. [2] sgo’i yar them. Btsan-lha. I only know of one architectural usage of the term, in the Sba-bzhed: pho brang gi ya lad la bod kyi btsan po’i lham btags nas / de’i ’og na phar ’khor dang bcas pa ’dzul nas / nga’i rgyal khams ni btsan po khyod kyi zhabs ’og du ’dzul zhing bcwa (dpya) dang skyes lo thang du ’bul zer te. Here it clearly means the upper part of the door or gateway (lintel or architrave). Btsan-lhagives the same example, but says it is from the Bka’-chems Ka-khol-ma. [3] a high number. Skt. ela. Mvy. 7759. Skt. elu. Mvy. 7888. Note: Btsan-lha makes note of a late usage in the Mi-dbang Rtogs-brjod, although here it is used as a conscious archaism. Since the first syllable is also a part of the alphabet, it makes it useful for alphabetic verse, and this could explain why it can show up in later texts even though otherwise obsolete.


Here are some examples of beginnings that look like endings, creating an interesting type of possible confusion due to Tibetan’s syllable-by-syllable writing system (to be sure, the language is not monosyllabic although the writing system is). These are likely to appear quite odd to language learners in their first several years, and very well may cause them to stumble, so I think I can include them in the category of word oddities. 

gyi ling - ge ling& ger ling& kyi ling are possible spellings. It can be found in Dunhuang texts. While it means a superior type of horse, it may derive from Chinese word for the kilin/qi-lin, a kind of supernatural hybrid animal sometimes described as a unicorn or a dragon horse.

gyi na - mean, vulgar, coarse, ordinary (especially odd because it looks like two endings, one after the other).

gyi na ba - the ordinary, the quotidian.

gyi na ya - An odd combination of gyi na and na ya, two words with similar meaning (such a word combination does not seem possible in theory, which is exactly what makes it odd. Don’t you agree?).

gyis - It may look like an instrumental case ending, but actually it can be the imperative of bgyid. It means, “Do!”

na so - meaning age, particularly age in the sense of a stage in the human life rather than a precise year. I failed to find early examples of usage, although it does occur in the Mkhas-pa Lde’u (post-1261), so I conclude that it is a Mongol period borrowing from Mongolian. The modern Mongolian for age, I learned, is nas, and the final ‘o’ may reflect some kind of ending in Mongolian.

na ya - tedium, banality (? with similar meaning to gyi na).

nas - with meaning of barley. Nas-lung, ‘Barley Valley’




It certainly is disconcerting to see the plural marker coming after the genitive ending, but a TBRC search came up with only 142 examples of “kyi rnams,” so it is NOT common, and most examples are from works of Padma-dkar-poor canonical texts such as the Avatamsaka. (I feel sorry for the grad student who will volunteer to do it for the 84000 project, since it has quite a few archaic terms and what I call “Sina-cisms” buried in it, as it was translated from Chinese and never entirely revised to accord with the new standards.) I think, even though the syntax is odd, it can be understood, in the two examples given above, as meaning “those things pertaining to [dharmas or the community].” In effect it doesn’t make a great deal of difference in meaning. The temporary puzzlement we can deal with.

Am I the only one thinking it looks like a comb?
Thinking aloud,  I wonder to myself if it might come from an abbreviated way of writing the first syllable of gzer-mo (or zer-mo), meaning weasel or porcupine or mongoose or the like. But the weasel given that it feeds mainly on small birds and mammals seems the more likely candidate.



But is zre the only example of that impossible“zr” combination? The “zr” doesn’t occur even once in the three-volume dictionary. This alone would indicate its extreme oddness. But we do find it in a particular place name in the Old Tibetan Annals, in about 8 different annual entries ranging from 665 through 696 CE.





Zrid, or Zred, is a place name that occurs in Old Tibetan Annals nos. 665, 666, and 674. Note also Zrid-mda’ in Old Tibetan Annals nos. 681, 696 (mda' means the lower part of the valley; no, it does not mean arrow, not here). It is probably an old way of spelling the place names Sred or Srid. See the comments of Guntram Hazod in Dotson, Old Tibetan Annals, p. 215. I guess we’ve established once and for all that impossible things do happen. Sometimes more than once.

As my final example, I thought I ought to go into the confusions provoked by what would seem to be a simple Tibetan syllable for anyone to interpret. The syllable I refer to is gsang, as for instance in the Tibetan word for tantric teachings, gsang-sngags, which syllable-by-syllable means secret mantra. Let’s say 98 percent of the time gsang actually does mean secret, but that doesn’t mean we can just let the other two percent slide by us. There are two contexts where one ought to be particularly aware it can have quite different meanings. And those dictionaries you’ve been using won’t help you here. Wait just one minute, I’m starting to realize nobody has  ever actually read this far into the blog. In effect I'm just talking to myself, so I’ll say my goodbyes for today with a word of warning, a word of warning to the wise to be wary. And to expect the impossible. To find ways to deal with it. To stay calm in situations of adversity. To persevere.


Medicine in the Life of Atisha

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Pieced fabric icon of Atisha surrounded by jewels,
from a private collection (HAR no. 9305)

Today I thought I would put on display an interesting passage that tells us what Atisha knew about the healing arts, and what impact he had on Tibetan medicine. I was alerted to its existence by a blog entitled “G.yu-thog Rnying-ma 'Khrungs Ma Myong Zer-mkhan-rnams-kyi Lan-du.” That title can be translated ‘In Response to Those Who Say the Elder Yutok Never Knew Birth.’ The title takes aim primarily at Tibetan-born skeptics about the existence of Yutok in the Tibetan imperial period.* Written by a contemporary person not previously known to me by the name of Tshangs-dbang-dge-'dun-bstan-pa, the essay is praiseworthy for making evidence-based arguments in a principled manner. My main point, if I have one today, is to say that one of his two prime pieces of evidence for casting doubt on the non-existence of the Old Tibetan Yuthok turns out not to support his case.
(*Imperial period means the period prior to the mid-9th century, stretching back to an indeterminate point in pre-history.)

Our immediate source is Helmut Eimer’s book entitled Rnam thar rgyas pa, Part 2. Only two brief bits of it are given in the just-mentioned blog as evidence to refute skeptics who have been saying that the Elder Yuthok never existed. Here we supply the complete passage in Wylie style transliteration (created on the basis of Eimer’s) with my translation. The numbers are the ones Eimer uses for his paragraphs:

088
gso ba rig pa la yang jo bo shin tu mkhas pa yin gsung / srog chags kyi gtso bo mi glang rta gsum la brten nas bcos thabs la dpag tu med pa yod de / de yang rgyal ba lhas mdzad pa'i sman yig dang / gang zag mis mdzad pa'i sman yig gnyis las /

It is said that the Jowo (Atisha) was also very learned in healing science. He had unlimited curing methods useful for the chief among living creatures: humans, cattle and horses. To say more on this, there are two types of medical documents: [1] those composed by Victors (Buddhas) and Gods and [2] those authored by human personages.

[Medical texts by Victors and Gods]
rgyal ba lhas mdzad pa'i sman yig la / rigs gsum mgon pos mdzad pa'i gso ba'i bstan bcos mang po dang / 'tsho byed kyis zhus pa zhes bya ba dang / sman dpyad gzhan la phan pa'i mdo dang / 'tsho ba zas kyi mdo dang / bde bar gshegs pas gsungs pa'i sman dpyad ma lus pa yang jo bos mkhyen /

Among the medical texts authored by Victors and Gods the Jowo was knowledgeable in many healing treatises authored by the Lords of the Three Families as well as Questions of Jīvaka, Sūtra on Benefitting Others with Medical Treatments, Sūtra on Healing Diet, and every one of the medical treatments that were taught by the Sugatas.*
(*“The Lords of the Three Families” means Mañjuśrī, Avalokiteśvara and Vajrapāi. Jīvaka was the famous physician in the time of the historical Buddha. Sūtra on Healing Diet is one of a set of five medical texts attributed to Nāgārjuna, although not known to be extant. Nāgārjuna being a human author, his work appears misplaced here. The other texts I haven’t successfully identified in any other source.)

[Medical texts by human beings]
gang zag mis mdzad pa la drang srong legs thos kyis mdzad pa'i sman dpyad legs thos la sogs pa dang / slob dpon klu sgrub kyis mdzad pa'i yan lag bzhi pa dang / rta dbyangskyis mdzad pa'i yan lag brgyad pa la sogs jo bos ma lus par mkhyen pa yin / ((gser 'od dam pa dang dus bzhi nad kyi gnyen po bya ba de la brten nas /))  (Mchan-note: jo bo nyid kyis kyang 'tsho ba'i snying po zhes bya ba mdzad.)

As far as those authored by human personages are concerned, the Jowo was knowledgeable in every text including the Suśrutasaṃhitā (?) and other works composed by Suśruta, the Caturaṅga (Four Limbs) written by Teacher Nāgārjuna, and the Aṣṭāṅga (Eight Limbs) by Aśvaghoṣa [i.e. by Vāgbhaṭa]. ((Relying on the Suvarṇaprabhāsottama and what is known as the Remedies for Illnesses of the Four Seasons...)) (Note: The Jowo himself composed a work called Heart of Healing.)*
(*The Caturaṅga could not be identified any further. One might guess that it has to do with the game of the same name, the one we know about under the name of Chess. Using the name of Aśvaghoṣa we may be sure that Vāgbhaṭa was intended. His work Eight Limbs was extremely influential in Tibet, translated by the Great Translator Rinchen Zangpo. The other texts, including the title attributed to Atisha, could not be identified any further despite my efforts.)

089
jo bo bod du byon nas thugs dgongs la nga'i gso ba rig pa 'di bod du nub 'gro las che sman tsho bod na med pas snyam pa la / rje btsun ma sgrol mas g.yu bya ne tso cig tu sprul nas byon nas /

After the Jowo came to Tibet he thought to himself, ‘My knowledge of healing science is going to decline in Tibet since there do not exist in Tibet the healing herbs that are great in action’ (?).  As he was thinking this, the Reverend Tārā took the form of a turquoise bird, a parrot, and came to him.

sman rgya'i la sgo 'gags gyur kyang //

khyod kyi gso ba don mi rmongs //

snang ba sman du shar nas yod kyis zer skad bstan par bgyi'o //


gshegs par zhu'o zer bas, de'i phyir byon pas bod kyi ri klung thams cad kyi sman ma lus par bstan pas / jo bo'i zhal nas, rgya'i sman re la, bod na dod po re ci nas 'dug ste, slar la bod kyi sman nus pa che tsam 'dug / khyad par du dbul phongs rnams la phan par 'dug gsung /

She said, 

“Herbs, even when the passes to India are blocked,
will not disrupt your healing aims.
The phenomenal world arises as medicine, 
so make use of what is there.”

Inviting her to come with him, he went outside, and she showed him that all the mountains and valleys of Tibet were filled with every kind of herb. The Jowo would say, “For each Indian herb there is in Tibet somewhere a corresponding substitute, and at times the Tibetan herb can even be quite a bit more effective, and this is of particular benefit to the poor.”*
(*It’s interesting to note here that sometimes Tibetan herb manuals ['khrungs-dpe] are attributed to the authorship or inspiration of Tārā, including the one that has the title Sgrol-ma'i Sngo-'bum).

090
jo bo thang sman gyi sbyor ba kha bsos gcig sdeb bya ba / mkhas pa g.yu thog gi brgyud pas shes te nan tar sman dpyad la mkhas pa yin / 

There is one recipe for a herbal decoction of the Jowo called kha-bsos gcig-sdeb [Welfare United in One?] known to the lineage of Master Yutok, so his (Atisha’s) knowledge in herbal treatments is persisting.

khong gi sman yig nas kyang “'di ni jo bo rje nyid la / sgrol mas ne tsor sprul byas nas // bod la phan btags lung yang bstan //dbul phongs nad kyis nyen pa la //kha bsos gcig sdeb bkod pa yin //kho bos gso ba'i don ma rmongs //snang ba sman du shar ba 'di //rgya yi la sgo 'gags gyur kyang //kho bo'i nad gso 'gags mi srid” ces bya ba yod gsung /

It also says in his own medical text,
“This is what was prophesied to the Jowo himself
by Tārā in the form of a parrot
for the benefit of Tibet.
For the remedy of illnesses of the poor
is this Welfare United in One composed.
I have not been disrupted in my healing aims
since all phenomena arose as medicines,
so even when the passes to India are blocked
my healing of the sick cannot be impeded.”

091
jo bos bsam yas su sman dpyad yan lag brgyad pa gsung ba'i dus su / brag rgyab kyi dwags po 'bum pa'i phas mnyan pas / nan tar sman dpyad la mkhas par gyur gsung / de ltar gso ba rig pa la yang jo bo shin tu mkhas gsung /  [continues with passage on Atisha's mastery of arts and crafts]

There was a time when the Jowo was teaching the Eight Limbs of Medical Treatment at Samye Monastery and the father of Dwags-po 'Bum-pa of Brag-rgyab heard it from him, so his mastery of medicinal treatments persisted, [he/it is] said. These things show how in healing sciences, also, the Jowo was very learned.*
(*I assume that Eight Limbs of Medical Treatment refers to the work of Vagbhata that was mentioned before in this passage, and not to the Rgyud Bzhi. The not-so-well-known long version of the Rgyud Bzhi's title is Bdud rtsi snying po yan lag brgyad pa gsang ba man ngag gi rgyud. The father of Dwags-po 'Bum-pa of Brag-rgyab could not be identified. Brag-rgyab just means "Back of the Rock," but as a proper place name it is best known as the name of a Kadampa Monastery, in Phan-yul north of the Lhasa area, that was built on top of a huge flat rock. Of course the monastery would not have existed in Atisha's time, but I suppose the place name could be older than the monastery.)


Okay then, the task of translation finished — for now such as it is — we may say that it contains no proof at all that Atisha himself knew about any Yutok. What we do know is that the author-compiler of the biography did. And just when did that author-compiler live? Now there is a bit of a problem, although it is mostly thought he lived into the 2nd half of the 12th century, and there is even a chance he belonged to a still later century.  In any case, it could well be that he knew about the (so-called) ‘Junior’ Yutok's lineage and intended to refer to it precisely because it preserved a medical teaching of Atisha, thereby demonstrating how influential Atisha was. It does not support the idea that Atisha knew of an imperial period Yutok. Neither did he know of the Four Tantras. I’m quite sure of it since this medical scripture emerged into general knowledge only in the course of the 13th century. But before taking my leave for now, I would just like to emphasize that this kind of conclusion is not in any sense anti-traditional, it in fact follows a critical strain within Tibetan tradition. Or, to put it another way, there have been a number of traditions about the origins of Tibet’s medical scripture, the Four Tantras, and the idea that the one and only Yutok composed it in the late 12th century is one of them. And as far as I can see at this moment it is the correct tradition, the one that proves true.

§   §   §


Literary refs.:

Helmut Eimer, Rnam thar rgyas pa. Materialien zu einer Biographie des Atiśa (Dīpakaraśrīāna). 1. Teil: Einführung, Inhaltsverzeichnis, Namensglossar, Asiatische Forschungen Band 67, Otto Harrassowitz (Wiesbaden 1979), pp. 179-180.

Helmut Eimer, Rnam thar rgyas pa. Materialien zu einer Biographie des Atiśa (Dīpakaraśrīāna). 2. Teil: Textmaterialien, Asiatische Forschungen Band 67, Otto Harrassowitz (Wiesbaden 1979), pp. 62-64.

Helmut Eimer, “Hymns and Stanzas Praising Dīpakaraśrīāna,” contained in: Kameshwar Nath Mishra, ed., Glimpses of the Sanskrit Buddhist Literature (vol. 1), Samyak-vāk series no. IX, Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies (Sarnath 1997), pp. 9-32, at p. 16.

Yang Ga (G.yang-dga'), The Sources for the Writing of the Rgyud bzhi, Tibetan Medical Classic, doctoral dissertation, Harvard University (Cambridge 2010), especially p. 92 ff.. This work may be possible to obtain via the internet. Although time and again some prominent Tibetan writers of the past (Kongtrul, the 2nd Pawo Rinpoche, Samten G. Karmay and others) have doubted the existence of the Elder Yutok, it is this author who effectively revived the issue within the Tibetan intellectual community in the 21st century. Yang Ga shows clearly that the Four Tantras were made up of parts of several earlier medical texts available in Tibetan language, including the work of Vāgbhaṭa, as well as incorporating a few 'early drafts' written by Yutok in decades surrounding 1200 CE (Yang Ga believes he died before 1188, although most give his dates as something like 1127-1203).



  • D. Martin, “An Early Tibetan History of Tibetan Medicine,” contained in: Mona Schrempf, ed., Soundings in Tibetan Medicine: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives, Brill (Leiden 2007), pp. 307-325, at pp. 317-318:  

“One of these other narratives, set in the eighth century, involves nine boys chosen from among the royal subjects of Khri-srong-lde-btsan for their intelligence, who were made to study medicine.[1]  This has clear analogies in the nine intelligent boys chosen, during the same time, to learn translations, a list called 'The Nine Great Translators.'  It is quite obvious that some of the figures in the list of nine doctors belonged to the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and not to the eighth. Among them is one named Che-rje or Cher-rje Zhig-po, who I suggest is none other than our history writer Che-rje Zhang-ston Zhig-po, transferred, like some of the others very clearly were, back to the imperial period. Christopher Beckwith translates the following words, to the same effect, of the nineteenth-century leader Kong-sprul:
"... although they [the learned scholars] relate how the Nine Learned Tibetan Doctors appeared at the time of the religious kings, it is quite wrong, since they mostly appeared in the time of the later propagation of the [Buddhist] doctrine."[2]




[1] See Taube (1981: 15-16), who bases himself on the Mkhas-pa'i Dga'-ston and on Rechung Rinpoche's book, but see also Sde-srid (1982: 174). 
[2] Beckwith (1979: 306). Centuries before Kong-sprul, Dpa'-bo (1986: 1525) expressed essentially the same idea, that these nine doctors were not in fact contemporary with the Dharma Kings, but emerged gradually in later history. Perhaps needless to tell for most contemporary historians of Tibet, Tibetan history writers of the past were often critical of their sources, and puzzled over how they ought to be read, much as we do in this paper. Their works therefore do not necessarily deserve to be lumped together and dumped into the polemical category 'historiography' any more or less than do the writings of modern Tibetologists.

An interesting side point — Much that is in the Atisha biography passage is obscure to us. Not only that, it doesn’t jibe with what we can find in medical histories about his medicine-related activities. The Desi’s medical history, as translated by Gavin Kilty, recipient of this year’s Santaraksita Award for a different book he translated, says this: 


“The master and sole protector Atiśa Dīpakara and Naktso Lotsāwa translated Daryakan Ambrosia Meat Preparations and compiled various medical instruction texts such as Net of Treatments for the Head.” 

For this, see p. 171 of Desi Sangyé Gyatso, Mirror of Beryl, Library of Tibetan Classics, Wisdom (Boston 2010).


A earlier medical history by Zur-mkhar-ba (ca. mid-16th century), in its chapter eight at page 263, has different information. The full reference to the published version is this:
Sman-pa-rnams-kyis Mi Shes-su Mi Rung-ba'i Shes-bya Spyi'i Khog-dbubs (Gang dag byang chub sems dpa'i spyod pa spyod par 'dod pa'i sman pa rnams kyis mi shes su mi rung ba'iphyi nang gzhan gsum gyis rnam bzhag shes bya spyi'i khog dbug pa gtan pa med pa'i mchod sbyin gyi sgo 'phar yangs po), Si-khron Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Chengdu 2001).

The passage reads:  mkhris rims dug thabs zhi bar byed pa dang / sha sbyor bdud rtsi dar ya kan gnyis jo bo rje dang nag tsho lo tsā bas bsgyur.  According to this, the Lord Jowo and his translator Nagtso translated two works, one that seems to be on toxicology (or on contagious bile disorders?) and the other qualified as a particular type of medicinal preparation, one that evidently was made using meat, called a dar-ya-kan. It's been known since  1980 that this Tibetan word is derived from theriac, thanks to Christopher I. Beckwith’s brief but important article on the subject, “Tibetan Treacle: A Note on Theriac in Tibet,” Tibet Society Bulletin, vol. 15 (June 1980), pp. 49-51. This may be difficult for you to find, and for this I must apologize. Beckwith points out, among other interesting things, the fact that a recipe for dar-ya-kan belonging to the Brang-ti school of Tibetan medicine, actually includes flesh of a snake, a blue snake to be more exact.

In the western parts of Eurasia, theriac types of preparations, often quite complicated, were usually intended to counteract poisons, and often quite famously included flesh of poisonous snakes, but were also used against pestilences, including plague. On these points, see Christiane Nockels Fabbri, “Treating Medieval Plague: The Wonderful Virtues of Theriac,” Early Science and Medicine, vol. 12, no. 3 (2007), pp. 247-283. Galen composed a whole treatise entirely devoted to Theriac, or was it written by some Pseudo-Galen? For the Greek text and translation, try here.



Theriac Jar.  For the source, click here.

Afterword (October 30, 2017):

We all know well from experience that things often well up unexpectedly at the last minute. It most often happens to me when I’m putting up a blog. I was looking back at Chris’s articule (my ad hoc portmanteau for miniscule article) and decided to look up his reference to the dar-ya-kan text included in the medical compendium called Gser bre chen mo. So imagine my surprise when I found it bears nearly the exact title that Zur-mkhar-ba's medical history ascribed to Atisha:  Mkhris rims dug thams cad zhi bar byed pa'i bdud rtsi (on p. 235, line 3), (earlier on line 3) Dar ya kan gyi sbyar thabs and (at p. 240, line 2) Mkhris rims bcos thabs bdud rtsi dar ya kan gyi sbyor ba. I should go into this more, especially with Halloween fast approaching, but I don't have the stomach to list and identify all the ingredients. Anyway, the recipe with all its grossness really isn’t the most exciting thing here. That would be the little lineage at p. 240, which reads:  

'di'i rgyud pa ni 'gron bu zad pa'i gtsug lag khang dang / jo bo thugs rje chen pos / rje btsun 'phags ma sgrol ma [note: 'jig[s] pa brgyad skyobs] la rgyud / de nas jo bo rje [note: thugs rje chen po'i sprul pa] lha cig la gnang / des rims par rgyud te / g.yu thog rgyal 'bum la dngos grub du babs pa la / da lta kho bo brang ti bdag gi lag len bgyis shing ...  

I won’t give a laboriously footnoted translation of this, just to say that the dar-ya-kan recipe with various types of flesh including black snake and blue snake flesh was supposed to be granted to Atisha by Târâ herself, was then passed on from generation to generation until it fell as a siddhi to one named G.yu-thog Rgyal-'bum, and is now being put into practice by myself, Brang-ti.

I haven't identified the Yuthok family member named Rgyal-'bum yet. I imagine Bill McGrath may have more to say about all this since he completed a dissertation earlier this year exactly on the Brang-ti medical tradition. Usually this particular Brang-ti Dpal-ldan-rgyal-mtshan is placed in the 13th century, so we'd seem to be in early days, but McGrath puts him in the 14th, and says the Gser bre was redacted late in the 14th. Anyway, a medical teaching attributed to Atisha fell to a member of the Yuthok lineage after all.


Oh my, just when I thought I was done and could turn in for the night, I see that just minutes ago a new blog on the Yuthok controversy popped up at Khabdha blog (press here) entitled Rje-yi Bla-sman G.yu-thog-pa ni Dus-rabs Bcu-bdun-pa'i Yar-sngon gyi Yig-cha-rnams-nas Rnyed Thub-pa zhig Yin  — my rough translation, “The Yuthok who Served as Royal Physician can Indeed be Found in Texts Prior to the 17th Century,” its author being one 'Ju Bstan-skyong. I will grant the author the point that the Rgya Bod Yig-tshang of 1434 CE does indeed place the "Nine Physicians" in imperial times. But this is precisely the point that the 2nd Pawo Rinpoche, in his history written between 1545 and 1564, as well as Kongtrul about a century before our times, regarded as a mistaken move based in confusion.* All these nine doctors, every last one of them including Yuthok, lived in the 11th-13th centuries, and not in imperial times. So I’m not sure if any extremely significant historical problem has been solved by moving the date of origins of the idea of the imperial period Yuthok back by one century. To judge from the names of the foreign physicians supplied in the 1434 history, it appears likely that the 17th-century author of the Elder Yuthok’s biography used it as a source or inspiration. So the blog makes a real contribution that may help puzzle out the bigger picture that would show how the Elder Yuthok of imperial times was brought into existence in the 16th and 15th centuries. Now please excuse me, I need to give my feverish thinking a rest.
(*Besides these important intellectual and spiritual figures of the Tibetan past, the blog by Tshangs-dbang-dge-'dun-bstan-pa mentions as doubters of the imperial period Yuthok’s existence the Fifth Dalai Lama, his regent Sangs-rgyas-rgya-mtsho, as well as a Karma Kagyü writer 'Be-lo Tshe-dbang-kun-khyab [b. 1718]. Actually, 'Be-lo's passage rejecting of the existence of an Elder Yuthok is quoted in another Khabdha blog that I had until now overlooked:  Thub-bstan-phun-tshogs, G.yu-thog Rnying-ma'i Skor-gyi Dris-lan 'Khrul-'joms Dgu-sbyor, to try to translate, “Answers to Questions about the Elder Yutok: A Nine-Ingredient Medicine for Vanquishing Error,” posted at Khabdha blog on October 28, 2017. It has a very interesting discussion of the issue, bringing forward sources not previously known to me, and is much recommended. I hadn’t been previously aware that 'Be-lo had ever written a history of medicine, and to the best of my knowledge it has never been published, although it should be.)
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Foreign Doctors in Tibet? An Old Zhijé Source Shows Up

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“Bla-ma Mkhas-pa Bi-ji-ba” after a manuscript of the Yellow Edged Volume.
Likely meant as an icon of Tsan Bashilaha, or at least a member of his medical lineage.


A few of our regular readers might think we are getting too ensconced in obscure corners of the universe of possible knowables. I’m not sure I can change their minds, although I ought to apologize. Every blog has a strong connection with what’s going on in my own life or in the world, even if it may not be so evident every time. What I can do is say right away what this blog is going to be about so you can decide if you want to go further into it or not. I am aware doing this is in clear violation of the rule to give evidence first before coming to conclusions. Anyway, this is where we’re going with or without you:  

There are basically two lists of foreign physicians who had input into Tibetan medicine during the time of the empire:  List A as I call it, comes from the first non-Yuthok-lineage Tibetan medical history, the one by Cherjé dating to 1206 (or 1266). Some time ago I noticed that this list contrasted markedly with another list in the Elder Yuthok biography (seemingly composed in the 17th century) that I will call List B, so I tended toward the conclusion that List A was much older and probably a lot more authentic. I’m made to reassess this position, since a newly emerging old medical history by a Zhijé school follower named Nyedowa, dating to somewhere around 1300, has List B, while a medical history by Drangti that I now estimate to date from around 1375 contains a variant of the same. Looking into this triad of 13th-14th-century histories, we can say that none of them were aware of an Imperial Period Yuthok, and that none of them mention the name of Galen (or Ga-le-nos, confirming something Yoeli-Tlalim said several years ago).* If you find anything interesting in that, read on, but if you don’t, go ahead and stop reading whenever you like.

(*In general I’m now inclined to say that Galenos usurped the place of Tsan Pashilaha as initiator of Greek medicine in Tibet, pushing him up by a century, and this would explain how their biographies are confounded, as if the story is the important thing, not the person it belongs to. I’m beginning to see some sense in this confusing set of signals.  Each one of the three medical texts knows a little bit about the [12th-century] Yuthok by the name G.yu-thog Mgon-po, which is interesting, since they don’t even seem to know the longer name G.yu-thog-pa Yon-tan-mgon-po. In this blog I ignore the small medical histories from the decades surrounding 1200 composed by Yuthok and his disciple Yeshezung, although it is important to us to know that they are there, and they are the earliest Tibetan medical histories in existence to the best of my knowledge.   The chronological order of medicine histories is:  Yuthok > Yeshezung > Cherjé > Nyedowa > Drangti.)

It may seem, too, judging from some of this year’s blogs, that Tibeto-logic has turned in the direction of medical history. I assure you it’s only temporary. True, I’ve had an on-again off-again interest in Tibetan medicine since back in the 70’s. I wouldn’t say I know much yet. I’m not ready to hang up a shingle or perform diagnostic procedures or anything at all that practical. My first and only real teacher in that area of study, a traditional doctor from Mongolia sometimes known as “Louis Lama” after the street he lived on, was mainly famous for attending on Yul Brenner.

But enough with the name dropping already, I just wanted to say that my main motives have been to understand medical texts, not just because they are interesting — and of course they are — but because their vocabulary is often very important to know and recognize in other genres of Tibetan literature. I know it may come as a shock to some, but Tibetan medicine is my main reason for being interested in the subject of medicine at all. It’s practically true that whatever modern cosmopolitan medicine I have studied (beyond basic high-school biology and an early interest in herbal remedies) I’ve studied because I wanted to understand Tibetan medical texts better.


I’ve always been on the lookout for newly appearing old history books, too. And my readers who are as rare as they are dear to me are all well aware of my fascination for Padampa and his Zhijé tradition. So if I stop to count them up, I have a lot of reasons to get inordinately worked up about the book I’ll tell you about soon.


It happens from time to time that a previously unknown Tibetan history blindsides us by slipping into published form before we even knew it could possibly exist. In the present case, it’s something buried in a huge collection of facsimiles of mostly cursive manuscripts, so the chances of it being noticed are still very slim, all the more reason to write about it right away.


I’ll have more to say about the newly revealed medical history written by a lineage holder of the Zhijé School in a minute. But first let’s look at the rather well-known idea that there were foreign doctors who were influential in early days in Tibet, either through their medical writings or by their physical presence. Modern practitioners often present as established fact that there was a major medical conference in imperial times, a subject I won’t go into now although I see reasons to find this certainty amusing in its naiveté. (Please show me one source even close to being contemporary to the event and then we can start talking about it.) It isn’t always easy or even possible to decide whether a given foreign physician actually came to Tibet or just his writings, or just knowledge of his writings, but as time goes on we ought to keep trying to find out who they were and where they stayed if we can.


In an recent blog, I went a little bit into the issue of how the Four Tantras— regarded by nearly everyone as the single-most authoritative medical source for Tibetan practitioners of medicine — was created, largely on the basis of earlier writings, by the one and only Yuthok Yönten Gönpo somewhere near the last decades of the 12th century. Often overlooked in the discussion is a small piece of internal evidence found near the end of the fourth and last Tantra, in its next-to-last chapter. This passage confesses in a surprisingly direct way that a lot of materials from all over the known world went into its making.  Yangga quotes it in his dissertation, at p. 262:
Throughtheirmanifestations,theTathagatastaught, forthewelfareofallsentient beings,medicalcompoundsinIndia,moxibustionandvesselcleansingtherapyin China,primarilyvenesectionintheDolpoarea,pulseandurinediagnosisinTibet, “TheHundredThousand[Teachingson]Medicine” tothecircleofgods,theeight sectionsofCarakatothecircleofsages,the “BlackTreatiseofMahadeva” tothe circleofnon-Buddhists,andthe “CycleofTeachingsontheLordsoftheThree Families” to the circleofBuddhists.Allofthesemedicaltraditionsarecollectedand presentedinthistreatise.Thereisnotanothermedicaltraditionwhichhasnot beenincludedinthistreatise.860
The official bilingual edition of the same passage (Subsequent Tantra, p. 295), reads like this, including the introductory sentence Yangga left off:
Then again Sage Yidlay Kye made this request, “O Great Sage Rigpa'i Yeshi, are there any medical practices which are not included in this Tantra?” To this request, he replied, “For the sake of all sentient beings, the Medicine Buddha, in his different emanations, taught the compounding of medicines in India, moxibustion and Channel cleansing therapy in China, venesection therapy, mainly in Dholpo and diagnosis through pulse and urine in Tibet. He gave a discourse on the Vase of Medical Practice to the retinue of Gods, the eight sections of Charaka Samhita to the retinue of Sages, the Tantra of Black Shiva to the retinue of Non-Buddhists while giving the ‘Lord of the three families’ to the Buddhist retinue. Everything is explained in a concise form in this Medical Tantra. There is no medical practice that is not included in this Tantra.
By the way, this version of the text with English translation published by the Men-Tsee-Khang in Dharamsala H.P. says on its very title page that it is “by Yuthok Yonten Gonpo,” but without specifying whether it was an elder or younger Yuthok. You have to read quite deeply into the front matter to figure out if there was a preference for one over the other. Anyway, one very interesting thing about this outline of various sources integrated into the Four Tantras is the mention of Dolpo district, now in northern Nepal. It may seem odd that such a small and perhaps to most people not-so significant place would have its contributions placed on the same level as India and China. Still, this fits with what we can know from some of our earliest listings of foreign doctors that we will get to momentarily. Dolpo doctors are credited with the medical technique of venesection (gtar-ga), which just means therapeutic bleeding. Another fancy word for it is phlebotomy. You might imagine this means using leeches, but you would be wrong. Yangga (p. 257) says their use was unknown to Tibetan medicine.


A few comments on this passage: “Channel cleansing” must be a way of speaking about acupuncture based on how it is supposed to work, by making the Chi flow through the correct channels. Apart from the famous golden needle therapy, acupuncture isn’t much on display in Tibetan medicine, although moxibustion is well known there. The Tibetan word is me-btsa', and it means not only the practice but perhaps primarily the points on the body where the moxa ought to be applied.  And me-btsa' is also used in geomancy for points on the earth that are regarded as crucial (as in earth moxa point, or sa'i me-btsa'). I think me-btsa' literally means fire tending, but it also seems to me it could be one of those Tibetanizing borrowings of a foreign word. I just haven't been able to puzzle this out. The word moxa in moxabustion is supposed to come from a Japanese word for mugwort since in practice mugwort was often used for tinder. Moxibustion appears to be a compound half Japanese and half Greek. How many of those can you think of?


It is when we reach the Tibetan contribution to Tibetan medicine that hesitations enter in. What I mean is that for us today nothing could be clearer than that Tibetan medicine received its pulse diagnosis, a significant part of it at least, from China (proven among other things by the borrowing of Chinese terminology in the Four Tantras) and its urine diagnosis from Greek, Byzantine or early Islamic sources via the Somaradza.* 
(*We went into this already in January of this year in this blog. Medicine in the Islamic world was largely inspired by and filled with Greek medicine as preserved through the Byzantine Era, primarily of Hippocratic & Galenic varieties, although we ought to mention "prophet medicine" as well [and I know there were indeed some early influences from the translation of Sanskrit medical sources], not to mention regional influences. The world of Islamic medicine in India is simply called 'Greek' or Unani medicine. The name Unani is, just like Sanskrit Yavana, ultimately from the place name Ionia in Greece. The Yu-na and Yo-na forms of the same are also known in early Tibetan geographical sources.)

So, even if we may have some problems with it, we cannot deny that, given our idea that these words were composed by Yutok in the late 12th century, this would be a remarkably early Tibetan source for a listing of the foreign sources integrated into Tibetan medicine.* But unlike the source we will put on display shortly, it doesn’t name any doctors, and the names of the foreign physicians are particularly fascinating to me. I suppose the fascination largely stems from a desire to puzzle out who they were, and I hope my readers are ready and willing to help out in this quest.

(*Of course there are still problems that require investigation that could change our minds. One is that Jangdag (Byang-bdag) the 15th-century initiator of the Jang System, one of the major schools of Tibetan medicine, excludes the last two chapters of the Later Tantra from his commentary on the Later Tantra and gives them one separate commentary of their own, numbering the chapters Chapter One and Chapter Two. Clearly Jangdag did not believe they properly belonged to the main body of the Later Tantra, and I suggest something or another should be made out of this fact.)

Although there are other non-Tibetan-language sources we might mention, there are by now three articles that focus on the lists of foreign physicians: one by F. Garrett and two others by D. Martin. The suggestions Martin made about possible identities of the foreign physicians have been found to be both plausible and ludicrous — in the views of different reviewers, naturally. I’m sure plausible was what he was aiming for. Of course speculation is usually regarded as a bad thing among seasoned academics, but there are times when clutching at straws is the best we can do given the nature of the evidence available. Nevertheless, formulating alternative hypotheses that may conceivably find support or fall flat is quite valid, and sometimes it's hard to know the difference between speculation and hypothesis forming, if there in fact is one. In this case, the foreign Byzantine (Phrom ~ From ~ Rome, i.e. Byzantium) physician’s name is parsed as Tsan Pashilaha, ignoring the phantom Sanskritism shi-la that tends to grab and pull people's attention in the wrong direction. But why, I wonder! If he is a foreign doctor from somewhere other than Indic culture, a piece of Sanskrit is probably the last thing we ought to expect. The Tsan is plausibly explained as a clan name, perhaps the Tzan clan of the Trebizond region, while the Pashilaha is imagined to conceal the common Byzantine name shared among commoners, doctors and kings (as also a title for kings in general) Basil[eos].


For the time being my main goal is not to argue for one or another identity so much as to add an important early testimony, a previously unknown medical history by a Zhijé scholar and lineage holder named Nyedowa (སྙེ་མདོ་བ་ཀུན་དགའ་དོན་གྲུབ།  1268-1328).  His grandfather Tsondrü Sengge was the youngest of the Rog brothers. All three Rog brothers were disciples of the main holder of the Later Transmission lineage named Tenné.  Tsondrü Sengge, who became the first chair of Nyedo in 1207, had three sons. The eldest son, Sönam Pel, was installed at Nyedo in 1229.  Our author Nyedowa (as we’ll go on to call him) was the youngest of the three sons of Sönam Pel, becoming head of Nyedo in around 1316 following the death of his predecessor and oldest brother Nyedo Kunga Zangpo. These generations of the heads of Nyedo were as a group in interesting connections with the Drikung and Karma Kagyü schools as well as Kâlacakra lineages, so we may assume that their line of Zhijé transmission was absorbed into one of them as their lineage appears to disappear in the 7th generation following Padampa. Other Later Transmission lineages would continue right up until the time of Tsongkhapa and beyond. We know that both the first and second Dalai Lamas had close family connections with Zhijé followers.


The same Nyedowa that concerns us today was already known as an author of two different writings that can be categorized as histories.  The first is the appendix he added to the 1277 version of the history of the Later Transmission of Zhijé that was composed by his older brother, in order to bring it up to date. This is available. The other is his history of the Kālacakra Tantra's transmission entitled Clusters of Precious Substances: The Emergence of the Glorious Kālacakra, that is known by title but still as far as I know unavailable.

The medical history has a simple title that may be simply translated, The Origins of Medical Science together with its History. Based on its content we should add that this history is very much about Tibet’s medical history and not so interested as some others are in Indian medicine. I would have never known that this history existed and I would’ve never had the idea to procure a copy of it without the help of William McGrath. It has been published in the form of a facsimile of a cursive manuscript, so it isn’t particularly easy for many Tibetanists to read. For this reason I will type out the relevant part in Wylie transcription and relay what it says there in a rather hasty translation attempt. Sometimes in spots where the present manuscript is too obscure I had to rely on close parallels found in the medical history by Zur-mkhar-ba, who clearly copied large parts from Nyedowa.


First the passage on medicine during the early 7th-century reign of Songtsen Gampo:
de nas gdung rabs lnga na / spyan ras gzigs kyi sprul srong btsan sgam pos dam pa chos kyi srol stod [gtod] pa ltar / gso rig gi'ang [.7] srol btod / rgyal po sku snyung pa de dus bod nang sman pa med pas / rje blon rnams kyis bka' bgros nas / 'thon mi sam bho †a / glang khams pa go cha na gnyis la rje'i phyags (?) gser gyi pa tra 'dzub gang pa [.8] bdun dang / gser phye bre do skur nas phyog nas sman pa rgya gar nas dharma râ dza dang / phrom nas phrom rgyal mu rje the phromyi sras rgyal po btsan pa shi la ha dang / gsum gdan drang nas byon pa ra sa [2r] 'phrul snang du bzhugs su bcug /

Then, five generations after Lha Totori, the emanation of Avalokiteshvara by the name of Songtsen Gampo opened the way of the Holy Dharma. As he was doing so he also opened the way for medical science. In those days when the king got sick there were no physicians inside Tibet, so the lords and ministers held a meeting and sent off Thonmi Sambhota and Lang Khampa Gocha with seven royal golden certificates filled with their thumbprints and a couple of ounces of gold powder. From the foreign lands they invited three physicians. From India, Dharmarâja; from Byzantium, the Byzantine king Mu-rje The-phrom's son King Btsan Pa-shi-la-ha, and thirdly and lastly xxxx. When they arrived they were given places to stay in Rasa Trulnang Temple.*
(*There is an obvious omission of one doctor here, very likely the name of the Chinese doctor.  Rasa Trulnang Temple means the one today best known as the Jokhang.  One database lists 168 persons with name Basil in the centuries it covers (641-867), making it one of the most common names. I was thinking The-phrom could be Theophron, a possible Greek personal name, but Theophron couldn’t be found there.)  
rje'i sku la gso ba'i dpyad dang sman mdzad pas snyun dngos (dang gso?) / de nas rgyal pos gser phye bre lnga gzhal ba dang / phyi rabs (phyin nas?) bzang po la za 'og gi stan dang  / seng ldeng gi sga dang / gser g.yu'i srab kyis [.2] brgyan pa phul te / bzhugs par zhus pas rgya gar nag gi sman pa ni bzhugs par ma gnang mod kyi 'on kyang sman dpyad kyi srol gtod pa ni / dharma râ dzas rlung mkhris bad kan gsum du phye nas de'i gnyen po sman gyis 'bu shag che chung logs pa [~la sogs pa] sgyur ro //  [.3]
Then [they] performed therapeutic procedures on the emperor's body and prepared medicines, so that the illness was cured. Then the king weighed out five ounces of gold and went to them. As a boon, he presented them with silk cushions, saddles of acacia wood, harnesses adorned with gold and turquoise. When he requesting them to stay on, the Indian and Chinese physicians declined the invitation, so the medical treatments they passed on were as follows: Dharmarâja translated works including the longer and shorter versions of the 'Bu-shag* after separating wind, bile and phlegm humours, making medicines as their remedies.
(*The 'Bu-shag text Kongtrul, p. 414, attributes to the time of Songtsen Gampo.)
ha shang ma hâ kyin dhas spyi gtsug nas rkang thil pa na chad kyi dgos bcos kyi dpyad thor bu ba mang du sgyur nas gshegs so //
The Hoshang Mahakyindha translated several miscellaneous treatments for needed repairs of illnesses and breakages from the soles of the feet to the top of the head.
btsan pa shi la has / ja log gi dpyad gsum dang / rma bya ne tsho de po gsum gyis gsungs pa'i sku gsum gyi skor log pa [~la sogs pa] sgyur zhing [.4] bla'i sman par bzhugs shing khab bzhes / de la sras gsum byung pa ni che shos gtsang du btang pa la / la stod byang gi bi ji'i rgyud pa snyes (snyems?) byung ngo //
Tsan Pashilaha translated works including the cycles of the three bodies that speak of the three: peacock, parrot and rooster, and the three counterintuitive (ja-log, =gya-log) treatments. Then he stayed on as the High Physician (bla'i sman-pa) and took a wife. They had three sons, the eldest of whom was sent to Tsang Province, where he was forebearer of the lineage of Biji in Latö Jang.
'bring po g.yor por stang ste g.yor po sa gtsub pas mgo la mkhas dgos gsungs nas / na ga [.5] ra dza'i mda' bcos / na ran dza na'i gzer bdus / mda' bcos le'u bzhi pa / rtsa ba rin po 'phrul gyi bzhi skor skor / 'grel dmyal khrag 'jag che chung gnyis / mgo dpyad la bzhi / bu dgu / lha ba'i mgo 'dren che chung / za hor [.6] rgyal po'i lag gnon / rtsa bcos pa'i man ngag bsdus pa / srog gi 'khor lo che chung gnyis / mda' bcos klad pa bcos pa dang bcas pa bskur ro [~bsgyur ro] // de las lho stong kha'i sman pa rnams byung go //
The middle son was sent to Yorpo. The ground of Yorpo was rough,* so they said they needed a wise man for their head. Then he translated [a long list of texts, with texts on arrow wounds and head injuries prominent among them]. From him emerged the physicians of southern Tongkha.
(*Note: Based on parallels I think this ought to be saying, "Since Yorpo was a rough land [the Emperor] said they needed someone skilled in treating head injuries." I imagine this is about the roughness of the local people and not the landscape.)
chung shos dbu rur [.7] bzhag ste dbu ru mi ngan pas 'khrug pa mod (yod?) pas yan lag dang byang khog nang ste / de po'i (?) sku bstod smad kyis gsang brtsal ba / ne tsho'i sku stod kyi lus la kha mar gdags pa / rma bya'i sku [2v] stod smad kyis chings dang chas kyi rin 'od gsal ba la / gnas lugs gzhi la mkhas pas rgol ba tshar gcod pa / bla ma rgyud pa'i gdams pa / theg pa so so la mkhas pa dris pa [2.] nges shes bskyed pa / shri rab can gyi gdams pa / gdams ngag gi gal mig (bdal yig?) la mkhas pas rmongs pa'i 'khrul bzhi sel ba / lag len dmar khrid kyi gdams pa drug pa phrom gyi dbye ba drug pa [.3] ces bya ba bte (btod?) / de logs pa [~la sogs pa] byang khog dang yan lag gi dmigs / rtsa dang / tshigs dang / rus pa dang / gsun dang rgyus pa dang / rnag dang chu ser gyi gnad bcos thabs mang po dang / byang khog la stod rin po che gser gyi sgrum bu / smad rin po che lcag [.4] kyi sgrum bu / log non rin po che bang mdzod kyi sgrum bu / ro khra phying (khrad bying?) khrel 'phrul gyi me long la 'grel pa brgyad / gnad kyi yi ge gsum / mi 'gyur ba'i btag pa gnyis / ma lnga bu lnga'i gdams pa'i // de lhas par bzhugs pa'i rgyud pa la sog po [.5] sman pa zhes grags so // dus ding sang ni rabs chad nas med do // sman rgyud 'dzin pa 'di gnya' dang mtha' bzhi logs pa'o [~la sogs pa'o] //
The youngest son stayed in the Central Horn where bad men were feuding so the Emperor said they needed a specialist in injuries of the limbs and torso ... [That only made sense in the parallel text, not here... I won’t translate the rest of this bit yet. It is mostly titles of the works he translated, primarily on wound-associated topics] ...  Those who remained in Lhepa formed a lineage that became known as Sogpo Doctors. Nowadays this ancestral lineage has come to an end and no longer exists.  But the holders of the medical lineage include today’s Gnya' and Mtha'-bzhi among others.*
(*Zur-mkhar-ba in his medical history thinks it a contradiction to say these other medical lineages from the imperial period are continuing this one, but I just read our text as saying that in so far as the medical teachings of the Biji lineage still survived at the time of writing, they survived within these two other schools. The Biji lineage proper was already history, yet some of its practices continued.)

Now the Nyedowa history moves on to the time of Trisongdetsen, basically covering the 2nd half of the 8th century.  Although this is the part that is of most interest, it is also longer and more involved. We won’t translate it here, but focus on the list of foreign physicians who visited Tibet during his time. Tibetan-language readers who don’t despise Wylie will be able to read it all in the link I’ll supply later on. All I would like to do for the remainder of this blog is to lay out the early evidence for two distinct lists of foreign physicians, both going back at least as far as the 13th century. Indic names are wherever possible turned into fine Sanskrit names with diacritic marks and everything. As part of my dream that some historian of Eurasian medicine will recognize some of the non-Indic names, I’ve supplied them also in phonetic versions. Please, if something strikes you as a possibility, share your idea in the comment section so we can seriously contemplate it together.



§  §  §

Two Different Lists of Foreign Doctors

Source for List A —

This is the list of foreign physicians as found in the 1204 (or possibly 1264) history by Cherjé, based on the Tucci manuscript kept in Rome. The heading that describes them appears as: mkhas-ldan mnga' rig[s]-gi lugs (School of the ‘Scholarly Powerful Families’ [?], but they are later referred to as lnga rig-pa'i mkhas-pa, ‘Scholars of the Five Sciences’), which is so much more likely to be correct. Chinese and Tibetan medicines each is given a separate category of its own, which explains why they are lacking in this particular context.  Here I put up, next to Cherjé’s, the comparable list of ten different national [non-Tibetan] medical systems in Drangti’s history (unlike Cherjé’s it includes Chinese medicine in its list). For the Drangti list, originally courtesy of Kurtis Schaeffer, I’ve compared the partial manuscript with the 2005 publication, pp. 70-71, and noted the differences. Neither the Cherjé nor the Brangti supplies any specific time frame for the authors it mentions here, but Brangti later on gives a version of List B as well (placing its doctors in the time of Trisongdetsen):


Cherjé’s history:
Drangti’s history (perhaps ca. 1375): Ten different national [non-Tibetan] medical systems:
[1a] Slob-dpon Dpa'-bo [Ācārya Śūra, here meaning Vāgbhaṭa] composed four texts (titles listed).
[1] Slob-dpon Dpa'-bo [Ācārya Śūra, here meaning Vāgbhaṭa] composed Yan-lag Brgyad-pa'i Snying-po Bsdus-pa etc.  Western Kashmir (Kha-che Nub-phyogs) System.
[1b] Brtan-pa'i-blo-gros [Sthiramati] composed Dri-ma Med-pa'i [xxx], etc. Kashmiri (Kha-che) System.
[2] Brtan-pa-blo-gros [Sthiramati] composed Dri-med Gzi-brjid etc.Eastern Kashmir (Kha-che Shar-phyogs) System.
 [2] Dzi-na-mi-tra [Jinamitra] composed Gso-ba Stong-dgu-bcu-rtsa-gcig [‘A Thousand Ninety-One Healing Methods’], etc. Orgyan (U-rgyan) System.
[3] Dzi-na-mi-tra [Jinamitra] composed Gso[-ba] Stong-dgu-brgya-rtsa-bzhi-pa etc.  Urgyan (Dbu-rgyan) System.

 [3] Pra-a-nan-ta [Śrī Ānanda in Sde-srid’s history] composed Gnas-'gyur Gsum [Three Transformations in the Situation], etc. Magadha (Dbus-'gyur-'chang) System.
[4] Tra-a-nan-ta [?] composed Gnas-'gyur Gsum[-pa] etc. Nepal Valley (Bal-po) System.  [Note: the 2005 publication, p. 71, has Shrî A-nan-ta.]
 [4] Su-ma-ti-kirti [Sumatikīrti] composed Bsdus-sbyor Gsum [Three Abbreviated Preparations], etc. Newar (Bal-po) System.

 [5]  Ur-pa-ya [?] composed Chos-'byung Drug [Six Origins of Things], etc. Arabo-Persian (Stag-gzig) System.
[5] Ur-ba-ya [?] composedChos-'byung Drug etc.  Arabo-Persian (Stag-gzig) System. [fol. 26b] (Note: The 2005 reads Ud-pa-la.)
 [6] Rdo-rje-'bar-ba composed Mi-'jigs-pa'i Mtshon-cha Che Chung [Greater and Lesser Weapons of Fearlessness], etc. Dolpo (Dol-po) System.
[6] Rdo-rje-'bar-ba composed Mi-'jigs Mtshon-cha etc.  Dolpo (Dol-bu/Dol-po) System.
 [7] Legs-pa'i-rgyan composed Ga-gon-gyi rdol-thabs Su[m]-bcu-rtsa-lnga [Thirty five Methods for Spontaneous Emergence of Ga-gon], etc.  Uighur (Hor) System.
[7] Legs-pa'i-rgyan-gyi-blo-gros composed Ga-gon-gyi Dol-thabs etc.  Uighur (Hor) System.

Here the 2005 adds two national systems with anonymous authors:  [a] Rgyud Gsum-gyi Mdo-byang Che Chung etc.  Turk (Dru-gu) System  [b] 'Dus-pa Rin-po-che'i Srog-'khor etc.  Sogdian (Sog-po) System.
[8] Brtson-'grus-snying-po composed Sum-khugs, etc.  Tangut/Xixia (Me-nyag) System.
Only the 2005 edition has this:  Brtson-'grus-snying-po composed Gsum-khungs etc.  Tangut (Mi-nyag) System.
[9] Rgyal-ba'i-rdo-rje [Jinavajra or [Vi]jayavajra??] composed Yan[ lag] bdun pa [Seven Limbs], etc.  Khotanese (Li) System.
[8] Rgyal-ba-rdo-rje composed Yan-lag Bdun-pa etc.  Khotanese (Li) System.
[10] Btsan Pa-shing-la-ha [Tsan Pa-shi-la-ha] composed the Tshad pa'i 'gros 'ded (‘Drawing the Course of the Fever’), etc.  Phrom ('Brom, sic) System.
[9] Tsam Pa-shi-la-ha composed Tshad-pa 'Bros 'Ded etc.  Byzantine (Khrom) System. The 2005 has Tsan Pa-shi-la-ha, and [oddly] spells Khrom as Khroms.


[10] Ha-shang Ma-ha-ya-na [Hoshang Mahoyen] composed [six text titles given in the text] etc.  Chinese [Rgya-nag) System. 



Sources for List B —

[B.1] Snye-mdo-ba's ca. 1300 medical history, fol. 3r. These physicians were invited in reign of Trisongdetsen (Khri-srong-lde-brtsan): 

[1] [From India] a tsarya Shanting-garba.
[2] From Kashmir (Kha-phye) Gu-ya-badzra.
[3-5] From China (Rgya-nag) Stong-gsum-gang-ba, Bha-la-ha-shang, & Ha-ti-sa-ha.
[6] From Tazik (Stag-gzig) Sog-po Ha-la-shan-tir.  Note: There are signs a bit of text was dropped here, and the name of the Tazik (Arabo-Persian) physician is the very thing that must be missing here.
[7] From the Turks (Gru-gu) Se-mdo-'od-chen.
[8] The Dolpo physician (Dol-po'i sman-pa [illeg. syllable]) Dharma-shi-la.

On 4r, Nyedowa lists them again, each with a list of their translations that would be presented to the Emperor. Except the first, only their nationalities are supplied in this context, not their proper names: 

[1] slob dpon Shanting-garba.  The [Indian] Teacher Śāntigarbha.  slob dpon shanting garbas bas shâkya thub pa mngos kyis sya [~gsungs] pa'i bse sgrom dmar po dang / sangs rgyas sman lhas sya [~gsungs] pa'i shlau ka sde bzhi dang / bdud rtsi [.4] lhung zer [~zed] che chung dang / bdud rtsi dum snying dang / spyan ras gzigs gyis gsungs pa'i spungs pa sde lnga dang  / rdo rje 'chang gis mdzad pa'i tsa ra ka'i grel pa dang / slob dpon klu sgrub kyis mdzad pa'i rtsa mdo' la sogs pa rnams la 'gyur byas so //
[2] Rgya-nag-gi sman-pa.  The physician[s] of China.  rgya nag gi sman pas / 'jam dpal gyi [.5] gsungs pa'i sbyor ba dang / byang khog don khrems / yan lag gi mda' las byung pa / rin po che'i mdzod lnga la sogs pa dang me chu go zlog dang / thor bu'i dpyad dang / chu dpyad / 'khrugs dpyad / me rtsa'i lag len sgran me dang / dug dpyad me lce 'khor lo [.6] logs [~la sogs] pa rnams sgyur ro //
[3] Kha-phye'i sman-pa.  The Kashmir physician.  kha phye'i sman pas / sman gyi dpyad mdo dgu pa dang / spyad kyi phreng sel bar byed pa mun pa'i sgrol me dang / man ngag gnad kyi phra thig dang / rdo rje 'chang zla dga'i gzhu chung [~gzhung chung] mdor bsdus pa rnams sgyur ro //
[4] Sog-po'i sman-pa.  The Sogdian physician.  sog po'i sman pas [.7] mgo mu rnyegs skor brgyad rtsa 'grel dang / rtsa bcos pa'i man ngag ljon shing che chung gnyis / 'dus bcos thobs rin chen srog gi 'khor lo / sog po sha thag bcan gyi rgyud / dug gso ba gar log rgyal po'i shi bsos bcog brdungs rnams so //  [4v]
[5] Dol-po'i sman-pa.  The Dolpo physician.  dol po'i sman pas / sangs rgyas sman lhas seng sdeng nags kyi sgrol me byin gyis rlabs te / sman gyi lha mo brgya rtsa gnyis kyi bshad pa'i mi 'jigs pa brgyad kyi mtshon cha dang / gab pa bsal byed dang / nad ngos 'dzin pa'i le'u lnga pa la rten nas 'tsho [.2] mchi rtya [~'chi rtags] kyi le'u dang / rtsa'i legs nye brtag pa dang / gtar kha'i dpyad rnams sgyur ro //
[6] Gru-gu sman-pa.  The Turkic physician.  gru gu sman pas / phyag na rdo rjes gsungs pa'i nag po rgyud gsum dang / de'i mdo byang che chung gnyis dang / 'dra bar 'byed pa dung gi mig can dang / nags su 'jug pa g.yu'i [.3] dra ba can / gu na sha tra bam po lnga brgyangs logs pa dang / rta'i dpyad rnams sgyur te / de bzang dpyad dang ngan dpyad gnyis las / dang po la rta la khams lngar phye te / 'ol ba rlung gi khams / jag ro me / ro rgyu chu / mgo rtse pa / gyi ling nam kha'i khams so //  [.4]  ngan spyad la rta'i nad / lhed la rgo g.yung gnyis / lcam ma bu gnyis / bye gsar rnying gnyis / gyen bu dang thur bu gnyis / gam pa la phyi gam pa brgyad / nang gam pa la brgyad / 'khrugs drod mo dang bcu bdun /  mtheng la drug bcu gcig tu phye ba'o // 
[7] Bal-pa'i sman-pa (i.e., Bal-po'i sman-pa, from Kathmandu Valley).  bal pa'i sman pas [.5] 'phags pa byams pas lha dang lha min rnams la gsungs pa / 'gram bam tig dang / sbyor ba brgya pa dang / rin po che sman gyi ''khrung dpe dang / thur dpyad dang / lhog pa'i gso thab rnams sgyur ro //


[B.2]  Brang-ti Dpal-ldan-'tsho-byed, Bdud-rtsi Snying-po Yan-lag Brgyad-pa Gsang-ba Man-ngag-gi Rgyud-kyi Spyi-don Shes-bya Rab-gsal, Smanrtsis Shesrig Spendzod series no. 148, Tashi Y. Tashigang (Delhi 2005), p. 77.  These physicians Drangti locates in the time of Trisongdetsen (last half of 8th century): 

[1] Rgya-gar-gyi sman-pa a-tsarya Shan-ti-garbha. / From India, the physician Ācārya Śāntigarbha.
[2] Rgya-nag-nas Stong-gsum-gang-ba. / From China, Tongsumgangwa (Tibetan for 'Triple Thousand Universe Filled').
[3] - - - Bha-ma-ha-shang. / [From China,] Bhama Hoshang.
[4] - - - Ha-ri-pa-ta. / [From China,] Haripata [the name appears Indic, not Sinitic].
[5] Stag-gzig-nas Sog-po Ha-la-shan-dhīr. / From Arabo-Persian lands, the Sogdian Halashandhir.
[6] Gru-gu-nas Seng-ge-'od-chen. / From Turkestan, Sengé Öchen.
[7] Dol-po-nas Khyo-ma-ru-tse. / From Dolpo, Kyomarutse.
[8] Bal-po'i sman-pa Dha-na-shi-la.  / Physician of the Nepal Valley Dhanashila (perhaps Dānaśīla was intended?).

[B.3] The nine physicians who came to Tibet at the invitation of Emperor Trisongdetsen according to Zur-mkhar-ba’s sixteenth-century medical history (pp. 255-6), evidently based on the just-given passage of Drangti’s medical history, yet not identical to it:

From India (Rgya-gar):
1. Shan-ti-garbha [Śāntigarbha].
From Kashmir (Kha-che):
2. Guhya-badzra [Guhyavajra].
From China (Rgya-nag):
3. Stong-gsum-gang-ba.
4. Bha-la Ha-shang.
5. Ha-ti-pra-ta.
From Tazig (Stag-gzig):
6. Sog-po Ha-la-shan-ti.
From "the Turks" (Dru-gu):
7. Seng-mdo-'od-chen.
From Dolpo (Dol-po):
8. Khyol-ma-ru-rtse.
From Nepal Valley (Bal-po):
9. Dharmā-shi-la [Dharmaśīla].


[B.4]  The comparable passage in the biography of the Elder G.yu-thog-pa attributed to Lhun-grub-bkra-shis (perhaps only written in the 17th century) is translated into English in Rechung Rinpoche Jampal Kunzang, Tibetan Medicine Illustrated in Original Texts, University of California Press (Berkeley 1976), pp. 202-209. The same text in the original Tibetan (based on the 1982 edition, pp. 100-101) reads as follows, with the original Tibetan and an English translation side by side. Notice how this source adds Tsan Pashilaha to the end of List B:

[1] Rgya-gar Shantiṃ-garbha'i lugs la lus spyi gso ba'i yan lag bdud rtsi'i chu rgyun.
Indian Śāntigarbha.  Associated text: The Branch Covering the Healing of the Whole Body: Flowing Stream of Elixir.
[2] Rgya-nag ni sman-pa Stong-gsum-gang-ba'i lugs la byis pa gso ba'i yan lag chung dpyad nyi ma'i 'od zer.
Chinese physician Stong-gsum-gang-ba.  The Branch Covering the Healing of Children: A Ray of Light for Treating the Small.
[3] Ma-hā-de-wa'i lugs la mo nad gso ba'i yan lag zla ba'i dkyil 'khor.
[Chinese] Mahādeva.  The Branch Covering the Healing of Women's Ailments: Circle of the Moon.
[4] Dharma-buddha'i lugs la gdon nad gso ba'i yan lag rdo rje pha lam.
[Chinese] Dharmabuddha (?).  The Branch Covering Dön Spirit Diseases: The Diamond.
[5] Bal-po'i sman-pa Da-na-shī-la'i lugs la rgas pa gso ba'i yan lag gnad kyi mdzub tshugs.
The Nepal Valley physician Danaśīla.  The Branch Covering Old Age Ailments: Sticking the Thumb in the Vulnerable Spot.
[6] Kha-che'i sman-pa Khun-badzra-gyi lugs la dug nad gso ba'i yan lag rus sbal gyi 'gyur 'gros.
The Kashmir physician Guṇavajra (?).  The Branch Covering Curing of Ailments from Poisons: The Changing Condition of the Turtle.
[7] Sog-po'i sman-pa Na-la-shan-dir-pa'i lugs la rgas pa gso ba'i yan lag bcud kyi rgya mtsho.
The Sogdian physician Nalashandirpa (?).  The Branch Covering Old Age Ailments: Ocean of Nutrition.
[8] Dol-po'i sman-pa Khyo-ma-ru-rtse'i lugs la ro rtsa gso ba'i yan lag dga' bde 'phel byed.
The Dolpo physician Khyomarutsé (?).  The Branch Covering the Treatment of Virility: Making Joy Increase.
[9] Gru-gu'i sman-pa Seng-ge-'od-can-'phel-byed-kyi lugs la btsal ba thig gi yan lag ro bkra 'phrul gyi me long.
The Turkic physician Sengge-öchan-peljé (?).  The Branch Covering Lines of Vermillion (?): The Amazing Mirror of Anatomical Charts.
[10] Khrom-rgyal Mu-rtse The-khrom-gyi sras Btsan Pa-shi-la-hi'i lugs la khrom gyi dbye ba drug pa la sogs pa yin no.
Tsan Pashilahi, son of the Byzantine King Murtsé T'etröm (?). The Byzantine Six Divisions etc.*

*I’ve suggested before the possibility that by Six Divisions, the Galenic idea of the Six Non-naturals**(sex res non naturales, to give the Latin) could be intended. These were factors of diet and activity that require regulation to achieve a healthy balance in the body. In Galenic medicine they are regarded as potential causes or preventers of ailments. In general they cover the territory of what would in older times have been called hygiene, and nowadays preventative medicine. I know that "non-natural" sounds odd to everyone, but that only means that they are not body-intrinsic (not part of the body's natural constituents), but rather have to do with interactions between the body and the external world. I’ve speculated already about possible or plausible ways to explain the names given here, on the assumption they are Byzantine Greek names. I invite you to come with other ideas besides my own.

**There are a number of important articles on this subject, so I hope to study them before commenting further. An ordinary listing of the Six Non-naturals follows:  1. air (climate), 2. exercise (and rest), 3. food (and drink), 4. sleep (and wakefulness), 5. elimination of wastes and 6. emotional states. There must be a reason for the 'six-ness' found in the teachings of both Tsan Pashilaha of Byzantium and Urpaya of Arabo-Persian lands. In both regions the Six Non-Naturals were widely known. But we need additional reasons to believe in this particular connection.
  


The colophon of the new-old Nyedowa medical history. It gives the title
Sman-dpyad-gi Lo-rgyus dang Byung-tshul,”
and the author’s name Snye-mdo'-ba
Kun-dga'-don-grub.
Click on the photo to enlarge it. 

If you would like an unverified yet complete transcription, try clicking this link.



Biblio-cues:

Note: I don't include earlier works by academics such as C. Beckwith, M. Taube and so on, regardless of their importance since references may be found in the more recent works that are listed here: by Garrett, Martin and Yoeli-Tlalim.
Bi-ci'i Pu-ti Kha-ser [The Biji Volume with Yellow Edges], Bod Rang-skyong-ljongs Sman-rtsis-khang, Bod-ljongs Mi-dmangs Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 2005). That Bi-ci in the title is the same as Bi-ji, the borrowing from Persian or a Persian-influenced language.

Brang-ti Dpal-ldan-'tsho-byed, Bdud-rtsi Snying-po Yan-lag Brgyad-pa Gsang-ba Man-ngag-gi Rgyud-kyi Spyi-don Shes-bya Rab-gsal, Smanrtsis Shesrig Spendzod series no. 148, Tashi Y. Tashigang (Delhi 2005). The author has been awarded dates everywhere between the 13th and 15th centuries, but I now think his history likely dates to around 1375, give or take several decades. 
  
Cherjé (Che-rje).  See the two articles of Martin.

Drangti (Brang-ti).  See under Brang-ti.


Elisabeth Finckh, “Practice of Tibetan Medicine: Notes on Moxibustion (me btsa'),” Tibetan Studies, Naritasan Shinshoji (Narita 1992), vol. 2, pp. 443-450.


Frances Garrett, “Critical Methods in Tibetan Medical Histories,” Journal of Asian Studies, vol.  66, no. 2 (May 2007), pp. 363-387.


Jamgön Kongtrul Lodrö Tayé, The Treasury of Knowledge, Books Two, Three and Four: Buddhism’s Journey to Tibet, tr. by Ngawang Zangpo, Snow Lion (Ithaca 2010), pp. 414-415 has moved the three great physicians from the first half of the 7th up into the last half of the 8th century:  “When Buddhist King Trisong Deutsen’s Rule began, three great physicians known as the three emanated sons met in Tibet: Dharmaraja from India, Mahakyinda from China, and Viji Champa Shilaha from Ferghana or Persia. They worked together to compose a major text, a medical treatise that conforms with their kingdoms’ traditions; its root text was entitled A Cluster of Jewels; its commentary, Wheels of the Sun and Moon. When Champa Shilaha was about to return to his homeland, he gave his son a cycle of instructions entitled The Yellow Manuscript of Miji. Since it was offered to the king, it is also called Blazing Radiance: The King's Master Copy...  ... ... The account of nine royal physicians from Tibet’s four frontiers coming to Tibet during the last part of the king’s [Trisongdetsen’s] life lacks substance. What occurred is that a beloved horse of the king fell ill, so that the king ordered “Find and bring me nine physicians who are skilled healers.’ Thus, five [physicians] were brought to Tibet and cured the horse: Trugu Ze’uto from China, Khulö Muken of Zhang Zhung, Mugen Trizik of Mongolia, Choro Mangpozi of Tibet, and Tana Chukyé of Azha. At the king’s command, these five masters composed a text uniting the essential medical instructions of all five kingdoms. This was offered to the king and its tradition was thereby established...”  
My note: One has to read both Viji and Miji as Biji (I know Mi-ji is in the typeset reprint edition, vol. 1, p. 589; I’m just saying it shouldn’t be). I also prefer to read Tsen Pashilaha in place of Champa Shilaha.  The typeset reprint has the names of the physicians who were called to cure the royal horse: Rgya'i Phru-gu Ze'u-tho, Zhang-zhung-gi Khu-lod-mu-khan, Hor-gyi Mu-gan Khri-gzig, Bod-kyi Cog-ro Mang-po-gzigs, and 'A-zha'i Tha-na Chu-skyes.  Their ethnicities are (in same order) Chinese, Zhangzhung, Uighur, Tibetan and Tuyuhün. So far I’ve gotten nowhere with the proper names themselves, apart from the one from Tibet whose name is quite an ordinary Old Tibetan style name with the wellknown clan name Cog-ro. Anyway, this would be fodder for some future blog on foreign veterinarians in the history of Tibetan hippology. Anyway, we can see that the account of the foreign physicians in the late 8th century is discounted by Kongtrul and replaced with an account of five local and foreign horse doctors.
D. Martin, “An Early Tibetan History of Indian Medicine,” contained in: Mona Schrempf, ed., Soundings in Tibetan Medicine: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives, Brill (Leiden 2007), pp. 307-325.  A Tibetan-language translation by Tsering Samdrup is forthcoming: Rgya-gar-gyi Gso-ba Rig-pa'i Lo-rgyus Bod Snga-rabs-pas Mdzad-pa zhig.


——, “Greek and Islamic Medicines’ Historical Contact with Tibet: A Reassessment in View of Recently Available but Relatively Early Sources on Tibetan Medical Eclecticism,” contained in: Anna Akasoy, Charles Burnett & Ronit Yoeli-Tlalim, eds., Islam and Tibet: Interactions along the Musk Routes, Ashgate (Farnham 2011), pp. 117-143.


V. Nutton, “Archiatri and the Medical Profession in Antiquity,” Papers of the British School at Rome, vol. 45 (1977), pp. 191-226. Note especially p. 193: “The earliest attested meaning of archiatros is that of a personal physician to a ruler...” and observe as well the alternative title basilikos iatros, finding its earliest usages in Hellenistic Period Syria and Egypt.

Nyedowa.  See under Snye-mdo-ba Kun-dga'-don-grub.


Rechung Rinpoche, Tibetan Medicine: Illustrated in Original Texts, University of California Press (Berkeley 1976), first published in 1973. The relevant part is a chapter entitled “Gyu-thog and the Foreign Doctors" from the translated biography of the Elder Yutok, at pp. 202-209, but note also pp. 15-18, with its sketch of Imperial Period medicine. But do beware of the dates and place name identifications.  For example, on p. 16 he says Khrom is a province in Eastern Tibet.


Snye-mdo-ba Kun-dga'-don-grub (1268-1328), Gso-ba Rig-pa'i Byung-tshul Lo-rgyus dang bcas-pa [The Origins of Medical Science together with Its History], contained in:  Bod-ljongs Bod-lugs Gso-rig Slob-grwa Chen-mor Bzhugs-su Gsol-ba'i Dpe-rnying Dkar-chag [Catalogue of Ancient Books Kept at Tibet’s Tibetan Medical College], Bod-ljongs Bod-lugs Gso-rig Slob-grwa Chen-mo (Lhasa 2014), vol. 20, text no. 18, in the form of an 11-folio cursive manuscript reproduction.  The title I’ve given is the title of the 2-volume catalog, and not of the 30-volume facsimile set (for the latter look here).


The Subsequent Tantra from the Four Tantras of Tibetan Medicine, Men-Tsee-Khang (Dharamsala 2011), this being the first edition, and the first translation of this part of the Four Tantras. Since they have published translations of the Root Tantra and the Explanatory Tantra in an earlier volume in 2008, that leaves only one of the four untranslated, the Directions Tantra. The reason is of course its relative difficulty, but also its sheer length. Each of the Directions Tantra’s 92 chapters covers a major physical disorder, or class of disorders, with recommendations for treatments.

Yang Ga (G.yang-dga'), The Sources for the Writing of the Rgyud bzhi, Tibetan Medical Classic, doctoral dissertation, Harvard University (Cambridge 2010).  A more accessible writing on the textual sources of the Four Tantras may be his article “The Origins of the Four Tantras and an Account of Its Author, Yuthog Yonten Gonpo,” contained in: Theresia Hofer, ed., Bodies in Balance: The Art of Tibetan Medicine, Rubin Museum (New York 2014), pp. 154-177.


R. Yoeli-Tlalim, “Re-Visiting Galen in Tibet,” Medical History, vol. 56, no. 3 (2012), pp. 355-365. Ronit finds that Galen enters into the Tibetan medicine only in the 17th century, and is unknown in earlier works. As surprising as this may seem to some, I think it is correct. I can find no evidence that would contradict it.

Zur-mkhar-ba Blo-gros-rgyal-po (or, Legs-bshad-tshol, b. 1509), Sman-pa-rnams-kyis Mi Shes-su Mi Rung-ba'i Shes-bya Spyi'i Khog-dbubs (Gang-dag byang-chub-sems-dpa'i Spyod-pa Spyod-par 'Dod-pa'i Sman-pa-rnams-kyis Mi Shes-su Mi Rung-ba'iPhyi Nang Gzhan Gsum-gyis Rnam-bzhag Shes-bya Spyi'i Khog-dbug-pa Gtan-pa Med-pa'i Mchod-sbyin-gyi Sgo-'phar Yangs-po), Si-khron Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Chengdu 2001), in 385 pp.  This history appears to make quite a bit of direct use of the Nyedowa history, which makes it especially valuable for checking our single manuscript witness.




བླ་སྨན།  ~  archiatros

  • A note on BLA-SMAN with the meaning royal physician (in imperial period, but also later on used for physicians of local scions of the royal house).  Since the famous one who is also given the title Bi-ji (well known to be a title of Persian origin) came from Byzantium (Phrom), it is interesting to note that the Byzantine period Greek term archiatros has two parts that closely corresponds with the two parts of bla-sman (iatros means physician). See the biblio-clues under Nutton.

The Zhijé Collection Suffers Irreparable Damage

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Shakyamuni Buddha, frontispiece of the Zhijé Collection


These esoteric precepts are [as pure] as the lotus that grew in mud,
rarer even than Jambu Isle’s nature-pure gold from the river of gold.

When practiced they make Buddhas within a single lifespan.
That this is true and certain, the supreme Dampa has said.

When all [his] followers take these precepts to heart and practice them correctly,
they reach their own goals while reviving the Buddha’s Teachings as a whole.

So now (?) the holders of the Teachings must take them as their heart practice.
Gold [I] offer to the oral transmission.*
[*For an annotated version of this, with the Tibetan text transcription, you can scroll down to the end of this blog.]



This marginalia, if that is the right word for it, is missing (erased!) in the 1979 reprint version, but visible in the microfilm (at volume 1 [KA], folio 159 verso). It is scribed in a very different style of cursive than we see in other parts of the Zhijé Collection. This only helps to confirm something we may know from reading its content, that it was added as part of an act of dedicating an offering of gold to the sacred manuscript itself. Although the microfilms are generally fine enough, this is a case where the color digital photograph, posted in July of 2017, is clearer and allows greater certainty in the reading, which incidentally helps to justify sending out this urgent message. 

As you are probably aware, in quite a few past Tibeto-logic blogs we have made use of what I call, for convenience, the Zhijé Collection. At first, when the webpage I will link you to in a moment opened, I was simply overjoyed to see the color photos of the frontispiece miniatures, since I have long wished, but never had the chance, to see them in color. The NGMPP microfilms are in black-and-white,* and no color slides were ever taken. (I asked the people in the Kathmandu office about this, so I am quite sure of it.) 
(*No need to mention the 1979 publication, where most of the miniatures are practically impossible to make out, the quality of the reproduction is so unsatisfactory.)

But then my heart sank deeply into my gut and remained there when I realized what else I was seeing. Indeed it’s a very sad day for lovers of the South Indian Buddhist saint Padampa.

To see what I’m talking about go to this webpage, or thisone dated July 2017, but before you do so promise you will come back here before the day is done.

A large and very significant part of the original 700-year-old manuscript of the Zhijé Collection has been destroyed beyond any realistic possibility of repair, and it seems water damage has affected at least some of the other volumes as well (you can see that strips of very white paper have been added to the margins of pages in volume 1 to fortify them).

Anyone who has read the Tibeto-logic blog from back in August of last year knows that already in the 11th and 12th centuries there were Tibetans fully aware that the “binding elements” that accompany Tibetan-style books were used with the motive of protecting the texts from destructive forces in the environment, that means from the elements of traditional physics — from damage by fire, water, wind and earth. To put it in modern-sounding terms, Tibetan book-constructing practices evolved in order to maximize their chance of survival. 

No reason to point fingers since I can’t tell you how the destruction of the Zhijé teachings took place. All I can say is that it appears from the photographs that it was water damage, and if the texts were being kept in the Kathmandu Valley, as seems likely, the danger of water damage was much greater than would have been the case in the high mountains. 

Not to end on a too-negative note, as I’m seriously inclined to do, we can at least express the hope that in the future greater attention will be paid to the preservation of this and other literary monuments from the Tibetan past. It ought to be a lesson learned for everyone who is concerned. At stake is not just the preservation of a set of writings that after all has been fairly well-enough preserved through publication and photographs, but something much more than that. At stake is the preservation of a physical object, a relic, that puts us in contact with the earliest six generations of Padampa’s disciples, and hence with Padampa himself. It ought to remain as a source of blessings and inspiration for generations to come as it has for generations gone by.


Click on the photos to enlarge them.  This is what the second of the four volumes of the Zhijé Collection, originally made in about 1245-1250 CE, looks like today. As you can see in the margin of the lower visible leaf, it's fol. 247 of volume KHA.  For comparison, look at this Nepal-German Manuscript Preservation Project (NGMPP) microfilm version:

Folio 247 recto of vol. 2 (KHA) based on the NGMPP microfilm
(filmed in 1990, acquired in 2002, digitized in 2017).

§  §  §


Dedication Verse with text and annotations this time. It is impossible to know who wrote it or when:

gdams ngag ’di ’dam skyes padmo las bzhin
’dzam gling gser gtso [~btso] chu gser nas kyang dkon /

These esoteric precepts are [as pure] as the lotus that grew in mud,
rarer even than Jambu Isle’s naturally pure gold from the river of gold.*


(*Jambu Isle is the southern continent in the traditional cosmology that centers on Mount Meru.  I believe that ’dzam-bu chu-gser, although one of the stock poetic metaphors for gold in general, here refers to the best gold available in the world, the naturally pure nuggets that are found in riverbeds, and that this is the kind of gold being alluded to.)

nyams su blangs na tshe gcig sangs rgyas ’gyur
zhes mi bslu nges pa dam pa mchog gi gsungs /

When practiced they make Buddhas within a single lifespan.
That this is true and certain, the supreme Dampa has said.

rjes ’jug kun gyi tshul bzhin nyams su blangs nas
rang don ’grub cing rgyal bstan yongs la gsos su ’gyur /

When all [his] followers take these precepts to heart & practice them correctly,
they reach their own goals while reviving the Buddha’s teachings as a whole.*
(*rjes 'jug here could also mean people of the future, those who will come after [me, the writer], and this just might be the preferable way of reading it.)

de nam (?) bstan ’dzin skyes bu’i thug[s] nyams
bzhes mdzod   gser snyan brgyud (bcud?) du phul /

So now (?) the holders of the Teachings must take them as their heart practice.
Gold is offered to the oral transmission.*
(*It may not be obvious, but I believe that snyan-brgyud, while it does mean to mouth-to-ear secret lineage teachings, also is a way of referring to the Zhijé Collection as a whole, as we might see from the [restored] title of the collection that can be translated as “Among the Peacemaking Teachings that Lay at the Heart of the Holy Dharma, this is the Text of the Later Oral Transmission known as The Exceptionally Profound.”)

A color digital photograph posted in July 2017. 
The last two lines on the page are the "Dedication Verse" we have just translated.
Click on the photo to enlarge it.

§  §  §

Bibliographical notes:

Although the title they give it remains a mistaken one, the TBRC (Buddhist Digital Resource Center) has made public domain the 1979 publication of the Zhijé Collection, which may be viewed or downloaded here.

Also of great interest for Zhijé and Cutting studies is a recent 13-volume publication from Kathmandu (2012-2013).  To know more about it, look here. I believe it, too, is open domain. It includes a complete computer-input version (therefore scannable!) of the Zhijé Collection as well as a few previously unpublished works, among them the Seed of Faith, a pilgrimage guide to Tingri Langkor we made use of in this blog.

Dreaming Giant Thangkas, Part One

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Dreaming Giant Thangkas
On the History and Meanings of a Tibetan Religious Practice



I suppose everywhere in the world we may find people greatly impressed by things that are higher and taller.  We tend to entertain each other with trivia questions like ‘What is the highest mountain? The highest skyscraper? The tallest person?’  As we know there are also people suffering from monument phobia. Instead of being awe-struck, they feel oppressed and threatened when faced with the very same tallness. I will neither engage in ‘heightism’ nor try to avoid it. This is not, and I repeat not, among the points I want to make today. What is relevant here is not so much height as that more abstract and impressionistic concept of monumentality that might go along with it.

What is size after all? I apologize that I might be a bit confusing in terms of measurements, since I will be using some English, some metrical and some Tibetan indications of height and width. Tibet in the past did not always make use of standardized measurements, and certainly never to the level of exactitude we’ve gotten accustomed to in the 21st century. Other times, other places, other standards.*
(*Well, Tibetan history writers do credit two different Emperors with weight standardizations, one in around the mid-6th century, and the other in the early 9th, but that doesn’t mean that grain volume measurements, for example, didn’t vary from place to place well into the 20th century. As we will see, in Tibetan art, the body of the artist or sponsor may supply the units of measurement. For a collection of materials about Tibetan measurements, see this page at Tiblical.)

I will also not say all that much about art-historical or iconographic details. Instead, I want to consider matters of more general cultural and religious significance from a historical perspective. So forgive me if I don’t go into great depths about materials, artistic techniques, aesthetics and the like; things you may expect in a study that is after all about art.

So let’s delve a little into the history of Buddhist monumentality, identifying some of its main — Dare I use the word? — monuments. Giant Buddhas have been very much in the news not so long ago because of the destruction in 2001 of the Bamiyan Buddhas, one  38 and the other 55 [53?] meters high. The best studies seem to suggest they were made more-or-less in the middle of the sixth century. These two were probably the best known South Asian examples.


Todaiji's Giant Buddha
courtesy of Wiki Commons
Modern-day travelers in East Asia have surely seen some of the more famous monumental Buddhas. We might mention the Vairocana image known as Daibutsu, or ‘Giant Buddha’ in Todaiji Temple in Japan consecrated by the South Indian Bodhisena in 752 CE. 

By Ken Marshall from Absecon, New Jersey, USA 
Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

In China, carved out of the rock of cliffs and caves are quite a number of giant Buddhas from the fifth century onward. Among them is one that has been called the largest Buddha in the world — the rock image of Maitreya at Leshan. It took almost the whole of the eighth century to carve it out of the cliff and it still stands at 71 meters high. 

Less well known and less than half as tall is the no longer surviving wooden image of Maitreya at Darel in Central Asia. It was seen by Chinese travelers in around 400 CE and should have been between 80 and 100 feet high.  

The Maitreya of Mulbek

There is a still surviving stone relief image of Maitreya, nine meters high, at Mulbek in Ladakh that has been dated to the 8th or 9th century.

And nowadays at the holy sites of Buddhism in India and Nepal, there seems to be a competition between the Buddhist nations of the world to build taller and taller Buddhas. We’ll leave this issue aside for now.

If we consider Buddha images made of every possible material, it is rather remarkable that, while we do find huge Buddhas all over the Buddhist world, until very recent times there seem to have been hardly any in the birthplace of Buddhism, in the central parts of India or indeed the whole of the area of modern India. This deserves a little closer attention. Of course today the situation is quite different, but what evidence is there from earlier times? Let’s have a look:

In one of the caves at Kānherī there are two images carved out of the stone, each measuring a little over seven meters in height. These are probably the tallest surviving Buddha images in all of India (Miyaji, “Idea”).

However, in 1975 at the Buddhist monastic university of Nālandā archaeologists excavating one of the many ruined temples discovered two giant stucco feet from a standing Buddha image. Judging from the fact that each foot is about one meter in length, the entire image must have stood at six or seven meters in height. In the same temple a stone inscription was found. To quote a sentence from this inscription,

“This huge image of the Buddha was sculpted by Pūrṇavarman, whose fame rested not only on the earth but was even written on the moon.”

The image was sponsored by a king of Mathurā named Prathamaśiva and the inscription itself was composed by that king's minister. On the basis of the inscription, Gouriswor Bhattacharya concludes that the inscription and the statue to which it ought to belong must date to around 587 CE. But bear in mind that the relationship between the stone inscription and the stucco feet is far from clear even though they were found in the same temple.

To add perplexity to the picture, we also have the following testimony of the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang who visited Nālandā in 637 CE. To give the old Samuel Beal translation: 
Next, to the eastward 200 paces or so, outside the walls, is a figure of Buddha standing upright and made of copper.  Its height is about 80 feet.  A pavilion of six stages is required to cover it.  It was formerly made by Pūrṇavarma-rāja.
Here Pūrṇavarman, the name of the sculptor in the stone inscription, might appear to be a king (rāja) who had the statue made. It is copper, not stucco (the inscription doesn’t mention any material), and it is much much higher than just seven meters. It is easy to imagine that it would have taken a building six stories tall to enclose an 80-foot statue, and it surely seems that Xuanzang must have known what he was talking about, since such a tall building and image would surely have captured his attention during his stay in Nālandā. It is not just hearsay. Perhaps we could be justified in taking Xuanzang's testimony in isolation, and say that there was an 80-foot copper standing statue of Buddha existing in Bihar in the early 7th century. Or, we could just say there is evidence, even if not all that clear or abundant evidence, that sixth-seventh century Nālanda had giant Buddhas made of stucco, stone and copper.

For our purposes the pertinent facts are:  Giant Buddhas are but little known in India proper in pre-modern times. Those that once existed have left few traces behind. They were constructed from the fifth century until today in other Buddhist countries. While a number of these icons are of Vairocana, many of them represent the future Buddha Maitreya. It has been suggested that Maitreya is represented as being very tall simply because in the future era in which he will be born all humans will be much taller. According to one source people in those days will be about ten feet tall, while Maitreya will be twice that height, or 20 feet tall.* As we proceed, I feel sure that Tibetan monumental Maitreyas, whether statues, paintings or giant fabric thangkas, will be seen to fit into a larger trend of the Buddhist world.
(*Miyaji, “Idea,” p. 288; Chandra, “Colossi,” p. 32)
So, with Maitreya in mind, we can engage our main topic.


Here is one of the most amazing pieces illustrated in Pratapaditya Pal, Art from the Himalayas and China (Asian Art at the Norton Simon Museum, Volume 2), Yale University Press in association with The Norton Simon Art Foundation (New Haven and London 2003).


This pieced-silk thangka has the overall measurements of 177 (or 14"8') by 268 inches (or 22"4'), or if you prefer 449.6 by 680.7 centimeters.[1] It has the future Buddha Maitreya as its central figure,[2]with images of Tsongkhapa in five different forms — based on visions beheld by his student Khedrubjé — arrayed in the upper parts, as you can see in the following detail.

Closeup of the upper portion, showing the five forms of Tsongkhapa


For comparison, another representation of Tsongkhapa’s five forms

To Maitreya’s right is the Eighth Dalai Lama Himself, and to His left, the Dalai Lama’s Tutor Yeshé Gyaltsen.[3] The protectors of the four directions appear at the bottom, two on each side of an inscription. As the inscription makes clear, and as the catalogue correctly states, this image was made in 1793-4 as one of several memorials for the Tutor, who died in 1793. The inscription is quite competently translated by Ratö Khyongla Rinpoche in an appendix (p. 263), but I would like to attempt a fresh one. 

The inscribed area of the thangka, I apologize for the unclear photo;
the Wylie and Tibetan-script transcriptions follow

om svasti /
dga' ldan lha brgya'i gtsug rgyan mi pham mgon //
rgyal ba byams pa mgon po'i snang brgyan dang //
'jam mgon bla ma blo bzang grags pa'i sku //
gang de'i bzlos gar gzigs pa lnga dang ni //
rje btsun bla ma ye shes rgyal mtshan zhabs //
spyan ras gzigs mgon 'jam dpal rgya mtsho dang //
chos skyong rgyal po chen po bzhi la sogs //
mtshan dpe'i dpal 'bar rgyal ba'i snang brnyan mchog //
bzang gos dbang po'i gzhu ltar rab bkra ba'i //
bkod mdzes rgyal ba'i sku mchog bzhengs pa'i dges //
rgyal bstan snying po 'jam mgon ring lugs mchog //
nam mkha'i mtha' khyab srid mthar rgyas gyur cig //

khyad par bdag gi yongs 'dzin bla ma mchog //
bka' drin sum ldan ye shes mtshan ldan gyi //
dgongs pa rdzogs shing slar yang zhing mchog 'dir //
rgyal bstan snying po'i mgon du myur bzhengs shog //

yangs pa'i rgyal khams spyi dang gangs ljongs 'dir //
mi 'dod rgud pa'i ming yang mi grag cing //
chos 'byor dge bcu'i khrims la rtag gnas sogs //
bkra shis bde legs chen pos khyab gyur cig //


















With the virtue from erecting this supreme icon of the Victor, finely arranged, multi-colored like the Bow of Indra [the rainbow],
of fine silk, with a superior reflected image of the Victor blazing with the glory of the “marks” [of Buddha’s body] —
including images of the head ornament of the hundred gods of Tuṣita,
the undefeatable lord [Ajitanātha] Victor Maitreyanātha, 





the Gentle Lord Guru [Tsongkhapa] Lozang Dragpa
in His dramatically posed forms of the Five Visions,[4]
the Reverend Guru Yeshe Gyaltsen,  


The Tutor Yeshe Gyaltsen

the Lord Avalokiteśvara Jampel Gyatso and
the Four Great Kings, Dharma protectors.

May the supreme tradition of the Gentle Lord [Tsongkhapa], the essence of the Victor’s teachings
increase to fill the horizons of the sky until the end of existence.
In particular may the intentions of my Tutor, the supreme guru
possessing three kindnesses[5] by the name of Full Knowledge (Ye-shes) be fulfilled
and may He quickly arise as lord of the essence of the victor's teachings in this supreme Buddhafield [of Tibet].

In all the kingdoms of the wide [earth] and, in particular,
here in this Snow Land may the word “want” not be heard;
may the wealth of Dharma, the ethics of the ten virtues, remain forever;
and may comfort, goodness and auspiciousness pervade all.

We’ll come back to the content of the inscription later on, but first let’s look at some other examples and try to make some general observations.




One of the giant thangkas of Gyantse depicting Maitreya


The display tower viewed from below in Gyantse.


These photos date to 1938. They were published in Life Magazine of June 12, 1939. They were taken by F. Bailey Vanderhoef who collected artworks now kept in Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Supposed to date to 1438, it shows a form of Maitreya with pitcher above His right shoulder. We’ll soon say more about the Gyantsé thangkas. (See also Henss, “Silken Images,” as well as Henss, “Liberation.”  On Vanderhoef, see this PDF of an essay by José Cabezón.)

In Tibet the unrolling of a giant silk thangka was, in a literal sense of the word, a spectacular event. A large number of people would be required to carry it in procession to the high place for its unrolling. This was ordinarily done only on an annual holiday, with colorful processions, loud but sombre sacred music, and prayers led by the monastic community. This performance bridged the divide between official and popular religion. While the most important hierarchs were involved in their construction, consecrations and unfurling ceremonies, thousands of laypeople could be present as spectators and participate in various more or less active ways. The mere sight of such a thangka was said to be enlightening, to at least provide a foretaste of what Complete Enlightenment might be. The most common term for this experience, a term often employed in the very name of such an icon, is liberation by sight, although other senses might be mentioned, too, especially hearing and touch. 

If we can use the contemporary language of media studies and Byzantinology, it engages the sensorium, and it does it with a Buddhist sense of purpose.[6]


To be continued...




Notes

[1] On monumental Buddha images, see particularly the survey by Huntington, “Great Buddhas.” See also Pal, “Monumental,” an article that mainly discusses how the thangka gradually made its way from Sikkim to its present location in the Norton Simon Museum, a subject not covered in the catalog entry.
[2] As is well known, the future Buddha Maitreya is very frequently depicted in a seated position with both feet resting down below (usually described in the literature as ‘the European seating posture’). This seated Maitreya is depicted in another thangka in our book, plate 138, where the accompanying description gives this posture its Sanskrit names. However, in the brocade thangkaHe is depicted with legs fully crossed in the Vajra Āsana. This way of visualizing Maitreya is similarly described in a guruyogatext by the Tutor of Tshe-mchog-gling, found under the general title Rje-btsun Byams-mgon-la Brten-pa'i Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor sogs Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor 'Ga'-zhig, contained in Tshe-mchog-gling, Works, vol. 17, pp. 341-389, with the relevant section on pp. 342-347. On p. 343, Maitreya is described as smiling, wearing monastic robes, the two hands at His heart forming the gesture of turning the wheel of Dharma, and the feet in the Vajra posture. As usual in guruyoga texts, the visualization process emphasizes the complete identity of the spiritual teacher with the divine focus of spiritual aspirations (the yi-dam). It surely would help to explain the significance of the thangka as a whole, if it could be shown that the Tutor’s own disciples were practicing this particular kind of guruyoga, fusing the identity of their teacher with Maitreya. The presence of the stūpa on top of Maitreya’s head is justified in a Tanjur text (*Nairitipa, Ajitanāthasādhana), and there is a brief study on this very subject in Bhattacharya, “Stūpa.” For general treatments of Maitreya and His iconography, see Sponberg and Hardacre, Maitreya, and Chandra, “Maitreya.”
[3] The best available English-language biographies are in Mullin, Fourteen, pp. 332-333, and Willis, Enlightened, pp. 125-130. He received the advanced monastic educational degree of Dka'-chen at Tashilhunpo Monastery, and this explains why his name is sometimes prefaced with this title. He became the Eighth Dalai Lama’s tutor in 1782. As examples of his writings in translation, see Guenther and Kawamura, Mind, Mullin, “Tse-Chok-Ling’s,” and Willis, Enlightened. He was not the most prolific writer in Tibetan history, but still it is worthy of note that his works have been republished in no less than twenty-five volumes.
[4] These are the five forms of Tsongkhapa as He appeared in visions, after His death, to His disciple Khedrupjé.  These are mentioned and described briefly in Thurman, Life and Teachings, pp. 32-33.  Sarat Chandra Das long ago wrote an article on this very subject; see Das, “Five Visions.” See also Tucci, Tibetan Painted Scrolls, pp. 399-400, along with the painting illustrated in plates 73 and 74. The most detailed study I know of, accompanied by five thangka reproductions, is found in Yon-tan-rgya-mtsho’s history, vol. 1, pp. 186-193, including the stories of the visions, and details of the iconography.  A thang-ka depicting only one of the five visions has been published in Rhie and Thurman, Worlds, p. 356 (color illustration no. 127). An entire set of five thangkas belonging to the Potala has been illustrated in Bod-kyi Thang-ka, illus. nos. 69-73.  A thangka with the tiger-riding Mahāsiddha form of Tsongkhapa in the center, with the other four forms of Tsongkhapa in smaller size, and the 84 Mahāsiddhas in still smaller size surrounding it has been illustrated in Se-ra Theg-chen-gling, p. 77. This last-mentioned thangka is evidently based on a woodblock print (par).
I located in Khag-cig Mtshan-byang, p. 287:  Phur-lcog Blo-bzang-tshul-khrims-byams-pa'i (=Byams-pa-rgya-mtsho, 1825-1901) Gsung-'bum, the following [cycle] title:  Rje Rin-po-che dang Rje Gzigs-pa Lnga-ldan-la Brten-pa'i Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor-gyi Skor.
Klong-rdol Bla-ma lists a title said to be located at the end of volume KHA of Mkhas-grub-rje’s works:  Mkhas-grub-rje's own biography ('autobiography'?), Five Visions, composed by his disciple Gtsang-mda'-ba Chos-ldan-rab-'byor (Mkhas-grub-pa rang-gi rnam-thar Gzigs-pa Lnga-ldan | | Mkhas-grub-pa'i slob-ma Gtsang-mda'-ba Chos-ldan-rab-'byor-gyis mdzad-pa).  This would seem to be the original text on the Five Visions, but so far I have not been able to learn of its present existence, unless it is the same as the available Secret Biography (Gsang-ba'i Rnam-thar).
[5] This term three kindnesses may have both sūtra and tantraapplications, but here it would seem that both were intended. In sūtracontexts, the three kindnesses are:  1. Teaching the Dharma.  2. Empowering the mind and perceptions with blessings.  3. Providing for the material welfare of the audience.   In tantracontexts, the three kindnesses are:  1. Conferring initiations.  2. Explaining the tantras.  3. Granting secret precepts.
[6] For a sustained discussion of liberation through seeing and related concepts, see Tokarska-Bakir, “Naive.” For works about the giant thangka of Paro, Bhutan, and the religious festival surrounding it, see Huntington, “Notes”; Stratton, “Paro”; and Fontein, “Notes.” Françoise Pommaret, “A Cultural Epiphany: Religious Dances of Bhutan and Their Costumes,” Marg, vol. 66, no. 4 (June 2015), pp. 30-39, has magnificent photographs of the Paro Tsechu giant thangka. Fontein estimates the size of the Paro thang-ka, which has the 'Second Buddha' Padmasambhava as its main subject, at about 50 by 50 feet. Fontein also attempts a history of giant fabric Buddha representations, most interesting being his discussion of the Korean kwaebul, “Hanging Buddhas,” which were made between 1622 and 1982 CE. But these kwaebul were mostly paintings on silk, and only rarely pieced together from silk. The word appliqué is very often used in connection with brocade icons, but since no backing cloth is required for their construction — the backing cloth might be added only after completion for purposes entirely protective in nature — the term is not always entirely appropriate (I admit to using such terms as appliqué rather loosely). On textile thangkas more generally, see especially Henss, “Woven” and Reynolds, “Luxury Textiles.” Primarily recommended for its approach to the conservation of brocade thangkas is Loh, “Decision.”

§   §   §

Apologies and acknowledgements:
I hesitate to get started with acknowledgements and apologies. I am afraid it will take too long. So, to be brief — and start with the main apology:

I apologize for talking about things I still do not know enough about. This is less a report about success than an account of a quest. Along the way I would like to make a modest point about the importance of Tibetan literature for knowing about Tibetan art.

I should first of all thank Amy Heller and Paul Nietupski for most, but not all, of the illustrations I’ve used. Tibeto-logic is an entirely independent and noncommercial educational enterprise, and all illustrations are placed here for educational purposes only. I would like to thank Pratapaditya Pal, the famous expert on Himalayan art, for laying down the basis for much of what I have to say about the Pasadena thangka. It is far from my intention to criticize his work which deserves only admiration and praise, but I think I have a few things of substance that can embellish the picture historically speaking.

Some of the Tibetan sources were found by myself the old fashioned way, by reading through lengthy Tibetan texts, but many of them would not have been located without hints and references from earlier works by David Jackson, Valrae Reynolds, Dungkar Rinpoche, Dagyab Rinpoche, Yukio Tanaka and others. Finding materials in the Fifth Dalai Lama’s huge biographies would not have been possible without the help of digitized texts done at the Lumbini International Research Institute in Nepal by Christoph Cüppers and Tsering Lama. Thanks to a workshop by Yuko Tanaka back in 2014, I was even able to try my hand at the stitching. I know it looks nice, so I must hurry to confess, the only line I did myself, and even then with a great deal of effort and struggle, was the one at the top of the flower on the right-hand side, the line you can hardly see. It took me over an hour. All the rest was done by Yuko. Well, trying to do it at least gave me a real appreciation of what those amazing Tibetan artists could accomplish.



Need bibliography?  The key to the shortened bibliographical references will appear at the end of Part Three.


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