Bjerken Tantra

Journal of the American Academy of Religion September 2005, Vol. 73, No. 3, pp.
813841
doi:10.1093/jaarel/lfi080
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On Mandalas, Monarchs,
and Mortuary Magic: Siting
the Sarvadurgatiparisodhana
Tantra in Tibet
Zeff Bjerken
Recent scholarship on Indian Buddhist esotericism identifies the indi-
vidual practitioners pursuit of kingship and dominion as the central
defining metaphor of Tantric literature. From this perspective the
mandala is not simply a gnostic symbol of enlightenment but a model
used for the realization of a Buddhist feudal polity. This article
extends this line of argument by explaining why one Indian Buddhist
text, the Sarvadurgatiparisodhana Tantra (SDPS), would play an
important role in the conversion of Tibet to Buddhism. Drawing
upon the theories of J. Z. Smith on locative religion and ritual, I argue
that the ubiquitous mandalas featured in this text serve as maps and
modes of emplacement that have political ramifications for an emerg-
ing Buddhist polity in Tibet. The mandalas, sovereignty symbolism,
and mortuary rites of this text also undermine the indigenous model
of divine kingship that was present in Tibet prior to the arrival of
Buddhism.
The realm of our experience is similar to a tapestry. Time is the warp
and space is the woof; the myriad patterns appearing out of warp and
woof are the metamorphoses of all things.
Inoue Enryo (Grapard: 196)
Zeff Bjerken is an associate professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the College of
Charleston, Charleston, SC 29424.
814 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
SCHOLARS OF TANTRA OFTEN begin their discussion of this com-
plex tradition with an etymology, when they note that the original San-
skrit meaning of tantra was the warp and woof of a fabric. This storied
etymology tells us that Tantric texts are akin to textiles, and from this
metaphor it becomes evident how tantra can also be characterized by
interwoven threads or continuity, as the term is translated in Tibetan
(rgyud). The Tantric text as textile trope offers us a heuristic device for
reading the Sarvadurgatiparisodhana Tantra (SDPS), one of the first
Buddhist Sanskrit Tantras translated into Tibetan during the eighth cen-
tury. What are some of the primary themes, the strands of thread as it
were, that run through this text? Here I will focus on a few prominent
features in the SDPS, namely, the ubiquitous mandalas, the pervasive
symbols of royalty, the much advertised magical benefits, and the tech-
niques for enabling the deceased to achieve a good rebirth, a feature pro-
moted in the texts very name, The Purification of All Evil Rebirths. I have
chosen to unravel these looping threads about mandalas, monarchs, and
mortuary magic because they play a crucial role in the conversion of
Tibet to Buddhism. What intrigues me about these prominent threads in
the SDPS is their value for Buddhist missionary ideology, an ideology that
sought to displace the native Tibetan cult of divine kingship. The religious
and ideological values found in the SDPS were valuable for the Buddhist
conversion project in Tibet, if not tailor-made for it. The purpose of this
article is to examine the discourse about funerals and kings in the SDPS
against the backdrop of Tibets conversion to Buddhism and explain how
its mandalas reordered native conceptions of power and place.
Imperial Tibet during the late eighth and early ninth centuries, when
the SDPS was first translated into Tibetan, was an arena for contesting
religious and political ideologies. Conflict often erupted over the reli-
gious authority of the king and the locus of his power. Early Buddhists in
Tibet faced opposition from ministers and priests who upheld the indige-
nous cult of kingship, a tradition that paid homage to the king as a
descendant from heaven, a divine being endowed with magical powers,
and a magisterial brilliance (phrul byin; Macdonald). Buddhists sought
to displace the native model of kingship with the cakravartin ideal
imported from India. They represented the spread of the Dharma as akin
to the cakravartins expansion of territory, the universal subjugation of
local powers by a righteous conqueror. The image of the cakravartin fea-
tured a king who turns the wheel (cakra) of his empire from its center or
an emperor whose chariot wheel has rolled around the perimeter of the
Indian kingdom, without any obstruction from enemies. As elsewhere in
Asia, much of the early Buddhist mission in Tibet was directed at the
governing elite, with kings in particular targeted as potential promoters
Bjerken: On Mandalas, Monarchs, and Mortuary Magic 815
of the Buddhas law. In turn, the Dharma was presented as a means for
protecting the state (Kapstein; Urban).
Mandalas were valuable tools in the Buddhist mission civilisatrice.
They served as a new map for reorganizing the religious and political
landscape. Mandalas introduced a hierarchical polity centering on the
Buddhist king and expanding outward in concentric circles, representing
degrees of accommodation to the not so sacred or politically powerful. As
we shall see, the mandala offers what Jonathan Z. Smith calls a locative
map of the cosmos, an ordered grid that guarantees meaning and value
through structures of congruity and conformity (1978: 292). The mandalas
social and political coordinates serve the interests of the imperial figure
and his ministers at the center. Thus it is politically conservative, as it
puts everyone into his proper place in a hierarchy, whereby each individ-
uals purpose was fulfilled by keeping his place.
Our investigation of the SDPS will reveal, however, that mandalas
involve much more than the static model implied by a locative map.
Mandalas are well suited to assimilate or replace native figures in the land-
scape, whether they are divine figures or political agents, making
the mandala a potent weapon in the arsenal of Buddhist apologists. The
dynamic function of the mandala is celebrated in its magical ability to
transform the social and religious status of the initiated during the present
and in future lives. The SDPS claims that what takes place inside the
mandala may be radically transformative. Not only can it alter ones
karmic destiny and achieve the goal of Buddhahood but also a variety of
mundane boons (often related to kingship) become available to the ini-
tiate. The tension between these ambivalent aspects of the mandala, serv-
ing both as a static map and a dynamic method for acquiring power, made
it a potent instrument for reconfiguring the religious landscape of Tibet.
Our destination lies in siting the SDPS in Tibet, but we will not be
able to catch full sight of the texts role in the Tibetans conversion to
Buddhism. The gaps that remain between text and context can only be
bridged by historical speculation. But for now, even the analysis of this
text and its historical context remains distant in time and space. Rather
than plunging directly into the sacred space of the SDPS mandalas, I will
take a circuitous route toward this topic, drawing inspiration from the
Tibetan pilgrims practice of circumambulating sites (khor ba).
GUIDES TO THE MANDALA AS SACRED REPRESENTATION:
METHODOLOGICAL EXCURSIONS
As pilgrims know, the straight line is not the customary route for
approaching sacred spaces. Unlike mountaineers of the Himalayas such
as Mallory, who plotted a direct line of ascent to Everests summit and
hoped to conquer it for no other reason than because its there, Tibetans
take an entirely different approach to their sacred mountains in the
Land of Snows. In place of a compass, pilgrims may be equipped with a
guidebook (gnas yig) on their leisurely journey to their destination, with
numerous detours made to retrace footsteps left by saints in stone. On
my own approach to the mandalas of the SDPS, I too shall take a round-
about route and pay homage to my intellectual guides. An oblique
approach seems to be an apt method for the historian. As Smith has sug-
gested the direction of the historians line of argument and even his point
of departure are both quite problematic. The philosopher or theologian
may start his linear arguments with First Principles or with the theologi-
cal opening, In the Beginning. . . . As for the historian, however, Smith
notes that
There is for him no real beginning, but only the plunge which he takes
at some arbitrary point to avoid the unhappy alternatives of infinite
regress or silence. His standpoint is not discovered; rather it is erected
with no claim beyond that of sheer survival. The historians point of
view cannot sustain clear vision. The historians task is to complicate,
not to clarify. He strives to celebrate the diversity of manners, the opac-
ity of things, the variety of species. He is barred, thereby, from making a
frontal assault on his topic. Like the pilgrim, the historian is obligated to
approach his subject obliquely. He must circumambulate the spot sev-
eral times before making even the most fleeting contact. His method,
like that of Tristam Shandy, Gentleman, is that of digression. (1978:
129)
In our roundabout route toward the SDPS Tantra in Tibet, our first
digression takes us through an imaginary city named Eudoxia, where we
will gain some bearing on our Tibetan destination. Eudoxia will provide
an occasion for meditating on religious space and particularly for think-
ing about the features of a mandala-like structure. The city of Eudoxia
that we shall explore appears as a site in the landscape charted by Italo
Calvino in Invisible Cities. For those who have yet to set their minds in
this text, I will summarize some of its salient features.
Invisible Cities features two figures engaged in dialogue, the young
Venetian trader Marco Polo and the aging Tartar emperor Kublai Khan.
The Khan, ruler of a vast but crumbling empire, feels that his territory is
slipping out of his control. He searches for some ultimate order to his
boundless empire, so that he may really grasp and possess it. The Khan
entreats Marco Polo, the seasoned traveler and consummate storyteller,
to describe the cities that he has visited during his trading expeditions.
Polo obliges the Khan with fabulous descriptions of invisible cities; but
with these cities he charts an imaginary topography, more plastic than
material. The Khan tries to discern in these bewildering places the trac-
ery of a pattern so subtle it could escape the termites gnawing (Calvino: 6).
What the emperor seeks in these subtle patterns is a lasting map of his
decaying empire. It is a map of sorts that is featured in Polos description
of Eudoxia, identified as one of the Cities and the Sky, for it is seem-
ingly patterned after the harmony of the celestial spheres.
Polo depicts it as a confusing city with labyrinthine streets and dead-
end alleys, making it easy to get lost in Eudoxia. Fortunately, a magic
carpet is preserved in the city. Its magic is found in the carpets design,
for its geometric pattern represents the citys true form. At first glance,
there would seem to be no relationship whatsoever between the chaotic
city and the carpets ordered design, laid out in symmetrical motives
whose patterns are repeated along straight and circular lines, interwoven
with brilliantly colored spires, in a repetition that can be followed
throughout the whole woof. Upon closer examination, the citizen
becomes convinced that the carpet is actually a miniature version of the
city, a map that faithfully corresponds to all of its places, arranged
according to their true relationship, which escapes [the] eye distracted by
the bustle, the throngs, the shoving. What at first seems disorienting
about the city is merely a result of the citizens incomplete perspective,
but the carpet proves that there is a point from which the city shows its
true proportions, the geometrical scheme implicit in its every, tiniest
detail. If a person loses his way in the city, but then stares at the carpet
long enough, he will recognize the street he was looking for as one of the
carpets colorful threads, which loops around to his destination. Thus,
dwellers in Eudoxia do not escape the implicit geometry of life; when
each confronts the carpets symmetry, he superimposes that order onto
his own image of the city. Even his own destiny can be found in the car-
pets patterns: each can find, concealed among the arabesques, an
answer, the story of his life, the twists of fate (Calvino: 9697).
An oracle is consulted about the mysterious connection between two
such dissimilar objects, the city and the carpet. The oracle answers that
only one of the two objects has the form the gods gave the starry sky and
the orbits in which the worlds revolve; the other is an approximate reflec-
tion, like every human creation. The augurs who interpret the oracles
speech argue (predictably) that the carpet was fashioned by a divine hand
according to the cosmic design, and this interpretation aroused no con-
troversy among Eudoxias inhabitants. However, in a final ironic twist
the reverse possibility is also suggested, which undermines the very exist-
ence of cosmic order:
But you could, similarly, come to the opposite conclusion: that the true
map of the universe is the city of Eudoxia, just as it is, a stain that
spreads out shapelessly, with crooked streets, houses that crumble one
upon the other amid clouds of dust, fires, screams in the darkness.
(Calvino: 97)
Without providing any definitive answer, Calvino leaves us to reflect
on order and chaos in negotiating the mental cityscape of Eudoxia. Do
we read this story as a Platonic parable about the carpets true form? Or
are we left with the existential anguish of uncertainty, bereft of any ulti-
mate religious order?
Here we need not dwell on these ultimate questions. To do so might
strand us in the confusion of Eudoxia, lost amidst the mules braying,
the lampblack stains, the fish smell. Instead, we shall consider the allure
of the carpet as a mandala-like structure. The most obvious parallelism
between the carpet and a mandala lies in their geometrical form, in their
pattern of circles and squares in repeating motives. This abstract geome-
try gives the carpetmandala a static quality, and its immobile order
can be replicated. The carpets value as a map depends on its ability to be
copied and transported, for how else could one actually locate streets in
its colored threads without having a replica of the carpet before him? The
promise of the carpet for Kublai Khan lies in the possibility that it could
be duplicated by Polo and transferred to the Khans capital without ever
losing its accuracy. After all, the citizens of Eudoxia regard it as the pat-
tern of the universe, and viewers of it gain a perfect perspective on their
destiny. Not only is this miniaturized universe easy to grasp conceptually,
it may also have magical qualities, as it concentrates the power of the cos-
mic order into its design, saturating it with meaning and power. Magic is,
of course, related to artifice and fabrication. The creators of cosmograms
such as the mandala are traditionally believed to gain magical power over
the object, with which they can manipulate reality. What is mysterious
about the carpet is that the very conditions of its production remain
unknown, much like the obscure origins of a revelatory text. It is only the
augurs who interpret the oracles ambiguous words and assure the citys
inhabitants that the carpets design is indeed divine.
But how exactly do the carpet, the city, and the cosmos interconnect?
Missing in Polos description is any fixed reference point or a center by
which to orient oneself on the carpet. Although an Archimedean point is
implied by the viewers perspective, the point from which the city shows
its true proportions, a central locus is never specified in the carpets geo-
metrical patterns. Here lies the major difference between the carpet and
the mandala. A mandalas center is unmistakable, serving as the focal
point and the apex of value in a hierarchy that extends downward and
outward in emboxed squares and concentric circles to the periphery,
where marginal beings dwell. The mandalas center, where the king or
buddha resides, plays such an important part in making it a potent struc-
ture that we must leave behind Eudoxias eccentric carpet. But before we
draw any closer to the mandalas of the SDPS, I beg the readers indul-
gence to pursue another diversion and follow the tracks laid by Mircea
Eliade and Smith in their theorizing about sacred space and place.
Another digression seems in order.
As is well known, Eliade establishes his basic program for the study of
religion in The Sacred and the Profane, where he privileges the experience
of the sacred as his starting point. Thus he begins his exploration of
humankinds religious origins in true theological form: In the Beginning
was the Sacred, manifested as a hierophany in the experience of homo
religiosus. This primordial experience of the Sacred is akin to the creation
of the world, for it reveals a Center, the reference point by which humans
can then orient themselves in the world (Eliade: 21). Once the Center has
been located, the religious world can be founded. All human religious
activity thereafter, in myth, in ritual, or in the construction of religious
spaces, is nothing more than a repetition of this basic cosmogonic model.
Eliades theory that humans religious activity repeats the work of the
gods will sound familiar to us. For not only has this leitmotif resounded
as a monotonous refrain in Eliades studies of the sacred; it also echoes
the augurs interpretation of the carpet as an imago mundi. Eliades the-
ory of sacred space, based on the Center and cosmogony, is superim-
posed onto whatever religious landscape he interprets, just as Eudoxias
citizens project the image of the carpets ordered symmetry into their
city. But whereas the carpet seems to help the citizens wend their way
through chaotic streets, Eliades interpretive structure is not an accurate
map that adequately charts all the territory of religion.
The most outspoken critic of Eliades search for the Sacred has been
Smith, whose own theories invert this orientation. Smith dismisses the
need for a Center as an eccentric exception in the history of religions, and
he replaces Eliades priority of homo religiosus with homo faber. An excel-
lent example of his polemic appears in To Take Place. Smith stands Eliade
on his head when he affirms that the language of center is preemi-
nently political and only secondarily cosmological. It is a vocabulary that
stems, primarily, from archaic ideologies of kingship and the royal func-
tion (1987: 17). Put bluntly, for Smith, it is royal power that serves as
the catalyst for discourse about the center, not religious cosmology or
cosmogony. This is a strong claim, and curiously it receives very little tex-
tual support. By locating the center primarily in terms of politics rather
than religion, Smith implies that these two domains are easily separated.
Yet when we consider models such as the mandalas cakravartin, can we
distinguish easily between political domain and religious cosmology
in understanding this figure? The king certainly occupies the center in a
mandala, but is that due to sheer power alone? Smiths etiology for
mythic discourse about the center seems to me as problematic and
one-sided as Eliades theory and, ultimately, as difficult to support.
A more charitable interpretation would view it as an exaggeration in the
direction of truth (to steal one of Smiths favorite phrases), a reminder
that political ideology plays a formative role in the creation of symbolic
centers. This approach will prove more fruitful for understanding how
mandalas operate on the ground in Tibet, in contrast to Eliades depo-
liticized cosmological orientation.
Smiths description of the locative map seems better suited for the
mandala, with its central orientation. He identifies the locative map as
an all-encompassing microcosmic grid, which attempts to eliminate any
incongruity by fixing everything in its proper place, relegating the anom-
alous to the periphery. The locative map thus demands strict conformity,
and it serves as a place of clarification for the hierarchical rules of status
and power implicit in its organization. Politically, such a map is conser-
vative, as it preserves the status quo while functioning as propaganda for
the figure at the center. The locative map serves the interests of this impe-
rial figure, who is regarded as the guardian of the cosmic and social
order, and he is supported by a group of well-organized, self-conscious
scribal elites who [have] a deep vested interest in restricting mobility and
valuing place (Smith 1978: 293). The priests and scribes promote their
royal patron, but their work also ensures their own elite status as the
inscribers of the locative map in texts, in ritual activity, and in society.
Finally, the locative map is a synchronic structure that encourages formal
replication, for it is based on systematic relations within a hierarchy. The
name locative map may seem somewhat misleading, because it need
not be grounded in any specific location. Instead, it is an abstract topog-
raphy that can be transported to various kinds of social space, allowing a
prescission from place (Smith 1987: 109).
That the locative map conforms to many of the generic features of the
mandala is certainly no accident. Smith acknowledged the influence of
Paul Mus, Giuseppe Tucci, and Paul Wheatley in the formulation of this
map, all of whom have contributed much to our understanding of the
mandala as a modeling structure in Buddhist cultures. The mandala
maps the cosmos in miniature, and it overcomes incongruity by creating
correspondences between macro- and microcosm. Like the locative
map, the mandala is also a synchronic model, because the entire cosmos
is thought to be always present within it. The mandalas systemic struc-
ture can be replicated so it adapts readily to various contexts and uses,
making it extremely productive.
MAPPING THE MANDALAS MULTIPLE COORDINATES
Fabio Rambelli has identified five interrelated functions of the
mandala that are worth summarizing here in order to grasp the
mandalas multiple features. Modern scholarship has tended to focus on
the mandala as (1) a meditation device, used by yogins for the purpose of
transforming their body, speech, and mind to yield a different under-
standing of reality. This meditative function of the mandala overlaps
with its use as (2) a scholastic schema and mnemonic device. As the cosmos
represented in miniature, the mandala presupposes rules of correlation
that can be applied by an exegete eager to incorporate all kinds of diverse
phenomena. For instance, the mandalas cardinal orientation can gener-
ate long lists of quadratic equations, setting up homologies between
the four directions, the four elements, the four colors, the four kayas, and
so on, until the quadratic equations become an index for the entire cos-
mos. This elaboration of correspondences is modular: the all-encompass-
ing mandala can expand to include all sorts of heterogeneous elements
without ever compromising its cohesion (Rambelli: 78; White: 10). This
seems suited for scholastics, with their passion for systematic totalization.
But it is important to recognize how the mandala serves a didactic pur-
pose here by organizing and encapsulating doctrines and practices, as it
may be used to transmit esoteric knowledge. Such a feature would make
it especially attractive as a portable memory palace for missionaries
who spread the Dharma from India throughout Asia.
Not only is the mandala manifested in the mental machinations of
yogins and scholastics, but it can also be actualized in space, as an image,
or a shrine, or in the landscape itself. Once represented spatially, the
mandala becomes (3) an object of devotion, the site of offerings to buddhas
and the focus of pilgrimage practices. Too, the mandala can serve mun-
dane (4) magical functions. For instance, entry into a mandala was
thought to produce magical effects (e.g., longevity, wealth, or security) or
a mandala image might be worn on the body as an amulet to ward off
negative forces. In these examples, we see how it is a generative device
endowed with innumerable powers of transformation. Finally, the
mandala has (5) an ideological function by representing an idealized hierar-
chy of status and power that could be imposed on society to form a feudal
Buddhist polity (Davidson: 131144; Strong: 306). It is these last two features,
the magical and the ideological functions, that will serve as the focus of my
analysis of the SDPS. It may be a relief to arrive finally at our destination
after this long methodological excursion. Equipped with the maps that
we have picked up during our circuitous approach, we can begin to chart
the topography of this text and locate it in the historical context of Tibets
imperial period.
The SDPS appears twice in the Tibetan Tripitika. Within the Tantra
section of the Tripitika there are two different versions in Tibetan, which
differ considerably in content and organization. The first Tibetan version
of the Tantra (no. 116), translated by a pair of Indian and Tibetan trans-
lators named Santigarbha and Jayarak5ita in the late eighth century, is
based on a Sanskrit edition of the SDPS that is no longer extant. This
early Sanskrit edition was quite different from the Sanskrit text available
in the late thirteenth century that served as the basis for the second
Tibetan translation (no. 117), translated by another IndianTibetan team
of translators. Although both Tibetan versions of the SDPS are arranged
in three chapters, they only overlap significantly in the second chapter,
and they diverge considerably in their third chapters. Here my analysis
will be limited to the first two chapters of the earlier version translated in
the late eighth century (no. 116). For in these two chapters appear most
prominently the mandalas, the mortuary practices, and the royalty rheto-
ric, the very features that I will argue made the text so valuable for early
Buddhist missionaries in Tibet.
1
My method for interpreting these two
chapters will be to isolate certain threads in the texts discursive narrative
and then establish some connections to the socio-historical context, with
the goal of explaining why this text would have appealed to missionaries
and the royal court of imperial Tibet.
NARRATING THE GEOGRAPHY OF DEATH AND THE
AFTERLIFE
We will begin by rehearsing the narrative elements of the Tantra, for
the introductory setting (gleng gzhi) will help us to grasp how this text
might serve as a locative map for its readers. At the very outset, the
Tantra introduces us to basic cosmological themes when it tells of a gods
fate who has fallen from heaven into the hell realms. This event provides
an opportunity for the Buddha to teach how one can avoid such a fate,
1
Tadeusz Skorupski has compiled the various Tibetan editions of the Sarvadurgatiparisodhana
Tantra and offered an English translation of the later text (no. 117). When I quote or summarize
from the earlier edition of the SDPS (no. 116), I will refer to the pages of the edition presented by
Skorupski as Tibetan Text of Version A, 305379.
and even how to rescue those who are suffering a bad rebirth as a hell
dweller, a hungry ghost, or an animal. The Tantra opens in the grandi-
ose fashion of a Mahayana Sutra, with the Buddha Sakyamuni present in
the Trayastrimsa heavens, surrounded by an enormous entourage of
buddhas and bodhisattvas, all of whom worship him. Although the scene
is set in a pleasure grove, we soon learn that this paradisiacal garden is
not beyond the reach of suffering. Even here the gods are subject to
karma and death, and they can fall to a horrible rebirth.
The action begins dramatically with a miraculous feat. Sakyamuni,
seated on the throne of Brahma, enters into a deep state of concentration,
during which rays of light stream out from the hair tuft (ur3a) between
his eyes. So bright are these rays of light that they illuminate the entire
universe and free all sentient beings from the bonds of the defilements
(klesa), setting them on the path to enlightenment. All the divine beings
gathered around the Buddha are awestruck by this spectacular light
show. Indra, chief of the gods, approaches the Blessed One to ask how he
performed such a wondrous act of salvation. Sakyamuni answers that his
deed is nothing special, for all buddhas have acquired so much merit that
they can do anything with their unlimited wisdom and magical powers.
So effective and limitless are the methods of the buddhas that they are
capable of converting any being (SDPS: 306.3307.2).
Indra then inquires about the fate of the god Vimalama3iprabha,
who only one week earlier had died and fallen from the Trayastrimsa
heavens to be reborn elsewhere. Without offering any explanation for
why the god had died, Sakyamuni launches into a list of the horrific hells
and rebirths that this god must endure, which he describes in ascending
order. The former god must agonize for thousands of years in the lowest
hell realm (Avici), and then endure less severe hells before moving up
through the world of the tormented hungry ghosts, and be reborn subse-
quently as an animal. After tens of thousands of years have past, he will
eventually be reborn as a human, but he must undergo being reborn deaf
and dumb among the border people. Thereafter he will be reborn
among those of lower race, where he will be tormented by plagues, lep-
rosy, hemorrhages, and boils. He will experience continual suffering, and
he will be a source of others suffering too (SDPS: 307.2035).
So upset are the gods upon hearing the fate of their divine companion
that they swoon and fall down on their faces. Indra manages to arise
and begs the Blessed One to teach how Vimalama3iprabha or any god
can be spared such suffering. This serves as the formal request for the
Buddha to reveal how they might be freed from the three bad rebirth
realms. The Blessed One proceeds to instruct all those present in the
mantras and the mandala that will effectively eliminate any future negative
rebirth, a teaching that takes up much of the first chapter. But before he
delivers his teaching, the Buddha promotes it with this plug. He promises
that those who hear, utter, or write down the secret spell of the SDPS and
wear it on their body will not experience the eight signs of death, whereas
those who enter the mandala correctly will never suffer a bad rebirth.
Furthermore, for those who have already passed away to an unfortunate
rebirth, if their corpses are properly placed in the mandala and conse-
crated, they will instantly be freed from suffering as non-returners (phyir
mi ldog pa; SDPS: 310.124).
Let us pause here to consider what the Tantra has introduced so far.
The introductory setting (gleng gzhi) places the reader in a moral uni-
verse, a Buddhist geography of the afterlife. The narrative assumes famil-
iarity with the general terrain of this geography, for it is sketched only in
rough form, with sentient beings inhabiting six rebirth destinies. The
most conspicuous feature of this universe is its integrated hierarchical
structure. The hierarchy first becomes apparent when the Buddha traces
the fall of Vimalama3iprabha from the august assembly of the gods down
to Avici hell. From there he must over millennia slowly make his way in
successive lives up through the graded hell realms, then suffer as a hungry
ghost, and then as an animal. Even after he is finally reborn as a human
a rebirth so often celebrated in Buddhist literature as precious and fortu-
natehe will be subjected to a social hierarchy. He will be reborn first
among the border people (yul mtha khob kyi mi, i.e., the barbarians
who know nothing about Buddhism), and then he will take rebirth
among impure people of low caste. These unfortunate human rebirths
illustrate two different hierarchical principles. First, there is a center-
periphery structure in which the center is marked by the presence of a
Buddha, the teaching of the Dharma, and the flourishing of the Sangha,
whereas the periphery is marked by their absence. Second, there is the
purity-pollution structure that forms the basis of the Indian caste system.
These hierarchical values are replicated throughout the Tantra, but they
are most rigorously repeated in the mandalas, which serve as devices that
clarify the principles of status and power implicit in the organization of
the cosmos.
The introduction, which sets the stage for the Buddhas discourse on
mandalas, thus demonstrates a concern with mapping modes of
emplacement, with situating beings according to their status and power,
and with replacing their rebirth. Sakyamuni and other buddhas are
found at the very apex of the hierarchy, and their pure status and magical
power are honored by the gods. In fact, the Buddhas superiority over the
gods is repeatedly emphasized, as the Buddha displaces Brahma by sitting
on his throne at the very center of the divine assembly, while Indra, chief
of the gods of the Trayastrimsa heavens, serves as his unsure interlocutor.
In addition, the gods are warned that they must not develop a sense of
false security while dwelling in their blissful heavens. The fate of
Vimalama3iprabha produces a sense of urgency in the gods, like a fire
and brimstone sermon. Upon hearing the misery that their former friend
must endure, the gods can only respond by falling on their faces before
the Buddha, in a reenactment of their former divine companions unex-
pected fall from heaven. Arising to their knees in supplication to the
Buddha, they plea to be spared from a bad rebirth.
It is not difficult to imagine the appeal of these themes for Tibetans
who were just becoming acquainted with Buddhism in the eighth and
ninth centuries. The SDPS addresses the timely topic of deaths inevita-
bility, to which all beings are subject, even the gods. In line with other
Buddhist texts, our Tantra reinforces a vision of the afterlife, the doc-
trines of karma and continual rebirth, and the hierarchical Indian social
norms that would be novel to Tibetans. Buddhist missionaries could use
the ominous threat of a bad rebirth with strong effect, in order to impress
upon potential Tibetan converts the value of the apotropaic rites, the
funerary practices, or the magical spells that only Buddhist adepts could
provide. Similarly, Sakyamuni first determines Vimalama3iprabhas dire
destiny, and then he skillfully introduces the SDPS mandalas to his audi-
ence, once he has their full attention. Judging from the number of
Tibetan texts found in Dunhuang that invoke the deities and mantras
that originate in the SDPS Tantra, these magical spells that were designed
to prevent a bad rebirth were popular among Tibetans during the eighth
and ninth centuries. For example, there are two manuscripts from Dun-
huang that preserve a short text entitled Conquering the Three Poisons
(Dug gsum dul ba), a text which prominently features mantras taken
from the SDPS (Imaeda 1979: 7176).
Another important Buddhist missionary work, contemporaneous
with the translation of the SDPS into Tibetan, is The Story of the Cycle of
Birth and Death (Skye shi khor loi lo rgyus; SCBD), which survives in nine
Dunhuang manuscripts (Imaeda 1981: 6, 83). The SCBD narrates the
quest of a boy named Rinchen, who seeks the means to bring his
deceased father, a former god, back to life. After traveling from one spiri-
tual teacher to another without gaining the desired teaching, Rinchen
finally meets Sakyamuni, who teaches him that birth and death are the
result of karma. Only the rituals taught by the Buddha will have any pos-
itive effect by purifying past karma. The Buddha then proceeds to teach
the young boy how to master the mantras and make the proper fire offer-
ings in a mandala. These teachings are but a synopsis of the instructions
that are prescribed at great length within the SDPS (Imaeda 1981: 73).
The SDPS and SCBD share more than a concern with transforming
the deceased by means of mantras and mandalas, for they both present
stories that feature the death of a god. The death of a god motif was a
common missionary strategy used to subvert the cult of local deities
found in pre-Buddhist traditions. This strategy involved subordinating
the minor mundane gods (jigs rten pai lha), who were not free from
samsara, to the supra-mundane deities and buddhas (jigs rten las das pai
lha), who are liberated from the cycle. When the gods of the Trayastrimsa
heavens fall on their faces before the Buddha, this act demonstrates their
subordination to Sakyamuni, their superior savior, with no small dra-
matic flair.
ADVERTISEMENTS FOR THE SDPS TEXT AS ROYAL
PROPAGANDA
Another feature of the SDPS that illustrates how it might serve as
Buddhist propaganda are the numerous advertisements made through-
out the text that celebrate its efficacy. Each chapter of the work follows a
set pattern: before the Buddha introduces a new topic, whether ritual
instructions or descriptions of mandalas, he heralds them with an adver-
tisement. After presenting his teachings, these advertisements are reiter-
ated, followed by effusive praise from the gods, who testify to the truth
and efficacy of the Buddhas teachings. The overwhelming majority of
these advertisements promise some form of magical success in the world
(laukika siddhi) rather than the supermundane goal of enlightenment
(lokottara siddhi). This emphasis is in reversal of the priorities often found
by modern western commentators on Tantra, who tend to underscore
the transcendent goal of Buddhahood and only grudgingly accept the
worldly benefits. For instance, the text mentions the purpose of perform-
ing the fierce rites, such as destroying or mutilating ones enemies,
attracting pretty young girls, bewitching armies, or producing rain.
In terms of the central topic of the SDPS, the text claims that those
who enter the mandala will be liberated from all evil destinies, and they
will be reborn in the heavenly realms. That they will eventually attain
enlightenment is added almost as an afterthought; what the text makes
most appealing is how one may avoid the suffering associated with
unfortunate rebirths, such as disease, famine, or a premature death.
These concrete goals were certainly one of the selling features of the
SDPS and Tantric Buddhism in general. It was precisely these kinds of
magical, wonder-working characteristics of the Buddhist thaumaturge
that appealed to the general populace. The advertisements can be read as
an affirmation that the Tantric Buddhism of the SDPS can compete quite
successfully on the ground of Tibets autochthonous traditions, in
defending against demons and conferring other magical powers.
It would be a mistake, however, to interpret the missionary message
of the SDPS as a popularized concession for the ordinary layperson. If the
text targets a specific audience it would be the elite classes, especially the
ministers and the kings as I will argue below. Although the rhetoric of the
advertisements might make the SDPS seem appealing to anyone, its
actual practices are wrapped in a veil of secrecy, described in ambiguous
language that refers elliptically to secret consecrations. The text always
assumes that the reader is familiar with its esoteric terminology. The
modern scholar must remember that the SDPS was never intended for an
English audience of nonbelievers and that its secret character made the
commentaries and guru mandatory, thereby safeguarding their power.
Thus the texts air of secrecy is deliberately exclusivistic, limiting its com-
prehensibility to the initiated elite. The novice must accept a Buddhist
teacher as a preceptor as the prerequisite for gaining entry into this elite
group.
When the Buddha finally responds to Indras query about the rites for
the purification of evil rebirths, his description is remarkably condensed
and cryptic. First, the Buddha states quite simply that there is nothing
difficult about liberating beings from hell and purifying their sins. All
that is required is for the Tantric adept to draw a mandala in the proper
fashion, then place a symbolic representation of the sinner in the man-
dalas center, consecrate it, andvoil!all his sins will be purified.
There at the center of the divine palace he will be freed from hell or from
wherever he suffers. Moreover, he is assured rebirth into the abode of the
gods where he will have easy access to the Buddhas teaching and gain
enlightenment in due course (SDPS: 319.1830). With this rousing pre-
view, the Buddha then proceeds to elaborate on how to perform the
tantric rites that will benefit anyone who is reborn into a lower realm.
MORTUARY MAGIC: REPLACING THE SINNERS REBIRTH
The practitioner first requires a substitute representation of the bene-
ficiary, which may involve forming an effigy of the deceased, or inscrib-
ing the deceaseds name on a card (tsag li). The symbolic substitute is
placed in the mandala that has been carefully constructed in advance.
The effigy or name card is consecrated by the Tantric master when he
utters mantras and performs the requisite mudras, which are never spec-
ified in the Tantra (although the Indian and Tibetan commentaries often
list them in detail). The officiant writes the secret spell of the buddha
assigned to his family on the heart of the effigy or in the center of the
name card. Then, while conceiving the sinner/buddha as one in his mind,
he places the effigy in a stupa, where family members and friends can
honor him. The Tantric ritualist recites the name of the deceased and the
secret spell of the buddha thousands of time to purify the sinners karmic
effects. This practice is said to free the sinner from hell or as an animal
and lead directly to a divine rebirth (SDPS: 319.32320.5).
If the body of the deceased is available, then the Tantric officiant will
cremate the corpse in a homa sacrifice seven days after death has
occurred. Before the cremation the corpse is cleansed with consecrated
water and milk, purified with incense and perfume, wrapped in a clean
cloth, and decorated with flowers. The Tantric yogin then writes the syl-
lables of the mandalas mantra on a card and touches the card at various
points on the body while reciting the mantra. Placing the corpse in the
center of the hearth, the yogin performs the homa rite. He envisages
Agni, the consumer of the fire offerings, and Vajrapa3i in wrathful form
as Trailokyavijaya (Conqueror of the Three [Evil] Rebirths). They
serve as the divine recipient and the agent for transforming the deceased
persons karmic condition. What apparently effects the purification of
the deceased is the invitation of this wrathful buddha, with noose and
dagger in hand, to stomp fiercely on the sins of the deceased. Once the
corpse has been burned, the ashes and bone particles are gathered, mixed
with pure substances, and formed into a statue or a stupa. When this
statue smiles, or the stupa blazes with light, or another auspicious sign
appears, then the purification rite is thought to have been effective. If an
auspicious sign does not appear, it must be due to the great karmic debt
that the deceased has incurred. So the officiant recites more mantras or
repeats the sacrifice until a sacred sign appears (SDPS: 321.7322.42).
We can discern certain homologies underlying these mandala-based
mortuary rites. On the one hand, a homology is formed between the
deceased and his effigy/name card/image, which serves as his symbolic
substitute; on the other hand, a homology is established between the
stupa, the hearth, and the buddhas palatial residence, all of which are
modeled on the mandala. The key moment in these rites occurs when the
symbolic substitute is placed in the center of the stupa/hearth/palace, and
the officiant consecrates it, thereby merging the buddhas and the sin-
ners identities. Their identities merge again during the visualization
exercise of the ritual officiant and during the officiants repeated recita-
tion of the sinners name in alternation with the spell of the buddha.
Once properly placed in the mandala, the sinners moral state is modi-
fied: the sinner gains entry to the heavenly realm of the gods.
Here we see a series of rites that enable a sinner to be purified and
replaced into the realm of the gods. After the SDPS describes a locative
map in its introductory narrative, where every being is situated according
to his karmic condition, we are told in what follows that an individuals
karma is not fixed, that his destiny is never determined. For the text
promises rites that can transform his karmic trajectory. These rites
require a mediator, a Tantric specialist, who can magically manipulate
appearances and the destiny of others because of his own identification
with the Buddha, whom he visualizes himself as being during the course
of the rites. The ritual specialist becomes the Buddhas incarnate pres-
ence, the agent of consecration in the purification of the deceased per-
sons sins. Ultimately, the transformative force of these rites is only
available to one who has access to a properly trained ritual specialist.
Only those elite practitioners who have the knowledge and power gained
from Tantric consecration can perform these rites for the benefit of the
worst of sinners. The uninitiated would no doubt be disappointed or
lost when trying to make sense of the text alone and practice these rituals
independently.
I have lingered over the descriptions of the SDPS death rites because
this work serves as the locus classicus for subsequent Tibetan Buddhist
mortuary rites. The mortuary rites based on the SDPS seem to be some of
the oldest Buddhist practices. Many Tibetan funerary traditions follow
the basic structure outlined in the SDPS, and they often use the spells and
invocations that first appear in this Tantra (Imaeda 1979: 7176; Skorupski:
xxix). The death practices prescribed in the SDPS would have come into
conflict with the indigenous Tibetan funerary cult of the deceased kings,
which constituted a form of royal ancestor worship.
One of the earliest works of Tibetan historiography, The Testament of
Dba: The Royal Narrative Concerning the Bringing of Buddhas Doctrine to
Tibet (Dba bzhed), mentions the importance of the SDPS in the conver-
sion of the court to Buddhism. This narrative concludes with the death of
king Tri Songdetsen, whereupon a debate arises among the ministers
over whether Bon or Buddhist funeral rites should be performed for him.
One minister defends the continuation of Bon funerary traditions on the
grounds that Tibets imperial authority was supported by the cult of
divine kingship maintained by Bon priests. A pro-Buddhist minister
refutes this claim by pointing out that all of the regional rulers who
followed Bon funeral practices were incorporated into the expanding
Tibetan empire. This minister implies that Buddhism provides more
tools for imperial expansion than does Bon, for it offers a more effective form
of magical power and more divine protectors (Wangdu and Diemberger:
101103). The minister concludes that Buddhist funerals are superior to
ancient Bon practices. His argument proves persuasive, as the kings
funeral was performed according to Buddhist custom. The text then
concludes that thereafter in Tibet the funerals were celebrated follow-
ing the Ngan song sbyong rgyud, and on the basis of the mandala of
Buddha Vairocana.
2
The text mentioned here is an abbreviated title
for the SDPS. This passage supports what we know about the changes
in the funeral rites during the late imperial period. In the ninth century
and thereafter Buddhist ritual specialists acquired the special preroga-
tive of performing funerals for all levels of society. As elsewhere in Asia,
Buddhist monks and ritual specialists gained a monopoly in Tibet over
the practices and institutions that dealt with death, and the SDPS
would have played a role in undermining the native Tibetan cult of
divine kings.
3

The SDPS was certainly the object of study by Rinchen zangpo (958
1055), a Tantric scholar who played a crucial role in the dissemination of
Buddhism during the eleventh century. In the earliest extant biography
of Rinchen zangpo, he is said to have consecrated many SDPS mandalas
on the occasion of his mothers death.
4
Moreover, this scholar is reported
to have performed the funerary rites of the SDPS for the king of western
Tibet, Yeshe (Ye shesod), his royal sponsor. This tells us that the SDPS
came to play an important role in the life and deaths of two key figures
responsible for the rebirth of Buddhism in Tibet. But there is an irony
too in Rinchen zangpos performance of the SDPS funerary rite for the
benefit of his royal benefactor. Although Yeshe was an impassioned
sponsor of Mahayana Buddhism, he was not supportive of Tantra in gen-
eral. His hostility toward Tantra is evident in his decree of a royal ordi-
nance (bka shog). There he excoriated the mispractice of Tantra by
village masters, whose sins included their denial of karma and their
claim that the effects of actions may be deflected. Yeshe warned that
those who follow such heretical practices will suffer a rebirth in one of
2
See Wangdu and Diemberger: 105 and Dba bzhed (26a231b6) for the full account of the debate
between the pro-Bon and pro-Buddhist ministers. This appendix is filled with archaic Tibetan terms
and titles that reflect Tibetan dynastic sources, making it very old in its content and diction. Per
Srenson affirms that there is little doubt that it must be dated to the 9
th
century. See Srensons
preface to the Dba bzhed in Wangdu and Diemberger: xv.
3
There are manuscripts from Dunhuang (e.g., Pelliot Tibetaine 239, 972) that present Buddhist
mortuary rituals for helping those reborn in unfortunate circumstances. These ritual instructions
also critique ancient Tibetan practices (identified as the black funeral rites of Bon), even as they
incorporate archaic elements of Tibetan origin. See Stein: 160175 and Karmay 1983.
4
See the biography of Rin chen bzang po by Dpal ye shes that appears in Snellgrove and Skorupski:
92. Rin chen bzang po is credited with translating the Sarvadurgatiparisodhanama3dalasachanopayika
and the Sarvadurgatiparisodhanapretahomavidhi, both of which are commentaries on the SDPS
Tantra.
the three evil realms.
5
Perhaps Rinchen zangpo performed the mortuary
rites to ensure that Yeshe would avoid an evil rebirth for proscribing
legitimate Tantric textslike the SDPSduring his lifetime.
RITUALS THAT SERVE SOVEREIGNS AND RECTIFY
REGICIDE
That this Tantra is concerned with rectifying the lives of sinful kings
becomes apparent in the second chapter of the SDPS. At the beginning of
this chapter we return via a narrative flashback to the events that had
impelled Vimalama3iprabha into the lowest hell realm. While the first
chapter featured Buddha Sakyamuni, who had explained what had hap-
pened to the god, here it is the Buddha Vajrapani who explains why the
young god had to endure such suffering. Curiously, this narrative only
appears in the eighth-century edition of the SDPS Tantra.
6

Vajrapani explains that Vimalama3iprabhas fall into hell was the rip-
ening of karmic seeds sown in his previous life, when he had been born a
prince. Burning with desire to become king, the prince assassinated his
own father and mother and assumed the throne all to himself. One day
while hunting in a forest, the young king came upon a lone hermit. The
king asked the hermit how he could endure such hardship. The hermit
replied that his self-imposed suffering was hardly anything in compari-
son to the burden he had undertaken as a bodhisattva. The hermit con-
tinued that even that suffering was insignificant in comparison to the
painful experiences one must endure in hell, after one sins from desire
for worldly power. The hermits speech struck fear in the kings heart,
and he immediately asked to take refuge in the Three Jewels. Upon hear-
ing the sages teachings, the king repented for killing his parents; but then
he died suddenly, like a lamp snuffed out by the wind. As the karmic
effect of his last good deed of repentance, the king was reborn in heaven
as Vimalama3iprabha. There he experienced joy, only to have it all disap-
pear when he abruptly fell into hell for the sin of regicide against his
5
See Karmay 1980: 150162. Yeshe notes that earlier kings of Tibet had prohibited the false
religion [the Anuttarayoga Tantras] in accordance with the Word of the Buddha, and yet he adds
that heretical Tantras pretending to be Buddhist, are also spread in Tibet [today], and he identifies
how they have brought harm to the kingdom. Although he does not mention the SDPS explicitly, he
criticizes mortuary practices similar to what is found in the SDPS, including the homa rituals and the
use of a corpse to attain mundane powers.
6
SDPS: 332.24335.7. Why this story that explains the karmic reasons for the gods fall into hell
was omitted in the later version of the SDPS remains mysterious to me. What is noteworthy is that it
serves as the narrative setting for the second chapter, and it is integral to framing the chapters
discourse about kingship.
father. But thanks to Indra who had performed the rites on his behalf,
Vimalama3iprabha was restored to heaven.
In the style of a Jatakas conclusion, Vajrapani then reveals to his
audience the real identities of the figures in the story: the forest hermit
was of course none other than Sakyamuni, while the assassinated king
had been Indra himself. All of the gods who heard this story were thrilled
to learn about the righteous reasons for the trials and tribulations of
Vimalama3iprabha. They then formally asked Vajrapani to teach them
how to benefit those with short lives and limited fortunes. For the
remainder of the chapter Vajrapani proceeds to describe a series of man-
dalas and the mundane boons that one gains upon being initiated into
them. In effect, Vajrapani teaches how one can transform these powerful
gods into servants and become a king on earth through the mediation of
a buddha or cakravartin. Let us pause briefly to consider the possible his-
torical impact of this chapters discourse on kingship and regicide in
Tibet.
The story of Vimalama3iprabhas previous life, and particularly his
act of regicide against his own father, may well have reminded Tibetan
readers of their own kings during the imperial period. Regicide appears
to have been a common practice against the kings living then. In his mag-
isterial study of Tibetan kingship Erik Haarh claims that regicide was an
established institution in the lives of the last eleven kings of this dynasty
(Haarh: 328). Haarh argues that regicide was necessitated by the method
of succession used during this period, when the king was succeeded as
soon as his son reached maturity, usually at the age of thirteen (or when
he was old enough to master a horse, as Tibetan texts put it). These
kings were regarded as the continually reborn essence of Tibets divine
ancestor, who was reincarnated in each prince at the age of thirteen. The
royal ancestor spirit remained incarnated in him until his son reached
the age of maturity and ascended the throne as the next link in the ances-
tral incarnation. From the logic of quick succession Haarh derives the
theory that the early kings usurped each other by murder, and they
reigned for the period during which they were at the peak of their mascu-
line divine potency, only to be killed themselves when their sons reached
maturity. If this theory of the Tibetan kings method of succession is
accurate and regicide was practiced, then it would have proved a major
challenge to the first Buddhist missionaries in Tibet. These missionaries
certainly sought to undermine the indigenous cult of divine kingship and
to convert the Tibetan kings to Buddhism in order to receive their
patronage. The message related by the forest sage (Sakyamuni) to the
king (Vimalama3iprabha) in the second chapter would have appealed to
Tibetan kings. For those kings who were persuaded of their fate in hell
unless they patronized Buddhist monks to perform their funerary rites,
the SDPS would have been especially germane.
7

The sovereignty symbolism that pervades the first chapter is found in
the second chapter too. The most prominent feature of the many man-
dalas that are elaborated there is the promise of worldly success for those
who are properly initiated; and worldly success is most often measured in
terms of a monarchs ability to protect and extend his sovereignty. Of
course, the SDPS is hardly unique among Tantras in its preoccupation
with kingship or with the cakravartin ideal that posits a parallel between
territorial dominion and buddhahood. One finds these themes in many
Buddhist tantras, such as the Majusrimulakalpa, an early Sanskrit
Tantra translated into Tibetan. One might object, then, that the sover-
eignty symbolism in the SDPS is standard tantric fare. Or one might view
the claims to sovereignty in the SDPS as yet another example of the gran-
diose hyperbole so characteristic of Tantras. But we should not dismiss
its magic as merely a symbolic literary feature or as an effect of the fan-
tastic imagination cultivated in Tantric texts. For to do so ignores the fact
that many Tibetans would regard the magical effects of these mandalas as
real. Indeed, literal readings of Tantric texts were not uncommon in
early Tibet. This we know from those Tibetan writers who lament the lit-
eralists naive misunderstanding and mispractice of Tantra during the
early dissemination of Buddhism, much as king Yeshe did.
For the remainder of the chapter Vajrapani describes a long series of
mandalas beginning with his own, followed by the mandalas belonging to
the Four Great Kings of the cardinal directions. It is claimed that by draw-
ing the mandala of the Four Great Kings and performing the consecration,
not being a king [the initiated] becomes a king, being a king [the initi-
ated] becomes a great one (SDPS: 340.1920). The Four Kings then pay
an oath of obeisance to their lord Vajradhara, who sits at the center of
their mandala:
As for us, the Four Great Kings, we will always protect that king together
with his retinue and servants, his whole kingdom and cities. We will
destroy hostile kingdoms and those who are wicked to him. We will
remove the fear of death, diseases, famine, plagues and calamities.
(SDPS: 340.2532)
I could multiply examples of the sovereignty symbolism found in this
chapter, but I will mimic the move often made by Tibetan writers and
7
There are a number of Dunhuang Tibetan documents that serve to proselytize the Buddhist
cosmologicalethical framework of karma and samsara. See Kapstein: 34, 4446.
express my fear of prolixity (tshig mang bas dogs pa). There is one final
example of royalty rhetoric used to characterize the SDPS text as a whole
that deserves our attention. It reads somewhat like a commercial message
from a sponsor. After Vajrapani has finished his long discourse on the
various mandalas, the gods in the audience praise his teaching as the
kalpa-raja, the royal work or royal composition.
One who writes this Kalpa-raja or has it written for the benefit, good,
happiness of living beings reborn in evil places, we gods . . . will protect
that son or daughter of (our) lineage like our own subjects. . . . We will
extend the sovereignty of that king or his son or his minister who
expounds the mantras in accordance with their invocations. We will
promote his sovereignty, protect his country, provinces, people and sub-
jects, his crops and the rest. We will provide wealth and grain in abun-
dance; grant women, men, sons and daughters; bestow property,
sustenance, provisions, and peace. . . . We will recognize the rank of that
great being by servitude or with filial submission. (SDPS: 356.923)
Here we see in a passage typical of the Mahayana cult of the book that
the text itself is described as an exemplar of royal work. Those who write
or copy it, or those who have it copied, will become like powerful kings,
to whom the various gods pledge willing submission as their servants.
There is something fitting, if not self-serving, about the glorification
of the SDPS text as royal work when we consider how this text was
itself translated and reproduced into Tibetan. As mentioned earlier, the
text was first translated in the late eighth century by the Indian pa3dit
Santigarbha and by the Tibetan Jayarak5ita. Both of these translator
monks participated in the consecration of Samye monastery under the
reign of Tri Songdetsen, the king who first declared Buddhism the official
religion of Tibet in 791.
8
Moreover, the SDPS text itself is listed in the
Denkar palace catalogue (Dkar chag ldan dkar ma), a catalogue of sanc-
tioned translations assembled during Tri Songdetsens reign. That the
SDPS was officially sanctioned by its placement in this catalogue means
that a royal committee would have appointed the translators. The trans-
lation of the SDPS was revised before 836 by another well-known Tibetan
8
See Skorupskis introduction (SDPS: xxiv). Skorupski dates the translation of the SDPS toward
the end of the eighth century and notes that it was revised sometime before 863 [sic]; this latter
date must be a mistake, since the revisor Rinchenchok (Rin chen mchog) died shortly after his
patron Ralpajen (Ral pa can) in 836. Snellgrove also mistakenly attributes the translation to Rin chen
mchog, with the assistance of Santigarbha and Jayarak5ita, which is contradicted by the actual
colophon: rgya gar gyi mkhan po santigarbha dang/bod kyi lo tsa ba bande jayarak5itas bsgyur cing zus/
acarya rin chen mchog gis skad gsar bcad kyis bcos nas gtan la phab bo/. See Snellgrove: 454, also n129.
monktranslator, Ma Rinchenchok. This monk was one of the first seven
monks to be ordained at Samye, and he was appointed by king Ralpajen
(r. 815835) to revise and systematize the translation of Buddhist texts
into Tibetan. The translation and revision of the SDPS thus occurred
under the patronage of Tibets two most ardent Buddhist kings, Tri
Songdetsen and Ralpajen. The texts royalty rhetoric could only have
helped it achieve in Tibet what it claimed itself to be in Sanskrit, namely,
a royal work or composition.
After plodding through such detailed descriptions of these multiple
mandalas, one may dare to ask, why are there so many? What ideological
purpose is served by their ability to replicate and multiply? The man-
dalas symmetrical shape is significant in that it is based on systematic
hierarchical relations that emerge from its cardinal orientation. Within
the mandala there are different seats or offices whose value is determined
by this cardinal orientation and their distance from the center. Which
particular deity occupies what seat or office is less important than the seat
or office itself and its hierarchical relation to other officesthe deities
and buddhas are interchangeable. Like the locative map described by
Smith, the mandala is an abstract topography that can be imposed upon
various kinds of social space, enabling it to be cut out of one place and
stamped, cookie-cutter style, onto another space. The mandala is there-
fore both a prescriptive model and a mold. Often non-Buddhist images
and deities are forced into this mold. One of the mandalas missionary
purposes is to encompass local deities and subordinate them to the
buddha. This feature is obvious in the second chapter of the SDPS, where
most of the deities described are minor Indian deities made to serve a
Buddhist purpose by becoming servants to the central buddha. The Four
Great Kings, the Eight Great Planets, or the Nine Bhairavasall were once
foreign to the Buddhist pantheon, but here they are all peripheral pro-
tectors. To illustrate how mandalas move and modify foreign spaces, I
shall now review some well-known narratives about Tibets conversion to
Buddhism.
MANDALAS ON THE MOVE IN THE MISSION
CIVILISATRICE: MOLDS OR MODULAR?
The theme of domesticating the non-Buddhist outsider (phyi pa)
into a Buddhist insider (nang pa) plays a major role in Tibetan narra-
tives of conversion. These dramatic narratives express in potent language
how Tibet and its native chthonic spirits were dominated, subdued, and
converted into Dharma protectors. All these actions served the higher
goal of civilizing the indigenous forces to Buddhism. The Tibetan term
used to describe this process of transformation is dul ba, a verb with a
broad semantic field, extending from to tame, to subdue, to conquer; to
cultivate, waste land; to civilize, a nation; to educate, to discipline, to
punish. This term sums up many of the central themes that relate to the
Buddhist quest for cultural and religious hegemony, a project described
in the rhetoric of cultivation and domestication (Samuel: 217222).
In considering the role of the mandala in Tibetan conversion dramas,
it is crucial to understand how territory was expropriated from indige-
nous powers. These narratives feature siddhas who transform the wild
Tibetan landscape into something recognizably Buddhist, bound by
principles of rational order and centered on the power of a Buddhist
ruler. The mandala serves this purpose admirably, being a symmetrical
structure that could be imposed onto the native landscape, reducing it
from an unbounded mass to an ordered array of neatly contained resi-
dences, fit for buddhas and kings. The taming of the landscape into a
bounded grid served to reorder the native Tibetan sense of line and
space. The earliest Buddhist monuments were constructed with the
mandala structure as their blueprint. The mandala became a site for
sacred places wrested away from native powers and replaced by a
Buddhist hierarch presiding at the center, whereas indigenous deities
were relegated to the periphery, as guardians of this rectangular grid of
civilization. Here the mandala serves to integrate Buddhist and non-
Buddhist traditions.
Before Buddhist missionaries could sow the seeds of karma in the
Land of Snows, the Tibetan landscape, so saturated by obstructive local
spirits and demons, had first to be cleared by clerics and then fenced in
with mandalas. What the subjugation narratives effect is a displacement
of popular local spirits for the purpose of creating a Buddhist utopian
space.
9
Tibets native soil is regarded as animate and even hostile, and it
must be tamed and conquered by kings and thaumaturges, who con-
struct supports for the Dharma (mchod rten, i.e., stupas). When a man-
dala is placed over an indigenous power place what results might be
called a palimpsestuous landscape. Buddhist missionaries seemed bent
on creating these palimpsests, which do not blot out native figures in the
landscape in the name of emptiness, but they lay an alternative mandala
texturation over the power places. It is the very flexibility of the mandala
9
There are numerous subjugation narratives that are well known in Tibet, but the three most
frequently mentioned are the subjugation of the Srinmo Demoness, the subjugation of Mahesvara
(or Rudra/Bhairava), and the subjugation of Jigs byed by Heruka. See Gyatso; Huber: 4142;
Davidson: 150152.
that enables it to adapt so easily to different arenas. The cookie-cutter
mold image suggested above seems too rigid to describe the mandalas
modular ability (Strong: 309312).
Padmasambhava is the most famous conqueror of non-Buddhist
forces in Tibet, and he plays a central role in Buddhist conversion
narratives. In his quest to convert local power places into utopian
Buddhist spaces, he seems to repress (but not erase) the memory of
those places and substitute new Buddhist myths for them. His subju-
gation of indigenous gods and demons is best known in connection
with the consecration of the first monastery of Samye. There is a
Tibetan ritual dance (cham) still performed today by monks dressed
in costumes representing the protectors of religion that reenacts
Padmasambhavas primal dance of demonic submission. The dance
also marks out the great mandala upon which Samye monastery was
built. What interests us here is how the mandala becomes enacted in
dynamic movement.
First, the earth has to be inspected for signs of suitability, and a
request is made to the non-human owners of the land (sa bdag) for per-
mission to use the ground as a mandala site. Next, any hindering spirits
are ruthlessly removed, captured with hooks, bound by chains, and
finally nailed with ritual daggers. This is what has been called a man-
dala in action or a dynamic mandala (Schrempf: 106). As a dynamic
form of space creation it reinforces a point made by Smith that a reli-
gious environment is created out of human action, out of the labor of
homo faber, not by the hierophany of homo religiosus. The dancers
movement creates time and space, and the mandala that is outlined is a
means of taking control over a place. This is an active means of transfor-
mation, during which demons are stamped into the ground. We are
reminded of the role that Trailokyavijaya plays in the rites for the
deceased described in the first chapter of the SDPS. The mandala-based
dance becomes a form of magical manipulation, transforming the
Tibetan landscape into a pure place. It would be mistaken to regard the
mandala merely as a static locative map when so much of its appeal
depends on its dynamic potential.
The dynamism or modular quality of the mandala can be spatial,
when it serves as a site for converting outsiders to insiders. But its
modularity can also be temporal, when the mandala overcomes barriers
of the past and present and enables participants to project themselves
into the future and realize Buddhahood. I will conclude with one final
feature of the mandala, less violent and more utopian than those just
described. To arrive at this particular feature, we will leave Tibet behind
and return to where we began. Let us come full circle, like the Tibetan
pilgrim performing his circumambulation, and revisit the Invisible Cities
of Calvino.
At the very conclusion of Polos tour of so many fantastic cities, we
find Kublai Khan considering an atlas that he owns. It is an atlas in
which are gathered the maps of all invisible cities, an all-inclusive
emblem of places, patterns, and worlds, reminiscent of the SDPS text
itself. The atlas is magical in its detail and, finally, in its prophetic abil-
ity, describing cities not yet found: utopias and anti-utopias, archetypal
cities. For the atlas has these qualities: it reveals the form of cities that
do not yet have a form or a name. It also contains the maps of cities
that menace in nightmares and maledictions: Babylon, Brave New
World (and no doubt Avici too).
The Great Khan asks his guide, Marco Polo, to tell him how to reach
one of the utopias. Polo replies that the journey to such a place is dis-
continuous in space and time, now scattered, now more condensed, but
he adds nonetheless you must not believe the search for it can stop.
Leafing through the atlas pages of the anti-utopias, the Khan grows
depressedhe fears that the infernal cities may be pulling us downward,
in ever-narrowing circles. Now comes the climax of this subtle but pow-
erful book. Polo replies:
The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is
what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form
by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is
easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you
can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance
and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the
midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them
space. (Calvino: 165)
Among other things, this is what the mandalas of the Purification of
All Evil Rebirths offer. Mandalas play a central role in the imaginative
world construction of esoteric Buddhism. Like the carpet in Eudoxia, or
the atlas owned by the Khan in Invisible Cities, the mandalas of the SDPS
promised Tibetan Buddhist converts control over their own destiny, even
as they require the faithful to fear new infernos and pursue new utopias
in the Buddhist geography of the afterlife. For those Tibetans concerned
about their life in the present, mandalas create an idealized space in the
midst of a chaotic and impermanent world. Whatever is placed within
themwhether religious offerings to stimulate all the senses, sanctified
bodies, an ever-expanding pantheon, or even an entire city or kingdom
can be made pure and endure.
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