Fortune and the Cursed: The Sliding Scale of Time in Mongolian Divination 9780857454836

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Tables and Figures
Acknowledgements
Cast of Characters
Preface
Chapter 1. A Race Against Time: Mongolian Fortune and the Anthropology of Magic
Chapter 2. Buryat Cosmology and the Timescales of Religious Practice
Chapter 3. Fortune, the Soul and Spiralling Returns
Chapter 4. Curses, Khel Am and the Omnipresence of Witchcraft
Chapter 5. Divination and the Inextensive Distance to Cursing Rivals
Chapter 6. An Unconventional Timescale: The Immediate Rise of Fortune
Glossary of Vernacular Terms
References
Index

Citation preview

Fortune and the Cursed

Series: Epistemologies of Healing General Editors: David Parkin and Elisabeth Hsu: both are at ISCA, Oxford This series in medical anthropology will publish monographs and collected essays on indigenous (so-called traditional) medical knowledge and practice, alternative and complementary medicine, and ethnobiological studies that relate to health and illness. The emphasis of the series is on the way indigenous epistemologies inform healing, against a background of comparison with other practices, and in recognition of the fluidity between them. Volume 1 Conjuring Hope: Magic and Healing in Contemporary Russia Galina Lindquist Volume 2 Precious Pills: Medicine and Social Change among Tibetan Refugees in India Audrey Prost Volume 3 Working with Spirit: Experiencing Izangoma Healing in Contemporary South Africa Jo Thobeka Wreford Volume 4 Dances with Spiders: Crisis, Celebrity and Celebration in Southern Italy Karen Lüdtke Volume 5 ‘The Land Is Dying’: Contingency, Creativity and Conflict in Western Kenya P. Wenzel Geissler and Ruth J. Prince Volume 6 Plants, Health and Healing: On the Interface of Ethnobotany and Medical Anthropology Edited by Elisabeth Hsu and Stephen Harris Volume 7 Morality, Hope and Grief: Anthropologies of AIDS in Africa Edited by Hansjörg Dilger and Ute Luig Volume 8 Folk Healing and Health Care Practices in Britain and Ireland: Stethoscopes, Wands or Crystals Edited by Ronnie Moore and Stuart McClean Volume 9 Moral Power: The Magic of Witchcraft Koen Stroeken Volume 10 Medicine Betweeen Science and Religion: Explorations on Tibetan Grounds Edited by Vincanne Adams, Mona Schrempf, and Sienna R. Craig Volume 11 Fortune and the Cursed: The Sliding Scale of Time in Mongolian Divination Katherine Swancutt

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Fortune and the Cursed The Sliding Scale of Time in Mongolian Divination

Katherine Swancutt

Berghahn Books New York • Oxford

First published in 2012 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com ©2012 Katherine Swancutt

All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Swancutt, Katherine. Fortune and the cursed : the sliding scale of time in Mongolian divination / Katherine Swancutt. p ; cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-85745-482-9 (hardback : alkaline paper) — ISBN 978-0-85745-483-6 (ebook) (print) 1. Buriats—Mongolia—Baiandun Sum—Religion. 2. Buriats— Mongolia—Baiandun Sum—Rites and ceremonies. 3. Buriats—Mongolia— Baiandun Sum—Social life and customs. 4. Divination—Mongolia— Baiandun Sum. 5. Divination—China—Inner Mongolia. 6. Blessing and cursing—Mongolia—Baiandun Sum. 7. Blessing and cursing—China—Inner Mongolia. 8. Shamanism—Mongolia. 9. Shamanism—China—Inner Mongolia. 10. Social conflict—Mongolia—Religious aspects. I. Title. DK759.B8S83 2012 299’.42—dc23 2011051786

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Printed in the United States on acid-free paper. ISBN: 978-0-85745-482-9 Hardback ISBN: 978-0-85745-483-6 Ebook

To my innovation-making friends – may your fortunes fly high!

DContents

List of Tables and Figures

viii

Acknowledgements

xi

Cast of Characters

xiii

Preface

xv

Chapter 1. A Race Against Time: Mongolian Fortune and the Anthropology of Magic

1

Chapter 2. Buryat Cosmology and the Timescales of Religious Practice

49

Chapter 3. Fortune, the Soul and Spiralling Returns

100

Chapter 4. Curses, Khel Am and the Omnipresence of Witchcraft

127

Chapter 5. Divination and the Inextensive Distance to Cursing Rivals

154

Chapter 6. An Unconventional Timescale: The Immediate Rise of Fortune

185

Glossary of Vernacular Terms

223

References

241

Index

248

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DTables and Figures

Tables 1.1. Human population counts in Bayandun, Mongolia, 2000

20

1.2. Animal population counts in Bayandun, Mongolia, 2000

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1.3. Human population counts in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China

27

1.4. Animal population counts in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China

27

5.1. Buryat and Chinese playing card interpretations, according to suit and index, within the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner.

181

Figures 2.1. Cosmology in Bayandun, based on a drawing by Galanjav

59

2.2. An air-like spectre (khii yüm), based on a drawing by Galanjav

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2.3. A Buryat vampiric imp (chötgör), drawn by Yaruu

70

2.4. Shamanic spirit-human dialogue with oil lamps in the background

75

2.5. Image of a nature spirit in the form of a chicken, produced during a mirror divination held by Galanjav and shortly thereafter drawn from memory by the author

86

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Tables and Figures

2.6. Image of a nature spirit in the form of a lama-shaman, produced during a mirror divination held by Galanjav and shortly thereafter drawn from memory by the author 88 2.7. Making the shamanic effigy of the Nature God’s (Lus) kingdom in Bayandun

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2.8. Finished shamanic effigy to the Nature God, representing the eighty-one different varieties of trees and underground-dwelling animals in his kingdom, prepared for a ceremony in Bayandun. Oil lamps and figures of animals are made from dough.

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3.1. Fortune flag flying outside a home in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, Inner Mongolia

103

3.2. A lama’s painting of a fortune flag, displayed inside the home of his daughter, who is a bonesetter (bariach) in Shinekhen Baruun Sum

103

3.3. Taking ring finger measurements to check for soul loss. The shaman used his rosary next, for the ‘beat-blessing’ correcting ritual that removes harmful forces and helps retrieve the lost soul. Note that the shaman wears a protective mirror around his neck, while the girl wears a protective brass talisman pendant (sakhius) around her neck, which was forged by the shaman to deflect harmful forces.

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3.4. Checking ring finger measurements to gauge whether the soul has been recovered

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4.1. The downwards spiral of fortune or the soul, caused by an episode of khel am

129

4.2. Circulation of black or white khel am

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5.1. Twenty Card optimal layout

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5.2. Twenty Card layout indicating that Sansar and Sürenma had cast curses 168 5.3. Twenty Card layout indicating that the lama-shaman and Sürenma had cast curses ix

169

DTables and Figures 5.4. Twenty Card layout indicating that Sansar had cast curses and that Yaruu’s group had inadvertently carried curses from public spaces into their homes

171

5.5. An inquirer who arrived unexpectedly at a shamanic levelling-up ceremony (chanar) in Bayandun, taking notes on the Twenty Card divination which he requested

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5.6. Pondering the Twenty Card results

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5.7. Tapping fingers on cards to indicate the Twenty Card results

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5.8. Map of Bayandun, from the viewpoint of Yaruu’s group, who strategically avoided the homes of their cursing rivals in the year 2000

177

x

DAcknowledgements

Many people have given me the great fortune of putting their thoughts, advice and participation towards the completion of this book, for which I wish to give my sincere thanks. My gratitude goes first to the Buryat Mongols of Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, who brought me into their homes and lives, generously helping me to learn the intricacies of their religious thoughts and practices, with the shared sentiment that these are a truly important cornerstone of their culture. This book explores their relationships, their shifting alliances over time, and the innovative remedies which they secretly produced. I have therefore followed the request of one of the main characters in the book and protected each of their anonymities, although these people are among my greatest Buryat friends. There are a number of people in Mongolia or China to whom I am indebted for help. I gratefully acknowledge the administrative assistance of Bat-Ireedui at the National University of Mongolia and of Nasanbayar at the Inner Mongolia University. Unfailing hospitality in Ulaanbaatar was shown to me by Bumochir Dulam and his entire family and also by Tuvshin Perenlei. My extreme thanks go to Baisaa, Buyna, Khasbagana, Narantuya, Temüülen and Tsegii Türüü for helping me to make cordial introductions among rural Mongols. Generous advice for my travels was offered by Alan Wheeler in Mongolia and by Ellen McGill in China. Bayarmandakh Gaunt gave me invaluable Mongolian-language training during my first year of study at the University of Cambridge, which the School of Mongolian Studies in Ulaanbaatar polished further during my first weeks of fieldwork in Mongolia. The final form of this book has benefitted greatly from the comments and insights of many anthropology friends, who have read all or part of the manuscript. Discussions with the ‘Magic Circle’, an anthropology of religion reading group at the University of Cambridge, xi

DAcknowledgements have been pivotal to the writing of this book. I am grateful to Barbara Bodenhorn, Uradyn Bulag, Grégory Delaplace, Anne de Sales, Hildegard Diemberger, Rebecca Empson, Stéphane Gros, Agnieszka Halemba, Roberte Hamayon, Lars Højer, Martin Holbraad, Caroline Humphrey, James Leach, Jonathan Mair, David Parkin, Morten Pedersen, Madeleine Reeves, Carlo Severi, David Sneath, Marilyn Strathern, Olga Ulturgasheva, Piers Vitebsky, Alan Wheeler, Rane Willerslev and Kostas Zorbas. Especial thanks go to A. Hureelbaatar and Uranchimeg Borjigin, for thoughts on my Buryat ethnography and for helping me to polish my Mongolian-language translations. My fieldwork was made possible by generous support at the University of Cambridge: the Cambridge Overseas Research Studentship Bursary, the Committee for Central and Inner Asia, the Department of Social Anthropology (William Wyse Fieldwork Grant), the H. M. Chadwick Fund and King’s College. I wish to thank Blackwell Publishing for permission to use materials that were originally published in two of my articles. Chapters 2 and 5 include materials from ‘Representational vs. Conjectural Divination: Innovating Out of Nothing in Mongolia,’ from the Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (2006) 12:331–53. And materials from ‘The Undead Genealogy: Omnipresence, Spirit Perspectives, and a Case of Mongolian Vampirism,’ from the Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (2008) 14:843–64, appear in chapters 2 and 6. Finally, I thank Global Oriental Ltd for permission to use materials originally published in my article ‘The Ontological Spiral: Virtuosity and Transparency in Mongolian Games’, from the special issue on perspectivism in Inner Asia (2007) 9(2):237 –59, which appear in chapter 5.

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DCast of Characters

Yaruu’s Group Yaruu: a talented shaman and the shamanic teacher in her group Jargal: Yaruu’s husband Tuyaa: Yaruu’s eldest daughter Ölzii: mother of Yaruu, a layperson knowledgeable about shamanic practices Dorj: Ölzii’s husband Shüleg: older daughter of Ölzii Buyna: younger daughter of Ölzii Chandman: son of Ölzii (and father of Javkhgar) Javkhgar: Ölzii’s grandson who is a reincarnation of Ölzii’s father, Tsovoo Galanjav: a shaman (student of Yaruu) Chimegee: a shaman, wife of Galanjav (student of Yaruu) Duulchin: a shaman (student of Yaruu) Gerel: a layperson whose household joined Yaruu’s group in late April 2000 Mandal: a layperson whose household joined Yaruu’s group in late April 2000

Rival Group Sansar: the oldest and most senior shaman in Bayandun, known to be withdrawn Sürenma: a female shaman (and relative of Sansar) The lama-shaman (lam-böö): a self-styled shaman and Buddhist monk Lavs: the lama-shaman’s wife, a powerful shaman xiii

DCast of Characters Shamans impartial to the cursing Tansag: a woman shaman and former classmate of Yaruu Züüd: a woman shaman-in-training, living in Bayandun’s countryside (student of Yaruu)

Spirits Manjlai: head of the shamanic initiation or levelling-up ceremonies (chanar) Avgaldai: omnipresent spirit, familiar with every Buryat like a member of the household Galanjav’s father: doorman of the ninety-nine heavens; expert on toothaches

An outcast Khonkh: Dorj’s younger sister, insane from not having accepted the shamanic vocation

xiv

DPreface

My first trip to Mongolia in the summer of 1999 introduced me to the present-day lynchpins of Buryat Mongol religion: divining, shamanic spirit-human dialogues and the making of innovative magical remedies. I had gone to Mongolia with an interest in uncovering the rise of new religious practices, but I had not known that my fieldwork would revolve around case studies of Buryats who strategically used divination to produce new magical remedies – or even that I would be requested to divine frequently for other Buryats – until I settled into my village home in northeast Mongolia. Inspired by Caroline Humphrey’s work on the rise of religious cults at the turn of the twentieth century among Daur Mongols (Humphrey1996, 328–52), I planned to focus upon the divinations, bone-setting practices and other ‘correcting’ or ‘repairing’ rituals (zasal) which existed alongside of the larger shamanic ceremonies or public rituals in Mongolia, to see how they might occasionally trigger changes to religious life. To my surprise, I found that Buryat religious life was replete with divinations and concerns over fallen fortune, which drove an ongoing innovation-making process that could last for months. Over time, I also learned that innovation-making was a response to local rivalries, which among shamanic Buryats often gave rise to ‘groups’ or factions in a rural district, comprised of three to five households, one of which was headed by a senior shaman. Innovation-making was such an important tactic for resolving interpersonal conflict among the Buryats I knew that they specifically instructed me not to interact with their rivals. They even took me by the hand to show me physical evidence of the invisible hostile forces, such as curses or vampiric imps, which they first deflected with conventional correcting rituals and only eventually blocked from the home with innovative remedies. These Buryats wanted me to keep pace with the ongoing developments in their rivalries so that I could understand what problems xv

DPreface were afoot and so that I could help to resolve them, as a member of their group and as a diviner. Under their apprenticeship-like instruction, I found that Buryat innovative remedies were as-yet unnamed anomalies. When speaking to me, these Buryats referred to their innovative remedies with the euphemism of ‘the thing which the shamanic spirits instructed to be done’ (ongon zaasan khiikh yüm), thus underscoring their novelty and conceptual difference to correcting rituals. Usually, though, these Buryats did not speak even this clearly about their innovative remedies, preferring to call them by the more general euphemism of ‘that thing’ (ter yüm), so as to protect their secrecy. Thus I introduce the term ‘innovative remedy’ as my own analytical category, which, however, I propose captures the essence of these phenomena and innovation-making more generally within the Buryat landscape (see chapter 1). It was invaluable, then, that I launched my first fieldwork by taking short trips to five provinces in Mongolia – Dornod, Zavkhan, Sukhbaatar, Uvs and Khövsgöl – where free from the constraints of district politics, I could gather the biographies of religious specialists from different Mongol ethnic backgrounds and basic information on the kinds of divination they practised. This quick introduction to Mongolian life, and to religion in their rural districts, provided an extremely useful backdrop against which I could, during fieldwork, comparatively map my findings among Buryats. Just as these short trips within Mongolia gave me some degree of comparative grounding for my main fieldwork site – the district of Bayandun in Dornod Province, Mongolia – I later found that I sometimes used Bayandun as a comparative lens for viewing my second field site, the district of Shinekhen Baruun Sum in the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner of Inner Mongolia, China. After completing these initial trips and settling into Bayandun in November 1999, it quickly became clear to me that the Buryats I knew spent long hours each day on divinations, shamanic ceremonies and correcting rituals. My access to these religious practices, and to the process of innovative-making in Bayandun, was enabled by my living in the home of the shaman Yaruu. Certainly Yaruu’s group of shaman friends, and other Buryats in Bayandun, appeared to spend far more time on religion than did the people I had met in other parts of Mongolia. On a daily basis they often held fourhour divination sessions and even regularly planned other activities xvi

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around the next divination or shamanic ceremony. Since Bayandun faced an unemployment rate of 86 per cent from 1999 to 2000, it was not entirely surprising that these Buryats devoted so much time to religious practices which, in large part, were used to gauge how to overcome business difficulties, illnesses and, of course, how to raise a person’s or household’s fortune (khiimor’). Revealingly, when I crossed the border into Inner Mongolia, China, in summer 2000, I found that the ‘more Buddhist’ Buryats living in Shinekhen Baruun Sum also took a strong interest in divination, in their local Buddhist monastery, and even in the unfamiliar shamanic practices which took place locally only when someone requested that a visiting shaman hold a ceremony in his or her home. While staying in Shinekhen Baruun Sum I lived in the homes of laypeople, but I made frequent visits to the local diviner or visiting shamans and travelled occasionally to meet with shamans or diviners living in the nearby township of Nantun. There were, however, some notable differences between Shinekhen Baruun Sum and Bayandun. Shinekhen Baruun Sum clearly had fewer religious practitioners, who divined or held other religious practices less frequently than in Bayandun. At the same time, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum enjoyed much higher rates of employment and entrepreneurial activity. Nonetheless, I found that the divinations and correcting rituals held in either of these rural districts elicited a similar degree of concern about raising fortune and resolving problems more generally. And this observation pushed me to uncover what precisely was attracting all of this religious activity – particularly the innovative remedies which Buryats on both sides of the Mongol-Chinese border had sought to obtain. Clearly a simple comparison, based on which Buryats had more wealth, resources or exposure to the historical turn of modernization, would not fully account for the innovation-making, the different kinds of religious activity taking place or the wide range of concerns and emotions addressed through their religious practices. Until my return trip to Bayandun in late summer 2004, though, I was unsure of where to locate the impetus behind this religious activity and the innovations in particular. It was only when I observed Yaruu produce new remedies, which explicitly built upon her innovations from 2000, that I realized a definite pattern of innovationmaking had emerged. Gradually, I came to the conclusion that the xvii

DPreface success of Yaruu’s innovative remedies in 2000, which raised the fortunes of her group at an unconventional pace, had attracted these follow-up innovations. I gathered that by 2004, Yaruu’s group had become very familiar and comfortable with seeking out tailor-made innovative remedies, once all their conventional remedies had failed. And by expanding her oeuvre of innovative remedies, Yaruu had become increasingly adept at making variations not only on conventional correcting rituals, but also on the innovations which she had previously introduced. Yaruu’s innovation-making thus echoed Roy Wagner’s approach to the ‘invention of culture’, where conventions and inventions co-evolve in dialectical relationship to each other ([1975] 1981, 52–53). According to Wagner, conventions are the building blocks of inventions – and vice versa – so that they each ‘continually divert the force of earlier expressions and subsume it into newer constructions’ ([1975] 1981, xiv). Since these ‘newer constructions’ are initially received as inventions and only later accepted as conventions, Wagner proposes that the ‘distinction’ between them is never ‘lost’, but instead affords the ‘axis’ along which the process of innovation-making starts afresh again (ibid.). What, then, counts as ‘conventional’ or ‘inventive’ shifts over time, creating new benchmarks for what becomes classed as innovations within the ever-evolving process of cultural invention. Tellingly, I observed that both Yaruu’s and the Buryats’ notion of fluctuating fortune propagated this invention of culture by drawing increasingly more innovations to them, like the ‘strange attractors’ of chaos science, which I present as one of the important backbones to this book in chapter 1. However, the Buryat innovations I describe did not fully follow the trajectory of Wagner’s dialectic, since they never developed into conventional correcting rituals. Instead, these innovations remained part of the prized repertoire which, I propose, small groups of Buryats frequently use in their household-centric society to battle persistent problems. There are three important reasons for the open-ended dialectic in Buryat innovation-making. First, Buryats in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum produce innovations as expedient measures in moments of crisis to deflect persistent curses or hauntings traced to local human rivals. Their innovations are thus purpose driven and often considered destined to become obsolete along with the prob-

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Preface

lems they resolve. Second, these innovative remedies are contained within the home and shared with only a few close friends who maintain their secrecy. Protecting innovations with secrecy ensures that they will remain potent and safe from rivals’ counterattacks but also means that they most likely will fail to receive the more public attention necessary for transforming them into accepted conventions. Third, these remedies are potent for a limited range of time (often two or three years), after which they only are effective if refreshed by a follow-up ceremony. Given the short-lived nature of crises, the remedies usually are forgotten, rather than refreshed. Thus Buryat innovation-making arises in booms and busts, when tailor-made remedies are needed, rather than unfolding in smooth transitions from conventions to innovations. Moreover, the expediency, secrecy and limited potency of Buryat remedies sustain their ‘open-endedly innovative’ quality until they are forgotten – or potentially reemerge – as arcane novelties with enough conventional cachet to become the building blocks of yet newer remedies. This book, then, draws upon sixteen total months of fieldwork among two rural districts of Buryats, in Mongolia and China, and gives an extended case study from Bayandun which shows that innovation-making is a common Buryat strategy for addressing crisis situations. By highlighting the strength of these innovations – namely, their ability to immediately resolve problems which conventional correcting rituals only gradually address – the book uncovers how innovation-making accelerates the ‘delayed’ recovery time which Buryats typically face. Thus the book’s step-by-step documentation of divinations and shamanic ceremonies held to combat an entire episode of a cursing rivalry or to deflect a haunting that worsened with a divorce underscores how the Buryat innovation-making process invariably swells, over time, in response to its own ‘strange attractors’. Outside of the Buryat context, this innovation-making process may well be at work in other household-centric societies responding to local crises, in Inner Asia and beyond. Some brief words on formatting are in order. A ‘Cast of Characters’ has been drawn up for the principal people named in the extended case study from Bayandun. However, due to the sensitivity of the case study, and following requests from people in Bayandun, I have given a pseudonym to each person in the book. Addition-

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DPreface ally, I have had to choose between several systems for transliterating Mongolian or Chinese into English. For Mongolian I have used the transliteration commonly used for Russian, whilst adding ‘ü’ and ‘ö’ for front vowels specific to the Mongolian language. Chinese words have been rendered in pinyin.

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DChapter 1 A Race Against Time: Mongolian Fortune and the Anthropology of Magic

The lunar New Year celebrations of February 2000 marked a turning point for three shamanic households in Bayandun, a Buryat Mongol district in rural northeast Mongolia. After several days of visiting extended relatives and friends for feasts and the exchanging of gifts, Yaruu, the shaman whose household I lived in, became ill. As she relaxed on her bed, she suddenly retracted her limbs tightly against her body (in an illness reflex known as ‘tatasan’) and called out that she was dying from a curse. Her two daughters started crying, and her mother, Ölzii, who had overheard the commotion in an adjacent wing of the house, rushed in to find her daughter writhing on the bed. Immediately, Ölzii instructed Yaruu’s older daughter, Tuyaa, to hand her the shamanic implements. Running these across Yaruu’s limbs, Ölzii tried to remove the curse symptoms with the latent strength (chadal) of the shamanic spirits (ongon). Although she was not a shaman, Ölzii summoned the spirits to intervene, requesting that they descend upon her daughter’s home from their residences in the heavens – residences which are so synonymous with the Buryat shamanic spirits that she repeated them rapidly, as mantra-like invocations, with the formulaic phrase: ‘the fifty-five western heavens, the forty-four eastern heavens’ (‘baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger’). Ölzii’s act of desperation was considered risky. As a layperson, she could have been blinded or struck dead for wielding shamanic implements without the necessary training or connection – roots (ug) – to the spirits. Eventually, though, her actions calmed Yaruu, who, in the following days, divined and held 1

DFortune and the Cursed numerous ceremonies with her shamanic pupils. Their divinations confirmed that Yaruu’s group of shaman friends had been cursed by three rival shamanic households in Bayandun. The curses were not entirely surprising, since Yaruu’s group had suspected a growing shamanic rivalry for two full months, during which they had faced persistent business difficulties and illnesses. Originally, Yaruu’s group ascribed these misfortunes to their own blunders of having offended the shamanic spirits with broken taboos and insufficient offerings, but this attack confirmed that their rivals had been cursing them and making their fortunes (khiimor’) decline. So Yaruu’s group started their new year by embarking on a series of counter-curse measures, which lasted for several months until they hit upon an innovative curse-blocking remedy. Some months later I observed a similar but unrelated episode three hundred kilometres to the east, in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, a Buryat district of northeast China, in which a curse victim obtained an innovative remedy for recovering her money losses and raising her fallen fortune. By a stroke of fortune, during my first fieldwork on Mongolian divination I found case studies on cursing and innovative magical remedies that changed people’s lives. Anthropologists have been captivated with the production of magical innovations since the inception of the discipline, because these innovations cut straight to the heart of the human condition, revealing how people fine-tune their ontologies, live in the world and conceive of it as they do. Looking back now, I realize how pivotal it was for me to have been located precisely where I was, when I was, within specific Buryat episodes of cursing, haunting and innovation-making. Like the witchcraft in the Bocage region of western France described by Jeanne Favret-Saada, Buryat cursing and innovation-making revolves around a ‘system of positions’ or alliances between specific people, in which ‘the first point to grasp is whom each “informant” thinks he is speaking to, since he utters such radically different discourses depending on the position he thinks his interlocutor holds’ (1980, 16–17). Magical innovation is common nowadays among Buryats, especially where there are shamans who regularly provide face-to-face dialogues with the spirits. But these innovations are usually contained within just one or a few households, bringing about small-scale social changes through the covert resolution of local rivalries and family breakups. Thus while the Buryat invention of new magical practices is common 2

A Race Against Time: Mongolian Fortune and the Anthropology of Magic

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enough, information about them is, at least initially, kept secret, allowing the practices to be known only within the households that generate them. Moreover, due to the secrecy and extreme novelty of these remedies, there is no established parlance for them. Buryat innovative remedies may be referred to by the euphemism ‘the thing which the shamanic spirits instructed to be done’ (ongon zaasan khiikh yüm) or by the even vaguer turn of phrase ‘that thing’ (ter yüm). Each of these euphemisms – although not conventional terms – sets innovative remedies conceptually apart from the conventional ‘correcting’ or ‘repairing’ rituals (zasal) that pervade everyday Buryat life. Still, I should underscore that while the phrase ‘innovative remedy’ accurately captures the Buryat propensity for innovation-making, it is my own analytical category, not a Buryat vernacular term. By tracing the rise of several innovations over a four-year period, I offer penetrating ethnography on cursing rivalries and family crises among Buryats in rural Mongolia and China. I take the reader to the inside of the curse and the households affected by it, showing how curse ‘victims’ initially detected their curse symptoms, how they witnessed the curse castings, how they detected and deflected curses through divinations or shamanic ceremonies and, finally, how they resolved their rivalries with innovative remedies obtained from the spirits. Additionally, I give an account of how, four years later, Ölzii obtained further innovations, which resolved her family crisis, expunging her ex-husband and his vampiric imps from the patriline. Each of these innovations did more than simply add to the existing magical and religious repertoires: they changed the livelihoods of those people who implemented them and protected them within their homes so that their fortunes (khiimor’) would rise in an unconventionally short span of time. These innovations thus altered the time-space dimensions of a rural Buryat district, as well as the relations between victims and their rivals there. One simple explanation for innovation in places such as rural Mongolia and China, which have undergone recent religious oppressions, is that people are likely to produce new knowledge when they are not working with a repertoire that has been intact for generations. Among Buryats, this new knowledge is most readily accessible in ceremonies where the shaman adopts the perspective of a shamanic spirit and then holds a ‘spirit-human’ dialogue with one or more laypersons, who then may use these dialogues as di3

DFortune and the Cursed vinatory sessions for uncovering innovative remedies which could resolve their problems. Both Buryat divinations and spirit-human dialogues are practised on a partly improvisational basis, without the extremely codified elements that anthropologists often associate with shamanic repertoires, such as the recitation of epic myths. Instead, divinations and dialogues only require that Buryats organize their interactions around the purpose of gathering information from the divinatory implements, the spirits, other people and anything else which may pertain to the questions at hand. Not surprisingly, then, these divinations and shamanic dialogues recently appear to have become the central feature of the Buryat religious repertoire in Mongolia and China (Buyandelgeriyn 2007, 130–32, see also 134–42; Højer 2009, 580–86; Shimamura 2002, 92–106; 2004, 203–10), which, in moments of crisis, revolves around the production of innovative magical remedies (Swancutt 2006, 346–50; 2008, 858–61). Another significant impetus behind Buryat innovation-making is the rhetoric on keeping order, which is espoused at the official and popular levels in Mongolia, China and Russia (see chapter 2, on cosmology). Humphrey has shown that the sense of order which pervades social life in provincial Russia, including in the Buryat Republic, is traceable to the Soviet influence, with its state management of production, as well as the recent forms of trade and protection rackets that have developed since the early 1990s after perestroika (1999, 22, see also 42–43). Significantly, Humphrey’s study highlights the provincial Russian view of trade in the 1990s, where ‘uncontrolled movement violates the sense of order pertaining to bounded wholes’, because ‘Trade brings in desirable goods, but it also carries out valuables’, such that ‘Markets and border crossings are places where “disorder” (bezproyadok) is feared’ (1999, 22). A similar emphasis on order has been prevalent throughout China for centuries, where personal relations and commerce have worked in tandem through different modes of production, such as the ‘tributary’ or ‘petty capitalist’ modes highlighted by Hill Gates (1996, 7–9). More recently, Stephan Feuchtwang has shown that Chinese efforts to promote ‘an economy decollectivized and removed from direct state control’ have effectively exchanged the ‘realm of organized fairness and unfairness’ from the collectivization period for ‘a set of obligations [to the Party-state or state-run units] beyond whose seclusion an ocean of 4

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fortune, instrumentality and exploitation – regulated or not – is continuously expanding’ (2002, 202). In this newer milieu, rural Chinese find that ‘beyond human responsiveness is the realm of gain, which comes either through luck ( fuqi) or fairness, or through the unfair deployment of personal connections or the amoral skills of instrumental networking’, the positive side of which is that ‘from this amoral economy reserves flow into the more sphere’ (ibid.). Of course, the Buryat ethnic minority living in remote corners of China, who are officially classed as a ‘small nationalities’ (shaoshu minzu) group, make their own permutations on the notions of order espoused by the Chinese state. But the dynamic impact made by the tide of change in Chinese policy is unmistakable, especially among Buryats who link improvements in fortune to the orderly production of innovative magical remedies. Revealingly, the Buryats with whom I worked have a historical connection to the Buryat Republic in Russia and nostalgically consider it to be their homeland (nutag). The earlier generations lived through periods of collectivization in either Mongolia or China and were thus concerned about their roles in the uncontrolled movement of larger spheres, such as trade. Nonetheless, amid the larger public spaces of fluctuating order, these Buryats seek to produce innovative remedies which combat persistent problems whilst being contained secretly within the private sphere of the home. Indeed, as we will see, their innovative magical remedies afford a hyperorderly means of resolving problems, which is highly desirable because – unlike trade – it is not open to public scrutiny. This preference for order even tallies with Buryat notions about the kind of personality which is suited to the shamanic vocation. According to Ölzii, the most successful ceremonies are held by shamans who are calm people (nomkhon khün), such as her daughter Yaruu, since their orderly demeanour helps them to readily adopt spirit perspectives. Ölzii felt that neither she nor Yaruu’s younger daughter could become shamans, because they became angry (uurlaj baina) easily, whereas Yaruu and her older daughter, Tuyaa, who (according to Ölzii) could become shamans, were calm and suited to the vocation. Ölzii’s explanation corresponds with my observation that Buryat shamans who exhibit the more ‘ecstatic’ performances, in the sense given to the term by Eliade (1964,182–84) or Lewis (1971, 38–39), such as bombastically beating the drum and singing loudly, usually do so because they 5

DFortune and the Cursed find it difficult to take on spirit perspectives. These shamans exert themselves in exhausting performances, and when they fail to adopt the necessary spirit perspectives, they fall short of their own expectations – as well as the expectations of their inquirers. Against this backdrop of preferred orderliness, Buryats I met in northeast Mongolia often reflected upon the disorder which pervaded their religious life, telling me that because their ancestors had not been allowed to practice openly as shamans during the oppressions, no Buryat shaman nowadays knows entirely what he or she is doing when holding ceremonies. Even those shamans who secretly practised abbreviated rituals during the oppressions were not considered able to have transferred their full knowledge across the generations, once they started practising regularly again, from the 1990s onwards. Many Buryat shamans and laypersons thus felt that much of their religious practices were undertaken in ad hoc procedures, including cases where practitioners referred to written lists used by senior practitioners which specified the proper order for invoking the spirits. Moreover, Buryats often cited their lack of knowledge about past modes of religious practice as the reason why they could not gauge how their current practices are evolving. I received similar accounts when travelling throughout Mongolia from July to November 1999, where every religious specialist I interviewed linked the endemic lack of knowledge to religious oppressions.1 And yet, as this book will show, Buryats in northeast Mongolia and China regularly produce innovative magical remedies in a calm, orderly manner, when carrying out their shamanic or divinatory practices. Buryats use these innovations to organize the apparently ‘unknown’ or ‘disordered’ elements of their cosmologies and social settings. In this sense, Buryat innovation-making sheds significant light on the production of order more generally and falls into step with Roy Wagner’s ‘dialectical approach’ to the invention of culture, where conventions and inventions mutually evolve so as to continuously produce new variations upon each other (1981, xviii). At the same time, Buryat innovation-making echoes the production of hyperorderly results in scientific experiments, which ironically fall under the heading of ‘chaos science’. Anthropologists already have drawn analogies between social phenomena and elements of chaos science, as early as in Wagner’s study of ‘The Fractal Person’ (1991) and more recently within Mosko and Damon’s volume (2005), a 6

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work I have borne especially in mind when discussing the tendency for any given Buryat innovation to elicit follow-up innovations. I give only a brief background to the comparison between Buryat magical innovations and chaos science here, since I develop this comparison throughout the book. Scientific studies actually use the term chaos ‘to refer to deterministic kinds of order – not “disorder” as the term is understood popularly – arising from the generalized properties of complex dynamical systems; or simply, order within apparent disorder’ (Mosko 2005, 7; emphasis in original). Thus while so-called chaos experiments take place under fast-changing conditions that may give the appearance of disorder, those changes, in fact, are hyperorderly responses which can, to some extent, be predicted in advance. One of the trademark features of chaos science is that its experiments involve numerous bifurcations from an original source, which have the effect of rapidly introducing irreversible changes, on multiple levels, into the experimental milieu (Mosko 2005, 11–17). I argue that, in a similar way, Buryats who produce innovations irreversibly alter their social and cosmological settings. The lack of order, or ‘chaos’, which seems to pervade Buryat life in Mongolia or China could be said, as with any ethnographic setting, to take place on a variety of levels. Among rural Buryats, an everyday indeterminacy about how to obtain basic necessities amid extreme poverty and the scarcity of resources – especially water and cash – is the most notable form of chaos. Moments of crisis are even endemic in Bayandun, where the sudden lack of state subsidies in the 1990s bequeathed a very chaotic means of gathering everyday life provisions. To combat these difficulties Buryats produce innovations which – like chaos-science experiments – alter their lives (and not just a given course of events) by introducing irreversible new starting points from which they can carry out social relations and from which they can increase their fortunes, business prospects, well-being, success and so on. For instance, the magical Buryat innovation that blocks curses and dangerous gossip from the home, discussed at length in this book, does more than simply deflect curses – it offers a fresh platform for resolving the local interpersonal rivalries which initially lead to the cursing. Although never popularized as a conventional correcting ritual, this innovation helped to restore the pre-curse ‘convention’ of good neighbourly relations between Yaruu’s 7

DFortune and the Cursed group and their rival shamans – and in this narrower sense I propose that it triggered a dialectical shift, in Wagner’s sense of the term, from invention (blocking curses) back to convention (sociable relations between district residents) ([1975] 1981, 52–53). I recall being struck by the initial impression that rural Buryats produced innovations with a remarkable efficiency which paralleled the ‘efficiency’ found among some urban businessmen or scientists – or, given the lack of regular electricity and other modern technology in their areas – even could be said to have outstripped them. These similarities between the Buryats and business or scientific efficiency at innovation-making remained apparent to me throughout my fieldwork and, indeed, to some degree, appeared to have been the outcome of seventy years of Socialist indoctrination, as well as the Buryats’ association to the Russians. The Buryats I came to know often devoted their days to obsessively exchanging information about their rivals’ curses, regularly observing their rivals and holding several hours-long divination sessions to confirm or refute speculations about the cursing. In my view, the constant attention these Buryats gave to curses resembled the detailed observations of scientists in lengthy laboratory experiments. Revealingly, Buryats even stressed the importance of following the proper divinatory or soul-loss checking methods when uncovering curses – much in the same way that scientists stress the accurate implementation of their methods – so that they would not distort the divinatory results (see chapters 3 and 5).

Strange attractors: innovative shamans and fortune If we take the analogy to chaos science further, a parallel arises between Buryat shamans (or other powerful religious practitioners) who produce innovations and the ‘strange attractors’ of chaos theory (Mosko 2005, 18–20). In chaos science, strange attractors trigger irreversible changes in an experiment, which have the knock-on effect of creating yet further irreversible changes. The series of changes that strange attractors induce are hyperorderly, since each new change in an experiment builds upon the previous change – just as in Wagner’s invention of culture approach, where new inventions ‘continually divert the force of earlier expressions and subsume it into newer constructions’ ([1975] 1981, xiv). Significantly, the process of in8

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vention is forever ongoing, since strange attractors ensure that ‘the movements of a system [i.e. a scientific experiment] never repeat or cross themselves so the system itself never returns to exactly the same state that it has been in before’ (Mosko 2005, 18). Like strange attractors, those Buryat shamans who produce innovations actually set in motion a series of changes on social and cosmological levels, for instance by helping people to resolve village rivalries and by inspiring them to seek out further innovations for crisis resolution, whilst adding to the existing religious and magical repertoires. Over time, all these changes attract further follow-up innovations. As the main case study in this book shows, the shaman Yaruu, who produced several innovations, doubled as a strange attractor. Yaruu introduced a highly successful curse-blocking innovation in 2000 and then four years later managed to produce a couple of similar vampire-blocking innovations. Each of Yaruu’s innovations helped expel a hostile force from the home, such that her newer innovations built upon – and even were attracted to – her older ones, making her oeuvre exhibit what chaos theorists call a ‘fractal patterning’, meaning ‘the tendency of patterns or structures to recur on multiple levels or scales’ (ibid., 24). The recurrent pattern of Yaruu’s innovations was to ‘block hostile forces from the home’, whilst ‘curses’ or ‘vampiric imps’ comprised the multiple scales on which this patterning occurred. Certainly this drive towards follow-up innovations was bolstered by the Buryat notion which I learned about from Ölzii in 2004, when asking about Yaruu’s curse-blocking innovation produced four years earlier. According to Ölzii, any given Buryat innovation is potent for two to three years. Moreover, when Buryat shamans adopt a shamanic spirit’s perspective and introduce an innovation, they often tell their inquirers what its precise potency life happens to be. Once this potency life has expired, the innovation can only be effective if it is refreshed with a follow-up shamanic ceremony. In Ölzii’s view, many innovations were discarded rather than refreshed once their potency was exhausted, since the crisis which made those innovations necessary in the first instance had already been resolved. After that, as Ölzii noted, Buryats prefer to obtain new innovations which would provide tailor-made resolutions to their new crises. Echoing the ‘boom and bust’ cycles of chaos science experiments (ibid., 13), the Buryat preference for innovation-making thus propels their mag9

DFortune and the Cursed ical and religious repertoire towards the invention of culture, where variations on existing social conventions are constantly created (Wagner 1981, 50–60). Note, too, that the Buryat shaman’s role as a strange attractor is echoed in divinatory modes of innovation-making further afield. René Devisch shows that among the northern Yaka of Zaire, ‘The diviner appears as the agent and the locus, the author (the psychic subject) and the scene of an innovative meaning production’ (1991, 130). Besides innovative shamans, another strange attractor in Buryat religion is the notion of fortune (khiimor’), which Buryats say rises (deerdene) or falls (dordone) in response to either a person’s own actions or some external influences, such as curses or innovative remedies that make fortune improve. Fortune is, then, the durative timescale along which Buryats experience important changes to their lives. Changes to fortune, though, ordinarily happen only after a period of delay. This book is centred on the Buryat notion of gradually changing fortune, which Buryats regularly use as the point of reference for resolving persistent problems that develop into crises. Ordinarily, each improvement in fortune makes a Buryat’s well-being, business prospects, success, happiness, health and quality of fortune improve even more, whereas each decline in fortune makes each of these things decline further. In this sense, fortune doubles as a strange attractor, because it induces a pattern of changes (consistent improvements or declines in well-being, etc.), which affects the magnitude of the change to fortune. Over time, therefore, fortune changes at a cumulative or even exponential rate, acquiring a magnitude of extremely improved or extremely declined fortune – which, in the case of fallen fortune, usually must be addressed with strong and recurrent at-home correcting rituals that are carried out over a suitable length of time. Yet there are cases where Buryats hold many divinations to gauge the strength of their fortunes and implement numerous correcting rituals, without managing to improve their fortunes. In these cases Buryats usually seek out innovative remedies that cause fortune to improve at an unconventional pace, which has the double effect of encouraging both the speedy recovery of fortune and the production of follow-up innovations. Just as innovative magical remedies produced by shamans attract further innovations, Buryats claim that innovative remedies make fortune rise at an unconventional pace – 10

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so that fortune’s own rapid improvement attracts increasingly more improvements to it. When this happens, fortune improves along a spiral of increasingly good returns (see chapter 3). Thus fortune may double as a strange attractor along a range of scales, attracting different rates (gradual or immediate) and qualities (improved or fallen) of additional fortune to it, depending upon whether it has received no magical intervention, a correcting ritual or an innovative remedy. Fortune (khiimor’) is a large concept in Buryat (and the wider Mongolian) cosmology – distinct from luck (az) and fate (khuv’ zaya) – although, as I will show in chapters 3 and 6, these are all registers within the Mongolian ontology of extraordinary time. Oftentimes, fortune is equated with its material representation on fortune flags, which convey prayers to the heavens on behalf of individuals and households (Karmay 1998, 413–22). Further associations are made with the stone cairns (ovoo) on which some of these flags are planted and where rituals to elevate the fortunes of a delimited territorial or homeland region are carried out (Birtalan 1998; Karmay 1998, 426–29; Berounský and Slobodník 2003, 269, see also 277–81). Beyond this, fortune is regarded as a part of a person – either external or internal to the body – so that in rare cases it also can be an ‘inherited thing’ (zalgamjladag yüm). Thus fortune has the impressive capacity of operating as a strange attractor in two main modes – as a durative time construct and as a part of one’s personhood – which need not be mutually exclusive. Indeed, the Buryat person who is ‘with fortune’ (khiimortoi) becomes something of a strange attractor, drawing further similar qualities of fortune and personhood (or even fortune-cum-personhood) towards him or herself. But because this attraction of fortune to fortune (or personhood to personhood) occurs at varying boom-and-bust rates, it always remains distinct from the phenomena of luck or fate. Actually, the Buryat (and other Mongol views) on fortune have been influenced by the Tibetan notion of rlung-rta, although Buryats attribute some different meanings to fortune and treat it more explicitly as a quality of time. Calkowski has summarized the Tibetan notion of rlung-rta, which in my view shares important features with the present-day Buryat outlook on fortune, as follows: Rlung-rta, luck, invokes a quite different principle of status legitimation, one that is unsystematic, evanescent, and appreciated only in retrospect. Rlung-rta is synonymous with unpredictable good fortune – the victory 11

DFortune and the Cursed of the underdog in a sports competition, winning a lottery, absolution in the event of unwitting moral transgression, and so forth. Rlung-rta flows unilineally from gods to humans, who cannot, in turn, accumulate it, direct it to any specific purpose, or transfer it. Though humans may endeavour to obtain rlung-rta from the deities by offering them the scent of burning juniper branches, beer, and the entreaties of prayer flags, there is no certainty that such efforts will be rewarded. Rlung-rta is transmitted asymmetrically – the deities confer it at their discretion – that is, from a human perspective, unpredictably. Rlung-rta provides the means to transcend a hierarchy which posits ethical action as its sole means of legitimate ascent, as well as predetermined, differential access to success and general good fortune, a hierarchy instrumental to an ideology explicitly subscribing to a belief in karma. To invoke rlung-rta as the explanation for a successful outcome is to direct attention to divine, albeit temporary, election. Rlung-rta suggests a relationship between the deities and humans which obviates a preoccupation with systematic hierarchical ascent, reflecting Dumont’s (1972) notion of a complementarity of hierarchical relations. (1993, 32)

Delaplace, in reference to the predominantly Buddhist Dörvöd Mongols in western Mongolia, translates khiimor’ not as ‘fortune’, but as the ‘internal balance’ of a person, so as to emphasize its intrinsic and internal quality (personal communication). I have retained the more conventional translation of ‘fortune’ for khiimor’, since both the shamanic Buryats in northeast Mongolia and the Buddhist Buryats in northeast China aim not simply to balance their fortunes, but to maximally propagate them, even using fortune flags (khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag), which they fly just outside of their homes to increase the fortune of all the household members (see chapter 3). The widespread Mongol practice of flying fortune flags makes explicit the link between the fortune of the person and the fortune of the household in the classic Lévi-Straussian sense of a householdcentred society where ‘[t]he house is an extension of the person; like an extra skin, carapace or second layer of clothes, it serves as much to reveal and display as it does to hide and protect’ (Carsten and Hugh-Jones 1995, 2). However Buryats (and other Mongols) also hold that a person’s fortune does not always match the fortune of his or her household. Depending on the circumstances of the moment, fortune can be internal or external to a person’s physical body. The ambiguous relation between fortune – which has a strong

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corporeal element (Swancutt 2007, 243–44) – and the person as a total self affects how Buryats perceive extraordinary events, such as cursing. Some Buryats, and especially people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, hold that the strength of a person’s fortune and wilful courage (zorig) can protect the entire surface of a person’s body, deflecting curse attacks from penetrating the person. When fortune does fall, then, Buryats must reckon with its fluctuating dimensions, as they evolve from and against that person’s thoughts, actions, range of observation and will. In moments of crisis especially, Buryats tend to focus their attention on the speed at which fortune rises and falls, and they may even revise their ideas about how quickly fortune changes. Nowhere is this more apparent than in divinations and shamanic ceremonies, where the ambitious try to improve their fortunes immediately. Like other Mongol populations, the Buryats in Bayandun, Mongolia, and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China have the practice of subjecting fortune to causal analysis. They do this regularly in private divination sessions and in shamanic ceremonies held to detect and deflect misfortune and illness. Both Buryats and Mongols more generally hold that changes in fortune are ordinarily so gradual that they are neither fully actualized nor recognizable until some time has passed. Some Buryats in Bayandun even told me that a period of time roughly equal to that which elapses when fortune declines must transpire as fortune, in its turn, recuperates. Since no person wants to wait on restoring his or her fortune, divinations often become a race against time in which diviner and inquirer ride the shifting sands of a highly mutable time construct, striving to raise fortune immediately despite its nominal temporal constraints. Depending on how diviners and inquirers approach fortune as a quality of time, Buryat divinations elicit gradual or immediate plans for improving fortunes (James and Mills 2005, 8). Most often, the Buryats I knew in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum would use divinations to find out how their fortunes had declined and would then undertake the correcting rituals to raise them. These Buryats held that correcting rituals were the conventional means for addressing fallen fortunes and common problems more generally – and they found that in most cases the rituals worked. Delaplace has made a similar finding among Dörvöd Mongols, for whom

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DFortune and the Cursed conventional correcting rituals usually (but not always) ease the process of funerary mourning, gradually leading to silent acceptance of death (2009, 516–22). However the Buryats I knew also noticed that correcting rituals frequently tackled the symptoms rather than the source of a problem, thereby failing to resolve persistent and omnipresent difficulties which had reached the point of crisis. Typically, Buryats (and other Mongols) hold correcting rituals to repair the relations between a given person, such as a small business entrepreneur, and the problem that person faces – for example, unemployment and the scarcity of cash in the Mongolian countryside. Buryats expect that their correcting rituals will address problems gradually, for instance by encouraging a steady rise in the small entrepreneur’s business. Just as Buryats have ascribed a gradual timescale to their notion of fortune, so have they also incorporated the notion of a delayed return into their correcting rites. It is common for Buryat religious practitioners, whether shamans or Buddhist lamas, to prepare blessed substances – such as incense or herbs to be burned for fumigation – during a correcting ritual. Religious specialists then give these substances to laypersons, instructing them to use them on separate occasions at home, for several days after the correcting ritual has taken place. The idea behind this practice is that the correcting ritual will address a problem on the same gradual timescale at which that problem would conceivably be resolved, which is often three-days’ time. Moreover, after carrying out the religious specialist’s instructions, laypersons usually have some leftover amounts of the blessed substances which they can keep for use on further occasions to combat any residual aftereffects of a problem from the privacy of their homes. A fuller account of the Buryat notion of fortune will emerge throughout the book, so I would like to flag one last important point here just briefly: namely, that fortune and innovative shamans – the two strange attractors I have mentioned – may mutually influence one another. It is possible for Buryat shamans to introduce innovations that make fortune improve at an unconventional pace, which in turn encourages both the speedy recovery of fortune and the shamanic production of follow-up innovations. The case studies given in this book demonstrate how innovative shamans and fortune mutually affect the degrees, or scales, of influence that they – as strange attractors – have on Buryat households over time. 14

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Immediate and delayed-return magic There are, then, two magical timescales which Buryats use for resolving problems: the delayed-return timescale of a conventional correcting ritual and the immediate-return timescale of innovations. Because Buryats, as a matter course, first undertake correcting rituals and only seek out innovations when a persistent problem has reached a point of crisis, their magical practices do not necessarily immediately ‘change the world’. However the innovations described in this book do – once implemented – instantly safeguard the home, making Buryats feel entirely safe there, so that they gradually become willing to improve their relations with other people, such as local cursing rivals. In this sense the innovations contribute to an immediacy of well-maintained social relations, which Bird-David has found among the hunter-gatherer Nayaka of India (2004, 335). Although, as we will see in chapter 2, the Buryat effort at counterbalancing immediate and delayed timescales within their ‘asymmetrical’ Inner Asian cosmography – which resonates with the Mongolian imperial past and, more recently, with Soviet bureaucracy – is more complex than the balance struck by the Nayaka (Holbraad and Willerslev 2007, 331). The distinction that I wish to introduce between immediate and delayed modes of magic echoes Woodburn’s study of hunter-gatherer social organization, which compares ‘an immediate-return system … in which activities [are] oriented to the present (rather than to the past or future)’ and ‘a delayed-return system … in which, in contrast, activities are oriented to the past and the future as well as to the present’ (1991, 32). Woodburn is mainly concerned with how economic exchange and ethnic conflict mutually promote the adoption of an immediate or delayed strategy for maximizing one’s resources within the larger political economy. But while Woodburn’s ethnography is quite different to the ethnography presented in this book, his distinction can be applied usefully to the contrast I draw between ‘immediate’ and ‘delayed’ magic, which presupposes that different magical remedies can be placed along a sliding scale of time. An example of immediate magic would be the Buryat innovation which blocks curses from the home, allowing the inhabitants’ fortunes to rise immediately. And an example of delayed magic would be the Buryat correcting ritual that only resolves a problem over the course of several days or more. 15

DFortune and the Cursed Significantly, just as Buryat innovative remedies or correcting rituals can be scaled in terms of time, their innovations can be scaled in terms of the forces they block. These different scales show how the Buryat ontology of magic evolves over time through ‘patterns or structures [that tend] to recur on multiple levels or scales’ (Mosko 2005, 24). In highlighting these sliding scales, this book will show what knock-on effects any given Buryat magical practice can have on social relations, cosmology and the process of innovation-making. We will now consider the ethnographic settings which gave rise to these Buryat innovations and changes to fortune.

Two Buryat Mongol field sites I carried out my fieldwork in two Buryat Mongol districts that differ in wealth, nationality and some aspects of sociality, but which have a similar cosmological outlook. The majority of my fieldwork time was spent in the district of Bayandun in Dornod Province, Mongolia, starting with an initial visit in July 1999. Three months passed in which I visited other parts of the country to compare Mongolian divinatory practices. Then in November 1999, I returned to Bayandun and conducted fieldwork there until late June 2000, when I crossed the border into Inner Mongolia, China and carried out fieldwork until September 2000 in the district of Shinekhen Baruun Sum, within the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner. Four years later, I returned to Bayandun for one month, in August–September 2004. Since most of my fieldwork took place in Bayandun, this book focuses mainly on the lives of people there; however the argument about magic is intended to be accessible for comparisons, to these Buryat sites and to elsewhere. The distant history of the Buryats is uncertain. Some accounts say that Buryat Mongols always resided north of the Onon River in Russia. But the popular understanding is that they migrated there sometime in the 17th century to avoid persecution from other Mongols, such as the Khalkha, who are the ethnic majority in present-day Mongolia. Bayandun is populated by a clear Buryat majority, whereas half of Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s population is Buryat (the other half being Khorchin). Many people in both districts are descended from Buryats who migrated from Russia during the 1920s (i.e. at the time of the Russian revolution and Siberian civil war). However, 16

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the Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum consider that different Russian regions constitute their ‘true’ homeland. Notions about these homelands are complicated by the fact that both the Buryats who went to Bayandun, and those who went to the Khulunbuir area in which present-day Shinekhen Baruun Sum is located, actually made their homes in what was then considered to be the territory of Mongolia. After the 1924 fall of the Bogd Khan’s regime in Mongolia, a history of different revolutionary interests, leaders and uprisings arose in these Mongol areas. Within the Khulunbuir area, which bordered directly onto China, there was a particularly complex history, which in Uradyn Erden Bulag’s words entails more than just the orthodox views about Mongol efforts to obtain autonomy: The Inner Mongolian communist-cum-nationalist revolution, which may be dated from the 1920s and which ‘succeeded’ in 1947 with the founding of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Government (later called the Region), was the founding movement of a reborn ‘socialist’ Mongol nationality within China. Yet this observation masks the fact that there was never a singular chain of revolutionary events of activities. The project of Inner Mongolian independence or autonomy was conducted by different groups and individuals with various ideological convictions and different projections of the future for Mongols. (2002, 139)

Further to this, Bulag adds: That the Mongols fought for their own liberation, by various means and through the activities of various groups, leading to the formation of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Government in May 1947, two and a half years before the founding of the People’s Republic of China, constitutes a complex situation, providing some room for a communist Mongolian self-representation. (2002, 140).

In my view, uncertainty and even fears surrounding these recent historical events have encouraged Buryats in both Shinekhen Baruun Sum and in Bayandun to highlight connections to their perceived homelands in Russia from a much earlier time period. Two main ethnic divisions for the Buryats indeed did arise in the eighteenth century, when a group now referred to as the ‘Aga Buryats’, following the present-day names for Russian administrative regions, split off from the Khor’ Buryats. The Aga migrated east, to live south of Siberia and north of the Onon River, while the Khor’ continued to live south of the Onon River, all the way to the Russian-Mongolian border. 17

DFortune and the Cursed Most residents of Bayandun refer to themselves as Aga Buryat. Due to their ancestors’ remote northern location in Russia, they retained many shamans in the face of Buddhist proselytization, although Buryat shamanic practices had become ‘syncretized’ with Buddhism. Both shamans and Buddhist lamas have homes in Bayandun, but the local lamas usually reside in the district’s monastery, which is located in the outlying countryside, only making an annual visit to the district centre at the time of the Mongolian lunar New Year (Tsagaan Sar). Bayandun’s shamans consider that these lamas often incite minor, temporary rivalries with them during the New Year celebrations by advising laypersons not to consult the shamans but to practise strictly as Buddhists instead. However, because the shamans are, on a daily basis, more readily accessible to laypersons in the district centre and most of the outlying countryside, it is the shamans who conduct most of the local religious activity. All residents of Bayandun’s district centre (including the shamans) prefer to visit lamas who are attached to larger monasteries in cities, such as Mongolia’s capital of Ulaanbaatar, rather than to consult their local lamas. By contrast, Shinekhen Baruun Sum is populated by Khor’ Buryats, who trace their ancestry to the southern Siberian regions, which were more thoroughly proselytized by Buddhist monks. There are also a small number of Khamnigan Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum who are actually descended from Siberian Evenk populations but whose ancestors attached themselves to Buryat groups, considering themselves to be Buryat while adopting their livelihoods and religious outlooks. Both these Khor’ and Khamnigan Buryats told me that their ancestors had already completely converted to Buddhism before migrating to China and so did not carry any shamanic practices with them. Moreover, while the neighbouring district of Shinekhen Züün Sum has shamans of Evenk origin, people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum had not taken to learning the shamanic repertoire from their neighbours as the Khor’ Buryats living in northern Mongolia seem to have done (Empson 2003). No shamans, then, lived in Shinekhen Baruun Sum during my fieldwork in summer 2000, although there was one ordinary or ‘black’ diviner (khar üzemerch), who was neither a shaman nor a lama, and one bonesetter (bariach) in the district centre who received regular visits. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum also frequently traveled to the monastery located in their district’s outlying countryside. Occasionally, they in18

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vited shamans to hold ceremonies in their homes or travelled outside of their district to visit a shaman. Before giving a more detailed discussion of religious life in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, I will first give some ethnographic background to these two districts.

Bayandun Bayandun is located in the northern part of Dornod Province, Mongolia,2 not far from the northeastern-most tip of the country. It is situated 250 kilometres south of the border with Russia and 300 kilometres west of that with China. Road conditions make for a fivehour car journey between the district centre and the provincial capital of Choibalsan (a 200 kilometre distance), along dusty paths on the steppe. The name of the district is an appellation formed from two words: bayan, which means ‘rich’ and dun, meaning ‘seashells’, together conveying the meaning ‘rich in seashells’. People in Bayandun say that this name refers to the low sloping mountains which circumscribe their district centre and resemble the rolling curves of conch shells.3 Mongols typically associate seashells with strength, industry and masculine pursuits, but people in Bayandun say that their district’s name specifically calls attention to the four hillsides on which most of the central residences are located. These hills are aligned with the four cardinal directions and slope down to a small ‘valley’, where the district’s administrative buildings, hospital, shops and clubhouse are based – with the schoolhouse located slightly north of these structures. Bayandun’s residential pattern is conceived of in terms of these hills, which delimit the district’s horizon from any given direction. Several people in Bayandun told me that when their district was first populated, homes had not yet been built on all of its hillsides but that over time each of the four hills came to have homes built upon it. And the husband of the shaman Sürenma – echoing the socialist ideal of rural development described by Humphrey and Sneath (1999, 301) – even imagined that if Bayandun’s district centre had more hills, the current population would swell to fill those hills with new homes over time. Most of the houses in Bayandun are one-room wooden structures and were built from lumber obtained from nearby forests. Districtcentre homes are always larger than those built in the outlying coun19

DFortune and the Cursed tryside, but most homes are partitioned by one or two thin walls. These partitions do not divide the homes into separate rooms which can be shut off by doors. They merely set apart different areas of the household, usually separating the sleeping areas from the kitchen area. Only a few families live in traditional Mongolian yurts (ger), which are the round tentlike shelters supported by wooden lattice frameworks and covered with thick felt. Both wooden homes and yurts are equipped with stoves fuelled by wood or dung fires. Every home has its entrance doorway facing southwards, according to traditional Mongol style, and most of the wooden homes have a prominent window facing the district centre. People in Bayandun regularly track the comings and goings of their neighbours through these windows, which give clear views onto the district’s paths. Population counts from 2000, including local statistics for herd animals, which are the primary source of subsistence and capital in the district, are given in tables 1.1 and 1.2. Table 1.1. Human population counts in Bayandun, Mongolia, 2000 Inside the Outside the Total district district centre district centre population

Households People

263

367

635

1,175

1,681

2,856

Men

Women

1,420

1,436

Table 1.2. Animal population counts in Bayandun, Mongolia, 2000 Animals

Sires Total

Sheep

257

Total Cattle Horses Goats Camels Livestock Pigs Chickens

173

320

116

39,356 12,390 6,656 9,322

9

875

319

68,043

70

48

Tables 1.1 and 1.2. Bayandun’s officials collected these population counts for the period December 1999–January 2000. Some parts of the tables were left blank because figures were not applicable (in table 1.1) or were not collected (in table 1.2). There is an inconsistency in table 1.1 regarding the district’s total number of households, because some families were in the process of migrating between the district centre and its outlying countryside when the figures were collected.

Although most people in Bayandun live off the sales of inherited herd animals and their products, little animal husbandry work is actually carried out in the district centre. Not enough grass grows on the district centre’s grounds, and keeping animals there requires 20

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collecting fodder from the outlying countryside on a regular basis. Apart from the summer season, when predominantly cattle, but also horses and occasionally goats, are brought into the centre for milking, animals are ordinarily not kept or incorporated into the daily life of Bayandun’s centre. By contrast, animal husbandry is maintained as a yearlong vocation in the district’s outlying countryside, where there are marked periods of intensive summer labour and comparatively relaxed winter months. This raises the question of how households in Bayandun’s centre support themselves financially. Between 1999 and 2000, only 40 of the 635 households in Bayandun had a family member who obtained a regular income, either as a self-made entrepreneur managing a small shop or kiosk, an administrator with a state salary such as the mayor or clubhouse director, or as one of the local accountants, statistics keepers, bank tellers, clerks for the telecommunications and post office, schoolteachers or medical doctors. Before the withdrawal of state support in the early 1990s, Bayandun had much higher levels of employment, with many people being attached to the local collective farm (negdel), which specialized in pastoral products, and others being employed in other state-financed lines of work, such as dispensing medicines at Bayandun’s pharmacy. During 1999–2000, people in Bayandun often lamented this loss of a comparatively higher standard of living that had been made possible by regular incomes and state-subsidized electricity. In place of their former state-supported employment, Buryats instead used their inherited herd animals – both subsisting upon and selling their meat, dairy items and skins – as their primary economic base. The people living in Bayandun’s centre do not actually keep their animals next to their homes, where there is not enough grass there for herding, but instead have their relatives who live in the outlying countryside herd for them. To remunerate their labour, Bayandun’s central residents give their countryside relatives some, or even all, of the offspring born to their livestock. In addition, district centre residents sometimes provide their countryside relatives with shop-sold products such as flour, sugar, batteries and clothing purchased in Bayandun, Ulaanbaatar, or sometimes even farther away. While this exchange of livestock for shepherding labour is sustained by affinities of kinship, people in Bayandun’s centre and its surrounding countryside manage their exchanges as business transactions and sometimes 21

DFortune and the Cursed quarrel over the original ownership of parent animals. Their arguments usually do not revolve around the animals’ offspring, which are acknowledged to be the property of whoever herds the parent animals. However, when residents of Bayandun’s centre plan to sell their adult livestock, they sometimes find that their countryside relatives are reluctant to relinquish their hold on animals which, over time, they have come to regard as their own. People living in Bayandun’s centre said that the task of looking after, say, even a hundred extra animals – to which one would be entitled all of the offspring – is remunerative enough to yield a handsome profit. There has been a notable increase in the number of shops in Bayandun’s centre, which swelled from four shops in 2000 to thirteen in 2004. Some households now also have children working in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, who send them money. And several families earn cash from local daily sales of homemade bread.4 In both Bayandun’s centre and its outlying countryside, Buryats also obtain money from temporary, high-risk enterprises such as gambling or by transporting their livestock to Ulaanbaatar to sell at higher prices than can be obtained locally. In 2004, I also observed people gathering lumber from the forests at the outskirts of Bayandun’s centre, to sell for pure profit. Some people sell homegrown vegetables, which they produce along with berries during the spring and then harvest and preserve in autumn. Usually, though, vegetables are grown for consumption. And in late September 1999, a few families in Bayandun’s centre even grew flowers for a local competition for the most beautiful bloom. By midwinter these vegetable supplies tend to be exhausted. However, on a year-round basis, the shops sell small apples and tangerines (which are considered to be luxuries), onions and cloves of garlic (used regularly for cooking), as well as preserved fruits and vegetables. Shop prices in Bayandun are high compared to prices in the cities, because items are transported entirely by car at high petrol prices, either cross-country from Ulaanbaatar or from border trading towns such as Ereen (called Erlian in Chinese) or Manzhouli in Inner Mongolia, so that it is considered a treat to purchase vegetables and fruit. There are often several months between late winter and late spring when most people eat only unseasoned food made from meat and flour, since they cannot yet grow vegetables and berries or obtain dairy products from their herd animals in the countryside. People are also unwilling to slaughter their un22

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fattened animals at this time, and so they eventually reach several weeks of spring famine, when the winter meat supplies have run out and a seasonal rise in petrol prices deters people from bringing flour into Bayandun. All this leads to the question of water. Mongolia is a landlocked country with a steppe climate and an extremely dry terrain, which has sparse vegetation and few trees. Often human-built structures provide the only protection from the elements, of which the most abrasive are the sun and wind.5 On a daily basis, people in Bayandun’s centre collect all the water they use for drinking, cooking, cleaning and gardening from their local source: two freshwater springs called Naranbulag, meaning ‘spring of the sun’, and Chuluunbulag, meaning ‘spring filled with stones’, which are located in the small valley lying at the centre of Bayandun’s hillsides. Waters in these springs – and particularly in Chuluunbulag – are reputed to improve stomach problems and hangovers. Healing properties are attributed to metals in the water, although Mandal, who is a neighbour of Ölzii, has a daughter who once told me that algae in the water relieves stomach pains and heals burns. Just a few households obtain water from their (sometimes tainted) private wells. Water collection, then, usually requires the labour-intensive procedure of filling a forty-litre canister at the springs and tying the canister by rope to a wooden, two-wheeled cart outfitted with a long pole. Groups of two or three young adults or children push these carts, by their poles, to set them in motion, often returning home with them on a steep, uphill journey. Just a few families who keep horses, cattle or a truck in Bayandun’s centre use them to fetch water. Garden maintenance in spring and summer requires several water-collection trips a day. Since 1996, when the Mongolian government stopped subsidizing electricity in Bayandun, the district residents have made intermittent attempts (once every six to twelve months) to finance electricity through household contributions. Petrol is used to run the local electricity, which is made available in homes for special events, such as a politician’s visit.6 Only Bayandun’s clubhouse has regular electricity for evening films, dances and concerts, the costs of which are covered by ticket sales to these events. Candles, then, are the primary source of lighting and are used for evening cooking, card playing and chatting. After sunset the district centre becomes dark to the point of near invisibility so that people cannot observe their 23

DFortune and the Cursed neighbours simply by looking out their household windows. Instead, anyone who is outdoors can look for those houses which have a window aglow with candlelight, when seeking other people who might still be awake and available for drinking parties. Mongols make a strong distinction between the home (bair), which is the ‘axis’ or centre of everyday life, and the road (zam), where beings, objects and forces interact publicly (Humphrey 1995, 142–43). This distinction is clearly evident in the Buryat divinatory practice called ‘Twenty Card’, which plays a major role in the cursing ethnography of this book (see chapter 5). Since Buryats – and Mongols more generally – hold that anyone can be a potential threat to them (giving rise to the feeling that ‘[t]he only thing known for sure was that someone was not to be trusted’), people in Bayandun try to control how they are seen and heard, both inside and outside of the home (Højer 2004, 44). Some people in Bayandun even appear to seek out religious assistance as part of their regular efforts to monitor visual cues, to muffle sounds and to think several steps ahead about how to overcome problems through the magical intervention of correcting rituals or innovative remedies. Most households have a divination held for them once a week, and the shamans in the district centre spend between one and three hours a day on religious practices. Shamans also tend to hold ceremonies once every two weeks to honour their spirits or to help laypersons. Given all this, there is support for the argument that religious activity has increased in Bayandun due to widespread disappointment with the declining economy. People do compare their current situation with how things were before 1996, when they regularly ran radios, televisions, refrigerators and washing machines on electricity. As Mongolians across the country say, after the oppressions ended, religious activity and conflict became more abundant and overt. It also makes sense that the regular employment and routine schedules of the socialist period could have corresponded with less interpersonal conflict and less of a demand for religious practices to address it. Certainly it could also be the case that nowadays the comparative absence of state support or interference in district life allows for more frequent religious activity than existed in the past (Buyandelgeriyn 2007, 132). Indeed, Buryats living in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China – the other Mongol district discussed in this book – hold that cursing is frequent in their neighbouring district 24

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of Shinekhen Züün Sum, where people are poor and subject to less interference from the state, due to their inaccessible, forested location. Moreover, these Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum compared their Shinekhen Züün Sum neighbours to what they had learned about Bayandun from me, saying that the frequency of cursing and religious activity would have been high in those two districts for similar reasons.7 It is telling that the explanations which Buryats assign on a case-by-case basis to their concept of fortune and their wider notions of cosmology reflect the unpredictable forms of exchange and enterprise which have permeated Mongolian sociality in recent and distant history, both inside and outside of Mongolia (Humphrey 1989, 6–10, 1991, 11–13, and 1998, 4–7; Humphrey and Sneath 2004, 87–98; Sneath 2000, 187–95 and 2006, 89–106; Højer 2004, 44; Jagchid and Hyer 1979, 283–310). Still, there are good reasons why Buryat religious activity in the 1990s cannot be reduced simply to the economic crisis in Mongolia or the economic boom in China. The frequency with which shamans or diviners on both sides of the Mongolian-Chinese border produce new remedies to combat fallen fortunes suggests that – as strange attractors – innovative religious practitioners and fortune have been the impetus behind a good amount of recent religious activity and the invention of culture.

Shinekhen Baruun Sum Shinekhen Baruun Sum is located in the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region (IMAR), People’s Republic of China. More than half of the district is made up of Buryats, and the remaining population is mainly Khorchin Mongol. Both the Buryats and Khorchin in Shinekhen Baruun Sum claim that they do not interact very much, and indeed their homes are situated on opposite sides of the district. In private conversations with me, local Buryats said that they and the Khorchin hold competing claims to a local hilltop where ritual offerings are made to their ancestors. Moreover, the Buryats hold the majority of administrative posts in the district and find that the Khorchin resent this. My fieldwork was contained to the Buryat sector of the population. Significantly, Shinekhen Baruun Sum lies just 65 kilometres away from the large commercial city of Hailar and roughly 500 kilometres east of Bayandun. The district’s name is comprised of three words of 25

DFortune and the Cursed Mongol origin, but like many Chinese regional labels, it simply designates its geographic orientation. While shinekhen means ‘quite new’, baruun means ‘west’ and sum means ‘district’, thereby distinguishing Shinekhen Baruun Sum as the ‘Quite New Western District’, nominally opposed to the neighbouring ‘Quite New Eastern District’ (Shinekhen Züün Sum) and ‘Silver Stone District’ (Möngönchuluu Sum). Shinekhen Baruun Sum has the reputation of being wealthy in comparison to these neighbouring districts, and it also has a denser Buryat population. Its residents attribute their affluence to their industry, their regular employment, which is a source of ready cash, and to the fact that their district is situated closer to Hailar than are the neighbouring districts. Commutes to Hailar ordinarily are made by bus or private-hire minivans that in daylight hours pass every 15 to 30 minutes by a main highway adjacent to the district centre. In either direction, bus transport between the centre and Hailar is fast (roughly 40 minutes) and inexpensive (1.50 Chinese yuan).8 Buryats living in Shinekhen Baruun Sum thus often travel to Hailar or one of its outlying suburbs, Nantun, to conduct business, visit relatives and friends or to shop. Goods available in the district’s shops are therefore far more varied than those in Bayandun and include a wide range of fresh vegetables and fruits.9 Not every banner of the IMAR enjoys this high a standard of living. Houses in both the district centre and outlying countryside of Shinekhen Baruun Sum have multiple rooms, such that the bedrooms and kitchens are set apart from the sitting room or hallway areas by doors. There are no forests nearby to provide lumber, so houses and other buildings are constructed of brick, plaster, stone, or mud and wattle. Only small sheds and household fences are made of wood. Stoves are identical to those found in Bayandun, and large household windows also allow the residents of Shinekhen Baruun Sum to monitor their neighbours’ movements. Like in Bayandun, the home thus operates as the centre of every Buryat person’s world, so that all interpersonal relations – good or bad – can be seen as an extension of the household. However, since Shinekhen Baruun Sum is located on flat steppe terrain (tal), the lack of elevation prevents people from seeing further than the nearest building. Residents of Shinekhen Baruun Sum cannot, then, use their topography to observe whole wings of the district, as the people in Bayandun do. Nor, given the Chinese state’s policy on population control, do residents 26

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romanticize about their district expanding to full capacity. Still, the primary source of subsistence and capital is vested in herd animals, and the people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum had many more animals in the year 2000 than did the people in Bayandun (see tables 1.3 and 1.4). Table 1.3. Human population counts in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China

Households People

Inside the district centre

Outside the district centre

Total district population

400

900

1,300

1,605

2,534

4,139

Table 1.4. Animal population counts in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, China Animals

Sheep

Cows

Horses

Goats

Camels

Sires

1,252

277

153

78

10

Total

82,338

21,808

3,616

3,932

190

Pigs

Total

1,770 251

112,135

Tables 1.3 and 1.4. Officials in charge of Shinekhen Baruun Sum population counts collected these statistics for the 31 March 2000 census. Figures for the district are collected biannually (in March and September), recorded in its local annals and then released roughly a month later. In table 1.3 household numbers reflect rough approximations.

As in Bayandun, herding work is mainly carried out in the outlying countryside of Shinekhen Baruun Sum, so that only a few households bring animals into the centre for summer milking. Keeping animals in the centre of Shinekhen Baruun Sum requires providing them with fodder, and not many families’ yards yield enough grass to feed locally kept animals. Supplementary feed is scythed or harvested by tractor in the outlying countryside and then transported in. District officials estimate that about 75 per cent of the district centre’s population, which resides in 300 households, has regular employment as officials, accountants, schoolteachers, small business owners or tradesmen. Most Buryats living in the centre receive fluctuating levels of cash from the animals that their countryside relatives herd for them and from work as self-made entrepreneurs of small shops or restaurants. One household in the centre runs a public shower house, and another sells homemade bread. Buryats 27

DFortune and the Cursed in Shinekhen Baruun Sum are wealthier than the Buryats in Bayandun on account of their livestock and employment figures. Their standard of living is also high due to how resources are managed on a national level. Nearly the entire eastern side of China is a seaboard actively engaged in fishing, trade and commutes between the mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan. This logistical advantage has helped China’s ‘infrastructural revolution’ from the late 1990s onwards to achieve exceptional results, such as the option to purchase things like fresh fish, aubergines or Inner Mongolian ice cream in any small, countylevel city, so that roughly the same availability and prices for products can be found in every location. In rural areas of a developing country, these products can be taken as the sign of a high standard of living, since nonlocally made perishable products usually become available only after the arrival of luxury goods like women’s facial creams, which have a stock shelf life. Readily available water also makes household work easier in Shinekhen Baruun Sum than in Bayandun. Each household is equipped with a pressure-pump well, which makes trips to a local spring, river or other water source unnecessary. During the summer months readily available water facilitates the production of jams made from wild cranberries or bird cherries (moil), which are small, richly flavoured, dark purplish fruits with the Latin botanical name of prunus padus, as well as vegetable hot sauces made from purchased vegetables. Washing is also made easier by having water at hand. However it is uncertain how long groundwater resources will sustain these wells. In 2000 some families in Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s centre were having problems working their wells efficiently. Residents say that their water lines are used too frequently to stay clean or workable for years to come. The same complaint has been traced to other parts of the IMAR (Humphrey and Sneath 1999, 48, see also 311). Living standards in the centre of Shinekhen Baruun Sum are nonetheless also enhanced by privately financed electricity. The proximity between the district and Hailar and the relatively inexpensive prices asked for Chinese electronics goods such as refrigerators and televisions has allowed even the poorest households to purchase these. Televisions in the district mainly receive Chinese-language programmes and soap operas, although one or two Mongolian-language channels, which usually show Mongolian traditional singers, 28

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are also available. Electricity increases visibility at night, but due to the district’s flat terrain people cannot see farther than the nearest man-made structure. Nonetheless, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum monitor sound much like people in Bayandun do. Even in their multiple-roomed houses, these Buryats often speak in murmured tones or hushed voices when discussing divinations, religious practices or local rivalries. This helps prevent conversations from being overheard in adjacent rooms or just outside of the home, so that unwanted forces are not attracted into it. Still, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum only infrequently address their interpersonal rivalries through religious practices. Officially, the Chinese state does not tolerate ‘superstition’ (mixin) or activities that it considers potentially subversive, such as beliefs in curses which could upset entire communities. Also, the wealth, higher levels of employment, greater education opportunities and higher numbers of business opportunities in Shinekhen Baruun Sum make everyday life productive and busy, thereby decreasing competition with the neighbours. It is worth pointing out, though, that the one practising diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s centre attracts a fair amount of inquirers who ask about business prospects and money.10 Whereas in Bayandun divinations commonly focus on cursing, in Shinekhen Baruun Sum they revolve around cash. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum are more experienced capitalists and are encouraged by, although also cynical of, the Chinese state’s rhetoric about fast development through speculative enterprise (Pieke 1995, 497–512). These Buryats often highly respect rich people, with some wishing to emulate them and sometimes even seeing them as heroic. Moreover, the Chinese rhetoric to ‘get rich quick’ encourages these Buryats to improve their circumstances, although not necessarily at the cost of other people. Divinations in Shinekhen Baruun Sum thus often begin with questions about money which are not always tied up with investigations of rivalry. Indeed, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum say that monetary loss and rivalry should not be counteracted by harming one’s enemies. Instead these Buryats prefer simply to appease their aggressors, usually through frequent worship of the Buddhist gods, who are asked to placate one’s rivals. The strong Buddhist presence in the district thus downplays rivalry. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum commonly travel to the monastery in their district’s outlying countryside to consult lamas who 29

DFortune and the Cursed divine and practise astrology (zurkhai), which they say inhibits rivalry while stressing that every person should improve him or herself through virtuous, merit-making deeds (buyan). Laypersons in Shinekhen Baruun Sum say that lamas discourage using religious practices to redress conflict, preferring to turn the responsibility for absolving problems (saad) and sin (nügel khilents) onto the victim. This ethos of pursuing merit and forgetting the sins of others encourages people to dismiss rivalry while echoing the Chinese state’s idea that interpersonal relations should be calm and stable in all rural areas, so as to promote development (Flower 2004, 667–75). Tellingly, Buryats tend to adopt the Buddhist or Chinese state views on rivalry where these actually promote their household’s interests. Everyone I spoke to in Shinekhen Baruun Sum held that people always benefit from their own efforts at merit-making. But they also said that it is possible to accrue merit through magical practices, which may have the secondary effect of blocking their rivals’ objectives or even the goals of the state, as with magic that promotes fertility in the face of China’s one-child family policy. Thus Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum manoeuvre between different facets of what Scott, in his illuminating study of the Arosi in the Southwest Solomon Islands, aptly calls a ‘poly-ontology’ when carrying out divinations, correcting rituals or magical practices that address rivalries; following Buddhist ethics which emphasize merit-making while downplaying rivalry; or adhering to Chinese policies that prohibit certain religious or magical practices, classed as superstitious, often in the name of development (2007:10; see also 12).

Buryat sociality What Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum most obviously have in common, then, is a sociality which places the prosperity of the home at the centre of people’s everyday life. Buryats usually consider the eldest member of the home to be its titular head, even if age or gender prevents that person from taking charge of certain business affairs. Buryat kinship is patrilineal and patrilocal, so that men hold higher status than women and the typical household head is an older man. Age, however, takes precedence over gender hierarchies, such that where a woman is even just one year older than a man, she has the higher social standing. Moreover, not every member of a Buryat 30

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household has to be a family relation. Households can include extended kin and friends who come to live in them, sometimes for several years at a time. During the summer months children and young adults who have gone away to school or university often return to the homes of their parents or their spouse’s parents. Buryat homes – and indeed Mongol households more generally – are thus frequently made up of transient members. The openness of Buryat households to kin, friends and even strangers is conveyed by the term most often applied to homes. Buryats can refer to homes with the word ger, which either means yurt, which is the traditional, tentlike Mongolian housing structure, or a home in general. Or Buryats can allude to whole households by the term khashaa, which literally means ‘fence’ but also denotes the space of individual homes that is cordoned off by wooden fences from the outside. A vestige of nomadic movement has also been retained within the Buryat household, which ‘travels’ between a summer and winter home. Those Buryats who live in the district’s countryside often build their winter and summer homes in set locations, which are usually not far apart. But in the district centres, summer and winter homes are contained within the household’s fenced-in grounds, where summer homes tend to be small, airy structures that mainly provide relief from the heat. Since the Buryat home contains several structures with at least notionally different locations, Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum call households by the term ail, which in standard Khalkha Mongolian designates the familial home or neighbouring houses. But in the Buryat sense, ail is often used in a more specific way, to denote families who are considered to be local allies and business contacts, usually made up of neighbours and close friends living nearby. Buryat children (up to the age of six for girls and seven for boys) are considered too young to make significant contributions to household chores and so are mainly left to play and observe their elders. After this, children are expected to sweep floors, cook, clean up after meals and collect water. Strict obedience to elders is expected, but children often make themselves scarce at home, playing at the homes of neighbouring children in an effort to excuse themselves from being available for chores. Children are commonly indulged, especially at mealtimes, when they are allowed to sit and eat in a casual way. 31

DFortune and the Cursed Every morning Buryats in district centres clean house and do other chores, such as collecting water, to make their homes presentable to visitors by ten o’clock. Women light the stove at about five o’clock, while men often sleep in later, usually until anywhere between seven and nine. Those who are employed sometimes make earlier preparations so that they are able to reach their workplaces on time. Except for those occupied with employment or outdoor work, days are spent receiving visitors or travelling between the homes of neighbours and friends to exchange news, make business arrangements and conduct divinations. While formal displays of hospitality promote interpersonal relations and status, informal displays of hospitality are an index of close relations. Visitors are always offered tea or some refreshment on arrival, and usually at least one person can be found at any home in the district centre. On arrival, visitors are asked what news they have to share (Sonin yütai ve?) but are never pressed to provide details they would not give of their own accord. Buryats know that they can discuss delicate matters privately with close friends, without having their thoughts divulged to others afterwards. The generosity, patience and discretion of Buryat sociality is in part influenced by the knowledge that people will live with their neighbours for years to come. Many Mongolian district centres have been stable settlements for nearly a century (Bayandun was settled in 1928), so that Buryats cannot count on having their rivals move out of their districts. Instead, Buryats must make efforts to accommodate interpersonal conflicts, allowing them to dissipate over time, as evidenced by the Buryat idea that openly accusing a cursing rival is highly dangerous and would incite that rival into pursuing a ‘cursing war’ (kharaalni dain). Thus the rural Buryat approach to deflecting curses resembles the sorcerydeflecting tactics among the Shavante of the central Brazilian plateau, who prefer withholding sorcery accusations to avoid conflicts which might require someone to move out of the village (Rivière 1970, 250– 52). This is not to say that Buryats – or the people in Bayandun – live within an acephalous society. District officials, including the mayor and policeman, as well as the local elders, are considered to be Bayandun’s leaders, while the local clubhouse regularly holds districtwide activities, such as film screenings, social dances, performances given by local talents or travelling troupes, wrestling competitions and talks given by travelling politicians. Moreover, Buryats in Bayandun 32

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are aware that historically there were laws against cursing in Mongolia. Indeed, Charles Bawden has shown that as late as 1916, during the Manchu period, a petition had been levelled against a local zasag (ruler or banner prince) because, ‘In unlawful, heathenish fashion he has had cursing magic performed against people, threatening to kill them, and has terrified them unbearably’ (1989, 178–79). Nowadays, cursing in Bayandun is mainly contained by those shamans who do not wish for the cursing to continue further. Yaruu’s group, for instance, refused to help a local man deflect the curse which he claimed his ex-wife in Choibalsan had requested be set against him. According to Yaruu, the man had claimed that his exwife had sought the help of a lama from the Red Sect (‘Nyingmapa’) monastery in Choibalsan, which used the blood of a black dog’s ear to cast this curse. In chapter 2, I discuss the historical and doctrinal differences between Red Sect and Yellow Sect Buddhism in Mongolia and how these relate to the cosmology of Bayandun. Here, though, it is sufficient to say that neither Yaruu nor her shamanic pupil Duulchin would hold divinations about this unfortunate man’s curse or help him to deflect it, despite the man’s persistent latenight drunken singing about his woes, accompanied by his guitar, outside their homes. Yaruu said that she and Duulchin did not want to get involved, since the cursed man had wrongfully abandoned his first wife and had found a new wife in Bayandun without obtaining a divorce. Indeed, Yaruu said that countering the Red lama’s curse would be difficult, if it were even true, since their curse-setting tactics were different to those of the Buryat shaman. Thus this cursing episode was evaded by Yaruu’s group and even passed off as the drunken ramblings of an unhappy man. This is just one example of how Buryats contain curses. Throughout the book, I offer a much more revealing study on how Buryat shamans resolve cursing conflicts through their innovative remedies – the success of which underpinned the decision of Yaruu’s group to abandon their cursing rivalry. As I show in chapters 5 and 6, shamanic innovations are the major means of resolving rivalries and disputes among rural Buryats – so that these innovations introduce ‘hyperorder’ into the Buryat social environment, which underscores Buryat notions about morality and proper hierarchy. Buryats think in terms of categories of people, so that elders immediately invoke reverence, while family and close friends solicit 33

DFortune and the Cursed anticipation of news at hand. Young adults who are unmarried are seen in terms of impending marriage, while married people are attributed greater authority in household decision making. Those who are employed, wealthy or educated are seen as refined and being desirable connections. Religious personnel elicit awe, and when they are shamans, this awe is often tinged with fear. People who perpetrate gossip are considered lazy (zalkhuu) and sometimes dangerous, although most Buryats enjoy talking about people who are outside of their circle of family and friends. Savvy Mongols use gossip to keep abreast of local affairs while presenting themselves as important and knowledgeable people whose arrival coincides with speaking about new things (sonin). Tradesmen, and particularly those who drive hard bargains like the Chinese, are held to cut deals shamefully in their favour, making them untrustworthy. Enemies, people with undesirable characteristics, and those known to carry dangerous forces on their person provoke dread. Rivals are ascribed envy and hated.

Outline of Bayandun’s cursing Let us now return to the core ethnography of this book, which is the seven-month-long curse episode that took place in Bayandun from November 1999 to May 2000. Although this cursing was discovered during the lunar New Year celebrations of February 2000, when Yaruu suffered from a curse attack, the victims backdated the onset of the cursing by two months. When I settled into Bayandun in November 1999, two shamanic factions had already started developing in the district, and according to laypersons such as Mandal, these shamans had become rivals competing over prestige and visits from their inquirers. Concrete reasons for the rise of these factions were also given to me by members of Yaruu’s group, as we will see in chapters 4 and 5. One of these factions centred on Yaruu and her three local shamanic pupils: Galanjav, his wife, Chimegee, and Duulchin. These shamans were all relatively young, with Yaruu perhaps being the youngest, in her early thirties, followed by the husband-and-wife team of Galanjav and Chimegee, in their early forties, while Duulchin was the oldest, a man in his late forties. The people in Yaruu’s group would visit each other’s homes on a regular basis to exchange news and carry out religious activities. Shamans in the rival faction were perhaps not so closely united, although Yaruu’s 34

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group held that they colluded regularly in the setting of curses. The rival group was comprised of Sürenma, a woman in her fifties who had formerly been a good friend of Ölzii; Sansar, a taciturn man in his late fifties who was a relative of Sürenma and the longest practising shaman in Bayandun; Lavs, a very powerful shaman in her forties who had helped Yaruu capture her shamanic ‘roots’ (ug) to the spirits so that she could start practising as a shaman; and the ‘lamashaman’ (lam-böö), a practitioner in his thirties and the husband of Lavs, who had received this nickname in Yaruu’s group because he had no formal monastic training but was self-styled as both a Buddhist lama and a shaman. Throughout most of the cursing, Yaruu’s group ignored Lavs’s often implicit involvement, focusing instead on the lama-shaman’s curses. I suspect that this was because Yaruu’s group feared retaliation from Lavs, since, as they told me on numerous occasions, her shamanic powers were far greater than her husband’s. Altogether, though, the two factions were evenly matched: each was comprised of three shamanic households and included one husband-wife shamanic duo. When Yaruu was first struck by the cursing during the 2000 lunar New Year celebrations, her family and shamanic pupils banded together into what I have chosen to call ‘Yaruu’s group’. Within four days of this curse attack, Yaruu and her pupils confirmed through divinations that each of their households had been cursed by the rival shamans in Bayandun. This discovery launched months of daily divinations, held to detect and deflect the rivals’ curses, until Yaruu’s group held a shamanic ceremony where they uncovered an innovative curse-blocking remedy that resolved the rivalry. Ölzii took a leading role in the curse-deflecting efforts, attending nearly all of the divination sessions on cursing. During my stay in Bayandun from 1999 to 2000, Ölzii and Yaruu’s families lived next door to each other, in a two-winged household structure which is unusual for Bayandun. The layout of these homes facilitated exchanges on the cursing and other shamanic matters within Yaruu’s group. Having worked as Bayandun’s district accountant for more than twenty years, Ölzii had the local reputation of being an educated person who was highly knowledgeable about shamanic religion. Thus, although Ölzii was not a shaman, many people in Bayandun consulted her about correct shamanic practice (and continued to do so during my most recent trip there in 2004). Everyone in Yaruu’s 35

DFortune and the Cursed group was active in the curse-deflecting process, and some of them even witnessed the curse-casting. As soon as Yaruu’s group learned about the cursing, they severed all contact with their rivals and gave me clear instructions to avoid them too. I felt a large pang of disappointment (followed later by indignation) that I would be cut off from these rivals, some of whom I felt had only just recently become my friends in Bayandun. But I also realized that Yaruu’s group fearfully wanted to protect me and themselves from inviting further trouble from their rivals, in line with Favret-Saada’s observation that ‘The bewitched prevent any such confrontation by warning the ethnographer to avoid meeting their aggressor, for fear of becoming his victim’ (1980, 20). Furthermore, Favret-Saada notes that this sudden break in relations with rivals – which the cursed enforce upon everyone, including the anthropologist drawn into their position, is part of the larger complex, where ‘to be bewitched is to stop communicating with one’s presumed witch as well as with anyone not involved in the crisis; so other villagers know almost nothing of the matter … [while] it is inconceivable that an ethnographer to whom one had spoken as to the legitimate occupier of one of the positions in the [witchcraft] discourse might step outside it to investigate, and ask what is the truth behind this or that story’ (ibid.). In addition to ignoring their rivals, Yaruu’s group returned their curses and avoided the southwest of the district where they lived, choosing to take roundabout paths when moving through Bayandun so as to keep a maximum distance from their rivals’ homes. Yaruu’s group also marred their rivals’ reputations by visiting their close friends and neighbours, at the homes of Gerel and Mandal, to tell them privately about the cursing. Their retaliatory measures continued until Yaruu’s group implemented the curse-blocking innovation, at which point they started downplaying the cursing and refused to speak or think about it. Both Ölzii and Galanjav had hinted to me on separate occasions that Yaruu’s group started pretending that the cursing had never happened, so as to ensure that the rival shamans did not discover their innovation and undermine it. Moreover, once Yaruu’s group had implemented the curse-blocking innovation, they held that their fortunes would recover at the fastest possible pace, provided that they were not distressed by thoughts about the cursing. Gradually, this pretence of smooth relations gave way to an ac36

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tual resolution of the conflict between Yaruu’s group and their rival shamans. Buryats and other Mongols thus do not publicly proclaim curses, but, like they handle other dangerous things, they divine about and hold correcting rituals for them in private, so as to avoid unduly attracting further hostile forces into the home. Curses are deflected through private ceremonies held in victims’ homes or at the places where shamans or lamas conduct their religious practices. Those cursed households which have a powerful resident shaman or lama usually have their own specialist deflect the cursing, sometimes in a joint ceremony with another practitioner. During my stay in Bayandun, then, only Yaruu’s group explicitly recognized the cursing episode of which they had been the victims. I am uncertain as to how aware the rival shamans were of the cursing, although on some of my visits to the lama-shaman’s home, I heard Lavs sarcastically and laughingly mention that some people in Bayandun were under the impression they might be cursed. To my knowledge, the rival shamans never acknowledged that the cursing was true. This observation fits with Favret-Saada’s finding that ‘the bewitched and their alleged witches … no longer communicate. Not only do they not talk to each other, they do not speak the same kind of language’, since no one admits to being a witch (1980, 20). It then was only natural that Lavs would have laughed the cursing off, since few people anywhere would wish to be considered a curse caster, even though they may hold that other people cast curses. Yet laughing dismissals of the cursing was especially frightening to Yaruu’s cursed group, who were certain that their rivals waited to meet them in public, the better to cast another curse. Many people in Yaruu’s group told me that Sürenma waited for school to break up each day, because Tansag and her playmates often passed by Sürenma’s house when walking home, making it easy for her to propagate the cursing war. I learned that Sürenma would greet the children with a false smile that concealed her bad intentions, since ‘In time of war, nothing so resembles the characteristic weapons of the magician (words, look and touch) as an innocent “how are you?” followed by a handshake’ (Favret-Saada 1980, 20). On another occasion, Sürenma confessed to me that she had felt heart pains (zürkh n’ övdöj baina) shortly after Yaruu had returned a curse to her (see chapter 4). When I told this to Chimegee, she felt satisfied that 37

DFortune and the Cursed Yaruu’s counter-curse tactics had worked. My impression from speaking to both Sürenma and Chimegee was that – like Lavs – Sürenma was aware that Yaruu’s group considered her to be a curse caster but was saddened and too embarrassed to speak about this openly with me, since I was living in Yaruu’s home. Nonetheless, as we will see in chapter 4, phenomena such as cursing and khel am (literally, ‘tonguemouth’), which is a Mongolian form of circulated gossip with curse effects, are potent precisely because they are always partly invisible: they strike too quickly or travel along circuitous routes which cannot be fully retraced, so that Buryats always have an element of doubt about whether these ‘bad speech’ phenomena actually occurred.

Through the lens of divination Like I do with my analysis of divination, throughout this book I subject the Buryat notions of fortune, cursing and other magical phenomena to causal analysis, showing how magic works according to Buryat notions of time and space. To this end, I argue that the Buryat choice to implement magical practices actually can be sourced to misgivings and presentiments that precede divinatory sessions and are the basis of divinatory pronouncements. Favret-Saada describes her sense of these misgivings and presentiments, which in my view often reflects the Buryat sense of them, as ‘[p]ersistent amnesia, dumbfoundedness, the inability to reflect when faced by the seemingly unstatable – i.e. a vague perception that something in this cannot be coped with’ (1980, 22). I simply outline the role of misgivings and presentiments here. But in the course of the book, I develop it through an account of divination, interpersonal conflict and the cosmological premises that underpin Buryat sociality. Living with Buryats in northeast Mongolia and China revealed to me that their awareness of misfortunes initially arises through misgivings, presentiments or sometimes more explicit evidence that something has gone awry, such as the physical sensation of having a rival shaman take their souls. Laypersons or shamans in Bayandun may know things of their own accord (ööröö medne), whereas anyone in Shinekhen Baruun Sum might ‘have a feeling’ (Chinese: ganjue) that something will happen. Religious specialists, however, are more adept at extraordinary forms of perception and, indeed, are premonition savvy. Sometimes, when dreaming, shamans in Bayandun re38

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ceive visible or audial cues from the shamanic spirits that apprise them of the circumstances they will encounter in the future. Both the shamans in Bayandun and the diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum found that connections (ug) to the spirit world heighten their premonitions (zön sovin), facilitating the divinatory process. Usually Buryat laypersons are prompted by these presentiments to visit a shaman or an ordinary black diviner (khar üzemerch) to gauge, or alternatively confirm, what kind of problem they are facing and how to overcome it. Any Buryat person with these misgivings – including shamans and diviners – seeks out another person to divine for him or her. Yaruu said that as a shaman she would often divine for herself when seeking an answer to a simple question. But to get information about more critical problems, Yaruu and the other Buryat shamans she knew would ask a different person to divine (üzekh, literally to look or read) for them. According to Yaruu, Buryats (and Mongols more generally) cannot satisfactorily divine about complex problems for themselves using their own human perspectives, which are different from the spirit perspectives they adopt during séances (Swancutt 2008, 852–53, see also 856–57). This is because, as Yaruu explained, the shaman (or any kind of diviner) must use his or her specialist divining perspective to navigate through the divinatory practice and its implements. Both the divinatory practice and implements continually reflect the shaman’s perspective back onto him or her, inhibiting the shaman from perceiving the entire range of options that the divination affords. Shamans who divine for themselves, then, are simultaneously helped and handicapped by their own perspectives (see Swancutt 2007, 242, for how this principal works in games). I discuss the different spirit perspectives which Buryat shamans may adopt in later chapters. At this point, though, I simply wish to stress Yaruu’s idea that Buryat shamans or diviners obtain the most accurate results when they are unfamiliar with the inquirer’s circumstances. This preference for a fresh perspective on the question at hand even prompted Yaruu and others to visit a Kazakh diviner who, in 2000, had come from western Mongolia for a short stay with his family in Bayandun. People throughout Bayandun were extremely curious about how well the visiting Kazakh would carry out the Mongolian divination, which uses forty-one stones, and they were keen to receive his viewpoint as an outsider. Similar reasons prompted them to request that I divine with playing cards 39

DFortune and the Cursed throughout my stays in Bayandun, during 1999 to 2000 and again in 2004 (see below). The importance of gathering a fresh perspective on the question at hand becomes obvious when observing how Buryat diviners and inquirers mutually produce increasing levels of certainty in each step of the divinatory process. Inquirers are well aware of their role in this process. So before seeking out any divination, inquirers reflect upon their misgivings, presentiments or other evidence of misfortune, thus making their predivinatory speculations into the first stage of the divinatory process. This Buryat approach is different from some African practices, where the diviner first generates a good deal of ‘uncertainty’ and then ultimately reaches a precise result (Whyte 1997, 19–20). David Parkin, for instance, has shown that some African diviners steer through ‘jumbled ideas and metaphors that suggest various possible interpretations [until these] give way [in the diviner’s mind] to their ordered sequencing and to more limited interpretations’ (1991, 183, see also 175). But the predivinatory speculations of Buryat inquirers narrow down the inquiry before it has started, prompting diviners and inquirers to collectively seek out increasing levels of order and certainty. These speculations also prevent the Buryat diviner from exclusively generating and resolving uncertainty in his or her mind alone. Buryat diviners, though, welcome their inquirer’s input, since the combination of their perspectives helps resolve the inquirer’s query – especially when that query has some bearing upon the obviously political ‘system of positions’ through which a cursing episode unfolds (Favret-Saada 1980, 17). This is all the more true since for Buryats, as for the peasants FavretSaada lived among in western France, ‘the touchstone of witchcraft is not so much the simple realization of a prediction or a malediction, as the fact that it is taken up by the bewitched, who becomes the unwilling agent of fate’ (1980:114) – or, as in my case studies, the unwilling agent of his or her fallen fortune! One explanation for why inquirers draw forceful predivinatory speculations – which they confirm or even test through divination – is that Buryats consider misfortunes to arise in specific contexts. For instance, Buryats hold that the phenomenon of black khel am arises when two people have an argument (margaan), which gives rise to omnipresent and disparaging gossip about the offended party’s grievance (chapter 4 discusses this in full detail). Since black khel am has 40

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curse-like effects, a Buryat who recently argued with another person may attribute recent misfortunes to black khel am, before even approaching a divining specialist. It is then up to the diviner to confirm the inquirer’s speculation about black khel am. I frequently observed Buryats in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum bringing speculations such as these (as partly formed interpretations) to the divining table and directing the line of inquiry by giving only a limited range of information to a shaman or diviner. The Buryat inquirer’s influence is especially clear in cases of what I call ‘blind divination’, which test both the inquirer’s speculations and the religious specialist’s skill. In blind divinations, the inquirer narrows down his or her inquiry to, say, three specific options before approaching the shaman or diviner. Then, without giving any information about his or her query, the inquirer requests that a blind divination be held for each of the three options. Buryat shamans who are approached in this way often lay matches on the divining table, instructing the inquirer to silently assign one option to each match while keeping track of the results. Then the shaman divines for each option – on one or more occasions – and decides which is best for the inquirer. Usually inquirers request blind divinations for purposes of discretion, such as hiding the identity of a possible curse suspect. Note, though, that the inquirer’s speculations and the specialist’s results are mutually constitutive; they act as checks and balances upon one another and are both necessary for producing the divinatory result. This is true of Buryat divinations more generally, where the specialist’s results carry more authority than the inquirer’s speculations, but only because the specialist has the ‘roots’ (ug) – that is the specialist’s connection – to the shamanic spirits, ancestral spirits, or Buddhist gods who make it possible for them to divine. These spirits and gods are not involved in every divination, so that the dialogue is often exclusively between Buryat religious specialists and their inquirers, who work to mutually produce the most accurate divinatory results.

Divination as a fieldwork method Rural Mongolia – since the withdrawal of state-subsidized employment and resources in the 1990s – is a place where people have had to tailor-make a living, often through highly speculative enterprises. 41

DFortune and the Cursed I regularly saw people in Bayandun amassing money through gambling and investing the money in petrol, or slaughtering their livestock and transporting them to the cities where meat prices were higher, in hopes of making a profit. Similarly, it was not unusual for people in Bayandun to wait several months for their resources to finally arrive in Ulaanbaatar, from abroad, before making a business venture with their contacts there. These enterprises were, in my experience, always accompanied by divinations or shamanic ceremonies in which dialogues with the spirits were meant to facilitate the business process. Of course, rural Buryat enterprise is different from, say, ‘big business’ in a cosmopolitan city, due to the timing that underpins transactions. Buryat business deals were ordinarily delayed by weeks or months because of the high degree of uncertainty that pervaded rural entrepreneurship, so people spent a good deal of time waiting for their prospects to evolve. But Buryats were not complacent about this downtime. Instead, they continually sought out numerous, concurrent enterprises – especially through divinations which helped make the wait time of business ventures into optimistic moments of active planning. It was only when I began observing divination from both sides of the divining table that I recognized the broad range of uses to which Buryats put divination, as well as the highly pragmatic approach that they take to it and how regularly they combine empirical evidence with it. Taking on the diviner’s craft had the advantage of drawing me into the ‘system of positions’ that Favret-Saada identifies for witchcraft episodes and which, in my experience, also underpins the diviner-inquirer relationship (1980, 17). Yet as Favret-Saada discovered when being ‘caught’ in witchcraft episodes, the anthropologist’s role in the community of study is fashioned largely by how local people enter that anthropologist into their system of positions (ibid., 16–17). When Buryat inquirers share information with you as a diviner, they entrust you to contain whatever information they give you while drawing you into the whole gamut of ‘if-then’ questions they have regarding all their life prospects for the moment. The process can be exhausting to the diviner who allows the inquirer ask countless questions, since Buryat inquirers are quite happy to keep their divination sessions running until they run out of follow-up queries, which rarely happens. In my efforts to be fair, by ‘truly’ reading the cards in an ‘accurate’ way (which I felt was the anthropologically 42

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ethical route towards divination), I felt my energy gradually drain whenever bombarded with questions for an extended length of time. I even felt myself caught in moral binds (the ‘system of positions’) which were not disturbing to my Buryat inquirers, who eagerly requested the divinations (I never volunteered). Occasionally, I softened pronouncements which appeared harsh, but I never altered them (especially since, as we will see, those Buryats who learned my card interpretations simply scoffed at any effort I made to give them a polite pronouncement rather than reading the cards as they fell). When sensing my fatigue, some Buryats even ended their own lengthier sessions, out of cordiality to me. After experiencing this lightweight introduction to part-time divining, I can profess a fuller understanding of why, as Yaruu said, Buryats consider the shamanic vocation to be so energy draining that it shortens the lifespan of the shaman’s spouse. Yaruu was uncertain as to why shamans can endure the energy drain over time but their spouses cannot. Her speculation was that shamans ‘make up’ their lost energy by gathering it from their spouses, who live in the closest proximity to them, since they even sleep side by side. I never originally intended to go about divining in Mongolia or China. My interest was in gathering information on how religious practices give rise to innovations, specifically within shamanic repertoires, which, as I found during fieldwork, frequently involve divinations, including question-and-answer sessions with the spirits. But the Buryats I met suspected that my topic of study was somehow linked to my own vocation, possibly because I appeared open to – rather than sceptical or critical of – their divinations. However these suspicions came about, I was ‘discovered’ as a diviner in Bayandun, my first field site, shortly into my stay there. This was something of an accident. One evening, while copying my field notes by candlelight at Yaruu’s home, I took a break to play the card game solitaire. Not knowing that this game happened to be the simplest form of divination in Bayandun, I played it openly. Tuyaa saw me playing the game and called out to Yaruu, who was seated behind the partition that separated her kitchen from the living area: ‘Mother, look! Katie is divining’. Immediately Yaruu came over to observe me with the cards. When I realized that they thought I was divining, I told them repeatedly that where I come from, solitaire is just a game. Despite my protests, which were considered to be a display of modesty, 43

DFortune and the Cursed Yaruu told me that in Bayandun solitaire is a kind of divination called ‘Computer’ (komp’yüter), which gives yes/no answers. She said that a ‘yes’ is ascribed to divinatory outcomes where more red-suit cards (hearts and diamonds) reach the ‘winning’ piles than black-suit cards (clubs and spades), while a ‘no’ is ascribed to the opposite case. Or if all the cards (red and black) reach their winning piles, the divination affords its ‘best possible’ outcome, which is a ‘resounding yes’. Yaruu conceded that the divinatory practice of Computer may have been introduced to the countryside from Ulaanbaatar, where people have computers and play solitaire on it, but said that she did not know that it was played simply as a game in other places. Knowing that I was interested in studying Buryat divination, and intrigued by my handling of the cards, Yaruu opened up to me, telling me the terms for card suits and face cards, in both the Buryat and Khalkha (standard Mongolian) dialects. Then Yaruu told me the names of some card games and briefly showed me the rudiments of the Buryat playing-card divination called ‘Twenty Card’ (see chapter 5), which I had already been observing for some time and knew would be pivotal to my research. This was a breakthrough moment for me. Yaruu’s group became convinced that I could divine a little – as an ordinary, nonshamanic black diviner (khar üzemerch) – and were curious about the kinds of divination in America, where I came from, and the divination undertaken in England, where I lived. Before going to Mongolia, I had received the perspicacious advice from my PhD supervisor, Caroline Humphrey, that I bring along some books on Western divination with pictures to show people. Mongols can easily get hold of their own divination and astrology books or write-ups on divination in newspapers and are therefore familiar with the idea of learning practices from a text – although shamans in Bayandun and the black diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum learned how to divine as apprentices, by observing other practitioners or through explicit instruction from them. The Buryats I would be living among, then, would know about divining books and might like to share different knowledge about divination. Humphrey’s idea was that the Buryats might look over my picture books of Western divination techniques on their own time and that this might make the connection between my studies and their practices more tangible and easy for them. I liked this advice and had purchased a small American divining manual with many illustrations for the purpose, which included a style of playing44

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card divination called the ‘Lucky 13 layout’, with detailed illustrations and instructions for the card interpretations (Diagram Group 1999, 18–29). After Yaruu showed me the basics of Twenty Card, I decided – in the spirit of this exchange – to show her my copy of The Little Giant Encyclopedia of Fortune Telling and its illustrations for Lucky 13. On the spot, Yaruu had me divine twice for her using Lucky 13. She asked me specific questions, and I nervously followed the book’s interpretations closely, letting her know that I was a novice at the technique. But Yaruu’s curiosity, and that of her shamanic group, was struck. Soon many people in Yaruu’s group began having me divine for them (always free of charge), and they drew the conclusion that my divinations were true (ünen). My reputation as a diviner eventually spread from Yaruu’s group around much of Bayandun, so that I was requested to divine several times a week, giving Yaruu’s group and other Buryats additional insights into those questions which they also asked of other diviners. Indeed, on my return visit to Bayandun in 2004, a local Buryat man on a motorcycle came speeding up behind me shortly after I had arrived, while I was walking through the district, to request that I divine for him about his marriage prospects. He had remembered my divinations from 2000 and was eager to have yet another reading. I should say clearly that my divinations were not often central to the decisions that people made. Frequently, my divinations tended to be used as just additional confirmations of previous readings done by local shamans, especially since I did not charge anything for them. Moreover, my readings had the additional attraction of not being linked to the Buryat spirits, since it was presumed that I would have roots (ug) to foreign spirits, if I had any roots at all. Some people in Bayandun told me that it is not good to visit many different shamans for divinations because this can cause unrest (üimeen) among not only the shamans, who are rivals, but also among the spirits who assist those shamans. Buryat shamans usually have their spirit-helpers assist them in answering their inquirers’ questions, and these spirits are held to be generous, giving their help freely. However some inquirers doubt the initial divinatory pronouncements which they receive and so visit other shamans to ask the same question. This double-checking to see whether a divination was correct can be insulting to both shamans and the spirits, since it implies that the 45

DFortune and the Cursed original divinatory pronouncement may have been incorrect. Shamans might discover this insult through earthly gossip, while the spirits might discover it when talking to one another in the heavens, discussing the questions which they had so generously helped a shaman on earth to answer. Since I did not have shamanic ancestral spirits – or at least I was not held to receive help from spirits residing in the Buryat shamanic afterlife (see chapter 3) – my divinations posed less risk to those people who wished to reinforce an answer that they had already obtained from the Buryat spirits. One of the most important things I learned from divining was that Buryat inquirers have a substantial influence on any given divinatory pronouncement. People in Bayandun, and later also in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, often followed their own standard card interpretations when making assessments of what my cards showed. Ölzii insisted that some face cards which had appeared in one of my divinations indicated that Sürenma would set obstacles in the way of her upcoming vegetable trade in Russia – despite my protests that small obstacles could equally well have arisen from unknown people in Russia. That divination, which took place shortly after Yaruu’s household ‘discovered’ that I could divine, showed me that rural Buryats tend to attribute their problems to local sources. I recall being terribly concerned about the ethics of that particular divination (and of my divining in general), which the Buryats ignored. Passing off my concerns as the ordinary hesitations of novice practitioners who fear their craft, these Buryats pushed me to cooperate with their influx of fresh requests for me to divine. In this sense, I considered myself to have become an apprentice to my inquirers, who helped to mould me into a quick technician with what they considered to be the gift of prediction. Some people simply found these divinations entertaining and were curious to watch me divine, as an American researcher based at a British university but who was studying Buryat shamanic practices and customs while living in Yaruu’s home. Oftentimes Yaruu’s group, and Ölzii in particular, sought out my divinations desperately, making it impossible to decline them while receiving their hospitality. After some time and regular practice, I shed the self-doubting angst that I needed to follow the Lucky 13 interpretations to the book and just let the cards guide me, feeling them to be the ultimate source of my pronouncements. By divining, then, I learned how feelings of responsibility may be offloaded onto the divinatory implements, just 46

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as Buryat shamans in Bayandun considered their spirit-helpers to be the ultimate authorities for their pronouncements. There were definite benefits to my learning curve as a part-time diviner. Being told by Buryat inquirers how to interpret my own cards encouraged me to observe more closely how these same inquirers instructed their local shamans and diviners about making divinatory pronouncements. Indeed, my point of view (gathered from both sides of the divining table) underscored the considerable influence which inquirers had in the divining process, since they were the source of predivinatory speculations, while being highly informed about their situations and what they wanted to know about them. Carrying out fieldwork as both a diviner and an inquirer, then, revealed to me the nearly egalitarian dynamics behind the Buryat diviner-inquirer relation. Another important thing that I learned from divining was how spontaneously Buryats factor divinations into the planning of activities and how quick and detailed their response time is to new information. In the spring of 2000, Mandal started asking me, on a daily basis, whether a relative’s Mercedes-Benz, which was being driven from Germany, via Russia, to be sold in Ulaanbaatar, had ‘come out’ (garsan) of Russia yet, whether there had been a problem with the border guards, or whether it would come out this week, or in three-days’ time, or the next day, etc. As the arrival time of the car drew closer, I was asked to divine for more specific questions, such as whether selling the car would be highly profitable or whether a telephone call should be placed to Ulaanbaatar to ask relatives about the car and when that call should be placed. Often, divining for thirty minutes at a go while observing Buryats push me for detailed information made it clear to me that their divination was not merely a pastime but part of an intricate process of gauging how to obtain desired results. Ultimately, then, what I offer through this book is an exceptionally in-depth look at how Buryats use divination to raise their fortunes and produce sought-after innovative remedies.

Notes 1. Before settling into fieldwork in Bayandun, I made brief excursions to rural districts and province capitals in Dornod, Zavkhan, Sükhbaatar, Uvs and Khövgöl provinces. In each of these places, people said that the religious 47

DFortune and the Cursed 2.

3.

4. 5.

6.

7.

8. 9.

10.

oppressions caused them to abandon or keep secret their religious practices in the recent past. About 80 per cent of Bayandun’s residents are Buryats. The remaining 20 per cent are primarily Khalkha Mongols, who tend to be shopkeepers or schoolteachers educated in Choibalsan, the capital of Dornod Province. Only a couple residents are of Kazakh Mongol descent. Their ancestors were believed have moved to Bayandun’s outlying countryside years ago to work as miners or lumberjacks. Topography like this is characterized as khangai, which is hilly or mountainous terrain with woods, as opposed to the flat steppe land (tal) or desert sand dune (gov) regions, the latter two of which, in foreign imagination and actual fact, are typical for Mongolia. The value of the Mongol tögrög has increased from 1,076 tögrög to one US dollar in 2000, to 1,187 tögrög to one US dollar in 2004. Women in Bayandun told me that despite the cold, winter is their best season. The days are calmer (i.e. less windy) than they are in other seasons, and this, along with cloud coverage, makes winter less taxing on the body and skin. When I first visited Bayandun in July 1999, there were rumours that electricity would soon be available (and it became operational for the evening hours only in November 1999). Then, for a reputed lack of funds and some residents’ failure to pay electric bills, the service was terminated at the end of December 1999. However, people did periodically have electricity at home, turned on for holidays or brief visits of government officials. Most people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum do not have even distant relatives living in Bayandun, and every person that I met in Shinekhen Baruun Sum knows no one there. Whatever comments they made on Bayandun, then, were in response to my descriptions of it and questions about what they thought about religious activity in that district. In 2000, the currency exchange was 13 yuan to the US dollar, making a oneway bus trip $0.12. For comparison, a loaf of bread in China cost 2 yuan. Of course, produce is seasonal, and I was in Shinekhen Baruun Sum during the summer months of peak produce. Still, residents maintain that although in winter their produce prices rise and variety drops, seasonal fluctuations are not extreme. So people usually purchase and consume some kinds of vegetables throughout the year. No shamans reside in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, although there are a few in Hailar and Nantun. About three or four nonshamanic bariach (bonesetters who massage physical injuries or pains and treat fractures) live in Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s district centre. Only one bariach openly treats anyone who visits her home to seek assistance. Another woman divines by playing cards for relatives and a few friends but does not consider herself a diviner and is not seen by others as one. Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner, which contains Shinekhen Baruun Sum and its neighbours Shinekhen Züün Sum and Möngönchuluu Sum, also hosts numerous Buddhist monasteries (Hurelbaatar 2002). 48

DChapter 2 Buryat Cosmology and the Timescales of Religious Practice

Almost every Buryat shamanic ceremony, divination or correcting ritual can be traced to a series of ‘chaotic’ misfortunes, which compel Buryats to seek out remedies that will make their lives orderly again. Yet Buryat religious specialists and their inquirers only obtain these remedies when carrying out tasks which sustain the religious practice and even comprise the ‘backdrop’ to it. While living among Buryats, I frequently observed them deftly divide their attention between the spirits, other people, the religious implements or even the practice as a whole – so that the ‘work’ of the ceremony consisted in meeting the demands of these beings while still keeping in mind the larger aim of obtaining desired remedies. My early fieldwork observations revealed that Buryats worked hard to fulfil these conflicting demands on their attention. Gradually, I also became skilled at noticing precisely when Buryats allowed what had been the background context of the religious practice – such as the shaman’s offerings of sweets, tea, vodka and oil lamps on the offering table – to momentarily become the focal point of attention, and vice-versa. These shifts in focus were not necessarily shifts in perspective, as defined in Viveiros de Castro’s sense of the term, since they did not require Buryats to adopt the complete ‘selfhood’ of another ‘subject’ (such as a spirit), which would entail taking on that subject’s ‘bodily affects’, meaning his or her physical comportment, mannerisms, senses, forces and energies (1998a, 482; 1998b, 4; 2004, 474–75). Only experienced Buryat shamans would adopt the perspectives of shamanic spirits. But those laypersons and sha49

DFortune and the Cursed mans who had not adopted a spirit perspective regularly shifted their attention between obtaining remedies or answers to their pressing queries – which ideally comprised the foreground of the ceremony – and completing conventional tasks, such as hospitably refilling oil lamps or preparing the shaman’s headdress, which ideally comprised the background context to the ceremony. These shifts in attention entail what Wagner calls a ‘figure-ground reversal’ in his work among the Barok of New Ireland, which highlights the mutually evolving foreground and background of religious practices (1987, 56). I suggest that Buryats use these shifts in attention much like the Barok use figure-ground reversals – to alternately produce innovations and reinforce conventions within the dialectical process that Wagner dubs ‘the invention of culture’ ([1975]1981, xiv–xviii). Having said that, Buryats undertake these shifts in attention with the aim of producing something more specific than either the Barok notion of ‘a lolos’, which means ‘the power of imagetransformations’, or the Barok notion of ‘iri lolos’, meaning ‘finished or manifest power’, which are quintessentially revealed in public ceremonial feasts (Wagner 1987, 56). Within the Buryat shamanic or divinatory settings, figure-ground reversals are pursued with the aim of privately uncovering tailor-made, innovative remedies to specific problems, which are ideally kept secret and never allowed to trigger the invention of culture at the widespread, popular level. The question, then, arises: how do Buryats deploy figure-ground reversals in their religious practices? As with the Barok, each Buryat person’s interaction with the spirits, other people or the religious implements potentially sets in motion ‘an image [which] has the power of synthesis: it condenses whole realms of possible ideas and interpretations and allows complex relationships to be perceived and grasped in an instant’ (ibid.). A good example of this ‘image’ is the flickering light of Buryat shamanic oil lamps, which, as I discuss more fully below, is attributed to shamanic spirits who are unhappy with their offerings and so have made the lamps flicker as a signal of their wrath. During important religious events, the Buryat person who notices a salient image, such as the flickering oil lamp, springs into action, momentarily giving his or her complete attention to it. When this happens, the ‘foreground’ of the religious practice (e.g. a dialogue between the shaman and inquirer) is momentarily ignored and thereby ‘swaps places’ with 50

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those activities that had comprised the ‘background’ of the religious practice (e.g. refreshing the oil lamps). Intriguingly, this swapping of foreground and background context within the Buryat shamanic ceremony echoes Deleuze’s thought: The first effect of Others [such as invisible shamanic spirits] is that around each object that I perceive or each idea that I think there is the organization of a marginal world, a mantle or background, where other objects and other ideas may come forth in accordance with laws of transition which regulate the passage from one to another. (1990, 305)

Ölzii, Galanjav and other members of Yaruu’s group considered these figure-ground reversals to be so instrumental to obtaining remedies that they admitted feeling, as Wagner suggests, ‘an internal “compulsion” or “motivation”’ to refill the shaman’s flickering oil lamps, so as to pacify the shamanic spirits’ ([1975] 1981, xv). Taking Wagner’s idea a step further, in this chapter I suggest that when Buryats make the focal activity of a religious practice and its context swap places, they actually change the timescale of their practice. This is because figure-ground reversals, although vital to the success of religious practices, delay Buryats from obtaining their desired remedies. First, though, I need to introduce the spirit beings who populate the Buryat cosmology as they are understood in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum. After giving the cosmology for these two districts, I will show how Buryats (often prompted by these spirits) pursue figureground reversals in shamanic ceremonies and divinations, some of which were undertaken to deflect the cursing of Yaruu’s group.

An ancestral-spirit central government The Buryats in Bayandun have a syncretic religious outlook, which combines clearly dominant shamanic elements with MongolianTibetan Buddhist elements from the Gelugpa tradition or the ‘yellow’ Buddhism that is prolific throughout Mongolia. In addition to this yellow Buddhist tradition, Bayandun also has a strong Nyingmapa or ‘red’ Buddhist presence. Due to a historical twist of fate, both the nearby monastery in the province capital of Choibalsan and the smaller monastery in Bayandun’s own countryside actually follow the red Buddhist teachings. The presence of the Nyingmapa sect within Mongolia can be traced back to the middle of the six51

DFortune and the Cursed teen century, during the reign of Altan Khan, if not earlier (Bawden [1968] 1989, 26–31). Rival khans who, at that time, were battling to become leader of the Mongols strategically advanced policies which wove together political and religious centralization, thus leaving behind a legacy whereby ‘Red lamas have continued to exist up to the present day, sometimes even in the same lamaseries alongside devotees of the Yellow Faith’, such that there is ‘evidence of indifference’ between these sects (ibid., 31). More recently, Højer has shown that red Buddhism has come to be associated with ‘more “basic”, ancient, and shamanic Mongolian religious traditions concerned with the requirements of everyday life at the periphery of centralized powers, as opposed to more institutionalized and dogmatic “yellow” Buddhist practices’ (2009, 580). It is perhaps a point of irony, then, that in 1999 several lamas based at the red Buddhist monasteries in Choibalsan and Bayandun told me that I should not visit the local shamans, whom they considered to be inferior rivals. However, everyone in Bayandun – including the shamans – openly says that they worship the Buddhist gods, and most people are not even aware of what the doctrinal variations are between the yellow or red sects. Moreover, nearly every household keeps Buddhist icons, usually in the form of inexpensive prints of painted mandalas. Buddhist texts and small prayer books, such as Fortune’s Incense (Khiimoriin San), are also common in homes, while most cars are equipped with ceremonial scarves (khadag) and small Buddhist icons to elevate fortunes and prevent accidents. Bayandun’s shamans profess themselves to be both shamanic and Buddhist, and their expertise is clearly sought out far more regularly than is the expertise of the local red lamas. Numerous laypeople in Bayandun told me that their shamans are popular because they are yearlong residents of the district, making them readily accessible to everyone living within the area. By contrast, only the red lamas from Bayandun’s countryside monastery tend to travel into the district centre during the lunar New Year celebrations. On these visits, the lamas hold private New Year ceremonies for those families that request them, taking the opportunity then to advise some Buryats in the district centre to avoid the shamans who, they say, are not purely Buddhist. These red lamas also often reiterate the popular Mongolian opinion that shamans and their ceremonies are frightening (aimar) and terrible (aimshigtai). Significantly, the Buryat shamans agree that invoking 52

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the spirits is frightening – implying that the difficult problems which they tackle require tough, frightening measures – and then they proceed to downplay the lamas’ weak skills, adding that the lamas make their comments out of rivalry. Yaruu’s group even dismissed the competition with these red lamas as something which was not very threatening, due to their merely sporadic visits. In addition to Bayandun’s shamans and lamas, there are also a couple of black diviners (khar üzemerch) living in the district, who are considered to be laypersons that simply divine from their own presentiments (zön sovin) and are not religious specialists. While these diviners are said to make correct divinatory pronouncements, they attract fewer inquirers because they do not hold correcting rituals. It is worth pointing out that several elite Buryat households in Bayandun, as well as some families from the non-Buryat minority, told me they were exclusively Buddhist but then in moments of crisis often approached local shamans for help. Some of the notions underpinning Bayandun’s cosmology are found in the Buryat regions of Russia, while other ideas are specific to Bayandun. Buryats in Bayandun trace their cosmology to the Aga Buryat Autonomous District of Russia – which is now a part of the district of Zabaikalsk – and hold that the world is regulated by an ancestral-spirit central government (dargin gazar; noëni gazar) located on the large black stone rising above the surface of Lake Baikal, Russia. For Buryats in Bayandun the administrative unit of the heavens and earth occupies this stone, and its main constituent is the thirteen lords (arvan gurvan noën), who are the spirits of the first thirteen Buryat shamans to ever live. Both shamans and laypersons in Bayandun told me that, at death, the lords became immortal and took up residence as chief magistrates over the ninety-nine heavens (tenger). Galanjav added that the lords assemble together for meetings (khuraldakh) and live exclusively on the black stone in Lake Baikal. After the lords emerged as the first shamanic spirits, the heavens became increasingly populated by the spirits of additional deceased shamans. Of all beings, the thirteen lords are considered to be the most powerful, since they make decisions about life after death, determining whether shamans will enjoy an afterlife in the heavens as ancestral spirits (ongon), or be condemned to a haunting existence on earth as damned, wandering spirits running along their own ghostly roads (guich), or be sent to hell (tam). The lords also de53

DFortune and the Cursed cide whether laypersons should be reincarnated (dakhiad törökh) or sent to hell. At death, unvirtuous Buryats may refuse reincarnation, in which case they become wandering vampiric imps (chötgör) who haunt their families on earth (see below). Laypersons in Bayandun are said to always be reincarnated as another person, and they often become a new member of the household in which they had just died – so that whole lines of families are propagated together, in a series of rebirths, through time. There is a discrepancy between how Buryats in Bayandun and Buryats elsewhere interpret the hierarchy of the ninety-nine heavens, as well as the kinds of spirits who populate them (Humphrey 1996, 114, see also 124; Hamayon 1996, 85; Galdanova 1987, 13; Mikhailov 1987, 12–14; Heissig 1980, 49–59). Many Buryats consider that the ninety-nine heavens is itself a deity more powerful than any of the spirits who inhabit those heavens. Buryats in Bayandun would agree that collectively the ninety-nine heavens is the mightiest deity, especially when organized into a single force by the administrators on Lake Baikal’s black stone, but rather than envisioning the heavens en masse, they prefer to conceive of the heavens in terms of the individual spirits who populate them. Thus Buryats in Bayandun rank the thirteen lords according to their power and according to the time at which they became shamans, giving highest honours to the very first Buryat shamans, Bukha Noën, and his wife Budan Khatan Ijii, who are considered to be the mightiest spirits in the heavens. Moreover, Buryats in Bayandun stress that just as people have their duties, the shamanic spirits have their responsibilities. Spirits with many responsibilities have a high rank and an honoured place of tenancy in the heavens – namely, a residence on the black stone in Lake Baikal. Other spirits have only common ranks and residencies, conceived of as pasturelands located at the outskirts of the heavens. Two kinds of specialists populate the ninety-nine heavens in Bayandun. First are the spirits of black shamans (böö), who inhabit the forty-four eastern skies and who, in their lifetimes, invoked the heavens or the spirits of other deceased black shamans. Second are the spirits of white shamans (bariach), healers and bonesetters that dwell in the fifty-five western skies and who, while alive, invoked Buddhist deities, the spirits of lamas and other deceased white shamans. Other sites of spirit tenancy include the seven stars that com54

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prise the Ursa Major, (or ‘Big Dipper’) constellation and the two horizontal wings of the five-pointed Polaris, called Altan Gadas Od, literally ‘golden pole star’ (and more widely known as the North Star). Spirits of deceased lamas also are held to populate their own separate heavens, the precise locations of which are not known. Finally, people in Bayandun consider that the Nature God (Lus), who is a Buddhist deity, inhabits his own watery underground kingdom, comprised of eighty-one different kinds of underground-dwelling animals and eighty-one different kinds of trees. I was told by shamans and laypersons in Yaruu’s group that those shamans who are admitted to the heavenly afterlife are allocated work on the basis of both their virtuous behaviour and the level of virtuosity which they had achieved in their shamanic vocation while alive. Thus when the thirteen lords take stock of a newly deceased shaman, they consider the virtuous deeds (buyan) which that shaman had performed, including whether the shaman used his or her powers to help – rather than to harm – people. The shaman’s virtuosity is assessed in terms of the quality of spiritual assistance which he or she managed to offer laypersons, rather than strictly on the grounds of how powerful the shaman happened to be. Virtuous shamans who made good use of a broad range of virtuoso shamanic skills, then, gain the best places in the heavens. These shamans are honoured with invitations from the lords to reside and govern on Lake Baikal’s black stone. By contrast, those shamans who had used their many skills to harm people during their lifetimes on earth are judged harshly by the lords and are often not admitted to the afterlife at all. Buryats in Bayandun described the shamanic afterlife to me as a beautiful place which resembles life on earth, with the same customs and economic and status divisions. Indeed, the husband of the shaman Sürenma summed up the similarity between earth and the shamanic afterlife with his telling analogy that: ‘When people give gifts to the thirteen lords, it is like when an ordinary person brings gifts (beleg ögökh) to the mayor’s (darga) house’. Gift-giving and other social exchanges, then, are held to cross easily between the two worlds, which exist on different ontological levels but which work according to the same codes of conduct. Indeed, shamanic ceremonies are often held with the idea of receiving innovative remedies from the shamanic afterlife, where the spirits know everything 55

DFortune and the Cursed there is to know and so may transmit their knowledge to the world of living Buryats (Swancutt 2006, 338, see also 346–47). Just then as the shamanic afterlife is conceived as the locus of all knowledge and even of new knowledge production – making the shamanic afterlife the place with the highest calibre of knowledge and practice – it is also held to be more prosperous and beautiful in every other regard. For example, Buryats imagine the climate is less harsh in the heavens than it is where they live on earth, so that seasonal variations in the heavens do not affect the availability of vegetables and everything is always plentiful and verdant. Moreover, beautiful homes, offices, schools and clubhouses similar to those in Bayandun proliferate. Galanjav told me – and Yaruu confirmed – that on entering the afterlife, deceased shamans are given a personal number which corresponds to the profiles of their shamanic expertise drawn up by the black stone administrators and filed away within their bureaucratic records. The administrators log shamans by number and personal profile so that they may be contacted in the outskirts of the heavens at a moment’s notice. Many shamans, after entering the afterlife, are sent by the administrators to reside in its outlying countryside, where they herd animal souls. But the living descendents of these shamans may require their assistance on earth and so invoke them during a shamanic ceremony. The administrators will hear the invocation first and decide whether they should come themselves or else use their numerical system – and where necessary their personal profiles – to alert the invoked spirit. When a spirit has been alerted by the administrators, he or she descends to earth, joining the shamanic ceremony. Upon arrival, the spirit may feast at the offering table while waiting to be summoned by the shaman. Since the shamanic spirits take a miniature form, being about 20 centimetres tall, they may seat themselves directly on top of the offering table and feast from the small ceremonial cups which people fill with offerings of food and drink. Then, when the shaman summons the spirit from the offering table, the spirit descends upon the shaman (ongon buulgakh), who adopts the spirit’s perspective. The spirit may also suddenly enter the body of the shaman before the moment the shaman had specifically planned to adopt that spirit’s perspective. In either case, the shaman’s own mind is said to be gone (ukhaa n’ baikhgüi) once he or she has donned the spirit’s perspective, thereby allowing the inquirers to hold face-to-face dialogues with the spirits. I asked 56

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Yaruu why living shamans do not simply invoke the spirits by the numbers they receive when entering the shamanic afterlife, but she said that living shamans do not know the numbers assigned to spirits – that knowledge is only available within the shamanic afterlife. Additionally, Galanjav said that the black stone administration uses its number system and personal profiles to control the behaviour of shamans on earth. When spirit administrators learn that living shamans have used their powers for unvirtuous purposes, such as setting curses, they use their numbering system to call upon spirits within the unvirtuous shamans’ family lines. The administrators then have these spirits inform the unethical shamans of their displeasure and perhaps even the administrators’ decision to revoke the shamanic powers of the malpractising shaman, on ethical grounds. Galanjav confirmed that living shamans only would learn about their malpractice – and the administrators’ decision to revoke their shamanic powers – from close relative spirits in their own family lines. Sensitive decisions are thus conveyed and often contained within these discrete family channels. Moreover, the procedures of black rock administrators are implemented with lightning-speed efficacy. Yaruu learned during a ceremony in June 2000 that shamanic spirits can fly the earth’s circumference in five- to six-minutes’ time, and Ölzii reminded me of this six-minute travel speed in September 2004. Besides being discrete and efficient, the black stone administrators’ jurisdiction can supersede all other forms of governance and ethics in Bayandun, including karmic retribution. Decisions about each person’s rebirth in Bayandun are made by black stone administrators, in light of each person’s own karma accumulated over the course of a lifetime. Actually, for Buryats – and Mongols more widely – there is an important difference between a life and a lifetime. Whereas any given Mongol’s ‘life’ is comprised of the length of time for which that person is alive on earth, the person’s ‘lifetime’ is far longer, because it is made up of series of reincarnated lives. The Mongol lifetime thus can be made up of any number of lives – and Buryats in Bayandun told me that a virtuous layperson would be continually cycled through a series of rebirths, until that person is reborn as a shaman, whereupon, at death, he or she would exist evermore in the afterlife. Buryats consider that the reincarnated layperson’s personality disappears at death, when his or her soul is transferred to another person, although the disap57

DFortune and the Cursed pearance of this personality may be gradual. By contrast, Buryats in Bayandun told me that the shamanic spirit retains all the personality traits, preferences, speech patterns, mannerisms, gestures, idiosyncrasies and even the food, drink and tobacco cravings which he or she had as a living shaman. Mortal life for laypersons and religious specialists, then, is just one phase in the overall lifetime, and both are subject to the laws of karma (üiliin ür). Buryats forge their quality of life through their own virtuous or unvirtuous conduct, which has karmic repercussions on their future lives, if not their total lifetime. But while karma can affect people in Bayandun, both shamans and laypersons told me that karma is less influential than fate (khuv’ zaya). Significantly, fate is shaped by the virtuous or unvirtuous conduct of both the Buryat person in question and those other people with whom the Buryat person interacts. Changes to fate, then, fall partly outside the purview of a Buryat’s own behavioural and moral control. Consider, for instance, that since the black stone administrators make decisions about rebirth and the afterlife, they actually have the greatest influence over any Buryat person’s fate. Indeed, I was told by Galanjav, and later Mandal and her son, that the black stone administrators sometimes intercede on a person’s behalf, giving that person a good rebirth rather than a poor one, thereby overturning that person’s karma. More detailed notions about what happens to the Buryat person’s soul at death were also given to me by Yaruu, Ölzii and others. Yaruu confirmed that usually about one month before death, a person’s soul will vacate the body. But if this has not already happened, then the soul will vacate the corpse at the moment of death. The person’s soul then immediately transports himself or herself to the place where the psychopomp, or doorman of the heavens (khaalagchin), guards the entranceway to the black stone administration. In 2000 I learned that Yaruu’s group had held a ceremony some time earlier where Yaruu had adopted the perspective of Galanjav’s father and then declared him to be the doorman of the heavens. The idea that Galanjav’s father held this role was readily accepted by other people in Bayandun, although Yaruu, Galanjav and others also noted that the black rock administrators could rotate this role freely among the shamanic spirits from time to time. When a Buryat person’s soul reaches the entranceway to the black stone administration, the doorman tells the deceased what follow-up existence the administrators 58

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have already chosen for him or her: immortality as a shamanic spirit, rebirth as a layperson, banishment to hell or a sentence to wander the earth as a ghostly, vampiric imp (chötgör; a fuller description of these vampiric imps is given below). Virtuous shamans are kindly escorted to the afterlife, while virtuous laypersons are gently informed about their rebirths. But, according to Galanjav, sinners are literally booted by the doorman down to their unfortunate existences (see figure 2.1).

Figure 2.1. Cosmology in Bayandun, based on a drawing by Galanjav 59

DFortune and the Cursed Only shamans or lamas who formally accept the roots (ug) to their predestined, and usually inherited, specialist vocations – and then practise virtuously – enter the afterlife and forever sustain the personality they had manifest when alive. However, both shamans and laypersons in Bayandun pointed out a notable exception to this rule: namely, that those Buryats who did not have the opportunity to receive or acknowledge their roots during the religious oppressions in Mongolia, Russia and China would be given a special dispensation, so that they would be taken into the shamanic afterlife anyway. Many people in Bayandun told me that it is possible for shamans or lamas who intervene on behalf of these would-be specialists – who often were still awaiting rebirths in the heavens – to elevate (deerdekh) them to a place in either the forty-four skies, the fifty-five skies or the lama’s spiritual residence. The precise location of a would-be specialist within the afterlife is decided by black stone administrators, depending upon the kind of religious vocation which the person originally was meant to have accepted or upon the potential for a given vocation which they exhibited, in part, while alive. For instance, a sister of Chimegee who died before she could be made a shaman was known to have had a beautiful singing voice, which marked her out as destined for the forty-four skies of black shamans. I was told that once these would-be specialists reach the afterlife, they receive the religious training which they never had the chance to receive while alive. In this way, would-be specialists learn how to practise their religious vocations, so that they can better help their living descendents on earth, especially during shamanic ceremonies or lamas’ rituals.

An underworld lord’s kingdom Since the Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum are primarily Buddhist, they do not worship the ninety-nine heavens as do the shamanic Buryats in Bayandun. Instead, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum told me that they consider the heavens to be an ether-like world inhabited by Buddhist gods, although many are aware that Mongols in other regions divide the skies into forty-four eastern and fiftyfive western wings. I was commonly told that only a few people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum might ascribe to the idea that there are ninety-nine heavens, which are populated by shamanic spirits, alongside of Buddhist and other gods. Cosmology in Shinekhen Baruun 60

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Sum, then, is based on the idea that Buddhist gods (burkhan) live in the heavens, and indeed that only a handful of lamas from more recent times have ever achieved immortality with those gods. Recently installed members of the Buddhist pantheon thus mainly include legendary figures from previous generations – making it a rare exception for any person who was both a lama and a shaman during his lifetime to reside, after death, in the heavens as a Buddhist god. Moreover, all deities, with the exception of the Nature God (Lus), who inhabits his watery underground kingdom, are said to reside in their own particular locations in the heavens, although these locations are not clearly known. What people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum do have clear and elaborate ideas about is the underworld lord (noën) called Erleg Khan, the pre-Buddhist deity who decides the course which they will follow at death. Master of a vast and wealthy subterranean kingdom, Erleg Khan is said to regulate the length of every person’s lifetime. One woman in her early thirties, who worked as a district accountant in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, told me that she imagined the kingdom of Erleg Khan would look much like how she saw it depicted in a Chinese television program, with large hordes of wealth around the khan and hell in the background. I received similar descriptions from other Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, who envisioned Erleg Khan as they had seen him on Chinese television. But while these televised images informed the descriptions given of the khan’s world, these Buryats pointed out that the images more closely represented the Chinese view of the khan – adding that they do not have any precise, set notions about Erleg Khan’s kingdom, so that their notions about it were cast in light of personal experiences, tastes and thoughts. The general view of Erleg Khan in Shinekhen Baruun Sum is that he temporarily appropriates a person’s soul roughly a month before that person’s death. Each person’s moment of death is actually predetermined by Buddhist gods who, like the Fates of Greek mythology, cut lengths of thread which correspond to the lengths of time allotted to each person’s life. Oftentimes the soul loss which precedes death goes unnoticed by everyone, including the person about to die. But once a person enters the throes of death, the khan’s two dwarfish ghoul servants (elch) are held to emerge from underground, seize that person’s soul and escort him or her to the bowels 61

DFortune and the Cursed of the earth. Conveyed before the khan, the deceased fearfully and obsequiously offers his name and other personal details, including the family which he or she came from and the location of his or her home. Typically, the dying person also expires at precisely the moment in which he or she gives the khan this information. The deceased then looks on as the khan consults one of countless, weighty record books which appraise every person’s virtues and vices. Recounting aloud favourable and ill aspects of the newly deceased, the khan ferociously pronounces the next rebirth, to which the deceased is promptly ushered. This experience is held to be terrifying in every aspect and is believed to be especially frightening during the moments in which the deceased is left to anticipate the khan’s verdict. Only a few lamas ascend to the heavens after meeting Erleg Khan. Otherwise, the khan’s decree leads a person to the next rebirth, to a liminal existence of wandering ceaselessly upon the earth or to hell. While Shinekhen Baruun Sum has nearly the same postmortem existences found in Bayandun, the shamanic afterlife is absent. Moreover, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that at death most lamas are reincarnated rather than given entry to the heavens. Virtuous laypersons and other religious specialists, such as diviners, are also held to obtain new rebirths after death, while unvirtuous people are sent to hell. Additionally, two kinds of wandering ghosts exist in Shinekhen Baruun Sum: the chötgör, which is the ghost of an inherently bad person, and the khils, which is the ghost of a person who suffered an injustice and died before his or her time. Lamas can hold ghost-trapping ceremonies in Shinekhen Baruun Sum which involve reading prayer books (nom unshikh). Like the ghost-trapping ceremonies in Bayandun, these lamas’ ceremonies are held to prevent the ghosts from harming the living. A telling contradiction is raised by the fact that people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum do not worship the ninety-nine heavens per se. While people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that the heavens are only populated by Buddhist deities and some legendary figures, they also attribute talents at divination to an inherited predisposition or talent for the vocation of religious specialist – and they in fact speak about this predisposition just as the shamanic Buryats in Bayandun do – referring to it as having the roots (ug) that connect religious specialists to the spirits or gods. Moreover, people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum 62

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often consider these roots to be a connection between religious specialists and their own ancestors, who may have been shamans, black diviners, lamas or people who have been more vaguely conceived as laypersons with some connection to the powers attributed to the gods in the heavens. It is possible, then, for religious practitioners in Shinekhen Baruun Sum to inherit talents which connect them to the spirits, without having fully traced those talents to a specific predecessor, such as a grandparent. Indeed, those talents would not be traceable in the same way that they are in Bayandun, since people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum consider that nowadays when someone dies – unless that person is the rarest of lamas – the person will be reincarnated, which prevents any ancestors from occupying a place in the afterlife world and making him or herself available for spiritual assistance, as the shamanic spirits are in Bayandun. Similarly, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum find it difficult to gauge how they should make offerings to their ancestors. Their idea is that they should leave offerings in a location which corresponds to the location of ancestral gravesites or to where their ancestors would have lived in Russia, before migrating to China. Diviners are requested to gauge the location of ancestral spirits, who are occasionally conceived as being in the heavens, via the now-remote and uncertain locations associated with the deceased on earth. Still, the inherited talent for becoming religious practitioner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum is sometimes developed through training from lamas, diviners, or even through an apparently direct interaction with the gods or spirits. On numerous occasions I was told about a ‘shamaness-like’ (udgan shig) diviner, a woman, who was popular among many people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum until her death, which happened some years before I arrived in 2000. This shamanlike diviner was described as having answered questions without the use of any divinatory implements – a talent which reinforced the local idea that she was shaman-like. When she was requested to divine, this woman would accept a note of money, and while clasping the note between her hands, she would simply rest her head to one side, with her eyes shut, in a posture that resembled sleeping, and then make a divinatory pronouncement. Moreover, several people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum had personally witnessed several occasions when this shaman-like diviner ‘went crazy’ (soliorson) and climbed trees – and this tree-climbing in Shinekhen Baruun Sum was im63

DFortune and the Cursed mediately identified with the means of accepting the roots during Buryat shamanic initiation ceremonies (chanar).1

Spirit and human officials One notable difference between the cosmologies in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum is how the black stone administrators and Erleg Khan, respectively, handle karmic repercussions. In Bayandun, the administrators’ verdicts usually coincide with those set by karma. But where there is a clash between shamanic and Buddhist ethos about what should happen to a person at death, the administrators’ judgement overrides karmic destiny. It is not surprising, then, that people in Bayandun consider that shamans, who have a reputation for being dangerous and constantly embroiled in cursing battles, still regularly obtain immortality at death. Shamans share the same vocation as black stone administrators, who may be willing to overlook a few instances of questionable behaviour to support their colleagues. By contrast, Erleg Khan is not free to decide the fates of Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s souls. He merely acts in the capacity of a clerical figure, who enforces rules he does not create, so that he always assigns the dead their just karmic due. People in Shinekhen Baruun Sum say this is why, even among those who commit extraordinarily good deeds, there are so few lamas who attain immortality in the heavens. Theories of karma in Shinekhen Baruun Sum are as dependent on the authorities who deploy karmic repercussions as they are on the quality of a person’s own conduct. Despite these differences, though, there is a striking parallel between how Buryats in these two districts link spiritual and human authority to the karmic repercussions faced by the dead and the living. Recall that deceased persons in Bayandun first meet with the doorman on the black stone – and not the shamanic lords or other administrators. Only shamans who enter the afterlife world meet with any other spirit besides the doorman. Nonetheless, black stone administrators may intervene on any person’s behalf – not just for the shamans – and overturn any karmic decision they like. Furthermore, Buryats in Bayandun allow for any person to bring offerings to any spirit – to the lords and to their close relative spirits – in the hopes of facilitating their interests through every possible channel. In Bayandun, the prospect of influencing the spirits is significant 64

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and indeed informs the analogy which Sürenma’s husband made: that giving offerings to the lords is the same sort of thing as bringing gifts to the mayor’s house. Gifts are given in hopes that the shamanic spirits (or the mayor) will intervene on a specific person’s behalf. The parallel between cosmological and state authority in Bayandun, though, runs deeper than this. Notably, little state influence is present in Bayandun, making local officials such as the mayor, post office workers, district accountants, the policeman and clubhouse director the closest representatives of the state. Higher state officials are associated with the election campaign season, when they pass briefly through the district, handing out flyers and making speeches for a day’s time before disappearing and, as locals say, failing to follow through with their plans for the countryside when allowing resources to be embezzled or reserved for the capital city of Ulaanbaatar. Campaign days in Bayandun are something of a holiday. Electricity is often run throughout the district for the politician’s arrival, perhaps at the politician’s expense, and Buryats either watch the candidates’ speeches in a carnivalesque fashion at the clubhouse or stay at home, where they enjoy running their televisions for the day. The situation fits well with a cosmology where the jurisdiction of local figures is, on a practical level, more present than that of the state officials – such that most people only ever meet the doorman. But on the odd chance, state officials also give gifts to local people, and these unusual boons correspond to cases where black stone administrators overturn karmic repercussions because, for better or worse, they have the power to reverse ordinary ethics. Similarly, in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, the local administration frequently advertises state directives, for instance through posters propagandizing the one-child family policy, which is not supposed to be enforced on rural-dwelling ethnic minorities in China such as the Mongols. But these local authorities have a limited amount of leeway in helping people override undesirable governing decisions made in Beijing, even though they may sometimes choose not to notice people’s failures to comply with government decisions. State influence is fairly strong in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, and this is reflected in Erleg Khan’s secondary status of being simply a clerical bookkeeper, especially in the Chinese television program depictions, which set the khan within the inexorable force of karmic destiny. When I asked some Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum whether these television 65

DFortune and the Cursed programs seemed to reflect Chinese viewpoints, they replied the programs resembled the procedures by which governing decisions are made in Beijing. Tellingly, these Buryat views on Chinese television programs about Erleg Khan resonate with the experience of Lolop’o in Southwest China, as described by Mueggler, who are officially classed under the Chinese ethnonym of ‘Yi’ and had recently been assailed by ‘wild ghosts’ from Beijing (2001, 5–9). Since Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum regularly face lower-level officials who enforce Chinese policy – and because everyone, including their officials, is afraid to fall into disfavour with higher tiers of government – no one feels able to overturn government decisions. The best that Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum can hope for, then, is that their officials will not notice them deviating from any official plans – and that Erleg Khan will accidentally overlook their vices in his book.

Shamanic spirits, nature spirits, ghosts and vampiric imps Numerous kinds of spirits inhabit the Buryat heavens and landscape – the most notable of which are the shamanic spirits (ongon), Buddhist gods (burkhan), the Nature God (Lus) and local nature spirits residing in specific features of the landscape (savdag). This section gives some additional ethnography on the different spirit beings which were especially important to the Buryats I knew, some of which were central to my case studies and appear later in the book. As mentioned above, Buryats in Bayandun hold that the shamanic spirits, who reside in their afterlife world, ordinarily live on a separate ontological level from living people. However they also consider the spirit and human worlds to be bridged heuristically during shamanic ceremonies when a spirit ‘enters’ (ongon orokh) or ‘descends upon’ (ongon buulgakh) a shaman, who adopts that spirit’s perspective and acts in the capacity of a spirit medium. Both the shamanic spirits and living shamans, then, are referred to as the ‘drivers’ ( jolooch) of a family line, and are even imagined to be holding horse reigns in their hands, because they establish communication between the spirit and human worlds. Yet not all Buryat family lines have shamanic spirits. Only those households with a history of shamanic roots (ug) traceable to previous shamans – or those households in which an up-and-coming shaman is suddenly afflicted by 66

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the spirits with the ‘classic’ long-term illness that marks selection for the shamanic vocation – can claim a shamanic lineage (Eliade 1964, 29–31; Lewis 1971, 54, see also 64–65 and 70–71). Buryats say that in the very moment that the shaman adopts the spirit’s perspective, his or her mind and awareness are gone (ukhaa n’ baikhgüi) and the shaman’s body is used simply as a vehicle for interacting with inquirers, which is why the shaman remembers nothing of the trance. Sometimes a number of spirits enter the shaman’s body, one at a time, in succession, so that just as one spirit exits, another enters. Moreover, when shamans take on a spirit’s perspective, the spirits are said to hear with the shaman’s ears, use the shaman’s haptic sense of touch, taste with the shaman’s tongue and smell using the shaman’s nose. But the shaman’s eyes are not used for sight, since they are shut or rolled back during trance and hidden beneath the fringe of the shamanic skullcap (maikhavshi). Duulchin’s wife told me that this is the reason why the spirits use the eyes embroidered atop of the shaman’s skullcap to see. Galanjav also used the general Buryat language term ug garval, which refers to both shamanic origin spirits and the place of the ancestors, when speaking more generally about any spirit residing in the heavens. He also coined the term khii yüm for the air-like spectres that Buryats refer to as ükheer.2 Figure 2.2 shows Galanjav’s sketch of a khii yüm, which only had an upper body, since Galanjav imagined it to be all hair, tooth and nail.3 Another important spirit in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum is the Nature God (Lus), the Buddhist deity who reigns over his own watery underworld kingdom and who is held to be greater than ordinary nature spirits. Local nature spirits (savdag) are also held to inhabit all the lands and waters of the world, while – like people – claiming exclusive rights to specific regions. Buryats and

Figure 2.2. An air-like spectre (khii yüm), based on a drawing by Galanjav 67

DFortune and the Cursed other Mongols call especially powerful nature spirits ‘lords’ (ezen or noën) and hold that they own vast areas, such as whole mountains, ravines or forests. However Buryats consider that the domains of nature spirits are usually comprised of isolated wilderness area (zelüüd gazar) that is uninhabited by people. As landowners, nature spirits require an offering from every person who passes through their domains. Failure to leave these offerings often angers nature spirits into inflicting misfortunes and illnesses onto people – and the particular troubles caused by a nature spirit often corresponds to how that spirit is conceived. Many people in Bayandun told me that nature spirits have distinct appearances and personalities: they can be male or female, old or young, beautiful or ugly. So, in line with their own tastes, nature spirits occasionally kidnap the souls of young women to take as brides or the souls of young men to take as husbands. For instance, Buyna, who was a local beauty in Bayandun, was found to have had her soul taken in June 2000 by a nature spirit who spotted her passing through his domain and then kidnapped her soul to be his bride. Some nature spirits are also held to ride animals like horses or deer, and – tellingly – nature spirits in Bayandun can also take the form of a solitary animal or even a personal effect such as a pot or pan (Swancutt 2007, 246–47). Mandal’s son told me that sometimes nature spirits, who ride their animals through their domains, will accidentally fall from their mounts and fail to reclaim them. He also told me that occasionally nature spirits lose one of their personal effects – such as the pots and pans which they had strapped to their saddles for use in cooking and cleaning – and fail to reclaim the lost item. These lost animals or personal effects retain their original naturespirit quality and, indeed, continue to exist independently as offshoot nature spirits. Anything that once belonged to a nature spirit or was at some point made a part of its retinue thus remains a nature spirit. Additionally, Buryats can be haunted by evil ghosts or demons (chötgör), which for the Aga Buryats in Bayandun take the form of vampiric imps. In the more widespread Mongol view, chötgör do not have this vampiric quality but are simply demons, ghosts, evil spirits or goblins which take the appearance and proportion of living people until vanishing into air or showing their true form as bones (Hattori 1972, 103–14). Moreover, Mongols usually refer to vampires by using the terms bug (‘evil spirit’ or ‘vampire’) or ‘tsus sorogch’ (‘bloodsucker’). Nonetheless, I have argued that the Aga Buryat notion of 68

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vampiric imps is actually a permutation of general Mongol views about chötgör, since both Buryats and other Mongols consider that chötgör are spectral, that is, at times corporeal and at other times simply made of air (Swancutt 2008, 846). Indeed, the spectral and vampirically impish quality which Aga Buryats ascribe to chötgör reflects the broader regional pattern whereby ‘the peoples of Inner Asia conceive spiritual beings in an essentially non-realist and sometimes monstrous fashion’ (Holbraad and Willerslev 2007, 336). Benedikte Kristensen, for instance, has shown that Dukha reindeer herders in northern Mongolia regard chötgör as ‘the souls of animals, human or nonhuman spirits, who have turned into bodiless creatures because of human misdeeds’ (2007, 286). Yaruu told me that vampiric imps are the ghosts of people who, at death, refused to be reincarnated and chose instead to haunt the world of the living. Carrying the description further, Ölzii described to me how the imps plunder the food supplies of their consanguineal kin, at night, when they can be heard bumping into furniture, raiding the pantries and chewing on food. Livestock that have mysteriously died are also identified as animals eaten by the imps. Once a household’s food resources are exhausted, the imps go after human meat, vampirically luring their consanguineal kin into suicide by frightening them into losing their sanity or telling them what a wonderful life an imp has. Thus, like the witches in Favret-Saada’s study of western France, Buryat vampiric imps can deplete the ‘bio-economical potential’ of a consanguineal relative, which includes the livestock and other household resources that comprise part of the victim’s ‘domain’ (1980, 196–97). Note also the similarity between the Buryat vampiric imp and Favret-Saada’s witch, who ‘belongs to a “bad” line so he is an unwitting conductor of his parent’s witchcraft, who can use his look, touch and speech to reach their victims’ (1980, 121). According to Ölzii, any person who died as a result of a vampiric imp becomes a vampiric imp him or herself, so that the imps cull from and propagate within their own family lines. Whole families of vampires may thus spring from just one unvirtuous person, although the vampirism is contained within the consanguineal line. For this reason, Ölzii considered vampiric imps to be unvirtuous people who come from unvirtuous families. Vampiric imps are small, ghoulish versions of the dead people whom they had once been. Yaruu, who as a shaman can see the imps, 69

DFortune and the Cursed told me that they are about 20 centimetres tall and between 4 and 15 centimetres wide, so that they are the same size as the shamanic spirits. Their impish size helps them to hide in all sorts of places, typically household sheds, closets, cupboards, milking pails and hats. The imps are also said to congregate at crossroads or run along district pathways at night. Since laypersons usually cannot see the imps – who may not initially realize that they are dead – the imps may feel lonely or offended by the lack of attention they receive, which incites them to take their kinsmen’s lives. Shamans and lamas, though, do see the imps and describe them as ghastly in appearance, with eyes that are either absent or glowing red like hot coals. At my request, Yaruu drew me a sketch of an imp, who has a skeletal face, the long nails and bad teeth of the dead and hair that stands straight up on end (see figure 2.3). Moreover, the imps are held to have decaying flesh, which is partly receded or even entirely gone, so that their bones are exposed. Yaruu confirmed to me, though, that while the imps are short in stature, they do have complete bodies. And on my return trip to Bayandun in 2004, Yaruu dismissed Galanjav’s drawing of air-like spectres, saying that it would not have been an accurate representation of a vampiric imp, adding bitterly that Galanjav – who had moved away from Bayandun by then – had made a mistake (buruu), since he had neither seen nor known what imps are like. To stop vampiric imps from haunting them, Aga Buryat shamans hold ghost-trapping ceremonies to ‘enclose the dead’ (ükheer khaakh), where they capture an imp in a black goatskin bag and inter it at a crossroads. The trapped imp will be contained underground for ten to fifteen years, during which time he or she will Figure 2.3. A Buryat vampiric imp (chötgör), drawn by Yaruu weaken significantly. Ölzii told 70

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me that when the imps emerge from the ground, they often try to harm their kin again, who may need to repeat the ceremonies once or twice more, after which the imps no longer have the powers to harm anyone. Buddhist lamas have their own version of a ghosttrapping ceremony, which Yaruu’s group said simply involved chanting sutras or ‘reading books’ (nom unshikh) to exorcize the imps. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum may also be haunted by the imps, whom they also refer to as chötgör, although they hold that the imps’ unvirtuous behaviour prevents Erleg Khan from granting them a rebirth. In addition, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum may be haunted by khils, which are the ghosts of people who died before their time or who died wrongfully and thus are forever condemned to wandering the earth or inhabiting a certain place upon it. These ghosts usually are airy, and they are always less frightening than the vampiric imps. Although these Buryats do not often encounter khils, when they do, they lose their souls and their fortunes decline. Every Buryat person I knew felt that any spirit being can influence a person’s fortune or soul, for better or worse. Even shamanic spirits can harm people within their own family lines who offend them with insufficient offerings or unvirtuous behaviour. When they become angry, shamanic spirits instigate hardships and illnesses that, over time, damage a person’s fortune. Shamanic spirits also have the power to confiscate a person’s soul at will, however they rarely inflict damage this directly. I only heard of one such instance – that the spirit of Galanjav’s father confiscated the soul of Galanjav’s daughter, because he repeatedly received insufficient offerings. Galanjav, though, told me that the shamanic spirits rarely take the souls of their living descendents, because this could kill their descendents, which would threaten the continuity of the spirit’s own family line. Shamanic spirits who do harm people, then, tend to do so unwittingly, for example when blessing an item for a shaman that was originally intended for use in a correcting ritual but which the shaman later uses for cursing a rival. Still, the shamanic spirits, Buddhist gods or sometimes the Nature God or nature spirits are the only beings who can help Buryats recover from the misfortunes or illnesses induced by spirits, vampiric imps, other ghosts or unvirtuous people. Buryats thus make offerings to these spirits or hold spirit-human dialogues with them during shamanic ceremonies to improve their fortunes or ensure the recovery of their souls. 71

DFortune and the Cursed Shifting between ritual procedure and context Having learned about the different beings which inhabit Buryat cosmology, we now return to the discussion of how, in religious practices, Buryats shift their attention between obtaining desired remedies and fulfilling the demands of the spirits, other people and even their religious implements. Recall that when holding a divination or shamanic ceremony, Buryats often must allow their spirit-human dialogues to recede briefly into the background of the practice so that they can refresh the spirits’ oil lamps and offerings. These shifts in focus work as figure-ground reversals in Wagner’s sense of the term (1987, 61), since they delay Buryats from obtaining their desired remedies. Still, Buryats feel that these shifts in focus are essential, since they prompt Buryats to give the spirits their very best hospitality, which is an orderly, effective way of coaxing the spirits into giving them both remedies and answers to their pressing queries. Roberte Hamayon has identified a similar ‘exchange process’ among Siberian shamans, who undertake ‘seducing, negotiating and even tricking’ the spirits as a strategy for getting what they want from a ceremony (1996, 79). Moreover, Willerslev has shown that among Yukaghir hunters in Siberia, acts of seduction and trickery entail a form of mimicry, whereby the hunter shifts between his own perspective and the perspective of the hunted animal, so as to set in motion an exchange with those spirits who offer him game animals or religious assistance (2007, 97–105; 2004, 630, see also 639–47). Ölzii, Galanjav and other Buryats in Bayandun made clear to me that they also considered exchanges with the spirits to be crucial to the ceremony’s success. I observed Yaruu’s group and other Buryats go to great lengths to immediately provide the shaman who had adopted a given spirit’s perspective with any desired food, drink, clothes, proper conduct, personal assistance and even forms of amusement. There were also numerous occasions where I observed these Buryats shift their attention frequently between the miniature-form spirits feasting at the offering table and the shaman carrying out spirit-human dialogues, blessings or correcting rituals. These Buryats pursued these shifts in focus so as to maximize the favours they could receive from the shamanic spirits, which calls to mind Deleuze’s thought that ‘the Other [or the shamanic spirit who makes oil lamps flicker] is neither 72

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an object in the field of my perception nor a subject who perceives me: the Other is initially a structure of the perceptual field, without which the entire field could not function as it does’ (1990, 307). In my view, the lynchpin to this ‘perceptual field’ in Buryat shamanic ceremonies is the already anticipated (and possibly innovative) remedy, which Buryats actively seek to produce. Buryat shamans, lamas and diviners carry out a wide range of religious practices on a regular basis, such as the shamanic ceremonies which honour the spirits on the ninth day of each lunar month (esönii ëslol). Most Buryats, then, know in advance that at some point during a divination or ceremony they probably will need to shift their attention away from obtaining a remedy. But Buryats also hope that these shifts in attention will take place in an orderly and efficient manner. For this reason, there is only a passing resemblance between Buryat religious practices and the jumbled expositions which Kenyan diviners initially invoke in the process of making clear divinatory pronouncements (Parkin 1991, 183) or the initial phases of Ugandan divinations which ‘generate uncertainty’ before producing a certain divinatory outcome (Whyte 1997, 67–70). Unlike the Kenyan and Ugandan diviners, Buryat diviners avoid pursuing any jumbled or uncertain elements in their divinations or shamanic ceremonies, striving instead to address the main issues at hand in a hyperorderly way. Every Buryat shamanic ceremony begins with the officiating shaman summoning his or her own spirit-helpers to the offering table. The spirits travel from the heavens to the offering table – which is set up in the most honorary spot in the room – and seat themselves there, in miniature form, to feast from the small cups of tea, vodka, butter and sweets laid out for them, with the table lit by small oil lamps (zul) with homemade wicks. When the officiating shaman is ready to adopt a given spirit’s perspective, that shaman will invoke the spirit to leave the feast at the offering table and descend upon him or her. Then the shaman receives requests to answer specific queries, produce new remedies or dispense blessings or purification substances, such as wild thyme, which can be used later in correcting rituals. Usually one person at the ceremony acts as the chief inquirer (this may be a layperson or another shaman), but anyone else attending the ceremony may present requests to the shaman and Buryats commonly take notes on the shaman’s advice. After the 73

DFortune and the Cursed shaman has finished helping people – from the perspective of a shamanic spirit – that spirit is held to return to the heavens, allowing the shaman to regain his or her own human perspective. Thus, as the ceremony proceeds, the foreground of activity is occupied by different important tasks, including the shaman’s adoption of spirit perspectives, the holding of spirit-human dialogues, and the administering of spirit blessings or purification substances. While focusing on these activities, Buryats bear in mind their important background tasks, such as keeping the miniature-form shamanic spirits happy with their feast at the offering table, until the shaman adopts their perspectives. If Buryats fail to attend to these background tasks in a timely manner, the spirits feasting at the offering table may suddenly seize the ceremonial foreground. On numerous occasions I observed a spirit descend upon Yaruu unannounced, causing her to adopt the spirit’s own perspective and demand that everyone in the room kowtow to the spirit for having insulted him or her. Yaruu’s group, and Ölzii in particular, feared these unannounced moments of spirit possession, which either brought a sudden end to the ceremony or required them to backpedal many steps in their efforts at obtaining desirable remedies. Buryats say that when their oil lamps flicker rapidly, it indicates the displeasure of the shamanic spirits who are feasting next to them (see figure 2.4), but they also hold that flickering lamplight is not merely an index of the spirits’ wrath – it is actually caused by it. Sometimes the spirits become angry at the offering table because they were not invited in time to have enjoyed a good feast or because a senior spirit was invoked after a junior one. Alternatively, the Buryats attending a ceremony may be so absorbed with the spirit dialogues, blessings and other activities in the foreground of the ceremony that they forget to refill the lamps with oil. Worse yet, a spirit may be altogether forgotten in the invocations so that he or she appears uninvited. To register their complaints, the spirits disturb the lamps, making them flicker. Galanjav even told me that the more excessive the flickering, the greater the spirits’ wrath. In light of this, when the spirits cause the oil lamps to flicker, they produce a signal which is actually a ‘symbol that stands for itself ’ (Wagner 1986, 26, see also 17–33). Flickering lamplight is, then, more than just an object indexing the spirits’ agency. It is a composite agent, since both the symbol (flickering light) and what it stands for (the spirits’ 74

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Figure 2.4. Shamanic spirit-human dialogue with oil lamps in the background

wrath) jointly manifest the spirits’ displeasure. Note, though, that while the spirits’ displeasure is visible and physically present, each spirit feasting at the table is nonetheless invisible and ‘immaterial’ to laypersons, who, unlike shamans, cannot see them since they are ‘things of air’ (khii khooson yüm; Miller 2005, 20–29). When Buryats see the flickering lamplight, they are aware of the spirits’ wrath but unsure as to how it might pan out. Shifting their attention to the offering table, those Buryats who are attending a ceremony either pause their conversations with the shaman or carry them out slowly while watching as someone else refreshes the lamps’ oil. If the lamps still continue to flicker excessively after having been refilled, Buryats may actually watch them closely for some time to assure themselves that they can safely redirect their attention to the shaman who has adopted a spirit’s perspective, whereupon they resume their spirit-human dialogues and efforts at obtaining desirable remedies. Sometimes flickering lamplight causes the ceremonial foreground to shift several times within a given séance. Ölzii and Galanjav told me on different occasions that to some degree the ceremony’s success depends upon keeping the oil lamps lit, since the spirits’ feast would be rudely interrupted if they were left in the dark. Galanjav even said that oil lamps which burn well 75

DFortune and the Cursed produce wicks which, charred at the top, curl into the shape of a miniature human fist. Significantly, Galanjav used his imagery of the miniature human fist to evoke comparisons between the wick and the miniature humanoid form taken by the Buryat shamanic spirits, as well as between a strong wick and the physical might of the spirits. When attending to the oil lamps, Galanjav would therefore look to see whether the shape of the wick would facilitate a steady light rather than a flickering one. Further parallels may be drawn between the Buryat notion that maintaining this lamplight prolongs the ceremony’s duration and Tibetan Buddhist notions about the ‘life-essence’ (la), ‘life-span principle’ (tse), and ‘life-force’ (sog; Gerke 2008:160). Gerke has shown that this triad of notions is often treated as the Tibetan life-force in itself, which takes the form of a ‘little human-like figure’, which is explicitly compared to the oil and wick of an oil lamp, such that the life-force operates as a reservoir with a certain amount of fuel (oil in the lamp), which can run out and be refilled. … The flame (la) can never exist without the wick (sog). If the wick (sog) is weak, the flame (la) will go out. The temporary loss of la would be represented by a blown-out lamp (ibid.).

It is quite possible that this notion from Tibetan Buddhism has influenced Buryat shamanic cosmology, giving rise to overlaps between the Tibetan and Buryat views on maintaining oil lamps in ceremonial settings. Just as oil lamps prolong the Tibetan person’s life-force, they also prolong the Buryat ceremonial space where spirit-human dialogues occur and desirable remedies are obtained There is yet another important similarity between the shifts in attention which Buryats immediately undertake when attending to the oil lamps (and spirits) during a shamanic ceremony, and the immediacy, which, according to Bird-David, underpins the sociality of the Nayaka, a hunter-gatherer group in India (2004, 335). Bird-David has shown that among the Nayaka, ‘Immediacy is crucial for maintaining relations, which are nourished by living in the same place or by frequent visits and sharing’, such that ‘Nayaka who move away beyond the orbit of recurring visits are no longer counted as relatives, and this applies also to biologically and biographically close relations’ (ibid.). Moreover, Bird-David suggests that Nayaka health is dependent upon sustaining a favourable proximity to ‘mythic ancestors, naturalistic spirits … deities whom non-Nayaka neighbours 76

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believe in (mostly minor Hindu deities) and the other-than-Nayaka previous inhabitants of their areas, even including white colonialists’, all of whom are classed under the term dodavaru, meaning ‘big people or persons’ (ibid., 330). Like the Buryat shamanic spirits, the dodavaru ‘exist as persons through their communicative and engaging actions, which are made especially apparent in trance gatherings’ held once a year (ibid., 335). But whereas the Nayaka maintain immediacy through their proximity – in time and space – to each other and the dodavaru, the Buryats have different registers of immediacy, most of which cannot be sustained on a regular basis. As has already been mentioned, immediacy is the exception to the rule among Buryats, whose sociality is based upon a delayed-return mode of interaction. Buryats thus tend to view their lives as working around a series of delays, such that anything may be characterized as taking place ‘tomorrow’ (margaash), while the effects of fortune or correcting rituals are only gradually felt. But when faced with persistent obstacles, Buryats run against the grain of convention and actively seek out different kinds of immediacy, such as an instant remedy, closeness to people or the spirits, or some combination of these two things. Thus, one kind of Buryat immediacy is obtained through innovative magical remedies, which resolve problems immediately and not at the conventionally gradual pace of correcting rituals. Another kind of immediacy is ascribed to certain shamanic spirits within the cosmology of the Buryats in Bayandun, who consider that ‘close relative shamanic spirits’ (oirkhon khamaatni ongon) are within five to six generations’ proximity to living people and regularly watch after their living descendents, whereas ‘distant relative shamanic spirits’ for the entire Buryat ethnic group (buriadin ündesnii ongon) are removed from living people by more than five or six generations and devote most of their attention to running the ancestral-spirit central government (Swancutt 2008, 852). The different qualities of immediacy which these spirits possess has an impact on the innovative remedies which they produce, since close relative spirits regularly impart innovations which make use of renewable household resources, while distant relative spirits give innovations that help Buryats harness state bureaucracy in their favour (see chapter 6 and Swancutt 2008, 858–62). The only spirit who elides this opposition between close and distant perspectives is the omnipresent spirit whom Buryats in Bayandun 77

DFortune and the Cursed call Avgaldai (or Abagaldai), who has an ongoing relation of immediacy to every living Buryat person, watching after them while keeping abreast of their household affairs. Since the word avgaldai means a ‘pupa, larva or caterpillar’ in Mongolian, the pronunciation of this spirit’s name in Bayandun highlights his immediacy within the Buryat home and sociality, which revolve around shared experiences, including processes of maturation within the domestic space. During shamanic ceremonies, then, Buryats manoeuvre between several different kinds of immediacy, such that their efforts to counterbalance immediate and delayed timescales are more complex than the Nayaka effort to simply maintain one ideal form of immediacy. But, as mentioned in chapter 1, this greater complexity of timescales is only to be expected from the Buryats, whose ‘asymmetrical’ Inner Asian cosmology arises from the Mongolian imperial past and which has more recently been influenced by Soviet bureaucracy (Holbraad and Willerslev 2007, 331). While flickering lamplight distracts Buryats from their primary concerns of eliciting spirit-human dialogues, blessings and correcting rituals, Buryats have much to gain by pleasing the spirits at the offering table. By successfully managing these shifts between the foreground and background context of a ceremony, Buryats help ensure that the officiating shaman who adopts different spirit perspectives can facilitate their efforts at obtaining desirable remedies. Thus the shamanic ceremony or divination which strikes a good balance between addressing the participants’ concerns and pleasing the spirits often yields hyperorderly solutions to problems.

Uncovering the curse Before moving on to my case studies which show how Buryats pursued figure-ground reversals within their divinations, I will need to just briefly discuss some early developments in the cursing of Yaruu’s group. As mentioned in chapter 1, Yaruu’s sudden ‘pulling up’ (tatasan) illness during the lunar New Year (on 7 February 2000) confirmed her group’s growing suspicion that they had been cursed. Her illness was so frightening that all of her family members, including everyone living in Ölzii’s home, wanted to consult the spirits immediately to find out who had been responsible for the curse attack. Duulchin was therefore summoned quickly from his nearby home 78

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and brought to Yaruu’s. At the same time, Jargal went off to Bayandun’s eastern wing to request that Galanjav and Chimegee come to Yaruu’s and offer their help. The plan was for all the shamans in Yaruu’s group to hold a joint ceremony at Yaruu’s home to combat the cursing. However when Duulchin arrived he was completely intoxicated from having drunk vodka throughout the New Year’s celebrations of the previous two days (which is a common outcome of Buryat festive revelry, sociability and hospitality). So although he divined about the cursing with his rosary beads, Duulchin only made incoherent divinatory pronouncements before falling asleep on Yaruu’s floor. Some hours later Jargal returned home without Galanjav and Chimegee, claiming that they were not at home, presumably out visiting other people for the New Year. At that point Duulchin awoke and, somewhat groggy, divined again by rosary beads, saying that Yaruu would be all right for the moment and that a ceremony did not need to be held right then. The evening culminated with a drinking session between Jargal, Duulchin and another man who had come to help Yaruu, during which Ölzii had Duulchin continue to divine for her, using the Mongolian nine-coin divination. For several readings Duulchin’s main ‘head coin’ kept appearing in the position referred to as the ‘ship’ (ongots), which indicates travel, and was in this case interpreted as ‘the movement of curses during the New Year’. Several more hours of drinking passed until, at 3:30 a.m., everyone in Yaruu’s household went to sleep. The following morning, Yaruu approached me and carefully explained that she wears a small white shaman’s mirror (tol’) made of a silver steel alloy that she fastens around her neck like a pendant. Attached to this mirror was a flat, heart-shaped piece of white metal (zürkhevch) that Yaruu said she could manually strike against the mirror for protection. Both of these items also deflected incoming curses, so that they protected Yaruu simply by dint of her wearing them. Then Yaruu told me that Sürenma, the lama-shaman, and Lavs had all recently cursed her. Yaruu confessed that at that very moment she could still see a vision of the lama-shaman spitting off to one side, cursing her, when looking into her large black shaman’s mirror made of a gold-coloured brass alloy, which she also wore around her neck. Without these protective items, Yaruu added, she would have been seriously injured or dead on the previous night. Finally, Yaruu 79

DFortune and the Cursed showed me that she also wore a bear’s claw around her neck – which, she said, any Buryat layperson can wear for protection – as another safety measure. Of course, Yaruu was aware that I had witnessed the recent curse attacks, but by initiating this conversation, she helped ensure that I, too, would fully enter the ‘system of positions’ in this cursing episode (Favret-Saada 1980, 17). Moreover, Yaruu’s quiet conversation instilled within me Favret-Saada’s experience of ‘the borderline situation of witchcraft, where [one] could hardly avoid understanding that it was a matter of one subject [i.e. Yaruu] calling forth a response from another subject [i.e. myself]’ (ibid., 27). By the next evening, 9 February, Yaruu’s group confirmed that their rivals’ curses had been deflected off of Yaruu’s shamanic mirror and had struck her family members instead (see chapter 4 for a more in-depth discussion of how shamanic mirrors deflect curses). Her daughter Tuyaa, at age nine, had developed a full-blown allergic reaction, raising large purple welts, each of which was about two inches in diameter, all over her body. According to Yaruu, the cursing had ensured that Tuyaa would catch the illness while playing with the neighbours’ children and eating dried plums imported from China with them. Bayandun’s local doctor had said that the illness was caused by a sugar imbalance from eating too many sweets – and especially Chinese prunes and other dried fruits – which, like most Chinese foods, were considered to be ‘poisonous’ (khortoi) in Bayandun. Tuyaa received a jab of penicillin from the doctor and had cotton swabs put into her ears to treat the illness. Moreover, Yaruu continued to treat the scabbed-over welts for weeks, with a salve that she made from burnt newspaper ash, a home remedy (dom) that Buryats in Russia use. She also bathed Tuyaa, applying some of my aloe vera gel to her wounds, and had Duulchin hold correcting rituals. In these early days, Yaruu’s group talked incessantly about their rivals and monitored new developments in the cursing, while stressing their three main eyewitness accounts of it: CHIMEGEE: ‘I saw Sürenma spitting curses outside the front of her home with my own eyes.’ (Lowering her head, she demonstrated what she saw by mock spitting off to one side.) BUYNA: ‘The night when my sister [Yaruu] became ill, that person [the lama-shaman] came to our home on pretence that he was visiting for the New Year. He took some sweets from the plate on the table, muttered 80

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words over them and scattered them on the kitchen floor before he left. I saw this happen and became afraid, and after he left gathered up all the sweets strewn about the floor and tossed them outside of the house.’ GALANJAV, CHIMEGEE and ÖLZII: ‘Shortly before the New Year’s festivities, we saw all three curse setters ride off together in a white van for Choibalsan. At that time, they conspired about the bad things they would do.’

Prompted by the illnesses affecting Yaruu and Tuyaa, as well as these witnessed acts of cursing, Ölzii visited Galanjav’s home on 10 February, to request that Galanjav hold a divination session. As we will now see, Yaruu’s group shifted between deflecting the curses (their reason for holding the divinations) and attending to an intrusive shamanic presence which crept into the background of these divinations.

Immediacy, agency and timescales in divination An important reason why different timescales – or different qualities of immediacy – arise in divinations is that Buryats sometimes fail to control their divinatory implements. In these cases rival shamans or lamas can imbue these implements with their personhood and then ‘enter’ the purview of a divination through them. Having thus hijacked the implements to enter the divination, rival practitioners use their immediate presence to make everyone participating in the divination shift unwittingly between different (e.g. past, present or future) timescales. Although the immediate presence of rivals is unwanted, it works just like the immediacy which Buryats try to obtain with the shamanic spirits, whenever summoning them to ceremonies, interacting with them in spirit-human dialogues or refreshing their oil lamps. Ordinarily, Buryats use divinations to learn how their problems have evolved over time, so that they might uncover the most efficient means for resolving them. While inquiring about past or present events, Buryats keep an eye towards the future, trying to gauge whether a conventional ritual, with its delayed effect, will resolve their problems or whether the spirits might provide an innovative remedy that will take immediate effect. Sometimes the divinatory technique even forces Buryats to shift between past, present and 81

DFortune and the Cursed future outlooks on their lives. This is especially true when Buryats divine about their fortune, which changes gradually and at an unsteady rate. When divining by playing cards, for instance, Buryats tend to recall the images and feelings of past events – such as their witnessing of a curse and how they felt its effects – and then try to uncover which specific person might have triggered those images and feelings. Revealingly, though, this focus on the past shifts whenever the divination tosses up a fresh problem. I observed numerous playingcard divinations held by Yaruu’s group where a face card, such as the jack of diamonds, indicated that a rival had sent two rounds of curses, a curse in the past followed by another curse just seconds earlier – precisely at the moment when his or her initial curse was being detected. Readings that uncovered these curses-in-the-making provoked the panicky responses which Buryats tend to have when witnessing a curse. When becoming aware of an incoming curse, everyone attending the divination would drop whatever they were doing and immediately shift their attention to deflecting the fresh curse. For instance, during one four-hour divination session held to deflect the cursing, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii explained to me that the lama-shaman, who was angry at having had his previous curse uncovered, had just then sent them a follow-up curse to show that he had plenty more curses in store for them. When I asked how the lama-shaman knew that these divinations were being held about him, Galanjav admitted that he must not have fully controlled his divinatory cards. He said that Buryats need to ensure that their divinatory cards will merely ‘represent’ their suspects; otherwise rivals can ‘hijack’ those cards, imbuing them with their own agency (or what Alfred Gell calls ‘distributed personhood’) so that they can enter the divinatory purview (1998, 21). According to Galanjav, at the start of his divination, he, Chimegee, Ölzii and I had all considered the jack of diamonds to be just a ‘material’ paper card representing one of their rivals. But by viewing the jack of diamonds as an image of the lama-shaman, while feeling that the lama-shaman must have cursed them, we had attracted the attention of the lama-shaman, who was seeking to undermine the curse-deflecting efforts. Galanjav confessed that he had been so caught up in his feelings about the cursing that he had failed to control his cards. So the lama-shaman hijacked the jack of diamonds, 82

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which had in fact been used to represent him, imbuing some of his personhood into the material card so as to enter the divinatory purview. For some time, the lama-shaman did a good job of lurking behind the pretence that Galanjav had controlled his cards properly, so that the jack of diamonds appeared to work as a mere representation.4 Carrying out his act of surveillance, the lama-shaman learned about their divinatory inquiry into the cursing. Eventually, though, the lama-shaman – out of evil or perhaps mocking sentiments – cast a curse which happened to strike Galanjav’s infant daughter, causing her to lose her soul. Until Galanjav’s daughter began to cry, no one attending the divination had noticed that the lama-shaman had gained an immediate presence in Galanjav’s home or that he had initiated a direct confrontation with them. Only the crying made Galanjav suspicious, so that he checked to see whether his infant daughter, and each of us, had lost our souls. Yet positive and highly desirable moments of immediacy are also produced during Buryat divnations, which bind together different people, spirits and even past, present or future moments in time. For instance, Yaruu, Galanjav and many other Buryats in Bayandun told me that the shamanic spirits may assist shamans when divining by whispering divinatory pronouncements into their ears or making these pronouncements arise in their thoughts. Galanjav and Tansag also told me that they occasionally dreamt of a particular situation, which a day or so later would form the basis of their divinatory pronouncement, when an inquirer appeared at their doorstep and triggered their memory of the dream. There is a striking parallel between these positive forms of immediacy in Buryat divination and the elated moments of archaeological treasure discovery that Stewart describes in Greece (2003, 495). Stewart has shown that during the very moments when present-day Greeks uncover treasures, their views of the past reverberate with how they anticipate these treasures will affect their futures, thereby binding these two modes of time together in a sense of immediacy which merges buried history with the future moments, when treasures may be unearthed (ibid.). When Greeks dream of finding treasure, either the imagined or actual finding of artefacts triggers ‘an ontological flashpoint, a conduit that allows the past to barge into consciousness. It is a mode in which the past is seized, one that may be replicated in other places, or at other times, through possession 83

DFortune and the Cursed or illness’ (ibid.). Similarly, Buryats may obtain divinatory outcomes which confirm their expectations about received curses while simultaneously charting a course of future action for deflecting them. And while Stewart’s ‘ontological flashpoint’ resonates with Whitehouse’s argument that violent Melanesian rites instil a ‘flashbulb memory’ of the ritual layout and procedure into the initiates (1996, 710–12), Stewart takes this argument further by considering both these ontological flashpoints and ‘temporality to be fundamentally at issue in human being, certainly in dreams where the self communes with existence in a flux of images and feelings’ (2003, 495). Furthermore, in highlighting the significance of a day-to-day communing with others and with historicity, Stewart’s argument about how the past is brought into the present dovetails with Bird-David’s notion of immediacy among the Nayaka, who regularly ‘commune’ with other people and their spirits (the latter of whom are regarded as links to the past), via an ‘intercorporeality’ or even a ‘transcorporeality’ of beings (2004, 337). Ultimately, though, Buryats are cautious about fostering immediacy and do not wish to regularly commune with just anyone. Their reticence springs from the Buryat view that any person may become a cursing rival, whilst any spirit may in fact be a ‘pretenderspirit’ seeking to enter their genealogies, because the spirit accepted as kin may demand regular offerings (Buyandelgeriyn 2007, 137). Ideally, Buryats wish to control the various degrees to which they interact with images, their feelings and other beings, especially during divinations, shamanic ceremonies and correcting rituals, when they shift between past, present or future timescales, sensu Stewart (2003, 495). As Galanjav said, Buryats usually manoeuvre safely between different timescales, because they tend to control their divinatory implements properly. Failing that, a cursing rival or some other hostile being may force Buryats to shift, chaotically, between these different timescales. Let us now take an in-depth look at Galanjav’s divinatory session, to see how Buryats actually handle the images, feelings and other agents which make them shift timescales during the course of a divination.

A suspect in the mirror On 10 February 2000, Galanjav undertook a four-hour divination session at his home to detect and deflect local curse rivalries, using 84

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playing card (khözör; Buryat: khart), rosary bead (erkh) and mirror (tol’) divinations. In chapter 5, I discuss the playing card divinations undertaken during this session. Here, though, I discuss the mirror divinations, which require the use of vodka and a Buryat shaman’s mirror cast from brass or a silver alloy that does not produce a clear reflection. To divine, a Buryat shaman mutters invocations to the shamanic spirits, pours vodka atop of his or her mirror and allows the vodka to run over the mirror’s surface. Exhaling over the mirror, the shaman helps the vodka to evaporate, leaving a residue in the shape of an image, which is interpreted by everyone attending the divination. Galanjav’s mirror readings confirmed that Yaruu’s group had been cursed by the lama-shaman, whose practice was unusual. The lamashaman had no formal monastic training and had read only the Buddhist works that any layperson or shaman in Bayandun might have typically read (giving him just popular knowledge of Buddhism); however he occasionally undertook the lama’s practice of blessing juniper incense, salt, sugar, tea or sand and then dispensing these substances to people for use in correcting rituals. Usually the lamashaman was seen wearing layperson’s clothing, often with the distinctive Buryat-styled hat – although during my return visit in 2004 I noticed him wearing a Mongolian coat (deel) with sleeves prominently elongated in the style of a Buddhist lama’s habit. When invoking the spirits as a shaman, the lama-shaman wore a shaman’s cloak made from a paper-thin blue nylon material, giving the impression of an almost feigned poverty, which Yaruu’s group considered ridiculous and offensive to the spirits. Two field note extracts demonstrate how the lama-shaman made Yaruu’s group shift their focus from the past to the present moment during these divinations. I present these field note extracts here, with a discussion about them. Seated, Galanjav anoints his yellow shaman’s mirror with vodka (arkhi) and dons his strand of rosary beads (erkh) round his neck. He looks into the mirror, shakes it to his left (toward the south-east) and wipes the surface dry with the attached ceremonial scarf (khadag) that serves as its necklace strap. Leaning forward, muttering and looking into the mirror, Galanjav again anoints the mirror with vodka. Twice he blows over it to make the vodka move. Once more he exhales against it, this time causing the mirror to fog and then clear so that the vodka sets in the shape of an image. Aloud, he asks what kind of thing the image is supposed to 85

DFortune and the Cursed represent. Then he resumes muttering over the mirror, synchronising this with a slight up-and-down bobbing of his upper body. Again, Galanjav exhales on the mirror so that it fogs over, and when the film recedes, he announces that the image has materialized in the shape of a nature spirit (savdag) with an eyehole. Scrutinising further, he says it looks like a man riding a horse and turns around to ask me what I think. I asked if it were not a bird because it looks like a chicken in profile with its head facing left – perhaps it refers to a person born in the year of the chicken (takhia jiltai khün)? Galanjav says he doesn’t know. But then Ölzii and Chimegee take up my suggestion and ask one another if it could be a possibility. Galanjav inquires as to whether I know what a rooster (azragan takhia) is, indicating a cockscomb with his hand held atop his head, fingers extended. He points out that the image on the mirror doesn’t have one. Since the primary suspect in the divination was the lama-shaman, a rooster would have represented him more accurately than a hen. Then Galanjav clears the image from the mirror by rubbing it with its necklace strap. Among themselves, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii discuss the image further. The thrill of resolving a problem and assigning blame mounts. Vindictive secretiveness drips from their words. Either the image is that of a man riding a horse and wearing a Buryat-styled hat or a chicken. What, if any connection, can there be between the two?

Although Galanjav produced the divinatory image, he asked Chimegee, Ölzii and myself to help collectively interpret it by saying what we thought it depicted (see figure 2.5). Before starting the divination, Yaruu’s group already had the lama-shaman curse suspect in mind. Just days before, the cursing had been discovered at the conclusion of the New Year’s festivities, when Yaruu’s illness had struck. Indeed, shortly before Yaruu’s curse attack, Buyna, a different daughter of Ölzii, had witnessed the lama-shaman casting a curse when visiting Yaruu’s home to wish her Figure 2.5. Image of a nature spirit in family a happy New Year. Acthe form of a chicken, produced during cording to Buyna, the lamaa mirror divination held by Galanjav and shaman had entered Yaruu’s shortly thereafter drawn from memory by the author home and picked up some 86

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sweets that had been laid out for guests on Yaruu’s table. Muttering words over them, the lama-shaman then scattered the sweets onto Yaruu’s floor. Buyna said that she had felt afraid when she saw this and that after the lama-shaman had left, she had gathered up the sweets and tossed them outdoors. With these recent events in mind, Galanjav felt that the mirror divination could bring to light the lama-shaman’s curse. So while muttering his invocations to the spirits, Galanjav conveyed to them the suspicion that the lama-shaman cast the curse. Divinatory invocations tend to be unformulated, mundanely worded pleas, such as ‘Oh top spirit-helper, allow the image on this mirror to expose that person who made obstacles arise in my family’. At their loudest, they are largely unintelligible mutterings. Usually, though, divinatory invocations are more discrete, detectable only as silent movements on the practitioner’s lips. Once the image had set, several minutes passed in which everyone took the mirror into his or her hands to look at the image and exchange their ideas about what it represented. Galanjav, who initially thought the image might represent a nature spirit, started to feel that the image was too obscure to interpret. But Chimegee and Ölzii linked my idea that the image resembled a chicken to Galanjav’s idea that it could represent a nature spirit conveying the lama-shaman’s curse. They then wondered whether the reading showed that the lama-shaman sent his curse, via a nature spirit, which took the form of a chicken. Since no one could decide whether the lama-shaman sent his curse directly or had his nature spirit convey it to them, Galanjav carried out several playing card divinations to answer this query. But the divinations merely confirmed that rivals had cursed Yaruu’s group, so Galanjav divined again with the mirror, as described below, in an excerpt from my field notes (see figure 2.6). Several times Galanjav taps his finger on the two of hearts, a card indicating Yaruu’s top spirit-helper. Penetratingly, he looks out the large window in his living room, next to the small table at which all of us have been sitting. Pouring vodka atop the mirror to polish it, Galanjav rubs this into and around its surface. Again he pours vodka onto the mirror and blows over it several times. Whispering invocations over the vodka-topped mirror and then pointing at it, Galanjav calls attention to ‘rays’ which have materialized in the image – 12, each possibly referring to a Buryat shamanic initiation ceremony (chanar). Or no, there are 14 rays, making this 87

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Figure 2.6. Image of a nature spirit in the form of a lama-shaman, produced during a mirror divination held by Galanjav and shortly thereafter drawn from memory by the author guess impossible! Galanjav announces that both the playing card from the previous reading and the outcome of this mirror divination refer to Yaruu’s top spirit-helper. Then Galanjav asks me what I think the image depicts. Slow at understanding what is afoot, I incredulously try ‘A person with 14 initiations (chanar)?’ at which they laugh and say no, they don’t know what it is. They guess it may be an old person. I’m handed the mirror and again asked what I think. Inwardly I reflect: ‘An initial counting of 12 rays seemed to implicate Sansar, a rival shaman held to have many, certainly 12 initiations, to his credit’. Aloud I surmise that turned sideways, the image looks like an elephant splashing water from its trunk. But they tend to look at it upright. Some more cards are swapped for the succeeding divination and discussion follows. Those present are still handling the mirror, looking at it and offering interpretations. Chimegee talks about sand (shoroo). When another set of cards is laid, Galanjav insists that a man wearing a Buryat-styled hat, meaning the lama-shaman, and a bird appeared on his mirror. He pours more vodka atop the mirror and uses his finger to smooth it on the mirror. Shaking the mirror, Galanjav allows the vodka to run its course along the mirror’s surface. All the while, Ölzii 88

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talks. Galanjav and Chimegee’s baby keeps crying and this, an indication that the child is suffering from a curse, diverts everyone’s attention from the divination . . .

Even though this second mirror image had a more complex appearance than did the first image, it was assigned an interpretation fairly rapidly. But first, everyone at the divination attended to Chimegee’s baby, whose crying and illness was attributed to soul loss. Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii confirmed to me that the lamashaman had hijacked the jack of diamonds while Galanjav was reading his playing cards between the two mirror divinations. Aware that divinations were being held to deflect his previous curses, the lamashaman imbued his agency into Galanjav’s jack of diamonds and sent fresh curses into his home. When Galanjav’s daughter started crying, calling attention to the immediate presence which the lamashaman had gained within Galanjav’s home, everyone at the divination shifted their attention away from the past curses and focused upon the crisis of the moment. They watched Galanjav undertake a brief correcting ritual to call back his daughter’s soul – by rubbing the rosary beads over her head, shoulders and back – and then expel the lama-shaman from the divinatory purview by shaking out the rosary, which sent his presence away from the home. Once this correcting ritual was completed and Galanjav had completed some additional soul checks for us, everyone at the divination again studied the mirror image to uncover how the cursing had originally developed. These shifts between identifying past curses (the main aim of the divination) and holding correcting rituals in the present moment (a task requiring immediate, but only passing, attention) comprised figure-ground reversals, just like those described in the shamanic ceremonies above. While studying the second mirror image, Galanjav suggested that it depicted the lama-shaman riding his horse and wearing his Buryatstyled hat. Shortly thereafter, he tried interpreting the ‘rays’ on the image as the fiery embers (tsogt) which Buryats say emanate from a shaman or a person whose spirit (sür süld) is exceptionally strong. But he already had rejected the speculation that these rays may have referred to each shamanic initiation ceremony (chanar) that the cursing rival had undertaken, since there were fourteen of them. No Buryat shaman ever does more than twelve initiation ceremonies, and the highest possible status that a Buryat shaman may achieve is 89

DFortune and the Cursed the ‘thirteenth level of chanar’, which is an idiom referring to powers exceeding those of a shaman who only just passed the twelfth level. Momentarily stumped, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii simply wondered whether the image might have referred to an old man. But suddenly, Chimegee suggested that the ‘rays’ could represent grains of sand – or something else – which the lama-shaman may have tossed at someone to cast a curse. Galanjav and Ölzii considered her idea to be brilliant, since the lama-shaman was known to occasionally dispense blessed sand to laypersons for use in correcting rituals. Indeed, Buryats (and Mongols more generally) hold that when a person throws blessed sand at the back of his adversary, it dispels any bad influences which that adversary sent his way. Conversely, some Mongols also toss sand in the direction of a rival’s back, without initial provocation, as a means of cursing that rival. Chimegee’s idea, then, was that the image depicted the lama-shaman tossing his own blessed sand to cast a curse. Alternatively, Chimegee, Galanjav and Ölzii allowed that the second mirror image could have depicted what Buyna had witnessed during the New Year’s festivities: the lama-shaman scattering sweets onto Yaruu’s floor after muttering curses over them. These mirror divination results triggered a brief gossiping session about the curses. While Galanjav and Ölzii talked about Sürenma’s curse, Chimegee laughingly declared that she had witnessed Sürenma spitting curses. Then Galanjav told me firmly that for my study of shamans in Bayandun I was only to visit either the shamans in Yaruu’s group or Tansag, who was not involved in the cursing (reminding me of my place within the ‘system of positions’ that underpinned the cursing (Favret-Saada 1980, 17)). Adopting an even stricter tone, Galanjav also said that I could not visit Sürenma, Sansar, the lama-shaman, or Lavs – and that their homes were off limits – because of the illnesses that they had caused. I was asked whether I had visited Sürenma since my return to Bayandun on 2 February, after having been away for a month. Giving an honest answer, I admitted to visiting Sürenma’s home recently, although that visit was made before the cursing had been uncovered, and I added that by the time of my visit, Sürenma had already travelled to Choibalsan. My reply was taken as an affirmation of both the curse suspicions and the playing-card divination which – as I show in chapter 5 – had just confirmed that the rivals travelled to Choibalsan in a white car. 90

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It seemed that Ölzii, Galanjav and Chimegee wanted to find out if the curse had been trafficked through me. Ölzii told me that she had once been close friends with Sürenma, making a ‘thumbs-up’ gesture to show her previous feelings about her. However, Ölzii confessed that more recently she had decided that Sürenma was bad (muu). She told me this by raising one of her little fingers, in a Mongol gesture equivalent to our ‘thumbs down’, meaning that Sürenma was bad and insignificant. Later that evening Ölzii told Yaruu about the divinations at Galanjav’s, at which point my stomach pains and refusal to eat food were taken to be another sign of the cursing. Altogether, then, both of Galanjav’s mirror readings confirmed that the lama-shaman had cast multiple curses on different occasions, sometimes sending curses with the help of a nature spirit and sometimes casting them directly, by tossing sand or sweets. Moreover, having assigned a final interpretation to the second mirror reading, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii confirmed that the first image was either too obscure to interpret, as Galanjav had initially suggested, or that it depicted a nature spirit in the form of a chicken, delivering the lama-shaman’s curse to them. By shifting their focus between these two readings and between the different curses which they revealed, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii produced a successful divinatory pronouncement. We will now consider this strategy of shifting between different timescales, in an entirely different divination undertaken by Yaruu, which entailed interacting with what Stewart calls ‘a flux of images and feelings’ from dreams (2003, 495).

The recurrent dream of snakes Buryat notions about morality on a general level – and not just cursing – have a notable influence upon the images and feelings that arise during the divinatory process. This was made clear to me by Yaruu, when she told me on several different occasions that she only reads the palms of (morally) ‘good people’ (sain khün), since her visionary faculty does not work on the palms of ‘bad people’ (muu khün). Moreover, she pointed out to me that she does not read lines on her inquirer’s palm but sees images appear on it instead. Yaruu began reading palms during my stay in Bayandun in February 2000, and her very first palm reading helped to uncover the meaning behind a recurrent dream of snakes which had been worrying Züüd, 91

DFortune and the Cursed one of her new student shamans, who lived in Bayandun’s far countryside. Palm reading is a rarity among Buryats. Nonetheless, in the reading which I describe here, Yaruu saw images which evoked immediacy – in the sense given to that term by Stewart (2003, 495) or Bird-David (2004, 337) – between Züüd’s recurrent dream of snakes and her plans to develop her shamanic training, which had become an increasingly pressing matter to her. Looking at Züüd’s palm, Yaruu saw a vision of the Nature God’s emissary, who appeared as the disciple of a high incarnate Buddhist lama (i.e. in a ‘humanoid’ form like that represented on face cards or in photographs) while presenting Yaruu with a written ‘message’. Yaruu considered this vision vis-à-vis her thoughts about Züüd’s dream, when making her divinatory pronouncement. Given this, Yaruu’s palm reading offers a further example of how Buryats shift between different timescales (e.g. dreams from the recent past and visions in the immediate present), to produce divinatory pronouncements that can reorder their inquirers’ lives. On the February morning when Züüd arrived at Yaruu’s home to ask advice about her recurrent dream, Yaruu was delighted to greet her. Züüd had a jovial personality and Yaruu enjoyed sharing the local news with her, while also discussing Züüd’s plans to develop further as a shaman. It was on this note that Züüd confessed to Yaruu her concerns about the strange dream that she kept having over the course of several days in which she was being chased by fast-moving snakes. In one dream, Züüd managed to step on one snake and kill it, but the two other snakes that had been pursuing her quickly slithered away. Fast-moving snakes are linked to the Nature God, who in the Buryat and wider Mongol view commands fast-moving reptiles, amphibians and other water creatures, including the snakes that chase after the wayward souls inhabiting his underground kingdom. Concerned that her dream was an indication of the Nature God’s wrath, possibly for having failed to give him sufficient offerings or for having polluted the land and waters, Züüd asked Yaruu what should be done. Yaruu also felt that the dream indicated the Nature God’s involvement, but to confirm this she spontaneously decided to read Züüd’s palm. Taking up Züüd’s hand, Yaruu saw her vision of a lamaist disciple bearing a text on the Nature God’s poisoning. Some months later, in June 2000, Yaruu described this vision to me in her own words: 92

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When I read people’s palms I see [things like] trees, mountains, water, men or women, shamans, lamas or governing officials. I always see something written – a written statement (bichig). The things I see always are accompanied by a written text. … When the written text appears, it tells whether harm (khorlol) from the Nature God afflicted a person, or from what things he or she became afraid. Earlier, when I read that woman’s palm, the disciple of a high incarnate Buddhist lama (shav’) in the midst of trees and water appeared. A statement about the Nature God’s poisoning also emerged. … Sometimes I see a fox or a deer – an animal. These images always appear with written text. Or else, if there is nothing written, I can look at the image to know what the problem is. For example, if a fox appears next to a frightened child, I can tell that difficulties arose because the child became afraid of the fox. If I am helping a good person, I can read his or her palm. If I cannot help – if a person is not good – then I do not read that person’s palm. From my thoughts (sanaanaas), the shamanic spirits (ongonoos), things that the spirits said in my ears (chikhend khelsen yümnees), from inside of myself (dotoroos), I divine. And then by means of the palm or other divinatory implements – from those things – do I read.

In Yaruu’s view, this vision actually brought the lamaist disciple, as an emissary of the Nature God, directly into the divinatory purview. Seen in light of Züüd’s dream, Yaruu treated the vision as an order from the Nature God – who imbued the dream with his disciple’s agency – so as to officially inform Züüd that he was angry about not receiving proper offerings from her and had thus poisoned her household. Since Yaruu received this elaborate vision directly from the Nature God’s disciple, she advised Züüd to hold a rare, innovative ceremonial sacrifice to the Nature God two months later, in April 2000. The main offering of the sacrifice, Yaruu stated, was to be an effigy of the Nature God’s underworld watery kingdom, made by Züüd’s family. This effigy would honour the Nature God by modelling his own dominion, comprised of eighty-one trees and inhabited by eighty-one animals that live underground. For this effigy the ritual participants arranged eighty-one twigs into nine rows by nine columns, securing them atop of a piece of cardboard (see figure 2.7). At the head of each column they placed the model of an animal, made from dough, considering that each of these ‘animals’ represented nine of its own kind, to make for a total of eighty-one (see figure 2.8). Their dough animals included a minnow ( jaraakhai), tadpole (shanagan khorkhoi), snake (mogoi), whale (khalim), turtle (yast melkhii), Mongolian marmot (tarvaga), another kind of mar93

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Figure 2.7. Making the shamanic effigy of the Nature God’s (Lus) kingdom in Bayandun

mot ( juram) and two underground-dwelling animals that the ritual participants could not fully identify (medekhgüi am’tan). Although marmots are not water animals, they do live in burrows, close to groundwater sources. The men who produced these dough animals confessed to me jokingly, but with an air of honest respect, that they had been hard pressed to think of any other water animals to represent this effigy, having spent their entire lives in the landlocked Mongolian countryside. Therefore, they had produced effigies of animals which, they felt, could at times be members of the Nature God’s underground kingdom. Oil lamps were placed next to the doughanimal replicas, and the ceremony culminated in sending the entire effigy as a gift to the Nature God’s underground kingdom – a feat accomplished by burning it to ashes. Before concluding this chapter, I present one final Buryat divination from Shinekhen Baruun Sum, which also involved a vision of snakes and the diviner’s technique of shifting between different timescales in order to offer an innovative remedy for a curse.

Worshipping wealth to ward off curses When visiting the local diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum during August 2000, an elderly woman with money problems arrived at the 94

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Figure 2.8. Finished shamanic effigy to the Nature God, representing the eighty-one different varieties of trees and underground-dwelling animals in his kingdom, prepared for a ceremony in Bayandun. Oil lamps and figures of animals are made from dough.

diviner’s home, requesting a divination to confirm whether her monetary losses had been caused by a curse. Some days earlier, the inquirer explained, she had approached a Buddhist lama to divine about her losses, whereupon the lama had seen a vision of a snake and attributed her losses to a curse and fallen fortune. So the diviner held 95

DFortune and the Cursed several playing-card divinations, in which she consistently detected the immediate presence of hostile ancestral spirits. Each time she read the cards, several important slots in her divinatory layout were filled with a card bearing the number eight, which the diviner interpreted as spirits (glossed as burkhan, which usually means ‘deity’, often in the sense of a Buddhist deity; chapter 5 gives a full description of this diviner’s card interpretations). Over the course of several readings, the diviner confirmed that angry ancestral spirits had made her inquirer suffer money losses and fallen fortune. Then she suggested that her inquirer make sacrificial offerings (takhilga) atop of the cairn where the inquirer’s own ancestors had once made their offerings. Significantly, the diviner dismissed the lama’s finding of a curse as insignificant, preferring instead to link the spirits’ wrath to her son’s recent success at making money after he gave ample offerings to his ancestral spirits. Already a fortnight before this divination took place, I noticed that the local diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum extolling the virtues of rich people, repeating the news about her son’s success to me and saying that anyone who made good offerings to the spirits was bound to receive a large influx of wealth. This diviner’s own ‘cargo cult’like dreams of riches thus appears to have surfaced in the presence of numerous cards representing ancestral spirits, which dovetailed with her own memories about her son’s financial success. However her inquirer remained nervous about whether making offerings to the ancestral spirits would recover the money losses and so asked several times whether the offerings would be sufficient. To reassure her, the diviner hinted at her son’s recent wealth, extolling the merits of frequent worship. My translation of their dialogue, based on my field notes, follows. DIVINER, announcing the results of several divination sets: ‘You lack money and there are many spirits (burkhan) about. In your home there are many evil spirits afflicting you. Because of a curse, you have no money. Someone harbours bad intentions towards you, but that doesn’t matter.’ INQUIRER: ‘I knew my fortune was bad, and this is what caused us to have no money. Later will money come?’ DIVINER, giving the results of another divination: ‘It will. If a person worships (shütekh) a lot, he or she will become rich. But if a person does not worship a lot, then that person cannot become rich.’ INQUIRER: ‘And what if I hold the sacrificial offering at the cairn?’ 96

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DIVINER: ‘If you worship, you will become rich. There is a young person who got rich [i.e. the diviner’s son]. He worships a lot at cairns and became wealthy as a result. This happened in [the nearby administrative area called] Bayankhushuu. . . . ’ INQUIRER: ‘The lama told me that he saw a snake and so knew that there was a curse and things weren’t well. My fortune had declined.’ DIVINER, nervously laughing this off: ‘That is of no consequence.’ INQUIRER: ‘Will my fortune improve?’ DIVINER, still laughing: ‘Yes, there’s no such problem.’

Significantly, the diviner’s link between worship and wealth was novel to her inquirer. Most people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that – in line with Buddhist doctrine – prayers for personal profit go unanswered and may even inflict a karmic backlash. However, due to the similarity between her inquirer’s and son’s money troubles and the many ancestral spirits represented by the playing cards, the diviner felt that her inquirer would resolve her problems by making offerings that gradually could harness the strength of her ancestors. Although the diviner had kept full control over her divinatory cards – and only interacted with representations of her inquirer’s ancestors rather than drawing those ancestors into the divinatory purview – she was nervous about discussing the topic of fallen fortune and the possibility of bringing it upon herself. So the diviner laughed off the prospect of long-term fallen fortune, reassuring her inquirer that she would recover her money losses after making ample offerings to her ancestors, underscoring that this was the most important finding of the divination.

Immediacy and the production of hyperorder I have suggested in this chapter that during divinatory sessions and shamanic ceremonies Buryats frequently shift their attention away from obtaining desirable remedies so as to attend to those demands placed upon them by the spirits, their religious implements or even other people who make up the ‘background context’ of their religious practice. Buryats hold that inverting the foreground and background of the religious practice is actually efficient in the long term. By making an active effort to please the spirits or deflect hostile forces, Buryats increase their prospects of hitting upon desirable, and even 97

DFortune and the Cursed hyperorderly, resolutions to their problems. This is especially true in cases where Buryats interact with shamanic spirits who manifest their immediate presence during a séance by making the oil lamps flicker as a sign that they need to be refreshed. These reversals of the foreground and background to the religious practice also help Buryats deflect hostile shamans who have hijacked their divinatory implements so as to bring their unwanted presence into the divinatory setting. On a more general level, Buryats undertake similar shifts in focus when attending to any kind of extraordinary problem – the most common of which is actually a change in fortune or the loss and recovery of their souls. To show how this works, I now turn to the question of how fortune and the soul mutually enhance or diminish the Buryat quality of life.

Notes 1. Chanar are Buryat shamanic initiation or ‘levelling-up’ ceremonies, where shamanic aspirants become shamans or where established shamans advance their expertise. Held once every three years, shamans only progress through twelve levels of these ceremonies. After their twelfth ceremony, exceptionally powerful shamans are referred to by the colloquialism of ‘thirteenth-level shaman’ (arvan gurvan chanartai böö) or by the honorific title of zaarin, which indicates that their mastery extends beyond the highest recognized level. 2. Mandukhai Buyandelgeriyn describes ükheer as shamanic spirits with asyet unidentified genealogical origins who are often stereotyped as the unhappy spirits of women shamans with long messy hair (2007, 135–36). 3. During my first stay in Bayandun, I adopted Galanjav’s term khii yüm and then gradually learned that other people had not been using the term until they heard me do so. After I clarified its meaning for them, they quickly adopted the term, at least in conversation with me. Although the term was unfamiliar to people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, they also adopted it. People in both districts considered khii yüm to be spirits in a general sense or spirits that are transient, ether-like in form and have a minimal impact on people’s lives. 4. There is scope for cross-cultural comparisons of the notion that playing cards can bear deceitful agency within them. ‘Jack of diamonds’ is an old American slang for a thief and/or a womanizer, and this meaning may come from the traditional nineteenth-century folk song of the same name. It is also etymologically linked to the word ‘hijack’, which is early 1920s American shorthand for the compound term ‘highway jacker’, where ‘jacker’ means ‘one who holds up’ (see www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=hijack). Calling someone a jack of diamonds in America is meant to be dismissive, 98

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suggesting, as Alice did in the final trial of her adventures in Wonderland, that ‘You’re nothing but a pack of cards!’ (Carroll [1865] 1998, 108). But then the question arises: is calling someone a pack of cards really dismissive of his or her personhood? I suggest that when calling someone a jack of diamonds – or dreaming about calling the queen’s court a pack of cards – we actually underscore how commonly playing cards are conceived as mobilizing deceitful modes of personhood, such as surveillance, cursing, thieving or womanizing.

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DChapter 3 Fortune, the Soul and Spiralling Returns

This chapter shows how two related phenomena – fortune (khiimor’) and the soul (süns) – can be mutually influential, affecting Buryats in an increasingly good or bad way. Buryats hold that a person’s fortune and soul respond in a similar way to hostile forces, such as curses, and this sometimes makes it difficult to distinguish whether the fortune, soul, or both have been adversely affected. Due to this ambiguity, Buryats in Bayandun carry out divinations and use a method for detecting soul loss to gauge whether their fortunes or souls have been harmed. Then they often seek out correcting rituals to reverse the mutually degenerative effects which fallen fortune and soul loss can have on each other. Successful correcting rituals help fortune and the soul to recover, in tandem, over time. Fortune and the soul are large, vague concepts for Buryats, who sense their presence or absence through gradual changes to work or health. When I asked Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum about fortune and the soul, they often initially separated them, associating fortune with ‘work’ and the soul with ‘health’. However, after a few moments’ reflection, they usually concluded that fortune and the soul can simultaneously rise or fall, thus mutually affecting one another. For instance, I was told that when fallen fortune affects the quality of a person’s work, he or she may become upset by the work problems. Over time, unhappiness in work leads to illness and lethargy – which just happen to be the physical symptoms of Buryat soul loss. Conversely, these Buryats said that long-term health problems make people unproductive in work, thereby gradually ruining their business prospects, which is the primary symptom of fallen fortune. There is an important difference, though, in the timing by which Buryats detect changes to their fortunes or souls. While changes to 100

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fortune are almost always gradual, the effects of soul loss tend to be immediate, causing a rapid deterioration in health. Sometimes Buryats even sense the very moments in which their souls take leave of their bodies, causing the onset of illness and lethargy. Only rarely do they live without their souls for a good length of time, without noticing any physical suffering or ill health (although soul loss – especially when undetected – can lead to death, as discussed below). Moreover, Buryats readily feel their souls reenter their bodies during a soul-calling ceremony, so that soul recovery takes immediate effect. At the very moment when a Buryat’s lost soul reenters the body, that person will cry, laugh or sigh, depending upon his or her personality. In Bayandun and the other northeastern districts of Dornod Province populated by Aga Buryats, soul loss and recovery are held to change the length of a person’s ring fingers (yadam khuruuni khemjee; full description given below). The Aga Buryat ring finger– measuring method (arga) can be undertaken by anyone, whether layperson or religious specialist, to check for soul loss or recovery. This method is used once symptoms of soul loss have been manifest and so is not a preventative check for it. However, ring-finger measurements do help Buryats detect the downwards spiral of problems caused by soul loss at an early stage, and the measurements are a regular part of Bayandun’s correcting rituals for calling back souls. To show how Buryats experience changes to their fortunes and souls, I begin this chapter by describing these phenomena separately and comparing them to the related Buryat phenomenon of the ‘spirit’ (sür süld), which highlights the degrees of variability within the Buryat epistemology of fortune and the Buryat person. Then I discuss instances where Buryats allow their theories about fortune and the soul to operate interdependently. Following that, I describe the ring-finger method of checking for soul loss or recovery in Bayandun, giving examples in which Buryats felt their souls leave or reenter their bodies. I conclude by discussing how Buryats may treat fallen fortune and soul loss together, to facilitate their mutual improvement.

Fortune, resilience and willpower Buryat Mongols draw fine distinctions between their concepts of fortune, luck-opportunity, fate and karma (üiliin ür; see chapter 6). Of these, Buryats are most able to influence their fortunes, especially 101

DFortune and the Cursed with innovative magical remedies. Moreover, Buryats – and Mongols more generally – consider that fortune encompasses numerous, complementary meanings. Some Buryats stress the link between fortune and Buddhism, imagining how fortune changes annually, in accordance with published astrological calendars written by renowned lamas.1 By consulting these calendars and by using their birth year and sex, Mongols reckon whether their work and well-being will be good during the current year.2 Mongols may use the term ‘fortune’ to refer to its material incarnation – the fortune flags (khiimoriin dartsag or khiimoriin tug) which they often fly outside their households, at Buddhist temples or atop of the stone cairns (ovoo), where public rituals to elevate the fortunes of a delimited territorial homeland or region are – or once were – carried out (Birtalan 1998; Karmay 1998, 426–29; Berounský and Slobodník 2003, 269, see also 277–81). These flags are often sourced from Tibet and inscribed with Buddhist prayers, usually written in Tibetan. In recent years, these flags could be purchased at Buddhist monasteries in five different colours (blue associated with the sky, white associated with clouds, yellow associated with the sun, green associated with the steppe, or red associated with sand). Depending upon how the astrological coordinates are calculated, one of these colours will be particularly good for any given person in a particular lunar year. When winds buffet fortune flags, they convey the prayer words written atop of them, aloft gusts of air, to the Buddhist gods (see figure 3.1) (Karmay 1998, 413–22). Over time, fortune flags wear out because the wind and other elements have shredded not only the cloth fibres of the flag, but the words of the prayers themselves. Prayers sent to the heavens via these flags improve the fortunes of everyone in the home. Flag illustrations are exceptionally detailed, loaded with meanings, and according to a bonesetter (bariach) in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, they depict fortune amid its surroundings. This bonesetter kept a silk fortune flag, painted by her father who had been a Buddhist lama, framed inside of her home (see figure 3.2). Using this flag as an example, she explained that most Mongol fortune flags have a horse painted at their centre, which may represent fortune and is thus called ‘fortune’s horse’ (khiimoriin mor’). She imagined that fortune’s horse traverses mountaintops, with each of its hooves borne aloft wisps of fire, high in the air, at great speed – and told me that the horse’s movement 102

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Figure 3.1. Fortune flag flying outside a home in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, Inner Mongolia

across mountain ranges indicates the elevated quality of fortune and also actually keeps fortune raised. Moreover, she pointed out that each of a flag’s four corners hosts one of the Buddhist tetramorph, i.e. the four creatures that inhabit the earth’s corners and repre-

Figure 3.2. A lama’s painting of a fortune flag, displayed inside the home of his daughter, who is a bonesetter (bariach) in Shinekhen Baruun Sum 103

DFortune and the Cursed sent life’s vicissitudes within it.3 On fortune flags, these creatures are predatory animals: the eagle (or garuda), dragon, lion and tiger, whose strength, agility and magnificence are assimilated by fortune’s horse as it advances to and from them. A relative of this bonesetter, who was a schoolteacher in Baruum Sum, also told me that any horse’s mane, especially one that sails behind the animal in long tresses, is evocative of the moments when fortune extends and rises beyond its current bounds. According to this schoolteacher, the association between fortune and the horse’s mane underpins the popular Mongol custom of refusing to shear the mane of a leading stallion, which like a person’s fortune, should be allowed to unfold to infinity. Redolent of human plight, then, fortune’s horse is imagined to travel over the world’s crests and recesses, continually availing itself of the world’s prospects. Moreover, like the flickering oil lamps described in chapter 2, a fortune flag becomes a ‘symbol that stands for itself ’ when flown outdoors, since the flag in motion (a symbol) and what it stands for (elevated fortune) both make fortune increase (Wagner 1986, 26). Most often, though, Mongols regard fortune as an abstract force which fluctuates according to its own, durative quality of time. Unlike luck-opportunity, which Mongols encounter sporadically and for fleeting moments, fortune changes at the gradual pace ascribed to human life. Indeed, what sets fortune apart from the related Mongol notions of luck-opportunity, fate, and karma is that there is a notable synchronicity between the timing of fortune and human life. And ultimately, this synchronicity outweighs the inconsistencies in how Mongols define fortune and its related concepts. For instance, Buryats consider that high or low fortune can occasionally be an inherited trait, which renders fortune a part of one’s personhood as well as a link to past generations. This notion of inherited fortune seems to blur the boundary between the durative timing of fortune, the lifelong timing of fate and the predetermined repercussions of karma. However, Buryats hold that fate and karma respond far more slowly to the vicissitudes of life than fortune, which may fluctuate as a result of just one significant action or series of actions. Buryats can thus use fortune to sidestep a problem, ensuring that an otherwise definite trouble becomes simply a ‘near miss’. Consider also that shamanic Buryats in Bayandun hold that not everything is susceptible to the karmic weighing of personal virtues and vices, as discussed 104

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in chapter 2, since the thirteen lords have the power to overturn anything, including karmic repercussions. Finally, Buryats in Bayandun say that at death, the layperson’s fortune usually vanishes with the living person (shamans and their fortunes go to the afterlife world of deceased shamans), so that inherited fortune is a rarity. This synchronicity between the timing of fortune and human life is evoked in both the fortune flag and the abstract force of fortune. Note that – like people – the flag and the phenomenon of fortune have a ‘living’ quality. Buryats thus imagine that fortune, whether taking the form of a flag in the wind or of an abstract force that moves with a person throughout life, can thrive to teeming heights or be levelled to impassive lows. Given its living quality, it is not surprising that Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum characterize fortune in terms of how it affects their lives. I was often told by Buryats in both districts that when a person’s fortune is harmed, that person must seek out a correcting ritual or some other magical remedy to raise his or her fortune. Otherwise, the weakened fortune (doroitoson khiimor’) could itself provoke additional damage. Fortune can fall a lot or just a little, but unless it is treated by a religious specialist, it usually continues to fall without stopping. The Buryats I knew told me that changes to fortune have a knock-on effect, which is why I argue in chapter 1 that fortune acts as a ‘strange attractor’. Thus when fortune has weakened and is left untreated, its weakness will lead to further weakness, making fortune decline in a downwards spiral. Conversely, improvements to fortune lead to further improvements in fortune, particularly if good fortune is boosted by correcting rituals or other magical remedies, which make fortune improve in an upwards spiral. At any given moment, then, the quality of fortune can be both the effect of previous influences upon fortune and the cause of upcoming changes to it. Fortune’s susceptibility to other forces – and its capability of influencing its own quality of being – thus underscores its own life quality and its link to human life. Probably one of the main reasons why fortune (khiimor’) is often conceived as ‘spiritual vitality’ (Humphrey 1996, 355) or even as ‘internal balance’ (Delaplace, personal communication) is that it bears this ‘life force’ or ‘living’ quality within it. Certainly this life-force quality appears to have contributed to the different interpretations ascribed to fortune by various Mongol groups in different places and historical periods. Fortune flags flown atop of cairns in pre-socialist 105

DFortune and the Cursed Mongol regions were often associated with the continuity (or life force) of the clan. In nonshamanic regions these cairns were the sites of annual rituals held by men and were frequently conducted by Buddhist lamas. Women in nonshamanic regions were strictly excluded from these rites – as were men whose clan origins were not linked to the cairns of the region – so that ritually enacted elevations of fortune were linked to the patriarchal clans of the locality (Birtalan 1998, 203–6). Later, with the advent of socialism, which propounded gender equality, the idea that each person (male or female) has his or her own personal fortune became widespread among Mongols in Mongolia, China and Russia. However, this does not mean that before socialism, all Mongol groups regarded fortune as a male-only quality. In pre-socialist times, shamanic groups of Mongols appear to have recognized a quite different relationship between men, women and the cairns on which fortune flags flew. For example, Humphrey has shown that the burial sites of female shamans in revolutionary China had been co-opted by Mongol men as the sites for erecting cairns and the fortune flags flown atop of them: The ritual cairns called oboo … may really have been shamanic mortuary sites. … Throughout the Hailar region, there were oboos for each village and Banner. There were also oboos for the zuo-ling (a military rank under the Manchus) and for certain influential families (Akiba and Akamatsu 1941:262). At large public oboos people looked for further occult power than the genius of the place itself. A man from Ordos said to me, ‘We see an oboo and know it must be here for a reason, so what interests us is what lies hidden beneath it’. … Thus even in Buddhist regions there was the idea that an oboo was constructed over some other mysterious power. If the many Daur oboos were located at shamans’ mortuary sites, what this meant in effect was a pervasive spread of shamanic influence into the religious sphere of patriarchal elders. In Hailar even some non-Daur oboos worshipped by Buddhist lamas were subject to this process: the famous oboo … was said to be sited over the grave of a female shaman. (Humphrey 1996, 349)

Humphrey’s findings indicate that, in pre-socialist times, rituals held at the cairns even benefited from the powers of deceased female shamans. Due to the movement of religious powers between patriarchal elders and deceased female shamans, it is conceivable that boosts to fortune enacted during male-only rites at the cairns were accessible to women, such as living female shamans, who main106

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tained exceptional links to these shamanic mortuary sites. Consider also Humphrey’s finding that historically, among Buryats, patriarchal elders and shamans staked competing claims to land which were ‘directly relevant to the matter of territory because shaman (or shamaness) ancestors were amongst those most likely to be transformed after death into ejid, the spirit-owners of particular places’ (1979, 249). Given this, shamanic groups of Mongols may well have already subscribed to the notion that women could both influence and gain access to fortune prior to the socialist propagation of gender equality and the notion that every Mongol has his or her own personal fortune. Nowadays, women in shamanic regions commonly take part in – or even conduct – clan rituals held at cairns, since ‘In the territory where Shamanism is still alive the obo celebrations are conducted by shamans and even shamanesses’ (Birtalan 1998, 203). The presence of female shamans certainly has been influential to notions about religious power among Aga Buryats in Bayandun, whose district was only officially established in socialist times (1928) and who often pointed out to me that certain hilltops surrounding their district centre were old shamanic gravesites, some of which had cairns atop of them. According to shamans and laypersons in Bayandun, travellers who failed to leave small offerings at these cairns when passing them risked the wrath of the dead shaman (who, however, would usually have resided somewhere in the ninety-nine heavens or on the black stone in Lake Baikal). During my first stay in Bayandun, from 1999 to 2000, I observed several soul-calling ceremonies undertaken for people who, overcome with fear of these sites, had failed to leave offerings when hurriedly passing them late at night. Similarly, although the Khor’ Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum were primarily Buddhist, they sought to make offerings at the cairns where their ancestors had made offerings, or at least to make offerings facing the cardinal directions of those cairns. Recall also, from chapter 2, the memories which people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum had of the powerful shaman-like female diviner (udgan shig üzdeg khün) who had climbed trees as though she were undergoing a Buryat shamanic initiation ceremony (chanar) and who had died only a few years before my arrival in 2000. Since the Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum were located close to other shamanic Mongol groups (especially the Dagur and Bayad) and since their neighbouring district of Shinekhen Züün Sum had many shamans, 107

DFortune and the Cursed it is conceivable that during pre-socialist times they also had more flexible notions about the distribution of religious power and fortune than was typically found among nonshamanic Mongols. At present, Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that everyone (man, woman or child) has his or her own personal fortune – and it is in this sense that I speak of the ‘Buryat notion of fortune’. These Buryats also consider that fortune often moves through upwards or downwards spirals, although they are chiefly concerned with identifying and minimizing the downwards falls. I was told on numerous occasions that fallen fortune typically makes a person unable to work. In turn, the inability to work leads to a lack of productivity (ajil bütekhgüi), lethargy (zalkhuutai) and unhappiness (gunigtai), which, over time, further devitalizes that person’s fortune. Moreover, these Buryats hold that fallen fortune can inflict the kinds of harm usually ascribed to soul loss, since lethargy, unhappiness and lack of productivity affect a person’s health, generating symptoms that we might call depression and which some Buryats in Bayandun classify as ‘stress’. But during 1999 to 2000, I observed that Buryats in both districts usually associated fallen fortune and its downwards spiral with curses (kharaal) or gossip bearing curselike effects (khel am; these kinds of harmful speech are described in chapter 4). The Buryat view on fallen fortune is illuminated in the following statements made by laypersons in Bayandun or Shinekhen Baruun Sum. There are all sorts of reasons why a person’s fortune declines. A person takes things from the landscape that he shouldn’t have – like wood or water [acquired without the sanction of the preternatural forces that own them] – and in so doing upsets the Nature God (Lus), a nature spirit (savdag) or some such thing. … When people say bad things about a person, this [also] can weaken his fortune. If a person sees a singularly frightful thing, his fortune falls. If he sees a horrible, polluted thing such as a dead person or animal, his fortune declines. When people say and do bad things, when they do something bad to themselves or harbour grudges, their fortunes fall. ‘If a person’s fortune is gone, he can feel ill. The experience can be like when a person is approaching death (ükheld khürne). It is very dangerous when a person’s fortune has declined’. 108

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AUTHOR: ‘Is fortune related to matters of work, while a person’s spirit is concerned with matters of health?’ MAN FROM KHÖVSGÖL PROVINCE, visiting Bayandun: ‘Fortune is more related to matters of work.’ AUTHOR: ‘Then when fortune is bad, why is this the case?’ MAN FROM KHÖVSGÖL PROVINCE, visiting Bayandun: ‘When work is bad and a person drinks alcohol, his fortune is bad. By means of bad work [performance], a person’s fortune falls.’ AUTHOR: ‘What happens when a person’s fortune is bad?’ BURYAT: ‘His work is bad. He cannot work successfully. If a bad thing is done to a person when his fortune is bad, it will strike him.’ BURYAT: ‘If fortune declines, a person is also angry (uurlaj baina). Well, some people are the same [unaffected]. [But] when fortune falls, a person’s work is fraught with obstacles. His work is unsuccessful.’ AUTHOR: ‘If a person does not undergo a correcting ritual, will his or her work always be hindered by difficulties?’ BURYAT: ‘It will not be good.’ BURYAT: ‘When a person’s fortune has been lying on its side (khevtesen), that person’s spirit (sür süld) becomes bad. That person’s thoughts are obstructed, hidden inside him or her, away from other people. That person is angry and bad.’ AUTHOR: Is that person’s health bad? BURYAT: ‘The person’s health can be fine. The main thing is that his or her state of mind turns bad.’

Conversely, improvements to fortune can make it rise continually upwards, enhancing a person’s life prospects. High fortune is sometimes resilient enough to block hostile forces before they strike, making it analogous to the perceived strength of religious specialists, such as shamans and lamas, who use their extraordinary powers to deflect hostile forces, including curse attacks from rival practitioners (Humphrey 1996, 320–52). Alternatively, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum told me that courageous people can use their willpower (zorig) to improve their fortunes. Thus it is not just high fortune that makes Buryats successful; with courage, Buryats can strengthen their fortunes or deflect problems caused by bad fortune. Two young women employed in the local district administration of Shinekhen Baruun Sum described the resilience of high fortune in the following terms: 109

DFortune and the Cursed If a person’s fortune is good and a bad thing is done to him or her, it will bear no consequences. The bad thing cannot strike the person. When a person’s fortune is good, bad things cannot be directed towards him or her.’ ‘If a person’s fortune is good, then his or her fortune is not afraid of bad things. Bad things fear a fortune in good stead. They cannot touch it (oroj chadakhgüi).’ (emphasis added)

But in cases where a Buryat person’s fortune is low, his or her resilience to harmful influences will also decline, so that person becomes frivolous and distracted. Men in low fortune will drink alcohol, shirk work, gamble and start fights. Women in low fortune will abandon their families, run off with men, have causal love affairs, evade work and recklessly spend money. Losses that arise from fallen fortune, then, are not contained within a single, one-time deficit. Instead, fallen fortune gradually incurs diminishing returns in a chain of events marked by lost time, labour, earnings, devotion to one’s family and so forth. By contrast, Buryats whose high fortunes are resilient to harmful influences will be industrious, engage in profitable endeavours and enhance the standard of living and quality of life in their households. These Buryats can truly enjoy themselves by drinking in moderation, without adversely affecting their work, and can also cull successful winnings from nonaddictive gambling. The assumption that nothing, including the element of chance, touches a person in high fortune is evidenced by two of the most common present-day Mongol examples given for good fortune, expressed here in the words of Buryats. Husband of the shaman Sürenma, in Bayandun: ‘When people are riding together in a car towards the mountains and the travel goes well, all the passengers are in fortune. If the car crashes and burns, [everyone’s] fortune will go down. Now if out of a car full of people only one person is injured or killed, it is on account of fallen fortune that the person came to harm. Those who escaped harm did so because they actually were in good fortune.’ Woman in Shinekhen Baruun Sum: ‘Once when people came here for a wrestling competition, a local person planned (dasuan) to win. Now usually when those who come here from Shilingol for wrestling confront an opponent, they topple him with just a single push. But at that time, a person from [neighbouring] Shinekhen Züün Sum had attached to his 110

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chest a large version of the small white pieces of paper decorated in the manner of fortune flags. This paper had all the insignia of a fortune flag and was modelled on the kinds people place atop of stone cairns (ovoo). [Inner Mongols scatter these paper slips from the tops of mountains during annual sacrifices (takhilga), to elevate their fortunes.] On that day, the Shinekhen Züün Sum wrestler who wore the paper fortune flag on his chest was ‘in fortune’ (khiimortoi), so when he wrestled with all other people [including the Shilingol opponents], he won.’

Having seen how fortune rises in an upwards spiral or falls in a downwards spiral, we will now consider how Buryats experience similar changes in cases of soul loss and recovery.

Soul and Spirit Buryats hold that all people have a soul (süns) and spirit (sür süld), which, along with fortune, impart a quality of life that is specific to humans. Not all people in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that animals have souls, even if they allow that animals have spirits and fortunes.4 The soul has a great impact on a Buryat person’s quality of life and ordinarily resides inside of the body, invisible to all except some powerful religious specialists. Shamanic Buryats in Bayandun consider that the personality is a part of every person’s soul. Those people who lose their souls due to fright, hostile forces or other reasons that caused them to involuntarily cast them out see a decline in their overall health, their state of mind, and their ability and will to pursue their interests. Lost souls sometimes return of their own accord, but if not, they must be recovered within a period of six months to three years, through a soul-calling ceremony, or a person will die. Both laypersons and shamans in Bayandun hold that the soul also changes location within the body on a daily basis and dwells in different body parts such as the ears, elbow joints, thighs or teeth. There are even days in which the soul occupies the entire body, absolutely matching the proportions of a person’s figure. (A schoolteacher in Bayandun claimed that this occurs on days of the full moon.) Moreover, people in Bayandun say that the daily movement of the soul within the body can be calculated using lunar astrology. Annual calendars that show the days on which a given body part houses the soul are said to be available in certain Buddhist monasteries or locations in Russia, as well as in Ulaanbaatar.5 No 111

DFortune and the Cursed one in Bayandun had a copy of this calendar during my 1999–2000 stay, but I was told that the calendars are rare in their district, because few people take the trouble to buy and consult them. Several people in Bayandun nonetheless told me the calendars are important, because it is possible to inadvertently harm the soul, or have it escape from the body, when manipulating the body part where the soul happens to reside. For instance, a person should not have any teeth pulled on the day that the soul resides in the teeth; otherwise the person’s soul will leave his or her body through the empty teeth sockets. The same idea applies for serious procedures such as surgery, which temporarily puts the body under duress that can harm the soul or opens up the body so that the soul can escape. Still, Buryats in Bayandun say that because the soul moves between numerous locations in the body, chances are that – even without having checked a calendar first – people will not be in danger of harming their souls by undertaking medical or dental procedures. Because the people in Bayandun lacked the calendars which track the movement of the soul, I never observed people there trying to find out where the soul resides as a preventative approach before undertaking medical treatment. Intriguingly, people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum were uncertain about the precise location of the soul, and although they had not heard of the notion that the soul travels throughout the body, they did hold that it resides somewhere in the body. A related Mongol notion is the spirit (sür süld – literally ‘majestic appearance’) of a person, which Buryats say is visibly present on a person – especially on the face – and therefore reflects the mood that a person is in. One possible translation, then, for the spirit is ‘countenance’, which refers to the physical and emotive qualities of the face, and thus makes up an important part of a person’s ‘majestic appearance’. Every Mongol person has just one spirit, and Buryats say that the spirit embodies every part of a person’s physique, tailored to his own dimensions. In Bayandun, the spirits of exceptionally good or happy people are said to emit a soft light all around their bodies. Some people told me this light emanates from people who have extraordinarily good fortunes. Others said that the light indicates a person whose brilliant character lends strength and authority to his soul. The shaman Sürenma said that the light appears turquoiseblue or faintly yellow in colour. Yet other people held that it consists 112

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of an iridescent white glow which wraps a person in a radiant atmosphere. People in Shinekhen Baruun Sum emphasized the physical effects that arise in the absence of spirit. Downcast, drooping facial expressions coupled with a silent, saddened demeanour indicate that a person’s spirit is gone (one woman in Bayandun made this observation, although she was born and raised in the neighbouring district of Tsagaan Ovoo). They also said that any person can readily see the loss of spirit on another person. But while Buryats can undergo treatments for absent spirits, like many other Mongols, they generally consider it unnecessary to call a spirit back. Pedersen and Højer’s recent study on the loss of ‘life force’ (süld) in the Mongolian capital of Ulaanbaatar presents a rather exceptional case for how Mongols may also conceive of their ‘spirits’ or ‘life forces’ (2008, 87, see also 86–91). Through their ethnographic vignettes of the astrologers (zurkhaich) and other folk-Buddhist practitioners who practise in small shacks surrounding the main Gandan Buddhist monastery in the capital of Ulaanbaatar, Pedersen and Højer have shown that these astrologers make a vital link between the lost life force of an inquirer and that person’s fortune (khiimor’) (ibid., 86–91). These astrologers appear to be mimicking the Buddhist lamas in the Gandan Buddhist monastery, whom their own astrological shacks surround. In my view, these Mongol astrologers also seem to be following Tibetan Buddhist astrological and medicinal notions (Gerke 2008, 5–7, see also 107–9). When holding correcting rituals to call back their inquirer’s lost life forces, these astrologers and their inquirers thus find that ‘Here, the stakes are colossal: if the süld is not restored in the victim, then he or she may die’ (ibid., 87). However, both the shamanic Buryats in Bayandun and the more Buddhist Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum – for whom Ulaanbaatar is a far-off place – regularly said that spirit loss only temporarily throws a Buryat person’s mood out of sorts. Moreover, they told me that even without a correcting ritual, lost spirits would return to their Buryat owners after a short time, of their own accord. Given this, the question arises: How distinct is soul loss from absent spirits or fallen fortunes? Buryats do not consider spirit loss to be a serious problem that requires a treatment. But like fallen fortune, soul loss makes the person’s health and anything related to it – including his or her work capacity – decline along a downwards spiral until a correcting ritual is obtained. Fallen fortune and soul loss can 113

DFortune and the Cursed mutually affect each other, since the primary causes for their decline are often the same: contact with polluted things, fright, curses, khel am and so on. So a person with weakened fortune may be unable to work, becoming chronically unhappy over time and eventually succumbing to soul loss. Or a person who is ill from soul loss can become unproductive at work, which can harm his or her fortune. The soul and fortune thus impart people with similar vulnerabilities, especially lethargy and the inability to work, which blurs the distinction between them (in the Tibetan context, the soul and fortune appear to be part of a single complex made up of several components (see Bellezza 2005, 456–62; Calkowski 1993, 32–38; and Karmay 1998, 414)). A series of comments from Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, some given by schoolteachers and district accountants, shows how Buryats compare the soul, spirit and fortune. ‘The soul is in the body. Where it resides is of no consequence – in the anklebones, any place is possible. A person whose soul is absent is not successful in work; he or she cannot do anything. When fortune is down, work is inefficient and unsuccessful. The person whose soul is absent is angry and has a bad temper.’ ‘The soul is an airy, spiritual thing which cannot be seen by human eyes. But it is in a person. When a person dies, it is gone. They also say that a person’s soul escapes (zailana) the body. It is possible for a person’s soul to be absent whilst he or she is alive, but during these moments, health is bad. If a person is affected by gossip with curse-like effects (khel am), his or her soul might disappear. When a person’s soul is lost, he or she has it called back [by a religious specialist].’ ‘The spirit is brilliant, spirited and has embers or sparks (tsog süldtei) [visible around the surface of the body]. The soul is in the body – it is a thing of air (khii yüm).’ ‘The spirit is very haughty (ovortoi). It is of the intellect, spirit or wisdom (oyun).’ ‘When the silhouette of a person’s spirit is present [visibly radiating], his or her work is good (Sür baraatai baival, ajil sain). When the outline of a person’s spirit has colour – is good and clean – his or her work goes well (Sür baraa öngötei baival, saikhan, tseverkhen, ajil sain bütene).’ BURYAT: ‘The spirit (sür süld) is in a person’s body. A person can see it [on someone’s countenance]; but a person cannot see fortune. If a person is happy, the spirit is present. When people see [a happy person], they 114

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know [that his or her spirit is present]. If things are going badly for a person, these will strike him or her [affecting the spirit].’ AUTHOR: ‘If the spirit is gone, must a person call it back?’ BURYAT: ‘No.’ AUTHOR: ‘Do people undergo correcting rituals [for it]?’ BURYAT: ‘A correcting ritual is not necessary.’ AUTHOR: ‘Is there a correcting ritual for it?’ BURYAT: ‘No.’ ‘The spirit is a person’s physical manifestation of happiness (Sür süld khünii biegiin jargaltain temdeg). When a person’s spirit is present, he or she is happy. When it is not, a person is … [speaker shows a downcast facial expression]. When the spirit is not present, a person is lethargic (zalkhuu), his or her temperament is bad. … If the spirit is present, [a person can perform] virtuous deeds (buyan).’ ‘A person’s soul has to do with illness and fear. If a person’s health is bad, then his or her soul is gone. Fortune has to do with work, news, friends and life (ajil, sonin, naiz, am’daral).’ ‘When a person’s soul is gone, his or her health is bad and the person doesn’t feel well. When a person’s fortune is down, his or her work doesn’t go well.’ ‘When a person’s fortune is good, his or her spirit is present. A person in fortune profits from findings (olz); that person’s work is good. If a person is not in fortune, sometimes he or she has arguments with people. [On account of this] it is possible for his of her soul to be lost.’ ‘If a person’s soul is gone, others know that this is the case due to his or her behaviour. Without their souls, people [evince stereotypical acts whereby they] weep, have bad or unsuccessful work. Boys drink fermented mare’s milk (airag) or other liquor, and [they] smoke, while girls steal money, drink alcohol and loiter about, leaving their families and going to other households.’ ‘They say when fortune is laid up (khevtesen) a person’s soul has disappeared. … Sometimes, when fortune is lying down, a person’s soul is still present, but this is rare.’ ‘If the soul is absent, a person is devoid of life (Süns baikhgüi baival, khünii am’ baikhgüi). A person without his or her soul lacks life [force] (Sünsgüi khün am’güi).’

Both fallen fortune and soul loss require correcting rituals or they will induce a downwards spiral of problems in work, which leads 115

DFortune and the Cursed to chronic business failures, ill health and eventually death. In the case of fortune, which may be inherited, Buryats in Bayandun said this downwards spiral occasionally propagates itself across generations, making an entire family line ineffectual (the ultimate delayed return). Given this, it makes sense that rural Buryats with few business prospects tend to devote several hours each day to divining about how to improve their fortunes or how to keep their souls and good health. To show how Buryats reverse their downwards spirals of fallen fortune and soul loss, I now describe a local method of checking for soul loss or recovery in Bayandun – which has no counterpart in Shinekhen Baruun Sum – and then compare several cases of soul loss. The first case shows how Buryats perceive soul loss and recovery during the moments in which they take place, while the second and third cases show how they detect the spiralling decline caused by soul loss.

The soul’s whereabouts is at the ring fingertips Buryats across the northern districts of Dornod Province can gauge whether a person’s soul is present simply by measuring the lengths of that person’s ring fingers. In the Buryat view, people who have lost their souls find that one of their ring fingers has grown slightly longer than the other, whereas people who have their souls are considered to have ring fingers of roughly the same length. Ring finger measurements work for Buryats and other people alike, so that there were several times during my stay in Bayandun when people in Yaruu’s group insisted on measuring my ring fingers to confirm their suspicions that the rival shamans had caused me to lose my soul. Ring finger measuring was popularized several years before my arrival in 1999, although no one in Bayandun is entirely certain why it works. Yet people do have some explanations. First, Yaruu told me that the soul, on exiting the body, travels to the ring fingers and from there ascends up the arms, neck and out the top of the head. The ring fingers thus constitute the initial point of departure for a Buryat person’s soul – a finding which resonates with the Daur Mongol notion that the soul reenters children’s bodies at the fontanel, while it reenters adult bodies at the mouth or armpits (Humphrey 1996, 255). Second, when calling lost souls, Buryat and other Mongol sha116

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mans – and lamas – often guide them back into the body via a thin red string that is tied at one end to the practitioner’s ring finger and fastened at the other end to the client’s ring finger. This allows the soul to reenter the client via his or her ring finger. Alternatively, some shamans in Bayandun also call souls by holding a length of their client’s loosened belt, which is itself a long strip of fabric wrapped several times around the waist to hold it in place. In these cases, the entry point of the soul may appear to be the lower belly, but the shamans who follow this practice still gauge soul loss in advance – and check their work afterwards – by comparing ring finger lengths. Ring finger measurements are taken using a simple technique that everyone in Bayandun – whether a shaman or layperson – is capable of doing (see figures 3.3 and 3.4). Since the technique is not specialized, people in Bayandun consider it to be a layman’s method (arga) rather than a form of divination (merge tölög). Buryats can measure their own fingers to check for soul loss or recovery, but if a family member or friend is available, they usually recruit that person’s help.

Figure 3.3. Taking ring finger measurements to check for soul loss. The shaman used his rosary next, for the ‘beat-blessing’ correcting ritual that removes harmful forces and helps retrieve the lost soul. Note that the shaman wears a protective mirror around his neck, while the girl wears a protective brass talisman pendant (sakhius) around her neck, which was forged by the shaman to deflect harmful forces. 117

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Figure 3.4. Checking ring finger measurements to gauge whether the soul has been recovered

In these cases, the person whose soul seems to be lost offers one of his hands, palm side up, to the person who acts as a measurer. Using any straight-edged item that is handy – often a pipe-cleaning wire, spoon handle, pencil, ruler or even a blade of grass – the measurer places this item flat atop the ring finger of the offered hand. After levelling this instrument, a measurement is taken from a crease in the skin at the first phalange, where the digit adjoins the palm, all the way to the fingertip. The measurer then lifts the instrument from the finger, maintaining his or her grip on the instrument precisely at the point where it hits the skin’s crease, in order to make an accurate comparison with the other hand. Next, the measurer lays the instrument atop the as-yet unmeasured ring finger to gauge whether both ring fingers are of a roughly equal length. Usually a final repeat measurement is made of the first finger to reach an accurate overall assessment. When one ring finger is seen to be noticeably longer than the other – by just a millimetre or so – it is held that a person’s soul has left his or her body. People in Bayandun are well aware that their measurements will not show one finger to be dramatically longer than another. They say that ordinarily the body parts which are found in pairs, such as fingers, hands, arms, legs or feet, only differ 118

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slightly in length from their corresponding parts. Grotesque distortions, or a ‘Pinocchio effect’, are therefore not sought out. Nonetheless, Buryats say that soul loss does cause an actual growth or shrinkage in the length of one’s ring finger, which is thrown out of proportion when the soul vacates the body. Everyone in Bayandun is familiar with the measuring technique. Adults who were keen to show the procedure to me but hesitant about the correct finger would eventually choose any finger for a demonstration. Usually another family member – a child or young adult who had learned the method while young – would then protest that it was being shown incorrectly and demonstrate it on someone’s ring fingers. Although laypersons in Bayandun made different guesses about which fingers could be measured, most people excluded the little finger and no one thought that the thumbs could be measured. A nearly daily use of the ring finger measurements in Bayandun became apparent to me shortly after I began my stay at Yaruu’s home, and during the cursing in particular, Yaruu’s group held ring finger measurements several times daily. For instance, on 4 February 2000, three days before the lunar New Year celebrations when Yaruu was struck by the lama-shaman’s curse, Duulchin came to visit Yaruu at her home. As they spoke together quietly, Duulchin measured Yaruu’s ring fingers to check whether she had lost her soul. During the measurements, Duulchin and Yaruu mentioned problems in the west of the district, where their rivals lived. When they had finished, Duulchin, who had looked closely at me when he came into the room, called me over. He said that he had noticed something was wrong with me the minute he saw me. Yaruu had just told him that I had stomach pains and was refusing food. Duulchin suspected that I had lost my soul, and to confirm this, he measured my ring fingers with the same piece of copper wire he had used on Yaruu’s fingers. One end of the wire was marked with a spot of black ink, and Duulchin lined this up with the point at which my palms and the first phalange of my ring fingers articulated. As he took the measurements, Yaruu watched intently, and Duuchin repeated them for certainty. Completing the measurements, he said that my left ring finger was slightly shorter than my right ring finger, which confirmed that my soul was lost. Everyone in the room, including other members of Yaruu’s household, was noticeably uneasy that even I had lost my soul, particularly since Buryats usually ascribe foreigners a 119

DFortune and the Cursed greater ability to ward off bad influences than themselves. That evening a shamanic ceremony was held at Duulchin’s home in which several members of Yaruu’s and Ölzii’s households, including myself, had their souls called. Both Duulchin and Yaruu officiated, although only Yaruu adopted the perspectives of shamanic spirits. Ölzii lead most of the question-and-answer sessions with the spirits, and efforts were made to expel the bad influences, via the spirits’ blessings. After the ceremony had ended, Ölzii and Yaruu were concerned that it might not have been sufficient to deflect their problems. But in the following days, all of Bayandun was busy celebrating the New Year, going house to house to exchange gifts, feast and drink alcohol, so their worries had to be put aside. One striking example of how rigorous (and even scientific) people in Bayandun are about taking ring finger measurements is recorded in my field notes from 6 March 2000, almost a fortnight before the curse-blocking innovation was discovered. On that day, Ölzii visited Galanjav’s home to have him check whether her soul had been lost. So Galanjav measured Ölzii’s ring finger lengths, first placing a spoon handle flat along her fingers as his straight-edge measure – then placing a matchbox perpendicular to the spoon handle and exactly flush with Ölzii’s fingertips – so as to gauge the precise length of Ölzii’s fingers along the straight-edge of the spoon handle. Although Galanjav declared that Ölzii’s soul was present, Ölzii disagreed, insisting that a measurement be done again and that Galanjav had not measured correctly. Forcing the spoon handle to articulate precisely with the matchbox while insisting aloud that her soul was lost, Ölzii pushed Galanjav to concede that she was correct and that he should call back her soul. Later the same day, Ölzii also had Duulchin call back her soul, which she said had been lost again, as well as the soul of Tuyaa. Within Yaruu’s group, daily soul checks remained part of their curse-detecting and deflecting efforts until early June 2000, when the curse-blocking innovation was fully implemented (see chapter 6). On a different occasion, Ölzii explained to me how ring finger measurements can help check the downwards spiral of soul loss, telling me a story from her own youth in which she physically felt her own soul loss and recovery. Her story begins with travel from Bayandun to a hospital in Choibalsan, to treat an illness with chest pains. The hospital administered medicines that did not help, so Ölzii had a shaman in the area call back her lost soul. Just by looking 120

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at her and then measuring her ring finger lengths to be certain, the shaman was able to confirm that Ölzii’s soul was gone. Then the shaman called back Ölzii’s soul, and as it reentered her body, the hem of her dress floated up ever so slightly in the air. Ölzii physically felt the reentrance take place precisely where she had been ill, in her heart (zürkh), and at that very moment she was aware that her soul had returned. Her heart continued to feel better, and all around her body (bie) she discerned things were peaceful and good. Ölzii’s sensitivity to her body and her surroundings during the moment of soul recovery was uncommon. Although Buryats typically weep, laugh or sigh when their souls are recovered (as described in chapter 2), they do not usually feel their souls reenter their bodies. However Aga Buryats in northeast Mongolia can check the downwards spiral of soul loss more quickly than other Mongols by using their ring finger measuring method; the observing of Buryats weeping, laughing or sighing when recovering their souls; and the possibility that some Buryats may physically feel their souls leave or reenter their bodies. Yet the sensation of losing one’s soul is, among Buryats, even rarer than the sensation of recovering it. Sometimes people in Bayandun feel their souls leave their bodies while dreaming and thus realize, nearly instantly, that their souls have been lost. Or occasionally, people in Bayandun may suddenly wake in the middle of the night with their eyes wide open, which is a sign of soul loss. In general, these Buryats hold that widened eyes, nightmares and bad sleep are physical manifestations of soul loss. People who consider themselves to be under attack – for instance, as the victims of cursing – may also vigilantly monitor soul loss and be attuned to its physical manifestations. During the early months of the cursing in Bayandun, Yaruu’s group expected that they would lose their souls whenever they were in the company of their rivals. Having experienced continual misfortunes and illnesses for months, Yaruu’s group ascribed their difficulties to fallen fortune and soul loss, which had mutually propagated a downwards spiral of bad returns. Both Ölzii and Galanjav said that they detected this downwards spiral when Sürenma took their souls shortly after the discovery of the cursing, on 3 March 2000: ÖLZII, approaching the author for conversation: ‘Listen to this – today, when I went to have my hair curled at a house on the western side of our district, Sürenma was seated there, about the distance of one person’s body width from me. At the very moment when I noticed how 121

DFortune and the Cursed close she was, I felt my heart hurting and experienced a sensation whereby something rose from my stomach, up my throat, and exited out of my mouth. This was my soul being taken by Sürenma. Then Galanjav came in, and just after he entered the house, he noticed that his soul was gone too. Both of us looked at each other, then down at our hands [held palms up to gauge the ring finger lengths]. We realized by looking at our ring fingers that our souls were gone. Silently, and in amazement, we looked back at each other. When my hair was done I visited Galanjav at his home, where he confirmed by playing-card divination that Sürenma had taken our souls.’ GALANJAV, entering the room just then and addressing Ölzii in a jovial manner: ‘Oh, hey, Ölzii, I decided to stop by … [Galanjav sees the author] Oh, and you’re here. Did you hear about this thing today, how Sürenma took our souls? We were there, and then . . . [laughing while glancing at his hands held palm up, then looking back at the author] our souls were gone! [Galanjav shakes his head to express, in mocking and dark humour, that Sürenma’s acts of soul capturing had become a commonplace nuisance.] So we just had to call them back.’ AUTHOR: ‘Did you feel all this happen?’ GALANJAV: ‘I went in there and then … whoosh, my soul was gone.’

Five days later, on 8 March 2000, Sürenma took Chimegee’s soul, exacerbating the downwards spiral of soul loss and fallen fortune in Yaruu’s group. In a discussion at Galanjav’s home, CHIMEGEE told me: ‘Last night, when I went to the clubhouse to see a concert of the local performers from our district, Sürenma sang a solo. As she did this, my head began to hurt and I felt that my soul was gone.’ Wryly joking, I ask about the extent of Sürenma’s soul-stealing powers: ‘Could everyone attending the concert in the clubhouse [about 200 people] have had his or her soul taken by Sürenma? Is her singing powerful enough to appropriate that many souls at once?’ Galanjav keeps a straight face. CHIMEGEE laughs a bit – more to amuse me than to recognize humour in the situation – and replies: ‘I don’t know. But a week ago, when I attended a different concert at the clubhouse, I saw Sürenma there too. At that time I was standing in the back, near the door, where, if necessary, I could have left easily. Sürenma was seated in one of the front rows, near the stage. At one point she turned around, spotted me and made eye contact. A few moments passed. When I next looked over at her, she sensed this and turned around again to make eye contact with me, smiling ingratiatingly. Then my soul was gone [Sürenma took it], so I quickly rushed out of the auditorium.’ 122

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Since Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii actually sensed when their souls were taken, they were able to have their souls called back shortly after they had left their bodies. But in a more long-term perspective, the regular curse attacks which Yaruu’s group suffered helped to rapidly propagate their downwards spiral of soul loss and fallen fortune.

Reversing the downwards spiral of fortune or soul loss There are several different correcting rituals for soul loss which Buryats commonly use in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum (Humphrey 1996, 217, 292; Bawden 1994, 204–240). Shamans or lamas may conduct soul-calling ceremonies, in which they invoke – without adopting any spirit perspectives – the assistance of shamanic ancestral spirits or the Buddhist deities. In Bayandun, shamans usually call back lost souls by chanting softly over a strand of rosary beads (erkh) while, one by one, running those beads through the fingers of a single hand. While chanting, they enumerate the problems faced by their client and request that the spirits help him or her to recover. This chanting imparts the spirits’ strength and blessings to the rosary so that the shaman can finish the ceremony by ‘beating’ the victim with the rosary to expel hostile forces from him or her. These beatings range from a soft tapping to whiplike lashings with the beads, and in Bayandun shamans beat people on the head, chest, and left and right shoulders, moving in a clockwise direction. Sometimes shamans also rub the rosary over a person’s hands, held palm up (so that contact with the blessed beads may facilitate the soul’s reentrance), before taking final ring finger length measurements. More elaborate soul-calling ceremonies also include small offerings to the shamanic spirits, namely, cups of tea, milk and sweets placed on an offering table lit by oil lamps. At the end of these ceremonies the offerings are taken outdoors and tossed from the offering cups in the directions of specific spirit residences in the heavens or towards the black stone in Lake Baikal. Similar short ceremonies in which offerings are given to the shamanic spirits may be used to raise a person’s fortune. Soul callings and efforts to raise fortunes can also be incorporated into larger shamanic ceremonies. In both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, religious specialists often advise their clients to continue treating the symptoms of 123

DFortune and the Cursed soul loss or fallen fortune at home, with a purifying fumigation or washing referred to as rashaan, or spring water. Since soul loss and fallen fortune can only recover gradually in the absence of any innovative remedies, the idea is that Buryats should facilitate this slow recovery by prolonging the correcting ritual over the period of time specified by the religious practitioner, which is usually three days. To this end, shamans in Bayandun bless specific substances, usually wild thyme (ganga) or juniper (arts), and wrap these into small paper packets for their clients to use at home. Shamans’ blessings are improvised on the spot and take the form of muttered or whispered pleading songs. Lamas in Shinekhen Baruun Sum usually dispense incense sticks for the same purposes. Buryats in both districts tend to carry out at-home purifications on their own or with the help of another household member, while indoors and away from public view. Each correcting ritual is, then, just one part of a larger process which Buryats – and Mongols more generally – undertake to overcome the downwards spirals of soul loss or fallen fortune. Although correcting rituals reverse these downwards spirals, the full recuperation from soul loss and fallen fortune develops gradually. Buryats say that over time, if a correcting ritual is left to run its course unimpeded, it can even induce an upwards spiral of improvements that enhance a person’s health or fortune beyond what they had been prior to the ritual. However, usually something interferes with this upwards spiral, which requires Buryats to obtain follow-up correcting rituals or to seek out innovative magical remedies which resolve their problems immediately and in a hyperorderly way. The most common causes of fallen fortune or soul loss that I observed during 1999 to 2000 were curses that struck their victims immediately and gossip that had curse-like effects, which harmed people both immediately and gradually. Between February and June 2000, Yaruu’s group spent their days detecting curses and holding numerous correcting rituals to deflect them. Their main strategy was to gradually gain increasing information, in religious practices and everyday life, about how to manage their rivals’ attacks. By constantly monitoring changes to their fortunes through divinations and often using ring finger measurements to check for the presence or absence of their souls in the same sitting, Yaruu’s group kept abreast of new cursing developments. On 124

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many occasions I was told by different people in Yaruu’s group that they were afraid their cursing rivals might make all of the shamans in Yaruu’s group lose their souls at once. If that happened, none of their households would have a shaman capable of calling back their lost souls or fending off curse attacks. And without their shamans’ help, everyone in Yaruu’s group could eventually sicken and have their fortunes fall dangerously low. So in the event of a mass soul loss, there would be no other recourse than to have Yaruu, Galanjav, Chimegee and Duulchin travel together to the neighbouring district of Bayanuul, where Yaruu’s shamanic mentor would call back all of their souls. I learned that this dilemma finally came to pass one day when Ölzii pleaded with me, in a panic, to lend her 15,000 tögrög, so that she could purchase petrol to transport Yaruu’s group of shamans to Bayanuul for the mass soul-calling. Navigating, then, through the curses they faced for the moment and hypothetical scenarios about the curses they might possibly face in the near future, Yaruu’s group organized their curse-deflecting efforts and correcting rituals according to the immediate timescale by which curses strike and the delayed timescale by which a cursing war can make people’s fortunes fall. In light of this, I will now show how Buryat speech acts make fortune or the soul decline.

Notes 1. Different lamas’ versions of these calendars are available in Mongolia and China, but all calendars give basic guidelines for the kind of fortune that a person will have for the year. Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum hold that only reputable lamas publish calendars, although each calendar is different because lamas follow their own (sometimes highly idiosyncratic) astrological calculations. Usually Mongols consult just one calendar and ignore the competing calendars, to gather basic information on their fortunes and to select times for holding rituals. Some Mongols, though, follow several calendars simultaneously (e.g. making the lunar New Year’s offering on several different dates, all recommended by different lamas, to ensure that the correct offering was indeed made at some point). 2. These include the categories: life in general, health and the body, bodily organs, fortune and soul. In addition, the calendars also show what ‘controlling markings’ (erkhsheekh menge) the Buddhist gods have bestowed on a person for a given year, which affect that person for good or bad on specific days. Galanjav explained to me that these controlling markings are analogous to physical markings like moles, although their numbers, colour and position vary by the year, while the controlling markings are often imagined 125

DFortune and the Cursed to be floating in the air just above the person’s head. Buryats and other Mongols use these calendars to gauge the influence of their element for the year (e.g. wind, fire, earth, metal, firmament, water, mountain and wood). Further, the calendars show the birth (animal) years for those individuals that will, in the current year, be helpful or harmful to a person. Sometimes the helpful or harmful animal year is also specified in terms of a dominant element (for instance, a person born in the dog year whose dominant element for the present year is sand). 3. Although they vary in form, tetramorph are pervasive in ‘Old World’ astrology. European variants usually depict the tetramorph with the faces of an eagle, bull, lion and man (or angel), which are the same creatures envisioned as a tetramorph by the prophet Ezekiel. The four corners of the twenty-first card in a tarot deck, depicting ‘the World’, are often decorated with these creatures. 4. Buryats have different opinions about the sentiency of animals, although they grant that some wild animals, notably wolves, have great fortunes. 5. Tibetan medical texts espouse an entire theory about the movement of the soul within the body (Gerke 2008, 152–55, see also 156–69, 352–53 and 357–62), to which the Buryat understanding can probably be traced.

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DChapter 4 Curses, Khel Am and the Omnipresence of Witchcraft

The two main causes of fallen fortune and soul loss during my stay in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum were curses (kharaal) and gossip that has curse-like effects (khel am). Buryats in both of these districts told me that although curses and khel am may cause similar types of harm, they work according to different scales of time. Whereas curses strike their victims immediately, khel am may harm people both immediately and after a period of delay. Curses and khel am thus fall into the larger Mongolian ontology of ‘bad speech’ (muu yaria), which is comprised of a sliding scale of speech acts that inflict varying degrees of harm. Sometimes Buryats find that the effects of curses and khel am are similar enough to make any distinction between them superfluous. This is particularly true when curses are sent back and forth between rivals for such a lengthy period of time that they become omnipresent in the landscape, giving rise to a ‘cursing war’ (kharaalin dain) where a series of countercurses are passed between the initial sender of a curse – or whoever was mistakenly held to have made the first curse move – and the recipient of that curse. Buryats, then, may use the terms kharaal and khel am interchangeably, evidencing an ambiguity about how to classify them on their scale of bad speech. But even when Buryats substitute these terms, they point out that individual curses and the circulated gossip of khel am operate through different time frames and affect people differently. Not all cases of bad speech need to be classified precisely. This chapter introduces ethnography on curses, khel am and other forms of gossip, showing how their immediate and delayed effects can expand anthropological theories on witchcraft. Although the Mongolian language has no single term which carries the meaning 127

DFortune and the Cursed of witchcraft, Buryats consider curses and khel am to be immanent and omnipresent forces with the quality of what anthropologists call witchcraft. The omnipresence of Buryat magical speech is underscored by the notion that no one can escape a curse or khel am by travelling away from the location where these speech acts took place. Only a correcting ritual or innovative magical remedy can dispel the effects of curses or khel am. And given that, by definition, Buryat curses or khel am are comprised of bad speech acts – or even bad speech thoughts – they reflect a similar kind of witchcraft to that uncovered by Favret-Saada, where ‘the act, in witchcraft, is the word’ (1980, 9). Khel am is a special kind of omnipresent witchcraft, because it is always comprised of small-scaled speech acts that eventually come together as a single force. Although the many small-scaled speech acts of khel am can strike a Buryat immediately, that person will neither detect nor suffer from the full effects of khel am until after a period of delay, when his or her fortune or soul has plummeted into a downwards spiral (see figure 4.1). To illustrate the subtle differences between curses and khel am, this chapter gives ethnography on the cursing war in Yaruu’s group, followed by a short case study on how khel am spread throughout Bayandun as an omnipresent force, skewing the exam results in 2000 for the district’s eighth-year senior class. Since these exam results upset local hierarchies and the aspirations of many people in the district, it even gave rise to ‘khel am about khel am’.

Intentional versus omnipresent witchcraft A basic contrast can be drawn between Buryat curses, which are intentional forms of witchcraft, and khel am, which is an omnipresent (and mostly unintentional) form of witchcraft. Curses acquire their potency from the bad intentions of the curse caster, who sends the curse directly to his or her target, thereby making the curse traceable and returnable. Any Buryat who casts a curse always intends to harm another person, so that the intention to cause harm is what gives curses (as opposed to khel am) their potency. To counteract a curse, shamans or lamas can trace the direct path of the curse and return it to the curse caster, with the help of shamanic spirits or Buddhist gods. 128

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Curses, Khel Am and the Omnipresence of Witchcraft Spiral of changes to fortune or the soul Present condition of fortune or the soul

Time

Phase II of khel am

Small-scaled speech acts which propagate khel am

Phase IV of khel am

Phase I of khel am Phase III of khel am

Khel am strikes with the full force of all its small-scaled speech acts (a delayed effect).

Figure 4.1. The downwards spiral of fortune or the soul, caused by an episode of khel am

By contrast, khel am is circulated among numerous people, who are often unaware that they are speaking anything other than ordinary gossip (see below). Out of the many people who circulate khel am, only the instigator of black khel am intentionally speaks poorly about the target of his or her speech. Typically, anyone else circulating khel am does not have intentions to harm the subject of their speech but is just passing on the news they heard. Khel am thus gains the full force of its potency through its increasing omnipresence – as it travels through so many routes that it becomes untraceable – and it is this labyrinthine omnipresence which prevents religious specialists or laypersons from sourcing the routes that khel am has travelled and from being able to return it to the people who propagated it. However, religious specialists can use divinations to identify that a 129

DFortune and the Cursed specific case of khel am has taken place and then implement a correcting ritual to lift its harmful effects or an innovative remedy to prevent it from continuing to strike a person.

Curses and immediate-return magic Buryats hold that when a curse is cast, it immediately strikes the person it was intended to harm. The speed and severity of a curse are its most notable attributes, but shamans and laypersons alike say that curses can be cast in any sort of way. There are no special formulae for Buryat curses, and they do not need to be spoken aloud to take effect. Curses can arise simply as thoughts in the curse caster’s mind. Typically, though, Buryats cast curses by muttering words that wish their rivals ill, while spitting off to one side. Shamans are the most likely people to set curses, and they usually curse their shamanic rivals, often with the assistance of their spirit-helpers. Although it is rare for lamas to cast curses, Buryats hold that some bad lamas set curses on rival practitioners, even fulfilling laypersons’ requests to curse their enemies. On rare occasions, laypersons who have strange-coloured tongues also cast curses, and while there is no consensus about what these tongues look like, Buryats in Bayandun say that they can be black coloured or marked with a black stripe running vertically down the centre of the tongue; dark brown or mottled with dark brown spots; or a dark turquoise-blue. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum said that the tongues of curse-casting laypersons are dark coloured, but they had vaguer views on precisely how the tongues would look. Curses are imagined to work like projectiles hitting a target – they immediately strike their victims (kharaal khünd shuud taarana) and are thrown, flung or hurled down (khayana) upon people. Because curses are designed to strike with the most heavy (khünd) ramifications, they are the most secretive (nuutstai) type of speech or thought. Usually Buryats are unaware of exactly when a curse will strike, but even when the actual curse act is witnessed, they have no time to prevent its advance. Attempts to escape a curse’s effects by travelling to distant places prove futile, because curses follow people wherever they go (kharaal khüniig dagana). The Buryat person who is struck by a curse typically loses his or her soul and always suffers from fallen fortune. Until the victim obtains a correcting ritual 130

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or an innovative remedy from a shaman or lama, his or her health and work also continue to degenerate. It is possible for curses to be sent back to those who cast them. When a curse is returned, it immediately strikes its target. Buryats in Bayandun said that curses are especially dangerous, because the victim of a curse will most likely retaliate, bringing about a cursing war. Note that while every curse takes an immediate effect (triggering a downwards spiral of soul loss and fallen fortune), the cursing war can have a delayed effect, since the sum total of curses may have its own, larger impact. As mentioned in chapter 2, shamans or lamas in Bayandun wear small protective mirrors around their necks, made from silver or gold-coloured (brass) metal alloys, to avoid being struck by curses. Most curses sent to shamans or lamas are deflected off of these mirrors, striking whoever happens to be in their path, which is typically a family member at home with the cursed religious specialist. Sometimes curses are deflected onto distant relatives, friends or complete strangers who are in the proximity of a religious practitioner when the curse strikes. Deflected curses cause much grief, and Yaruu said that curses which harm her family members have as much – if not more – grievous effect on her than were she to have been struck by the curses herself. Humphrey points out that a similar dilemma is faced by the Daur Mongols, since the perceived strength of any Daur person (religious specialist or not) can deflect curses, sometimes striking that person’s family members (1996, 190–91, see also 320–52). Yet protective mirrors prevent many different forces, and not just curses, from harming religious specialists, without necessarily deflecting them onto others. Moreover, religious specialists must wear their protective mirrors to stay in good health and prevent their own soul loss, since shamans who have lost their souls or are in poor health cannot help other people, including family members who were harmed by a deflected curse (see chapter 3). Both shamans and laypersons in Bayandun told me that if shamans were not to wear their protective mirrors, they would not be able to endure the hostile forces that regularly strike them.

Khel am and delayed-return magic There is no exact equivalent of khel am in English. In Mongolian, khel means tongue and am, mouth, literally rendering the compound 131

DFortune and the Cursed ‘tongue-mouth’. I was told by Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum that khel am refers to gossip passed to so many people and along so many communication routes that the actual paths along which it has travelled cannot be retraced. These Buryats confirmed that the circulation of khel am even baffles their attempts to tease out cause from effect as it travels. They also said that two forms of khel am are widespread among Mongols: the white version (tsagaan khel am) and the black version (khar khel am; see figure 4.2). White khel am arises when many people use words of praise (magtaal) to speak about a specific person. Although the praise may be accurate, it has a negative effect on the person who is then made into the topic of conversation when the praise is circulated widely. By contrast, black khel am always is preceded by an argument (margaan) or some act in which one person genuinely offends another. The offended party then speaks poorly about the person who angered him or her. In circulating his or her story to others, the offended party produces what some people call slander (muulasan üg) but which others call defamation (gutaasan khel), because its basis is held to be true. As with white khel am, the circulation of black khel am harms the person who is made into the topic of conversation. White and black khel am always cause fallen fortune and general unhappiness, but they only trigger soul loss some of the time. Since both kinds of khel am evolve from ordinary gossip, Buryats often link khel am to the three forms of ordinary gossip which fall into the Mongolian ontology of bad speech. First of these is dam yaria, which can be translated literally as ‘by means of speech’ or ‘secondhand speech’. Dam yaria is gossip that is circulated from one person to another, passing through a number of parties without ever developing into khel am. Second of these is tsuurkhal, which refers to well-known information about a person whose acquaintance has not yet been made. Tsuurkhal especially connotes fame or notoriety, such as a famous singer’s reputation for talent or the haunted atmosphere attributed to a dancing hall. Finally, there is khov jiv, which is disparaging gossip undertaken by two people who speak poorly about a third person. More specifically, khov jiv is often said to arise when one person, for example Person A, speaks poorly about Person B to Person C and then inverts the gossiping process by speaking poorly about Person C to Person B. Khov jiv is thus considered a betrayal and implies a backstabbing gossip. The Buryats I knew, though, told 132

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Instigator

khel am

Target of speech Figure 4.2. Circulation of black or white khel am 133

DFortune and the Cursed me repeatedly that as long as khov jiv is contained between two parties, it will not harm anyone. However, any of these three kinds of ordinary gossip can eventually develop into khel am. For instance, when a Buryat passes information learned through khov jiv onto a third party, the khov jiv can develop into dam yaria. In turn, the dam yaria can be circulated enough to evolve into black khel am. The difference between ordinary gossip and khel am is thus not the quality of the words spoken, but the extent to which they are propagated. When contained as everyday forms of gossip, dam yaria, tsuurkhal and khov jiv never harm people’s souls or fortunes so that neither correcting rituals nor innovative remedies are held for them. Thus, the Buryats I knew stressed that khel am – unlike ordinary gossip – acquires curse-like effects once it has become omnipresent. They insisted that the movement of khel am along numerous routes or trajectories (salbar or ob’yekt) is what harms a person and not the intentions behind the spoken words (even if episodes of black khel am are instigated by the offended party’s angry intent to start khel am). I asked Buryats in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum on numerous occasions whether khel am becomes harmful because the people who propagate it have a specific motive, such as jealous rivalry (ataa), towards the person about whom they are speaking, but I was told consistently that khel am can harm a person irrespective of any specific motivations, including jealousy. Omnipresence is what makes khel am harmful, they told me. I gathered that omnipresence also gives khel am the qualities of surveillance and witchcraft, which was why Buryats lowered their voices and looked outside their windows to prevent being overheard, whenever speaking about it. Actually, the link that Buryats place between omnipresence and khel am makes sense in light of Buryat morality, in which anyone, including a person’s own consanguineal kinsman, can easily cross the divide between displaying virtuous (buyan) and unvirtuous (buyan bish) behaviour (Swancutt 2008, 850–55). Humphrey has shown that Buryats who underwent Soviet and Mongolian surveillance produced ‘paranoid narratives’ which elicited both ‘the context of the heavy omnipresence of communist dogmatic history’ and ‘the actual random quality of the purges’ (2002: 28–9, original emphasis). This paranoia has not disappeared in the recent political climate, but has remained the lynchpin of a Buryat sociality where ‘[t]he only thing known for sure was that someone was not to be trusted’ (Højer 134

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2004:44). Buryats fear omnipresent forces which, like surveillance, cannot be perceived or known from all sides (khiisveriin yüm). In addition to khel am, these omnipresent forces include: cursing wars comprised of many curses, vampiric imps (chötgör) who cull from and propagate within the family line (see Chapter 6), and even the shamanic spirit Avgaldai (or Abagaldai) who is omnipresent but must be handled properly by shamans (Swancutt 2008:853–5). Fear of khel am thus arises from the fact that Buryats are always outnumbered by it. By virtue of its omnipresence, khel am takes on the magnitude of what Lacan calls ‘the pre-existence of a gaze – I see only from one point, but in my existence I am looked at from all sides’ (1998:72). Additionally, the Buryats I knew considered that propagating khel am is sinful (nügeltei) in the Buddhist sense of the term, so that the people who circulate it have their fortunes fall slightly. The sin of circulating bad speech is worst in cases of black khel am, which as the product of discord, can erupt into long-term enmity. Fortunately, black khel am is easier to stop than white khel am, since Buryats can recognize the disparaging words which make up black khel am and choose not to circulate them. By contrast, white khel am is more insidious; because it is comprised of praise, Buryats often circulate it without realizing they are propagating something harmful. White khel am, then, usually goes unchecked for longer periods of time, repeatedly harming the target of its speech, no matter how aware the targeted person is of his or her situation or how often a correcting ritual is undertaken. Still, when a correcting ritual is finally held for white khel am, the religious specialist finds it is easier to dispel than black khel am. This is because white khel am is comprised of words of praise, which are more lightweight (ikh khünd bish) than defaming words. Significantly, knowledge about khel am is limited to where a person stands within it, once it has already become omnipresent in the landscape. No person can know more about an episode of khel am than what he or she has already heard, said, or perhaps plans to say. Anyone propagating khel am is outnumbered by the phenomenon itself, which only circulates partly through him or her. But while no one is privy to an entire episode of khel am, Buryats can reconstruct enough of any given episode to confirm that khel am caused a specific person’s downfall. Consider the following quotations from 135

DFortune and the Cursed Bayandun, which show the fragmented views Buryats have of their khel am episodes: LAYPERSON speaking to Tansag: ‘They say there’s a lot of white khel am that came out just prior to and during our district’s recent Mongolian-language examinations. So many students received poor marks on account of it. Now [black] khel am about that [i.e. specific students’ failures] is spreading all around. All people hear about now is what sort of khel am caused this or that person to fail, allowing someone else [an unlikely other] to succeed.’ TANSAG: ‘When people come to me and bring up conversations that involve khel am, I speak very little. I tell them it’s not interesting to me. It is lazy and has no meaning. It’s true that it can bring people down and for that reason it is bad. But people talk. In small places like this, in the countryside, people like to talk. They look about and listen. They may stare as they pass you by and speak insincerely. Some people go out and speak khel am all day. I don’t become involved with it. I don’t like it. It’s not interesting to me. Some people have come to me and said that when I’m away my husband runs around with other women. I don’t listen to it. They don’t know what they’re saying or going on about. Everyday I live my life and do work. Eventually these sorts of words go away.’ LAYPERSON, at the conclusion of a divination held by Tansag: ‘What with all the talk going on now, they say Bayandun has become a place with a reputation for khel am.’ DUULCHIN’S WIFE: ‘Recently my husband divined and saw that we were afflicted by white khel am because many families in Bayandun and [the district to its immediate east] Dashbalbar were speaking praise words about us. For this reason, my husband’s health was bad.’ GALANJAV, administering a correcting ritual for khel am: ‘Your child’s face is broken out in a rash, and in general you’re having difficulties because you’re in a state of [black] khel am. Draw a picture of the [main] person who has said khel am against you. It will be thrown away outside [and thus expelled in this ritual] with the evil things [assailing you].’ MOTHER: ‘We’ve given our baby a lot of medicine but he still has a cold.’ FATHER: ‘Has the thing [khel am] gone?’ GALANJAV (showing the outcome of a rosary bead divination confirming the source of the illness had gone): ‘The problem was instigated by khel am.’

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These passages suggest that khel am acquires both invisible omnipresence and a delayed magical effect from being circulated over time. Buryats therefore say that once ordinary gossip has become khel am, each spoken act of khel am can instantly harm the person being talked about, by just a small amount, so that it imparts what I call a ‘small-scaled immediate effect’. But the real harm of khel am arises when the sum total of the spoken acts finally strikes a person at all once – and this cumulative, delayed effect builds up over time. Just as no person can detect fallen fortune until its symptoms have set in, so can no person detect harm from khel am until its symptoms have shown. Buryats do not perceive the precise moments when circulated praise or defamation are transformed from ordinary gossip into omnipresent khel am. These transitions are invisible. However, Buryats say that they may overhear other people speaking khel am about them, which has the effect of making them feel stressed (stress baina), sad (guniyana) or as though they are crying inside (dotor n’ gunina). Buryats in Bayandun told me that the person harmed by khel am must then enlist the help of a religious specialist to lift its effects, because – as is also true with curses – no person can dodge the effects of khel am by moving away from where it is circulated. Although some Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum did feel that over time khel am may weaken or disappear without the intervention of a religious specialist. They held up as examples certain people in their district who were not religious and did not seek out correcting rituals but who nonetheless recovered from khel am without difficulty. Still, they were uncertain how those people recovered from khel am and surmised that they must use their strong wills (zorig) to deflect it, just as they might use their wills to prevent fallen fortune or its symptoms (see chapter 3). Correcting rituals for khel am are always undertaken retrospectively, from a position of hindsight, after the speech has struck. Although correcting rituals for khel am vary, I observed that shamans in Bayandun frequently blessed juniper incense or wild thyme for their inquirers to use at home in purificatory fumigations. Typically, these purificatory substances were burned in a dish and then circulated clockwise around the body three times, or they were used for purificatory washings, where inquirers added water to the substances

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DFortune and the Cursed and used the mixture to wash their faces and hands. Shamans imbued these substances with the spirits’ strength by muttering invocations to their spirit-helpers over them and sometimes also by directly touching them with their rosaries or protective mirrors. They instructed inquirers to purify themselves over the course of several days, so as to gradually remove the curse-like effects of khel am. Finally, Galanjav told me that the shamanic spirits may circulate khel am between one another in the shamanic afterlife, complaining about people who fail to give sufficient offerings when inviting them to feast at the offering table (see the discussion in chapter 2 on oil lamps). Just as a person invited to dinner becomes offended when served less than other guests, a Buryat shamanic spirit becomes upset if he or she is not served well. According to Galanjav, the offended spirit instigates the most dangerous (ayultai) kind of black khel am about the person treating him or her poorly: garval khel am, which literally means ‘the shamanic spirits’ khel am’.

Who curses and propagates khel am? Buryats hold that any person, including an immediate family member, can cross the divide between virtuous and unvirtuous behaviour by instigating or becoming the victim of curses and khel am. Still, as already mentioned, religious specialists, and especially shamans, are the most likely people to cast curses – while their most likely victims are rival religious specialists. Laypersons with suitably rancorous tongues, detectable by a special colouring, also can curse and are more likely to propagate khel am. Therefore, Buryats tend to be somewhat shocked by the discovery that bad speech about them had been circulated by those who share a household space with them, by their local friends and allies, or by upstanding government officials. Because Buryats live in a household-centric society, where everything – happiness, wealth, connections, fortune, security, prestige, honour and so on – is concentrated in the home, they usually do not suspect their own household members of harming them with bad speech (Carsten and Hugh-Jones 1995, 2–3; Humphrey 1995, 142–49; 1974, 273–75). Indeed, in light of their household-centric sociality, Buryats who attack a member of their own household actually harm themselves. Similarly, close contacts, who are usually

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neighbours and friends, tend not to be suspected of cursing or propagating khel am about a person, since Buryats build close relations – and even alliances – with each other over time, through shared experiences as neighbours, strong friendships, shamanic-teaching relations and even extended-family contacts. These alliances offer far greater advantages than rivalries, which cut people off from potential prospects at business, neighbourly help and so forth. Finally, local government officials – such as district mayors, telecommunication officers and clubhouse directors – are not usually suspected of casting curses or propagating khel am. Due to their status, secure financial means and numerous privileges, local officials are often respected and ascribed model behaviour, even if they are not well liked, so that they are less frequently ascribed jealousy (ataa) or the bad sentiments (muu sanaa) which can trigger bad speech. Indeed, Buryats who feel an affinity towards their local officials might even consider that they show a protective benevolence towards them. However, the reputations of local officials differ dramatically from the reputations of officials in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, who (as I learned from Ölzii and others on my return trip to Bayandun in 2004) have been increasingly associated with unfulfilled promises and embezzlement. Unlike the public accusations notorious to European witchcraft or the Zande witchcraft accusations familiar to anthropology from Evans-Pritchard’s work (1976, 5–10, 15–17 and 39–43), Buryats – and Mongols more widely – do not publicly proclaim that they have been victims of a curse, nor do they necessarily make those who cast curses into outcasts. Instead, they gossip with neighbours and friends (whom they draw into their local alliances) about those people whom they consider likely to have spoken badly about them. Usually Buryats suspect rival religious specialists (shamans or lamas) of casting curses, but more generally they also are suspicious of anyone reluctant to establish an alliance. Of course, local officials are expected to be more reserved, as befits their social status. But in cases where two people have a similar social status and one of them declines or simply fails to interact sociably, the unsocial person may appear to be potentially dangerous. Over time, Buryats who feel slighted by unusually reserved behaviour may start wondering about the anti-social person’s behaviour, ascribing to that person the questionable morals used to identify rivals.

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DFortune and the Cursed Yaruu’s group in Bayandun considered their rivals to be withdrawn, aloof and haughty (ovortoi) to everyone except those people who had capitulated to their bad morals or had become their local allies. For instance, Yaruu and Ölzii told me repeatedly in 2000 that Sürenma would smile ingratiatingly when receiving excessive amounts of money for her shamanic ceremonies but that she would not carry out shamanic work for people who did not offer her large amounts despite the Buryat ethic that shamans should help poor people who can offer only small amounts. Yaruu also told me that Sansar had requested a sexual liaison with her one evening when Jargal was away from home and that he became very angry when she declined. Finally, Yaruu’s group pointed out that the lama-shaman was much younger than his new wife, Lavs, who was a powerful shaman in Bayandun, and they cited this as evidence of the bad morals that the couple shared.

The Buryat sense of witchcraft Despite the fact that Mongols have an elaborate ontology of bad speech, they do not have a term that conveys ‘witchcraft’ or ‘witches’ in the anthropological sense, as least as it has been defined by the African ethnography – and Evans-Pritchard’s (1976) work on the Azande in particular – where there is a far more developed vocabulary for witchcraft. Witchcraft among Mongols is actually more similar to the witchcraft which Favret-Saada describes for western France, where ‘unlike a Zande who in all circumstances only has the choice between “witchcraft” and “sorcery” – two concepts which in the Bocage are totally indistinguishable – the countryman knows perfectly well that there are explanations of another kind’ (1980, 14). Thus Buryats (and Mongols more generally) regularly undertake precautions to protect themselves from hostile forces, and in particular the Mongolian phenomenon of witchcraft, even if they do not have a term for it in common parlance. Buryats always try to contain knowledge about curses and khel am within the home in order to protect it from further curse attacks, often downplaying the entire phenomenon of bad speech so as not to unduly attract hostile forces. Discussions about bad speech, then, are conveyed in whispers or hushed tones, especially when talking about specific instances of cursing or khel am. Buryats also vigilantly watch and listen to their 140

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surroundings to make certain that their divinations or discussions about hostile forces will not be detected. For instance, after Yaruu’s group discovered the cursing during the lunar New Year in 2000, they became increasingly savvy at detecting curses. Through their divinations they made increasing efforts to detect the movement of curses in everyday life. While monitoring their neighbours’ movements through their household windows, Yaruu’s group would, in low voices, alert each other to the fact that a curse caster – or one of their family members or friends – was walking past their home or perhaps another household that could be linked to the cursing. This monitoring happened constantly, so that it was common for Yaruu’s group, when seated around a table working, divining or relaxing at home, to flick their eyes between one another, any playing cards being used for divination and the household windows. They eagerly identified anyone moving along a pathway in Bayandun – especially when spotting their rivals, family members or friends. And they regularly checked to see that a passerby was not a member of the rival faction, before settling back to what they had been doing. Until June 2000, when the cursing fully dissipated, Yaruu’s group coupled their household chores with the monitoring of rivals, who were oftentimes moving along Bayandun’s hillsides at a distance which made them appear no larger than ants. When watching for rivals, Yaruu’s group thus used the keen eyesight that Mongols generally use for following the movement of livestock along the edge of the horizon. Moreover, any new information about the cursing was immediately relayed to other members of Yaruu’s group. Special trips were made between homes for this purpose, and Ölzii in particular often went to visit Galanjav and Chimegee’s home to have Galanjav divine about the cursing and check to see whether her soul had been lost. There is some degree of difference, though, between how Buryats in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum speak about cursing and khel am. In Shinekhen Baruun Sum people speak more openly about witchcraft or other hostile forces, while they characterize khel am as idle chat (zalkhuutai khün khel am yar’dag) that only occurs in their district infrequently. Shinekhen Baruun Sum has the local reputation of being a hard-working, ‘industrious’ (khün ajild durtai) district compared to its neighbouring districts, and indeed, during 1999–2000, the employment figures were much higher there than 141

DFortune and the Cursed in Bayandun. At the same time, Chinese anti-superstition policies also encourage people in Shinekhen Baruun Sum to downplay talk about cursing and khel am. Nevertheless, Buryats in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum do take care when speaking about witchcraft, so as to avoid attracting curses, khel am or a reputation for propagating them. The Buryat sense of witchcraft, then, is verbalized in roundabout ways, and people use euphemisms such as ‘bad speech’ (muu yaria) to prevent that very speech from entering the private sphere of their homes. Buryats often seek out divinations to detect whether they have been harmed by bad speech, followed by correcting rituals to address that speech. Knowing who cast a curse allows Buryats to return it, which in the Buryat view is a defensive (and not simply a retributive) tactic to weaken the aggressor and keep him or her at bay. Less precise efforts, however, are made to deflect khel am, because Buryats cannot trace the sum total of people who propagate it. But while curses and khel am are generated from different kinds of interpersonal relations, which afford different prospects for deflecting them, they are both classified as extraordinary kinds of bad speech and treated as witchcraft. Religious specialists deflect curses and khel am discreetly, often at private ceremonies held in the victim’s home, which help prevent rivals from launching a ‘counter-attack’ comprised of further acts of bad speech. Moreover, when the curse casters have been identified, victims protect themselves by keeping bad relations with these curse casters secret, or at least as private as possible, such that they only share information about the rivalry with their local allies. Indeed, the most important means of deflecting curses and khel am is containing their harmful effects as quickly and comprehensively as possible, so that there is little time for them to cause a person’s fortune or soul to degenerate in a downwards spiral. Mandal (who joined Yaruu’s group in April 2000) told me that few who take part in khel am are aware that they are propagating it or even regard the subject of their speech from a malicious stance. I observed several occasions in June 2000 when people in Bayandun suggested to a couple of their peers that khel am was being propagated, only to immediately meet with angry protests that the conversation was, at worst, simply a mundane form of gossip such as dam yaria (a type of gossip that does not cause curse-like effects; see below for more on this specific case of khel am). 142

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Buryats, therefore, keep a distance from witchcraft by only quietly discussing specific instances of it. They do not tend to explicitly teach their children about how curses strike or how khel am evolves. Instead, they assimilate the notion of witchcraft over time, when hearing about specific curses or khel am troubles. It took me a number of visits to the homes of Yaruu’s friends before I could find out what Buryats think about curses or khel am. My questions about bad speech were initially met with the answer that no one had heard about it before (sonsokhgüi) and that they did not know how to answer my questions (ter n’ medekhgüi). But once Buryats understood that I was inquiring into how bad speech worked in a general sense – and not trying to gauge whether they were curse or khel am suspects – the topic became possible to discuss and, for some people, even became a source of joking and entertainment. Revealingly, while Buryats avoid openly discussing witchcraft and its penetration into the home, they do regularly convey an awareness of it through subtle body language. Narrowed and darting eye movements together with winking and knowing looks often accompany private conversations about cursing or khel am, during which Buryats frequently cast their eyes towards their windows – as a voluntary reaction – to detect whether they might inadvertently be attracting unwanted forces into the home. The close quarters in which Buryats live encourages them to use gestures or mime to convey sensitive information or indicate that someone in the home should be especially discrete about what is being said. By using mime Buryats even try to avoid getting implicated in discussions about bad speech – which can propagate further bad speech – since the ambiguity of mime allows Buryats to excuse it as something other than what it is, in the event they are mistakenly seen using it. This pervasive use of knowing looks and gestures underscores the finding that Buryats respond in a ‘paranoid’ way to unvirtuous people, spirits and forces (Humphrey 2002; Pedersen 2006, 165), while these looks and gestures also suggest that Buryats ascribe an ‘omnipresent’ quality to witchcraft (Swancutt 2008, 853–55). Through this omnipresence Buryat witchcraft penetrates all barriers, visible or not, triggering the hushed conversations and subtle body language which Buryats also use when discussing ghosts, haunted places, nature spirits and the Nature God. Witchcraft, like the spirit forces residing within the Mongolian landscape, is thus omnipresent (Pedersen 2001, 412–16). 143

DFortune and the Cursed Expelling witchcraft To show how witchcraft becomes omnipresent among Buryats, who then initially try to expel it through correcting rituals, we will take another brief look at how Yaruu’s group handled the cursing. On the evening that Yaruu was cursed, during the lunar New Year of February 2000, her group abandoned their two-month-old strategy of patiently appeasing the shamanic spirits, in order to speed up their recovery from long-term problems. In place of this, Yaruu’s group adopted the tactic of deflecting curses through daily visits to each others’ homes, where they held divinations for each other, as well as correcting rituals, which were largely comprised of first checking for lost souls using ring finger measurements and then calling back those souls. The group’s day-to-day concern with their rivals’ curses, which comprised a cursing war, spurred Yaruu’s group to keep a constant lookout for new curses. As soon as anyone in Yaruu’s group had sensed that a fresh curse had been cast, that person informed other people in the group about it, often travelling by foot to their homes to give immediate news of the cursing, in hopes of arresting the curse’s effects as rapidly as possible. Thus the group’s main tactic in fighting off the omnipresent curses became an ongoing effort at damage control, which included sending curses back to their rivals. Indeed, Yaruu’s group hoped that by returning these curses according to the conventional shamanic correcting rituals, they could outpace their rivals, in the sense that the returned curses might have discouraged the rivals from sending further curses. Additionally, Yaruu’s group hoped that deflecting curses would prevent their fortunes from declining further in a downwards spiral. The fact that curses strike faster than, say, khel am evoked images of the lighting speed by which Yaruu’s group was hit and the corresponding possibility of accelerating their own response time to combat curses effectively. But until the curse-blocking innovation was discovered, Yaruu’s group was always a step behind of their rivals. Reevaluating their problems in light of the omnipresent cursing, Yaruu’s group drew the following conclusions: Duulchin’s son, who had died in November 1999 at the age of twenty-five, from a lung illness and the effects of polio, was considered a victim of the cursing. Everyone in Yaruu’s group was aware that divinations which preceded the man’s relapse into 144

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chronic illness had revealed that he had angered the Nature God through inappropriate treatment of the landscape. Further divinations indicated that any additional offences would cause the man’s death. Therefore, Duulchin’s son was advised not to touch, or more precisely, assault, the ground at all for at least six months. However, during this time he did not heed the restrictions and helped his brothers dig a latrine. His infraction was too great; so the Nature God inflicted harm (lusin khorlol) on him with a curse, causing his death in hospital in Choibalsan. After the lunar New Year, however, Yaruu’s group concluded that although the Nature God’s poisoning had rekindled the man’s recurrent illness, he had only become terminal because of the additional harmful effects of the rivals’ cursing. A rival shaman cursed Duulchin, but the curse reflected off of his protective shamanic mirror and struck his son instead, they concluded. Indeed, Galanjav pointed out to me that Duulchin had also suffered from polio and had even lost half of one leg from it, because the shamanic spirits had afflicted him with this illness to make him accept the shamanic vocation. But while Duulchin had survived, his son had died young from polio because of the cursing. Galanjav and Chimegee’s infant daughter had withstood stomach pains and had been ‘pulling up’ (tatasan) due to this illness since at least November 1999. The pains were originally said to have been induced by the top spirit-helper in Galanjav’s line, who was offended by having not received sufficient offerings. So in accordance with the spirit Avgaldai’s pronouncements, the girl’s name was changed and she was given my tights to wear. Buryats hold that foreigners can ward off bad influences more easily than they can, and so they have a folk remedy (dom) that wearing a foreigner’s socks, tights or pants will protect them. When Galanjav and Chimegee brought their daughter to the hospital in Choibalsan, they were refused immediate treatment, and so they refused to return. Therefore, once the cursing in Bayandun had been uncovered, Galanjav and Chimegee concluded that despite all the offerings they had made to Galanjav’s spirit-helper, their daughter remained ill because rivals were cursing them. The tendency for Yaruu’s husband, Jargal, to binge drink was so exacerbated by the cursing that he stopped working altogether. 145

DFortune and the Cursed Moreover, the allergic reaction which had raised large welts all over Tuyaa’s body lasted for three months, despite all medical assistance and correcting rituals, making her unable to do her schoolwork or contribute effectively to household chores. And shortly after the New Year, Yaruu came down with a persistent toothache. Because Yaruu’s group suffered from these problems and a host of other illnesses and business misfortunes for several months, they incorporated correcting rituals for deflecting the omnipresent curses into their day-to-day life. For instance, on the morning of 23 February 2000, Galanjav and Chimegee held their joint ‘ninth-day ceremony’ to honour the Buryat spirits. Ölzii went to Galanjav’s home, since he would be doing shaman’s work (böö yüm khiine), where she could have him divine by playing cards and rosary beads about the cursing. Later that evening, another ninth-day ceremony was held at Ölzii’s home to honour Yaruu and Duulchin’s shamanic spirits. Before the ceremony started, Yaruu approached me and said that she had dreamed (züüdlesen) that many people, including Sürenma, were cursing her by throwing objects. Yaruu did not know what was thrown but said that one way in which people cast curses is by throwing things. When I asked whether she had also seen the lama-shaman or Lavs in her dream, Yaruu admitted that she had not, but then told me the lama-shaman’s curse had killed Duulchin’s son in late November 1999. Sansar had also been implicated in the cursing, and the chief curse setter seemed then to be Sürenma. (The primary blame for the death of Duulchin’s son actually shifted over time; see chapter 6.) Shortly thereafter, during the evening’s ceremony, the spirit Manjlai – the authority on Buryat shamanic initiation and levelling-up ceremonies (chanar), as well as a powerful spirit removed from any living Buryat by more than six generations – entered Yaruu. On the instructions of Yaruu, who had adopted Manjlai’s perspective, Ölzii and Duulchin made two human figures out of bread dough and dressed them in pieces of fabric which resembled Mongolian clothing. One of these figures represented a man, while another represented a woman, and both were actually effigies of the rival curse casters. The curses were placed into these figures, which were then thrown outside of the home, in order to return the curses to their senders. Despite this correcting ritual, on the following evening, 24 February, Buyna’s twin daughters contracted such a high fever that 146

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their eyes rolled back and they foamed at the mouth, causing panic in Ölzii’s house. A local doctor from Bayandun – herself a shamanin-training studying under Yaruu – came to the home late at night to give penicillin jabs to the two girls, which reduced the fever. Four days later, on 28 February, I visited Sürenma at her home and learned from her that she was suffering from chest pains, or more specifically, heart pains (zürkh n’ övchelönö). She was carrying out her own small correcting ritual, blessing wild thyme – the black shaman’s fumigating substance – to burn around her and thus purify herself. Later that day I visited Chimegee at her home and told her about Sürenma’s heart pains and the correcting ritual I had seen. Although Chimegee averted her eyes downwards to show respect for the seriousness of the situation, my impression was that she also repressed a smile and was thus actually pleased that Yaruu’s countercursing had taken effect. Yaruu’s group considered Sürenma’s heart pains to be evidence for both their rivals’ omnipresent curses and the success of their own curse-returning ritual. Moreover, my impression was that Sürenma did not want to tell me directly that she had been struck by the curse-returning ritual but that she wanted me to know that she was aware that Yaruu’s group considered her to be cursing them. Sürenma invited me graciously into her home but seemed embarrassed at what I, as a member of Yaruu’s household, might be thinking about her, given that the omnipresent curses had been largely attributed to her.

The case of a failed exam Another striking example of the omnipresent quality of Buryat witchcraft arose through a case of khel am rather than a cursing war, during Bayandun’s eighth-year class final examinations in June 2000, when all the students who ordinarily received top marks failed and those students who usually received poor marks excelled. These uncanny exam results affected many of Bayandun’s households and gave rise to the speculation that many students had failed their exams because of khel am. This case of failed exams shows particularly clearly how khel am evolves among many Buryat laypersons without necessarily being at all linked to the households of shamans or other religious specialists. Moreover, the case shows that while each spoken instance of khel am registers an immediate, small-scaled amount 147

DFortune and the Cursed of harm, Buryats hold that khel am causes its worst harm only after a period of delay, when many incidents of khel am come together as a single, cumulative force and then strike a person. Finally, the failed exam case highlights the Buryat preference for addressing problems in an orderly way. It shows that many households in Bayandun undertook divinations and correcting rituals before the exams, to ensure that their students would perform well. And it illustrates how, when the exam results were announced, a general unhappiness spread throughout Bayandun, because the results inverted local hierarchies by giving those students who were usually considered to be ‘untalented’ a sudden upwards mobility. During the days leading up to the exams, many people in Bayandun staked hopes on the work opportunities and prestige that good exam results would bring to their households, imagining how their children could receive salaried jobs. Some girls in their teens, and even those who already had finished schooling and were in their early twenties, spoke aloud to me about their dreams of working in the State Department Store (Ikh Delgüür) in the Mongolian capital city of Ulaanbaatar, associating high exam results with the ‘glamorous’ employment of spending their days amidst expensive items. To facilitate their chances of receiving high exam scores, households with exam candidates avoided calling attention to themselves, so that competitors would not harm their chances. And when speaking about the exams, these households downplayed both the hope they invested in their candidates and their fearful, competitive feelings towards other students. At the same time, these households undertook numerous divinations prior to the exams – including correcting rituals for any khel am that might already have been circulating about them – which they held privately in their homes or at the homes of local shamans, to learn how they could increase their candidates’ chances of success. Gerel’s household had me divine for them on several different days before the exams, using my ‘Lucky 13 Layout’ with playing cards (see chapter 1), to see how their candidate would do. Their questions included: ‘Will my daughter do well in her exam?’ ‘What can we do for her now?’ ‘What is hindering her success? Talk?’ ‘What kind of khel am? Oh, white? Well, but that is easier to treat.’ ‘Should I get a correcting ritual now or wait until tomorrow morning, just before the exam?’ ‘If I get a correcting ritual now, will that be satisfactory?’ ‘How will it be if I hold off until just before the exam?’ ‘If I 148

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wait until tomorrow, could I then deflect any talk that immediately precedes the exam? No, I best go get a correcting ritual now and also make offerings to the shamanic spirits in the morning.’ In addition to holding divinations myself, I observed several other students and their family members visiting the shamans Yaruu and Tansag to hold divinations about their exam chances and to obtain treatments before the exams. Throughout Bayandun people expected that each candidate’s success would likely be marred by khel am circulating amongst the competitors. Gerel, for instance, told me that before the exams it is common to find that a growing omnipresence of khel am – and especially of white khel am – places obstacles (saad) in the way of certain candidates, to mar their success. She also said that the anticipated spread of khel am during exam time is one important reason why the candidates and their family members repeatedly seek out correcting rituals just before the exams. These families aim to minimize the spread of khel am and the especially harmful delayed-return magical effect which the khel am is anticipated to have. Most of the preexam divinations that I observed (including my own divinations) were undertaken in light of the increasing omnipresence which these Buryats ascribed to the white khel am so that, not surprisingly, these divinations often confirmed to inquirers that speech words had been affecting their candidates. When Gerel’s family had me divine, for example, they actively sought to obtain results which showed khel am was affecting their candidate – and so on a few occasions they chose to emphasize how my playing cards (with the numbers two or three) revealed the presence of speech acts, despite my having downplayed that element of the reading – so that they could quickly visit Duulchin and obtain a correcting ritual. Effectively, these Buryats were coupling divinatory results with their presentiments that white khel am about the candidates was being circulated in order to confirm for themselves how, in its early stage, the khel am was evolving. After the exams results were out, these same Buryats explained to me that the gradual buildup of khel am had struck with full force during the exams, causing certain candidates to fail. Gerel’s family confirmed to me that in the moments when the students were sitting their exams, the white khel am had unleashed its delayed-return effect. Following this with a more detailed explanation, Gerel said 149

DFortune and the Cursed that while each instance in which the khel am had been spoken about the candidates immediately brought about a small amount of harm – causing the candidates’ fortunes to fall – the sum total of these speech acts had later suddenly converged upon the good students, hindering their exam performance through their cumulative delayed effect. Throughout Bayandun many people agreed that when the khel am struck, the students finally succumbed to nervous feelings and exhaustion, which lowered their work performance. In this sense, the khel am surrounding the exam worked in a manner analogous to Evans-Pritchard’s description of the Zande notion of ‘second-spear’ causation, where the primary cause of nervousness would not have taken such a dramatic effect if the secondary cause of khel am had not also been in place to secure it (1976, 25–26). According to Gerel, some students may even have heard the talk circulating about them prior to the exams, or they may have received other subtle hints that their classmates were talking about them, such as the reserved behaviour of their fellow students. Confused and saddened by their classmates’ change in behaviour, these students may nonetheless have realized that it was provoked by khel am. Knowledge that their fellow students were propagating khel am would have been one small, immediate effect of the khel am, which made these students unable to prepare for the exams. Thus Gerel speculated that the khel am could have begun to take its toll even before it reached its zenith during the exam by causing the fortunes of good students to fall into a downwards, degenerating spiral. During the exam those students who were aware that their fortunes had already begun to fall would then doubly succumb to the delayedreturn effect of the khel am, knowingly capitulating to their nervousness, exhaustion and difficulty concentrating during the exam. Moreover, these students would have had their morale drop when witnessing how their classmates, who ordinarily performed poorly, seemed to work easily towards receiving the best marks. But Gerel pointed out that the effects of khel am can be equally devastating, whether or not the student is aware of being the subject of khel am. As Gerel and other Buryats said, there were good students who also received poor marks on Bayandun’s exams without knowing in advance that they had been the subjects of khel am. Buryats in Bayandun therefore affirmed that it is always important to undertake many correcting rituals and keep a person’s fortune 150

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strong, since combating the smaller effects of khel am in its early stages while maintaining a strong fortune can later help a person to deflect, or at least to minimize, the full delayed-return effect of khel am. What makes khel am truly harmful, then, is its gradually increasing omnipresence, which strikes Buryats with a delayed-return effect. Note how the gradual increase in pressure which the students in Bayandun faced when preparing for their exams was matched by the gradual circulation of khel am. Citing the increasing omnipresence of khel am, people such as Gerel said that if khel am had not been circulating just before and during the exam, those students who usually did well would have received high scores, whereas those who usually did poorly would have received poor marks. But in this case, khel am unsettled everything, making the unlikely candidates receive good scores and the good students do poorly. Upset with this unexpected result, the families of students who had done poorly on the exams complained that white khel am had sabotaged the results – and their complaints were held to have caused a second bout of khel am in Bayandun. Recall that black khel am arises when one person is genuinely offended by another and speaks disparagingly about that other person, causing the disparagement to travel along too many routes for it to be retraceable. In line with this logic, those people in Bayandun who complained bitterly about the exam results were held to have brought about the follow-up case of black khel am. The households whose students had done poorly felt offended by the households whose students had done well, by virtue, they said, of having propagated white khel am. Although no one who received a good score on the exams admitted to having propagated the white khel am – and while I did not witness any outright quarrels about the exam scores between the household of a candidate who received a good score and the household of a candidate who received a bad score – this popular difference of opinion qualified as the kind of ‘argument’ which instigates black khel am. Indeed, some days after the exam results were announced, I observed a gossip session about the rising black khel am while on a visit to Tansag’s home, where several people had come by at the same time, all seeking their own divinations. While waiting their turn for a divination, two women began speaking quietly but disparagingly about the exam marks. Their complaints, which 151

DFortune and the Cursed were in sympathy with each other, became increasingly heated until a man who was also waiting for a divination tried to curtail their talk. Their talk was actively contributing to the follow-up round of black khel am, he claimed, and then he reminded the women that propagating khel am is sinful. The women met his objections loudly, replying that they were just speaking ordinary gossip (dam yaria) – or perhaps even the kind of speech which, although disparaging, is contained between two people (khov jiv). They were certainly not fomenting black khel am! Tansag quickly hushed everyone until the women were content to stop gossiping altogether. Intriguingly, this gossip session broke out around the time that some people in Bayandun had started to suspect their local teachers had been bribed into giving the skewed exam results and even that the teachers’ morality had degenerated because of the white khel am. The question, then, arises as to whether those students who excelled on the exams would have suffered later from the black khel am circulating about them. According to the Buryat epistemology, these students’ fortunes would have fallen into a downwards spiral because they had propagated white khel am, which as a sinful act would have caused their fortunes to decline, and because these students eventually would have suffered from the effects of black khel am. Before closing this chapter, then, let us consider why the delayed-return timescale makes omnipresent forces such as khel am so potent.

Timescales and the production of order Since omnipresent forces, such as khel am, spread gradually across Buryat districts, it makes sense that Buryats also hold that these forces become increasingly potent over time. Indeed, Buryats say that while omnipresent forces are harmful in the early stages of their development, they only strike with their full force after a period of delay. As mentioned in chapter 1, most Buryat problems develop gradually. Fortune also typically rises and falls over a period of time, which is why Buryat correcting rituals are meant to resolve problems over the course of several days, helping them to gradually disperse. Many Buryat problems are thus ideally treated by practices which work according to a delayed-return timescale.

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Yet some problems are exceptionally persistent and remain omnipresent for several months, which is longer than Buryats usually expect to be facing any particular difficulty. When their problems become persistent, then, Buryats often seek out innovative magical remedies which altogether block those problems from their homes, effectively making a safe space for themselves that hostile omnipresent forces cannot enter. In these safe spaces it is possible for Buryats – and their fortunes – to recover at an unconventionally fast pace, so that their problems are addressed on an immediate-return timescale. Each of the curses described in the following chapter took immediate effect, harming Yaruu’s group as soon as they struck. However, because so many curses were exchanged between Yaruu’s group and the rival shamans over a period of several months, the cursing eventually also became omnipresent. Mandal, then, told me that a dangerous cursing war had developed between Yaruu’s group and their rivals, indicating that their many curses would most likely also impart numerous delayed-return effects. Nonetheless, as we will see, Yaruu introduced innovative remedies which blocked the curses from her group’s homes, effectively making them into curse-free zones where her group could recover from the cursing immediately. Yaruu’s innovations offered hyperorderly means for resolving the cursing war – because unlike correcting rituals, which only treat Buryats on an ad hoc basis, deflecting omnipresent forces as they arise – the innovations blocked curses from reaching her group altogether, at any point in time. And since Yaruu’s group contained their innovations as household secrets, never letting them become well-known within Bayandun or Buryat cosmology at large, the innovations quietly diffused their local rivalries. Most tellingly, though, Yaruu’s innovations encouraged those Buryat households that had become familiar with her innovation-making to strategically seek out her tailor-made remedies for resolving any of their future problems in an exceptionally orderly way.

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DChapter 5 Divination and the Inextensive Distance to Cursing Rivals

One recent leitmotif in the anthropology of religion has been the ‘intersubjective’ relations that people, spirits, animals and other ‘subjects’ produce through their face-to-face interactions. A growing corpus of ethnographic works has shown that, through intersubjective relations, people and other subjects adopt the same intentions, assumptions or outlook onto the situation at hand, which underpins the efficacy of their magical or ritual practices (Willerslev 2007, 94– 105; Bird-David 2004, 335; Devisch 1991, 120–23, see also 125 and 129–30; Whyte 1997, 68–77; Parkin 1991, 183–84, see also 187– 88). Intersubjective relations are also central to the process of innovation-making among Buryats, since shamans and inquirers frame their divinations around a shared assumption – such as the suspicion that people curse their rivals – and allow that assumption to inform their divinatory outcomes about how to block curses (Swancutt 2006, 347–50 and 2008, 858–59). Another recurrent theme in the anthropology of religion has been the ‘perspectives’ or ‘viewpoints’ of different subjects (people, spirits, animals, etc.), which are often shown to be human-like in the ethnography of Amazonia, Siberia and beyond (Viveiros de Castro 1998a, 482 and 2004, 474–75; Pedersen 2001, 421–22; Willerslev 2004, 639–47 and 2007, 94–110; Swancutt 2007, 243–47, see also 250–53 and 2012, 175–77; Pedersen, Empson and Humphrey 2007; Brightman, Grotti and Ulturgasheva 2012). The current anthropological interest in perspectivism is motivated largely by efforts to show how different kinds of subjects – such as a person and a spirit – form human-like relations when one of them adopts the oth154

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er’s viewpoint. Revealingly, this ascription of human-like perspectives and relations to non-humans expands our disciplinary purview to include not just animals and spirits, but even ‘thing-like’ subjects. Yet studies on perspectivism suggest that adopting a different subject’s perspective is not easy or common (Willerslev 2007, 95). This is because of the complexities behind what makes up a ‘perspective’. In the work of Viveiros de Castro, who launched the anthropological study of perspectivism, every subject holds in common the same ‘interior spiritual quality’, such as a soul (Pedersen 2001, 414). But different kinds of subjects (people, spirits, animals, etc.) have different ‘bodily affects’, meaning physical characteristics like comportments, mannerisms, tastes, etc. (Viveiros de Castro 1998, 482 and 2004, 474–5). When two different subjects meet, their shared spiritual quality makes it possible for one of them to identify with the other, adopting his or her bodily affects and perspective. Significantly, a person (or other subject) often unwittingly adopts another’s perspective – through a momentary lapse in self-awareness – which overwhelms the person and can lead to the dangerous prospect of ‘irreversible metamorphosis’ (Willerslev 2004, 630, see also 2007, 95–7; Vilaça 2005:451; Fausto 2007:501–02, see also 513). Changes in perspective are thus total and entail adopting the other’s complete selfhood. Such a dramatic shift in perspective happens, for example, when the Buryat shaman invokes a shamanic spirit to travel from the heavens for a ceremony – and the shaman adopts that spirit’s comportments, mannerisms and tastes. Actually, the shaman’s perspectival shift is even more dramatic than this. As I have proposed in another work, bodily affects are not just physical characteristics ascribed to a subject, but ‘are also “forces”, “energies” or “talents” which are taught, acquired and refined over time’ (Swancutt 2007, 237). Accordingly, the Buryat who adopts the shamanic spirit’s perspective takes on that spirit’s biography, talents, cravings, mastery of the shamanic vocation, and even the spirit’s outlook on the world as a ‘thing of air’ (khii yüm) who is ordinarily resident in the shamanic afterlife. Taking this argument a step further, I propose that Buryat divinatory implements – which are often imbued with the human-like agency of shamans or shamanic spirits – act in the capacity of ‘thinglike’ subjects. Occasionally, the divinatory implements give such a puzzling (or shockingly clear) pronouncement that they ‘overwhelm’ shamans and their inquirers, forcing them to approach their inquiry 155

DFortune and the Cursed from a different direction (as in Galanjav’s final playing card divination, described below). In these cases, the implements actually bear the perspective of a spirit or even of a rival shaman in their purview, which the divining shaman and his or her inquirers inadvertently adopt. Significantly, these divinatory pronouncements – which are informed by shamanic spirits or rival shamans – seem to arise out of nothing and force Buryats to revise the framing concept for their follow-up questions (Swancutt 2006, 347–50). Guided thus by the implements, Buryats let them reveal which questions they should ask, such as: ‘Who is cursing us?’ Ultimately, then, Buryat shamans, inquirers and their divinatory implements alternate between mutually producing an intersubjective approach to the question at hand or undertaking a struggle of different perspectives onto it. My aim in this chapter is to show, through the lens of divination, that a combination of intersubjective relations and perspectival encounters often underpins religious or magical activities (for a pioneering discussion on intersubjectivity and perspectivism which is pitched at the more general theoretical level, see Holbraad and Willerslev 2007, 206). I begin by briefly describing this combination of intersubjective and perspectival relations, as it appears in the Buryat ethnography and anthropological literature, and then give specific examples which show that it is an intrinsic feature of Buryat divinations. Buryat divinations start with the classic backdrop to intersubjective relations, namely, a shared focus between shamans, inquirers, and sometimes the implements (which carry spirit agencies within them) onto the question at hand. Intersubjective relations thus provide the framework for negotiating who counts as a ‘subject’ in Buryat divinations and the perspectival struggles that arise between divinatory participants. There appears to be a similar tendency in BirdDavid’s ethnography, discussed in chapter 2, in which the Nayaka of India maintain a ‘flowing relatedness and caring’ with their dodavaru spirits in order to promote an ‘immediacy’ of human-spirit relations that deflects illnesses (2004, 335). Bird-David’s term ‘immediacy’ is a fascinating hybrid that connotes intersubjective relations, since Nayaka stress the importance of sharing the same social space as dodavaru spirits. Yet the term immediacy simultaneously connotes perspectival relations, since by living in close proximity, Nayaka people and dodavaru come to adopt a shared ‘we-identity’, which trans156

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forms them into ‘joined beings’ with human-like perspectives (ibid., 333–34). Similarly, in his nano-essays on kinship and magic, Viveiros de Castro appears to suggest that intersubjective relations between people and magical forces can frame their perspectival modes of interaction, thus giving rise to ‘a single analogic field of influence, to use Wagner’s terms: a continuous field of magical forces that continually convert bodies into souls, substances into relations, physics into semantics, “social structure” into “religion” – and back again. In brief, a single world but a double movement’ (2009, 245). Perhaps more intriguingly, the notion of intersubjectivity (even if not the term) appears to have been invoked in the early days of anthropology, which suggests that shared interactions – framed around the same concept or material ‘thing’ – are far more pivotal to our ontology of magic than has been anticipated. Consider Tylor’s famous statement, ‘The principal key to the understanding of Occult Science is to consider it as based on the Association of Ideas, a faculty which lies at the very foundation of human reason’ ([1889] 1977, 115–16). It is well known that Tylor offers an extensive list of practices to demonstrate those ‘Magical arts in which the connexion is that of mere analogy or symbolism’ (ibid., 117). But while Tylor dismisses the association of ideas as mistaken logic – based on analogy rather than on actual relations between subjects and things – the many examples which he gives of these metaphoric associations highlight his understanding that people build relations with other people, the spirits, animals, and divinatory and other magical implements, in order to produce magical effects (ibid., 113–21). Given the current anthropological interest in how unconventional modes of relationality produce magical results, Tylor’s oversight simply appears to have been questioning the accuracy of the metaphoric associations that frame magical practices, rather than showing how the framing process actually makes magic work. Recent studies have given a more comprehensive picture of intersubjective relations, showing that even metaphors gain agency from the social relations which brought them into existence (Wagner [1975] 1981, xix). In Wagner’s terms, metaphors are ‘integrally implied’ elements of social relations (1991, 163). Similarly, Gell considers material objects to be the building blocks of certain human relations, such that people can imbue these objects (or thing-like subjects) with some of their personhood – making them into their ‘secondary agents’ – who carry their immediate 157

DFortune and the Cursed presence into different settings, on an actual and a metaphorical level, as we will see shortly, below (1998, 19–21). Additionally, the notion of intersubjectivity, although not the term, appears to be lurking in Frazer’s work on ‘imitative’ and ‘contagious’ magic, both of which are said to operate ‘through a secret sympathy, the impulse being transmitted from one to the other by means of what we may conceive as a kind of invisible ether … to explain how things can physically affect each other through a space which appears to be empty’ (1957, 16; emphasis added). As Taussig has pointed out, Frazer’s imitative or contagious magic could arise in practice, provided that the magician creates a relation with the target of his or her magic, using implements which signify and carry within them that targeted person’s agency (1993, 48–51). This is not simply a case of ‘intersubjectivity by proxy’, since the magician can oscillate between viewing the targeted person’s agency as present within the implement (i.e. contagious magic) or absent from the implement (i.e. sympathetic magic). It would be more apt to say that the implements have the capacity to be perceived according to the principle of figure-ground reversals, such that the magician oscillates between perceiving them as either representations or as physical extensions of the subject whom he or she is targeting with the magic. There is, then, a kind of unstable intersubjectivity between magicians and their implements, which, in a strictly perspectival sense, can force either of them to become ‘shape shifters’. Two good examples of this unstable intersubjectivity are described in chapter 2. First is the Buryat lighting of oil lamps in shamanic ceremonies, where the lamps simultaneously represent the wrath of the spirits and become imbued with spirit agency, thus operating as ‘symbols that stand for themselves’ (Wagner 1986, 26, see also 17–33). Second is the hijacking of the Buryat shaman’s playing cards by a rival shaman, which are intended for use merely as representations. Cards that are hijacked by rival shamans are transformed at the ontological level, so that (like shamanic oil lamps) they become simultaneously agents and representations of the rival’s deceit. Cursing rivals who enter the divinatory purview through a hijacked card, such as the jack of diamonds, thus may conceal their lurking presence within that card. The shaman divining with these cards is tricked into thinking the cards were kept under control and continues to use them as though they were simply representations. But 158

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since the cards were transformed from mere representations into agents-cum-representations (or agents-cum-metaphors), they have the dual capacity of symbolizing and carrying the rival’s dangerous agency within them. Gell’s term ‘secondary agents’ actually refers to this phenomenon of agency-cum-representation whilst highlighting ‘the fact that the origination and manifestation of agency takes place in a milieu which consists (in large part) of artefacts, and that agents, thus, “are” and do not merely “use” the artefacts which connect them to social others’ (1998, 21). Tellingly, Gell’s twinning of representation with agency underscores Taussig’s argument that ‘the fact remains that the structural logic of analogy demands this mimetic assumption of similitude’ (1993, 49, see also 1–32 for a discussion of ‘mimesis’ and its link to ‘embodiment’ or intersubjective relations more generally). There is, then, scope for cross-cultural comparisons of agencycum-representation, especially in witchcraft, which often combines trickery with mimicry. Consider Favret-Saada’s observation that some ‘unwitchers’ in western France remove witchcraft simply by looking at a photo of the bewitched person – rather than requiring the bewitched to be physically present – since the photo can carry the bewitched’s immediate presence (or agency-cum-representation) into the unwitching session (1980, 183–84). I cannot resist calling attention to the similarity between the person’s photograph in FavretSaada’s study and the pictorial representations of cursing rivals on face cards (jack, queen or king) in my Buryat ethnography. The humanoid form of these images underscores their obvious potential for distributing someone’s personhood. Of course, for some time now, anthropological accounts of magic have rejected the notion that Tylor’s association of ideas or Frazer’s invisible ether provide evidence for a mistaken use of metaphor. The old emphasis on relationality in natural causation has become less important, or virtually absent, with the shift to focusing on how people generate relations with other people, spirits, and even magical forces or implements which may double as both invisible concepts (such as representations) and things (which can be agents). Studies on materiality (Gell 1998, 100–101; Miller 2005, 20–29), semioticssemantics (Keane 1997, 50–55; Lindquist 2006, 70–73) or sociality created through relations with things that carry their contexts within them (Wagner 1987, 57–62; 1991, 163; Strathern 1988, 12–20; 159

DFortune and the Cursed Henare, Holbraad and Wastell 2007, 1–27) have shown, in rather different ways, how intersubjective relations between people and spirits, animals, things, speech acts and even concepts give rise to magical phenomena. As mentioned in previous chapters, Favret-Saada stresses that witchcraft episodes only exist within the intersubjective ‘system of positions’, which establishes immediacy between witches, their spoken spells and the bewitched (1980, 17). Among Buryats (and across Asia more generally), fortune is also included in this system of positions. Furthermore, Daniels shows that something like this system of positions underpins the efficacy of Japanese ‘good luck charms’ (called engimono), which are ‘literally, things that bring about good fortune’, because they are circulated between givers and receivers (or sellers and buyers) and yet ‘retain a certain kind of independence and agency’ (2003, 620 and 632). According to Daniels, the ‘autonomy’ of Japanese good luck charms ‘is grounded in their materiality. The main physical attribute that influences the efficacy of engimono is not the materials of which they are made; it is rather their form which is endowed with agency through homophones, that is, embodied words. Thus the materiality of objects and words is given similar importance within this process of religious embodiment’ (ibid., 632). Invisible modes of agency – such as witchcraft or good fortune – are thus often deployed through triangular relations between the bearer of witchcraft/fortune, the receiver of witchcraft/fortune and speech acts that work as agents-cum-representations, because they carry witchcraft/fortune between the bearers and recipients. This triangular relation underpins the mutually influential relations between Buryat witchcraft and fortune. Building on these findings about intersubjectivity and perspectivism, I now explore how Buryat divinatory items – like speech acts – are pivotal to the triangular relations which produce invisible modes of shamanic agency. In so doing, I show that divining implements are agents which mutually generate divinatory pronouncements, together with Buryat shamans, inquirers, the spirits and even cursing rivals who hijack the implements. My argument in this chapter, then, foreshadows a profound similarity between Buryat divinatory implements and the innovations described in chapter 6: namely, that if not properly controlled, either of these can be hijacked.

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Divinatory implements There are many widespread forms of Mongolian divination that simply require the use of everyday items, so that they are easily understandable to Buryats and Mongols living thousands of kilometres apart from each other. For instance, divinatory playing cards come from standard ‘poker’ decks with 54 cards, including the jokers, while rosaries typically have 108 main beads, an ornamental ‘head’ bead (orkhiul) that decorates the ends of the cord, and possibly extra ornamental beads which are not counted when the rosary is used for divination or prayer (tüshee). Divinatory implements, then, need not be selected for their intrinsic or enchanted properties, and so any standard deck of playing cards can be used. Rosary beads can be any colour and made from any material, including wood, bone, plastic, stone, and so on.1 Oftentimes, divinatory implements are used for other purposes too, such that playing cards are used for card games or gambling, while the rosary is used for correcting rituals or chanting prayers. Shamans, lamas and diviners may receive their implements as heirlooms or gifts, or they may buy them from a shop. So the look of the implements simply depends on the resources available to a specialist and his or her personal tastes. Over time, the implements may be replaced, as happens frequently in the case of playing cards, which break or get lost with use. Still, when Buryat shamans visit each other’s homes, they prefer to use their own divinatory implements and often carry them on their person. This is because shamans have their spirit-helpers bless their implements, to imbue them with some of the spirits’ agency, which makes them ready for use. Galanjav said that he always has his spirit-helpers bless a new deck of playing cards, imparting it with their strength (changa) and power (khüch), before using the cards to divine. Buryats interpret their playing cards in terms of the kinds of people or spirits that they represent, such as men, women, brothers and friends. Cards are also interpreted in terms of the locations they invoke, such as the home or the road. Thus Buryats put their own spin on Strathern’s idea that ‘Things carry their own context within themselves’, by allowing that divinatory implements carry their subjects within themselves (Holbraad 2007, 206). With playing cards, this happens at two levels. First, Buryats use their ‘standard interpretations’ – such as men, women, brothers and friends, the home 161

DFortune and the Cursed or the road – as the guidelines from which they assign case-specific interpretations to their cards, such as ‘The lama-shaman cursed me at home’. Second, these case-specific interpretations may elicit unwanted interactions between diviners and the people they are divining about, as described in chapter 2, when the lama-shaman detected Galanjav’s divinations about him and hijacked his cards. Intriguingly, the Buryat phenomenon of hijacked cards calls to mind Zeitlyn’s finding that ‘divination’ is ‘personified’ among the Cameroonian Mambila (1990, 662–64), giving rise to ‘a multivalent and hence multivocal relationship between divination technique and diviner as well as between diviner and client’ (2001, 237; emphasis appears in the original). But in the Buryat case, divinatory implements are not so much personified as they are imbued with some of the agency of the shamanic spirits who add their blessings to them; the shamans who properly control them; the inquirers who organize their inquiries around them; or the rival shamans who hijack them. In each of these cases Buryat divinatory implements help to produce BirdDavid’s notion of ‘immediacy’ between shamans, inquirers, the spirits and those who are being divined about – which (as argued above) carries intersubjective and perspectival possibilities within it (2004, 335). Like the hallucinogenic drugs taken by Amazonian shamans to communicate with the spirits, Buryat divinatory implements can bridge the ‘inextensive distance’ between all the subjects who take part in a given divination (Viveiros de Castro 2007, 164). Since Buryat divinations are private affairs held quietly inside of the home, shamans of course try to prevent their implements from generating either the inextensive distance described by Viveiros de Castro (ibid.) or the immediacy described by Bird-David (2004, 335), with anyone whom they consider to be outside the immediate purview of a divination. This is especially true when shamans divine about anything potentially dangerous, such as cursing rivals, their spirit-helpers or even the home in which a curse was cast – each of which can be plotted into the ‘system of positions’ for an episode of witchcraft (Favret-Saada 1980, 17–19). Buryats, then, try to control the divinatory implements so that they only represent dangerous people, rather than becoming agents-cum-representations of them. Otherwise the divinations might take on ‘intensive and “self-scaling” transformations’, developing into an outright cursing war that would be disastrous to everyone involved (Holbraad 2007, 219). 162

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By contrast, Buryats actively promote an inextensive distance (or immediacy) between shamans, inquirers, the divinatory implements and sometimes the spirits who are contained within the private divinatory setting. Seated together around a table, diviners, inquirers and the implements help to frame people’s thoughts around the same organizing concepts, so that each of them mutually generates the divinatory results. In lowered voices, diviners and inquirers quietly exchange information, setting in motion tactical manoeuvres, such as the decision to deflect a curse with a correcting ritual. Buryat diviners and inquirers thus allow the implements – sometimes as agents-cum-representations of their own agency – to assist them in cross-referencing their different thoughts, until a divinatory pronouncement is made.

Cross-referencing Schutz describes the intersubjectivity of face-to-face relations, where two or more people focus on the same task and respond to each other’s thoughts and actions (1971, 20–41). According to Schutz, intersubjective experience is made up of ‘continuous cross-reference’ in which ‘you refer your experiences of me back to what you grasp of my experiences of you’ (1971, 30). Cross-referencing is undertaken at a spoken or unspoken level, such as through chatting or eye contact. Moreover, cross-referencing is organized around a fluid reference point, namely that people interact with each other according to how they perceive others to be interacting with them (ibid.). Accordingly, cross-referencing is based on existing notions about how relationships work, including how quickly people can establish rapport. It also is based on notions about what a particular category of person is like, including what kind of people shamans tend to be. In this sense, Schutz suggests that cross-referencing allows one to ‘“participate” in the constitution of the motives in [one’s] partner’s conscious life’ (ibid., 32). Buryat shamans and inquirers frequently frame their divinatory cross-referencing around the ideas which they bring to a divination, such as the notion that people curse their rivals. Cross-referencing is also framed around the aforementioned standard interpretations assigned to implements such as playing cards, including the home, men, women, brothers or friends, and the road. As shamans and 163

DFortune and the Cursed inquirers hold a series of card divinations – cross-referencing their thoughts around the standard interpretations – they actually allow the divinatory implements to act as an agent with whom they mutually generate the shared intention to, say, uncover a specific rival’s cursing. Galanjav and Ölzii used cross-referencing in the playing card divinations held together with the mirror divinations described in chapter 2. Tapping their fingers atop of specific cards, they allowed the cards to help them detect and deflect curses.

Twenty Card Galanjav, Ölzii and other members of Yaruu’s group brought their curse suspicions with them to the ‘Twenty Card’ (Khorin Khözör) divinations that I describe here, framing their inquiry around the Buryat notion that ‘people curse their rivals’. These divinations helped Yaruu’s group to confirm that each of their rivals’ curses was actually part of a larger cursing episode in which the curses harmed victims immediately when they struck and the curses also harmed victims after a period of delay, making their fortunes gradually decline in a downwards spiral. Twenty Card is a popular form of divination in Bayandun, so that shamans often use it to divine while most laypeople also know its standard interpretations. Buryats in Bayandun commonly ‘believe in’ Twenty Card and use it for divination sessions that run for several hours. Indeed, Twenty Card is part of routine daily life in the Buryat districts of northeast Mongolia – and as I learned from the Russian Buryats who visited Yaruu’s group in June 2000 during the shamanic leveling-up ceremony (chanar) described in chapter 6 – it also appears to be popular in the Republic of Buryatia, Russia. Twenty Card uses the four suits and the indices ace, king, queen, jack and ten, so that four suits of five indices totals twenty cards.2 When arranged in what I call the ‘optimal layout’ (see figure 5.1), cards are placed in four rows by five columns.3 Therein suits appear top to bottom in order of hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, while indices are arranged left to right in order of ace, king, queen, jack, then ten. Card interpretations are assigned to indices and suits, and via these to columns and rows, with regard to the optimal layout position. Buryats interpret the ace indices as the home (bair), king as men (eregtei khün), queen as women (emegtei khün), jack as broth164

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Home

Men

D

Brothers, Women Friends Road

Joy

Success

Speech

An Obstacle Figure 5.1. Twenty Card optimal layout

ers or friends (akh, düü, naiz) and a ten as the road (zam). Suits are classified so that hearts register joy (bayar), diamonds success (amjilttai), clubs speech (yaria) and spades an obstacle (saadtai) or something hidden or shut off (khaalttai). In practice, the interpretations of indices tend to be more influential than the interpretations of suits. Moreover, when divining about religious specialists, black-coloured suits (clubs and spades) refer to ‘black’ shamans, who invoke the sky (tenger) or the spirits of deceased black shamans. By contrast, red-coloured suits (hearts and diamonds) indicate ‘white’ shamans, who invoke Buddhists deities, the spirits of lamas and deceased white shamans. Altogether, then, Twenty Card is actually a ‘holography’ of Buryat social relations in Wagner’s sense of the term, where ‘component elements replicate in detail the larger structures that contain them’ (1987, 61). Like Buryat innovations or fortune, then, Twenty Card can be seen in terms of its ‘fractal patterning’, 165

DFortune and the Cursed since it evidences ‘the tendency of patterns or structures to recur on multiple levels or scales’ (Mosko 2005, 24). Indeed, Twenty Card is organized by a polar opposition between the home and road, such that at one end of the layout is the home, or the ‘axis’ of everyday life which gives Buryats and other Mongols their orientation in the world (Humphrey 1995, 142–43). At the opposite end is the road, or the world outside of the home, where beings, objects and forces engage with each other publicly. Between the home and road columns are the people who populate both domains, whilst phenomena that affect a Buryat’s quality of life, such as speech, are made influential through the row interpretations. Significantly, then, Twenty Card can easily act as a holography of the ‘system of positions’ which underpins Favret-Saada’s approach to intersubjectivity in witchcraft (1980, 17). Shamans may begin by whispering invocations over their cards, requesting that the ancestral spirits, shamanic spirits or Buddhist gods assist their efforts. Their invocations take the form of improvised pleas for assistance or magical formulae (shivshleg) learned from older specialists and possibly passed down family lines. Then shamans shuffle the cards, sometimes finishing their shuffling with a derandomizing procedure that I call ‘cut view’, so that the first card dealt will not be associated with low fortune (khiimorgüi), thereby preventing an adverse effect upon the entire reading. Galanjav always used the cut view procedure after shuffling, holding his cards face down in one hand and then raising portions of the set to view individual cards. When a suitable card was found, Galanjav would split the deck, moving the viewed card to the bottom of the set. Then he would deal the cards face up, into four rows by five columns.4 Taking up the viewed card which landed in the fifth column, fourth row (the ten of spades’s optimal position), Galanjav would begin the card-swapping process which moves progressively towards the optimal layout. He would exchange the viewed card with whatever card was dealt into its optimal position, only to feed the newly exchanged card into an ongoing swapping process that finished when the ten of spades landed in its optimal position. Most often, the ten of spades reached its final position before the optimal layout was obtained. But when the optimal layout is reached, it is interpreted as the best possible outcome, or as a ‘sampling error’ in the ‘scientific’ sense

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(buruu), or as an inconsistency requiring shamans to reformulate their questions.

From card positions to curse effects On 10 February 2000, within a week of the lunar New Year festivities when Yaruu’s group discovered the cursing, Galanjav held a fourhour divinatory session which included seventeen different Twenty Card divinations, the mirror readings presented in chapter 2, and some additional rosary divinations. Just a few people in Yaruu’s group attended this divinatory session, including Ölzii, her older daughter, Shüleg, who joined the readings late, Chimegee and myself. Since Ölzii was the chief inquirer for the divinations, she and Galanjav confirmed the curse suspicions mounting within Yaruu’s group. Recall that both during and prior to the lunar New Year celebrations, Yaruu’s group had suffered from illnesses and business difficulties. Some of the curse casting had also been witnessed by Yaruu’s group. Buyna had seen the lama-shaman toss sweets onto the floor of Yaruu’s home, to curse her during the New Year festivities. Other people in Yaruu’s group also had witnessed the three shamanic rivals collectively curse them, when leaving Bayandun together in the same car on route to the province capital of Choibalsan (see more details below). In light of these eyewitness accounts of cursing, Yaruu’s group framed the divinations around the Buryat notion that ‘human rivals cast curses’. Three of the Twenty Card readings from this session are presented below, showing that Galanjav, Ölzii and the cards mutually generated divinatory findings about the cursing problem. Galanjav and Ölzii reached these results mainly through unspoken communication and ‘cross-referencing’, sensu Schutz (1971, 30–32), using the divinatory cards as a vehicle for bolstering their shared intention of identifying cursing rivals. Alerting each other to the significant aspects of a reading – which underscored the system of positions in their cursing war – Galanjav and Ölzii tapped their fingers atop of the cards, exchanged meaningful looks and laughed sarcastically. Alternatively, in those cases where Galanjav and Ölzii disagreed about how to interpret the cards or were confused by them, they resorted to questioning their findings aloud. Occasionally, Ölzii even tapped

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DFortune and the Cursed her finger on the cards to accelerate the swapping process by showing Galanjav, who took a more leisurely pace, which card he should collect next. After cut viewing and dealing the first card set, Galanjav swapped the cards while Ölzii watched closely, ready to prompt the order of exchange if necessary. During the swapping, Galanjav declared ‘white car’ (tsagaan mashin), referring to a vehicle which had transported the three cursing rivals – Sansar, Sürenma and the lama-shaman – out of the district just after Yaruu’s group had seen them muttering curse words. When the cards reached their final layout (see figure 5.2), Galanjav, who had this escape route in mind, tapped his finger on the queen of spades in the fourth column, fourth row. The card finalized in the jack of spades’s optimal position, confirming the divination’s framing concept that rivals cast curses. Additionally,

Home

Men

Brothers, Women Friends Road

Joy

Success

Speech

An Obstacle Figure 5.2. Twenty Card layout indicating that Sansar and Sürenma had cast curses 168

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the card helped Galanjav and Ölzii pursue their shared intention of uncovering those curses which had been collaboratively cast by the male shaman, Sansar, and the female shaman, Sürenma. This inversion of the jack and queen of spades linked the two shamans together, while indicating there was an ‘obstacle’ afoot. Eager to establish the culpability of their third suspect, the lama-shaman, Ölzii then tapped her forefinger on the jack of hearts. Galanjav, however, dismissed her suggestion, muttering that the card did not indicate anything extraordinary because it was in its optimal position. In the following two card sets, Galanjav and Ölzii continued to frame their inquiry around the Buryat notion that people curse their rivals. After the cards reached their final layout (see figure 5.3), Galanjav suggested that the queen of hearts, which landed in the jack of diamond’s optimal position, indicated that Sürenma and the

Home

Men

Brothers, Women Friends

Road

Joy

Success

Speech

An Obstacle Figure 5.3. Twenty Card layout indicating that the lama-shaman and Sürenma had cast curses 169

DFortune and the Cursed lama-shaman had set curses. To this, Ölzii responded that the queen of spades in the home column revealed that Sürenma’s words had entered victims’ homes, as had been witnessed a week earlier. Agreeing, Galanjav claimed that the jack of hearts positioned directly above the queen of spades further demonstrated that the lama-shaman had cast curses. Next, Ölzii surmised aloud that the curses were set with the help of Burkhan Garval and Tsagaan Övgön, spirits invoked by lamas. According to Ölzii, just three days earlier, on 7 February, Tsagaan Övgön had descended to earth from the sky – so that Yaruu and Ölzii had lit an oil lamp in their home for the spirit on that day. Tsagaan Övgön’s visit thus coincided with the day on which the lamashaman cursed Yaruu in her home, tossing sweets about and causing her to become ill. Some months later, on 22 April, Galanjav told me that Burkhan Garval is a mountain lord (uuliin ezen) and thus a kind of nature spirit that lamas always invoke. The naming of the lamashaman’s spirit helpers led Galanjav to draw a further association to Sansar’s spirit intermediary in the next set (see figure 5.4). On completing the card swapping, Galanjav called attention to Sansar’s top spirit-helper, a ‘big black spirit’ (khar tom garval) denoted by the jack of spades in the men’s column. Perplexed by the ace of hearts, Galanjav asked why it finalized in the road column. Unable to link this to the cursing, he suggested that a swapping of the ace of clubs and ace of diamonds showed that words, denoted by the suit of clubs, had entered each of the households in Yaruu’s group. Moving on to the ace of spades in the road column, he declared that someone in Yaruu’s group had met with an obstacle (meaning a curse) in a public space and conveyed this back home on his or her person. Finally, Galanjav pointed to the jack of hearts in the road column to corroborate the previous set’s finding that the curses had struck when someone in Yaruu’s group had met the lama-shaman in public. Altogether, Galanjav and Ölzii reached these divinatory findings through successive stages of cross-referencing their thoughts – assisted by the cards themselves – on how rivals cast curses. Some of the card sets in this divination session indicated that the lama-shaman was cursing Galanjav even as he divined. So Ölzii used the ring-finger measuring method described in chapter 3 and confirmed that Galanjav’s soul was indeed lost. Chimegee, whose soul was present, gave Galanjav an impromptu soul-calling ceremony, lightly beating Galanjav’s back with her rosary and then rub170

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Men

Brothers, Women Friends

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Road

Joy

Success

Speech

An Obstacle Figure 5.4. Twenty Card layout indicating that Sansar had cast curses and that Yaruu’s group had inadvertently carried curses from public spaces into their homes

bing his head with it. During these efforts to deflect the soul loss, I asked whether the cards had inadvertently brought the lama-shaman within the purview of the divination. Galanjav was uncertain whether that had been the case or whether the lama-shaman had been constantly cursing Yaruu’s group anyway, but he admitted with some fear that the lama-shaman might have been aware of what the cards had shown. Perhaps, Galanjav surmised with a caustic laugh, the lama-shaman was a bad enough person to have revealed his cursing directly by hijacking his cards and making them generate outcomes which would show his curses flagrantly. That kind of boldness would have been unlikely, Galanjav said, since the lama-shaman probably would have preferred to keep his curses secret for as long as possible, ensuring that they had a powerful delayed-return effect on 171

DFortune and the Cursed the fortunes and souls of those people in Yaruu’s group. Moreover, Galanjav continued, most shamans try to hide their curses so as to avoid retaliation. Still, he confessed that the lama-shaman seemed to have hijacked the cards, given the soul loss which he had just experienced. Some minutes later, as Galanjav held the mirror divinations described in chapter 2, his infant daughter began to cry, which they said meant that the lama-shaman had taken her soul too. Altogether, then, Galanjav, Ölzii, the cards and even the lama-shaman who hijacked the cards gave cues about how to interpret the divinatory results. Each of the divinations contributed small clues about the cursing, so that when the session concluded, they were seen to have the cumulative effect of confirming that rivals had cursed and afflicted Yaruu’s group with soul loss many times. Yaruu’s group thus took the first step in their curse-deflecting magic, namely, developing plans for a counter-curse war. By returning curses to their rivals, Yaruu’s group planned to bridge the ‘inextensive distance’ to them, while carefully protecting themselves within the confines of their own homes.

Cursing wars and the inextensive distance to rivals People in Bayandun commonly use the categories represented by indices and suits in Twenty Card – namely, the home, men, women, brothers and friends, the road, joy, success, speech and obstacles – as a lens through which they think about and live their everyday lives (see figures 5.5, 5.6 and 5.7). Yaruu’s group used these categories to guide their interpretations not just in Twenty Card, but for other kinds of divination, including the mirror divinations of chapter 2, where they found that the lama-shaman had cursed Yaruu in her home by using a spirit-intermediary and tossing sweets. At another level, Yaruu’s group allowed the Twenty Card categories to permeate the divinatory context, when they looked through the windows of their homes, tracking people’s movements on paths that crosscut the district’s slopes. The categories of Twenty Card thus coincide with both the topographic layout of Bayandun’s homes and paths, as well as with how Buryats in the district plan out their interactions between those two domains. Additionally, as discussed in chapter 2, the Buryat map172

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Figure 5.5. An inquirer who arrived unexpectedly at a shamanic levellingup ceremony (chanar) in Bayandun, taking notes on the Twenty Card divination which he requested

Figure 5.6. Pondering the Twenty Card results 173

DFortune and the Cursed

Figure 5.7. Tapping fingers on cards to indicate the Twenty Card results

ping of interactions between the home and road may take place according to different timescales – with a focus on past or present events – which tend to be future oriented in the sense that Buryats actively use divinations to improve their circumstances. It is telling that Buryats even seek out their desired divinatory results, or innovative magical remedies, to deflect problems in the near future. Schutz suggests that as ‘my anticipations concerning events in the world beyond my control are codetermined by my hopes and fears. … [t]hey are framed, in common-sense thinking, not only in the potential but also in the optative mode’ (1971, 289). By ‘optative’, Schutz refers to the mode of experience that a person most wishes for or desires. Thus, by definition, the optative mode is something which has not yet happened, but which, if all things go well, can happen in the future. There is already evidence from Humphrey that Buryats use their hopes and fears to frame their interpretations of omens, which ‘should not be seen as an accident which makes people rearrange their lives, but as the outcome of a complex process which begins with a concern’ (1976, 35). Humphrey’s (1976) work on omens, as well as Lindquist’s (2006, 8–9, see also 234–36) and Zorbas’s (2007, 71–77) recent findings that Russians and some Siberians undertake magical practices to obtain hoped-for results, 174

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dovetail with my argument that Buryats frame their divinatory inquiries and results according to their wished-for results. Let us take a closer look at how Buryats seek out desirable divinatory results, by manoeuvring between different timescales. While no Buryat person can simply undo and relive his or her past, Buryats can ‘revise’ their views of the past to obtain a wished-for divinatory result. For instance, when Yaruu’s group was facing numerous misfortunes, business difficulties and illnesses from late November 1999 to early February 2000, they ascribed their problems to having inadvertently offended the spirits. Because of this conclusion, they made many offerings to the spirits. But since these offerings were unsuccessful, Yaruu’s group began to feel that they had reached a dead end in their search to overcome their problems. In this sense, the cursing which Yaruu’s group discovered during the lunar New Year in February 2000 was not entirely unwelcome and indeed was even already suspected. The cursing gave Yaruu’s group a reason to hold divinations where they could revise their view of the past, sourcing their problems since November 1999 to both having offended the spirits and rival shamans’ curses. Identifying the curses, then, gave Yaruu’s group new avenues for addressing their problems: correcting rituals which deflected curses and returned them to their senders, and, later, innovative magical remedies which altogether blocked the curses. Over time their revised views of the past helped introduce the hyperorderly changes to Buryat sociality and cosmology, which I describe fully in chapter 6. But before Yaruu’s group uncovered the curse-blocking innovation, they held yet another month of divinations, each of which helped detect how they could overcome the cursing in line with their own wishes. On a daily basis, Ölzii and others sought divinations from Galanjav, Yaruu, Duulchin or, occasionally, myself to gauge whether the rivals had sent fresh curses. When these curses were abundantly confirmed, they undertook to return curses to their rivals. Yaruu’s group hoped that by returning curses, they would secretly bridge the inextensive distance between themselves and their rivals, weakening their rivals without letting them know that they had retaliated. Their weakened rivals would not want or be able to send them new curses, and this would help to contain the cursing war. Returning curses, then, required a good deal of finesse. Unlike Galanjav’s divinations, where the lama-shaman hijacked a card to make his presence known, 175

DFortune and the Cursed Yaruu’s group wished to return curses under complete secrecy, so as not to antagonize their rivals further. Yaruu therefore held shamanic ceremonies where she undertook spirit possession at her home or at Ölzii’s home, assisted by her spirit-helpers, who would ensure that she returned the curses, thereby bridging the inextensive distance to the rivals, in complete secrecy. During this time, Yaruu’s group generated their own new spatial map of Bayandun in response to their ‘system of positions’ within the cursing – making their rivals’ homes and the paths near to them ‘off-limits’ – to further ensure that they would only bridge the inextensive distance to rivals within the controlled setting of a shamanic ceremony (see figure 5.8). I recall one afternoon, shortly after the cursing had been uncovered, when Ölzii and Yaruu carefully told me that Sürenma, the lama-shaman, Lavs and Sansar were all dangerously bad people with whom they could no longer socialize. Ölzii in particular advised that I no longer visit the homes of their rivals, saying that all the shamans in the southwest of the district (the rival group) were bad, whereas all of the shamans in the northeast of the district (Yaruu’s group) were good. Just Yaruu’s group of shamans would be sufficient for my study, Ölzii said firmly, making a point that was soon echoed by Duulchin, Galanjav and Chimegee. Moreover, Ölzii added that any visits which I might make to the rival group could possibly harm Yaruu’s group, since I could unwittingly bear curses on my body to their homes during my day-to-day activities. This prompted me to ask Ölzii whether the curses were ‘contagious’ (khaldvartai), and Yaruu confirmed that yes, they were. From that moment onwards, I noticed that Yaruu’s group avoided taking paths in Bayandun which passed near the rivals’ homes, preferring instead to use paths which kept them as far away from their rivals as possible. Even Tansag made a particular effort to avoid one main pathway which ran close to Sürenma’s home, telling me that an alternative path, which tended to be empty of people, would bring her faster into the very centre of the district, although I had always considered that path to be something of a diversion towards the east. Certainly Tansag had preferred the path which ran past Sürenma’s home before that and had used it on a daily basis as a route home from school with all of her classmates. Another large part of the counter-curse strategy in Yaruu’s group was to strengthen their alliances with sympathetic households (bol176

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Sausar’s Home

Galanjav and Chimegee’s Home NORTHEAST – SOUTHWEST DIVIDE IN BAYANDUN, FROM THE VIEWPOINT OF YARUU’S GROUP IN THE YEAR 2000

D

Lavs and the LamaShaman’s Home

Two freshwater springs

South/western wing of Bayandun

Off-limit path Traversable path

Sürenma’s Home

E

W

District centre shops and administrative buildings

th pa ble rsa e av Tr

Of f-l im it p ath

North/eastern wing of Bayandun Northern bluff Yaruu’s Home

Duulchin’s Home

Gerel’s Home

Mandal’s Home

Figure 5.8. Map of Bayandun from the viewpoint of Yaruu’s group, who strategically avoided the homes of their cursing rivals in the year 2000

stering their system of positions within the cursing), so as to isolate the rival shamans. Everyone in Yaruu’s group agreed that isolation would give their rivals an incentive to stop cursing. But in order to prevent their rivals from undermining this isolation tactic, the group had to convey their cursing story tactfully to their local allies, making it compelling enough so that anyone who heard it would join their side and not leak information about their counter-curse measures to the rivals. So Yaruu’s group marred the reputations of their rivals, saying that their curses had caused them numerous illnesses and business difficulties which had lasted for several months, despite all the divinations and correcting rituals that the group had undertaken. Two of Ölzii and Yaruu’s neighbouring households – the homes of Gerel and Mandal – were told about the cursing and promptly joined Yaruu’s group. These new members of Yaruu’s group gossiped with me about the cursing on several late evenings, about one month after the curse-blocking innovation had been uncovered (see chapter 6). They asked me rhetorically what I thought of Sürenma and her husband, declaring that she was a very bad person. But while the content of their speech was pushy and sarcastic, they also gossiped 177

DFortune and the Cursed in hushed tones, so as not to attract the rivals and unwittingly bridge the inextensive distance to them.

Thirteen Card The divinatory process described above is not unique to Bayandun but is also common in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, where diviners, inquirers and the divinatory implements also mutually generate divinatory outcomes. Here I give a brief account of the playing card divination undertaken by Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s resident diviner. I call this divination Thirteen Card. This technique and the interpretations assigned to it are well known to laypersons in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, who tend to visit this diviner, or other diviners based in nearby Nantun or Hailar, once a fortnight. Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum believe in divination, and people of all backgrounds – including herdsmen, educated officials, the old and young – visit diviners, often to ask about their prospects in business or school. Thirteen Card works as follows: The diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, who is not a shaman, does not finish her shuffling with the derandomizing procedure of cut view nor does she whisper invocations before divining. However, she uses a full deck of cards, excluding only the two jokers. First the diviner shuffles the cards, and then she deals them, face down, into four piles. These four piles are arranged so as to form the four corners of a ‘square’, and each pile receives thirteen cards. Then the diviner takes up the pile in the upper right corner of the square. Turning the cards faceup, she pulls at them, one by one, so as to separate them slightly and view their suits and indices. She gives a few moments’ thought to these cards and then places them, still facing upwards, into an open fan arrangement, just above the remaining piles in the square. Moving in a clockwise direction around the square, the diviner goes through the same process with two more card piles, placing the contents of each of these in a fanned out arrangement, just beneath the pile that preceded it. However, the last pile is arranged into four rows of three cards, followed by one last row with just a single card. These rows are placed beneath the fanned arrangement of cards from the three previous piles. Only the last thirteen cards are read – although the diviner may allow the thoughts she had when laying out the previous cards to influence her interpretation of the final thirteen cards. 178

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There is no optimal layout for Thirteen Card. Instead, divinatory outcomes are based on the standard interpretations assigned to indices and suits, and the notion of ‘adjacent card influence’, where cards that finalize next to each other in the four rows – or sometimes the cards in a single column – are held to be mutually influential. Everyone I asked in Shinekhen Baruun Sum and in other parts of their banner – whether Mongol or Chinese – agreed that the interpretations shown in table 5.1 are accurate. Throughout the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner, then, the standard interpretations assigned to indices and suits are uniform. And as shown in table 5.1, Buryat divinatory interpretations largely tally with Chinese divinatory interpretations. However, no one in Shinekhen Baruun Sum knew the historical reasons for why these standard interpretations are similar, although they said that ideas are easily exchanged between Mongols and Chinese in their banner, because there is inexpensive, fast and frequently available transportation between Hailar, its nearby outlying suburbs and the rural districts. They advised me, too, that their playing card interpretations match those interpretations found in Chinese newspapers or in books on divination (Xiao 1994). Tellingly, the district’s local post office worker, who was Han Chinese (and thus part of the majority ethnic group in China today), thought the Chinese interpretations could be sourced to the mimicking wordplay in Chinese, which may entail branching out from a compound word with two phonemes to produce a ‘chain’ of additional words with pun-like, phonetic similarities. Thus he felt that the phonetic similarities in Chinese between a card’s index and its interpretation make the divination powerful and authentic – similar to how the Japanese good luck charms of Daniels’s study, mentioned above, gather their ‘agency through homophones, that is, embodied words’ (2003, 632). When I asked Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum about the post office worker’s thoughts, they agreed that the Chinese interpretations probably originated in this way and casually surmised that their card interpretations may have been mutually generated by both Mongols and Chinese over time. As with Twenty Card – and Mongol playing card divinations more generally – Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum consider that redcoloured suits (hearts and diamonds) indicate a good outcome while black-coloured suits (clubs and spades) indicate a bad outcome. Just as in Bayandun, the suits are ordered hierarchically, from best to 179

DFortune and the Cursed worst, as hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades – except when divining about money, where the suit of diamonds, which is associated with money, is considered to be slightly better than the suit of hearts. However, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum interpret the index six as the road (zam), seven as speech (yaria), eight as celebrations (bayar) or, occasionally, spouses or friends (nökhör, avgai, naiz). Only the resident diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum uses her own standard interpretation for the index eight, which is ‘gods’ or ‘spirits’ (burkhan) (see also chapter 2). The index nine indicates the consumption of alcohol (arkhi) or (though now arcane) emotions or state of mind (setgel sanaa), while the index ten refers to money (zoos). Face cards represent humans (khün) or spirits (Buddhist gods or ancestral spirits), and more specifically, the index jack refers to young men (zaluu eregtei khün), queen to women (emegtei khün) and king to elders, often revered men (nastai eregtei khün). Following the Chinese wordplay discussed above, the index six (liu) is interpreted as the road (lu), whereas seven (qi) reflects the energy or anger (qi) that generates conversation or squabbles, and the index eight (ba) bears a lucky number associated with increase, particularly in wealth ( fa), which is inextricably a part of celebrations. Indeed the word fa is part of the popular lunar New Year idiom (chengyu) in Mandarin, ‘gong xi fa cai’, which means ‘Congratulations to you, and may many things (primarily wealth) increase and come your way’. This idiom is often printed onto the red envelopes (hongbao) that Han Chinese use to present gifts of money during Chinese holidays. And the idiom may also be spoken aloud when meeting or taking leave of a person during the lunar New Year, or when bestowing gifts or complimenting someone on an outstanding achievement. While the index nine ( jiu) denotes alcohol ( jiu), it is uncertain why the index ten (shi) refers to money (qian), but some Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum think that there are close associations between the Mandarin word for business, tasks or affairs (shi) and the finances they generate. Interpretations for face cards (jack, queen and king) are not drawn from phonetic resemblance but are based on contextual inference and are identical to the Mongol interpretations. Idiosyncractic interpretations for the indices ace, two, three, four and five are widespread, so that diviners read these cards according to their personal tastes. Nonetheless, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun 180

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Table 5.1. Buryat and Chinese playing card interpretations, according to suit and index, within the Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner. Index

Suit

6 6 6 6 7

8 8

Hearts Diamonds Clubs Spades Hearts and Diamonds Clubs and Spades Hearts Diamonds

8

Clubs

8

Spades

9 9

Hearts Diamonds

9 9 10

Clubs Spades Hearts

10

Diamonds

10

Clubs

10 Jack Queen King Ace

Spades Any Any Any Hearts

Ace Ace Ace

Diamonds Clubs Spades

7

Mongol Interpretation

Chinese Interpretation

The road is at its best. The road is good. The road is fair. The road is bad. Good praise and/or Good talk. white khel am. Disparagement, slander, Bad talk. black khel am or curses. A joyous celebration which has a good effect. A joyous celebration which brings good (possibly financial) returns. A celebration that leaves some difficult repercussions in its wake. A celebration that leaves bad repercussions in its wake. Alcohol is drunk joyfully, without problems. Alcohol is drunk joyfully, without problems. Gambling may bring profit. Driking alcohol has some negative effects. Drinking alcohol has many negative effects. Ready money or cash Money matters are is on hand. excellent. Money matters are at their best. Every endeavour yields high profits. Money matters are fair, but new enterprises are not very profitable. Money is lost, gone or scant. Gambling incurs losses. Young men (people or spirits). Women (people or spirits). Older, revered men (people or spirits). Matters about the Not applicable. mind and heart. Success in money. Not applicable. State of affairs at home. Not applicable. Quality of a person’s work. Not applicable.

Table 5.1. The diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum interprets the eights index idiosyncratically, as ‘god’ or ‘ancestral spirit’ (burkhan).

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DFortune and the Cursed Sum say that there are general guidelines for interpreting these indices, such that aces refer to a person’s situation or his state of fortune. Positive results are associated with aces which land so that the emblem of their suits faces right side up, while negative results are ascribed where the suit emblem lands upside down. The twos index is linked to clairvoyance, since it allows diviners to see in their eyes the cause of the many things that an inquirer will experience (nüdend yamar yüm kharagdakhad, tiimerkhüü olon uchirtai yüm irne). Sometimes when diviners see the twos index, this triggers a déjà vu–like experience, such that whatever a diviner had previously seen in his or her mind’s eye reappears as the basis for a divinatory outcome (urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne). Information in general (chimee) – whether specific information (surag), news (sonin) or letters (zakhia) – is represented by the threes index, while reasons or facts (uchir) are revealed by the fours index, and the fives index alludes to festivities (bayar). Just as in Bayandun, the standard divinatory interpretations in Shinekhen Baruun Sum provide a ‘holography’ of the Buryat world. Of course, there are notable similarities and differences between how Buryats in these two districts use divination as a holographic template. First, the opposition between the home and the road in Twenty Card is not featured in Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s divinations, which lack the category of ‘home’. Second, while money and alcohol consumption play a large role in Shinekhen Baruun Sum’s divinations, they are not an intrinsic part of Bayandun’s divinatory practices – although many problems in Bayandun are ascribed to business difficulties or alcohol. Still, the categories ‘speech’ and ‘the road’ are represented in the divinatory templates of both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum, so that Buryats in both districts have comparable means for deflecting curses or khel am through divinations. By seeking a wished-for divinatory outcome, these Buryats may frame their most pressing questions around these divinatory templates, which are ready-made to accommodate them. In chapter 2, I describe a Thirteen Card divination, where the diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum confirmed the results of a previous divination held by a lama, stating that her inquirer indeed had been cursed, so that she suffered from fallen fortune and money losses. Framing their inquiry around the Buryat notion that people curse their rivals while seeking to reverse the fallen fortune and regain the lost money, this 182

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diviner and her inquirer uncovered the ‘evil spirits’ sent by the curse caster, who were represented by the eights index. Having sourced the inquirer’s problems to these evil spirits, the diviner confirmed that they could be expelled by the inquirer’s own ancestral spirits, provided that she made them offerings. Just as with the divinations undertaken by Yaruu’s group in Bayandun, the Shinekhen Baruun Sum diviner and her inquirer thus manoeuvred between past and future-oriented timescales – confirming that money problems had arisen from an unexpected source of troubles (the inquirer’s own ancestral spirits, rather than a curse) – so that they could produce the desirable means for deflecting those money problems in the near future.

Controlling the inextensive distance to rivals Buryat divinations, then, require some degree of ‘intersubjective’ collaboration between diviners, their inquirers and the divinatory implements, particularly in sensitive cases where the diviner must prevent rivals from hijacking the implements and entering the divinatory purview. By framing the divinatory inquiry around the same concept, such as the Buryat notion that people curse their rivals, Buryats may revise their views of the past and uncover the ‘new’ source to their long-term problems. Both Yaruu’s group and the diviner in Shinekhen Baruun Sum thus helped their inquirers revise their view on the past, showing that while curses had caused fallen fortune, correcting rituals or curse-deflecting tactics could be undertaken to make fortune rise again. However, Buryat correcting rituals and other remedies are only effective when they are properly controlled. Just as the divinatory implements can bridge the inextensive distance to hostile forces (such as cursing rivals), correcting rituals and other remedies can be hijacked, bringing about a dangerous ‘immediacy’ between Buryats and their rivals. Divinations, correcting rituals and even innovative remedies all have the capacity to reconfigure relations between Buryats, even shifting the ‘system of positions’ between cursing allies and enemies within the district setting. Buryats, however, cannot obtain their desired outcomes through purely mystical means. Instead, they must undertake divinations, correcting rituals or innovative remedies at the right time, 183

DFortune and the Cursed in the right place. This is no easy feat. It requires in-depth knowledge of the different timescales by which Buryat magical practices work and, where necessary, shifting savvily between them.

Notes 1. Some Mongol diviners use twenty-one or forty-one different stones to divine. There is a widespread Mongol view that these diviners ideally source each of their stones from a different location that they have visited in person. However, lost stones can be replaced, and many stone diviners who I met from different parts of Mongolia told me that while they gathered some of their stones from different locations, most were sourced within their own place of residence. The important thing was to select stones that appealed to the diviner, who was to feel that the stones were somehow especially worthy for use in divinations. These diviners also pointed out that some people buy sets of divinatory stones, which I had seen for sale myself, several times, in the Ulaanbaatar black market during 1999–2000. Finally, Yaruu had shown me the practice of stone divination, which involves moving stones into different piles, on a numerical basis. Since stone divination is based on principles of ‘counting’, Yaruu simply substituted matches for stones to show me how it works. She did not divine by stones herself, but like many other Mongols, she was familiar with the practice. In Yaruu’s view, a diviner could even make use of matches rather than stones, if pressed to hold a divination when he or she did not have the stones at hand. 2. Twenty Card can also be practised using the indices five, four, three, two and six. Because the ace, king, queen, jack and ten version is more commonly used and bears a visual resemblance to the interpretations assigned it, I use it here. These two versions make it possible for shamans who are missing cards to substitute an ace with a five, a king with a four, queen with a three, jack with a two, and ten with a six, respectively. 3. Cards can also be arranged into five rows of four columns. Both layouts follow the same interpretations for suits and indices, so that only the orientation of the matrix is different. 4. Galanjav told me that some shamans do not swap their cards but simply deal them directly into their final positions. Other shamans, he said, deal all their cards except for the last one facedown, before swapping the cards, turning each newly exchanged card faceup, until the 10 of spades lands in its optimal position. These shamans only read the cards which finalize faceup, and their whole sets are only ever visible when reaching the optimal layout at the start of a divination.

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DChapter 6 An Unconventional Timescale: The Immediate Rise of Fortune

Here we return to the idea that no Buryat wants to wait out the gradual length of time that fortune usually takes to recover. So when Buryats learn that their fortunes have declined but fail to improve them with divinations and correcting rituals, they usually seek out innovative remedies to raise their fortunes immediately. Yaruu’s group, which had faced recurrent curse attacks for several months, therefore produced a new curse-blocking remedy that immediately raised the group’s fortunes, resolved the cursing and diffused the rivalries leading up to it. This chapter gives ethnography on both the curse-blocking remedy and an innovative toothache remedy, which Yaruu produced during a shamanic ceremony in March 2000. It also presents ethnography on the innovative remedies she made in September 2004 to block vampiric imps from Ölzii’s home. Innovation-making is thus shown to underpin the hyperorderly Buryat strategy for resolving problems. Not only do innovations provide an immediate means for resolving long-term problems, but the shamans, such as Yaruu, who produce them also act as ‘strange attractors’ by drawing other Buryats to seek out their innovation-making. Through her curse-blocking innovation, Yaruu uncovered the possibility of developing further remedies that hinged upon the recurrent pattern of ‘blocking hostile forces from the home’. The success of Yaruu’s curse-blocking innovation thus paved the way for expanding her oeuvre four years later, with innovative remedies that blocked vampiric imps from Ölzii’s home, thereby exhibiting the ‘fractal scaling’ described in chaos theory. In this chapter, then, I demonstrate that Buryats only trace causeand-effect relations or carry out magical practices within the mode 185

DFortune and the Cursed of fortune. Ethnography is presented on how Yaruu’s group, frustrated with correcting rituals that merely deflected curses while only gradually improving their fortunes, held the shamanic ceremony that uncovered the curse-blocking innovation. This innovation raised the fortunes of her group – and helped them to recover from the cursing more generally – at an unconventionally rapid pace. The innovation also irreversibly altered the social and cosmological setting of Bayandun for Yaruu’s group, including the ‘system of positions’ which had implicated them in the cursing (Favret-Saada 1980, 170). In so doing, the innovation offered a fresh platform for resolving the rivalries which initially led to the cursing. Additionally, I describe the tactics taken by Yaruu’s group to deflect curses and avoid their rivals, both before and after uncovering the curse-blocking innovation. Although her group continued to avoid their rivals for some time after the innovation had been implemented, they had different reasons for keeping their distance. Yaruu’s group was so concerned about keeping the curse-blocking remedy a secret from their rivals that they made the pretence of being unaware that any recent curses might have struck. They also disguised their curse-blocking remedies as common household protection amulets, sewing them inside of homemade cloth pouches so that they were contained just like the substances dispensed in everyday correcting rituals. Any outsider to the home who happened to see these innovations was likely to mistake them for the substances obtained in ordinary correcting rituals. Having disguised their innovations thus, Yaruu’s group considered it unlikely that their rivals could ‘hijack’ the innovations and imbue them with their agency so as to enter their homes and cast further curses there. They also felt that if the innovations were kept secret, their rivals would be unlikely to render them impotent. All this suggests that Buryat shamans must keep the same kind of control over their innovative remedies as they keep over their divinatory implements. It also shows how Buryat innovative remedies arise as variations upon their conventional correcting rituals. In light of this, I demonstrate the profound effect that the curseblocking innovation had on the relations between Yaruu’s group and their rivals. According to everyone in Yaruu’s group, the innovation generated a ‘force field’ around their homes, preventing curses, khel

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am and even nature spirits carrying curses from entering. Contained within this artificial environment, Yaruu’s group found that their fortunes rose at an unconventionally rapid pace and that their souls could not be lost while they were at home. This rapid rise in fortune immediately changed the business prospects and health of Yaruu’s group. However, it only a brought about a gradual dissolution of the cursing rivalry in Bayadun, since her group hid the innovation from their rivals to prevent them from undermining it. Keeping their distance from rivals in public while refusing to speak about the cursing anywhere, Yaruu’s group abruptly adopted an altogether positive outlook on life. Their new tactic of ignoring both the cursing and their curse-blocking innovation had a dual effect. First, by ignoring the curses, they avoided unwittingly attracting hostile forces to their homes, which helped their fortunes continue to improve rapidly along an upwards spiral of increasingly positive returns. Second, by ignoring the innovation, Yaruu’s group prevented their rivals from uncovering it and developing a countermeasure against it. On my return trip to Bayandun in 2004, Ölzii told me that Yaruu’s group maintained this distance to their rivals for around two years, while their curse-blocking innovation had been potent for three years. During this time, some major changes had taken place for Ölzii, as well as within Yaruu’s group. Both Galanjav and Dorj, who had been Ölzii’s husband, had left Bayandun permanently. Shortly thereafter, Yaruu had sold her wing of the household that she shared with Ölzii, moving with her family into a yurt about a hundred yards south of Ölzii’s home. So when the old cursing rivalry had dissipated in 2001–2002, Ölzii and Yaruu found themselves in a more ‘neutral’ position – as regards their shamanic alliances – and thus renewed their social relations and shamanic alliance to Sürenma. Meanwhile, Yaruu’s reputation as a shaman continued to grow independently of her former group, so that around 2004 she began to suspect that Duulchin was cursing her out of jealousy. By this time, the innovation had lost its potency, and the fortunes of everyone in Yaruu’s group had reverted to gradually rising and falling. To fully show, then, how central fortune is to Buryat innovation-making, I first want to offer just a brief comparative look at their notions of luck, fortune and fate – three important modes within their ontology of extraordinary time – after which I will give my ethnography on the innovative remedies.

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DFortune and the Cursed The ephemerality of luck Buryats consider themselves to be ‘in luck’ when they suddenly come across an unanticipated, favourable event which lasts for a brief moment only. Since Buryats hold that luck is advantageous, they tend to describe it with the compound term ‘luck-opportunity’ (az zavshaan), which, while separable into its component parts – luck (az) and opportunity (zavshaan) – is commonly conceived of as a whole. Among Buryats, luck is pleasant and surprising, delightful and sometimes hoped for, but it is also transitory and accidental. Because luck only lasts for a moment, it also only gives immediate results. Mandal thus told me that whenever several instances of luck crop up in succession, Buryats do not link these instances together as a series of connected events, each one causing the next. Instead, Mandal confirmed that every instance of luck is independent and cannot be anticipated. Moreover, only good things come of luck, so Buryats consider that every person is either ‘with’ or ‘without’ luck (‘aztai’ or ‘azgüi’). No converse notion of bad luck exists, then, although Buryats have notions of bad fortune and bad fate, as illustrated below. Sometimes, when asked offhand what luck is, Buryats initially respond by comparing it to their different registers of extraordinary time, saying: ‘It is fortune’ (Az zavshaan … khiimor) or ‘It is fate’ (Khuv’ zaya baina). But they usually then immediately qualify this as inaccurate, stressing that fortune is the most precious (nandin) of these three registers, while having the most direct effect upon them. By contrast, they regard luck as a somewhat flippant occurrence which is clearly less significant than fortune or fate. The passages below, which show the transitory character of luck and its link to opportunity, were mainly given by schoolteachers, district officials or university students visiting home on holiday, in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum. One passage, though, was given by Chimegee. MANDAL: ‘Luck-opportunity occurs when one’s necessary work is successful by means of an unanticipated coincidence.’ HUSBAND OF THE SHAMAN TANSAG: ‘Luck-opportunity takes place by means of chance, like finding something on the road such as joy, happiness or gold. … Luck is the same as opportunity (az, zavshaan adilkhan).’ MANDAL’S SON: ‘Opportunity is good. An opportunist (zavshigch) is not good. If you need a ride to the province capital and a car on its way there 188

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arrives at your home so that you can catch a ride in it – that is opportunity. … When you’re working on making something that is difficult for you and someone who has expertise in fashioning it arrives and takes over your work – all the while allowing you to relax – this is opportunity.’ MANDAL’S SON: ‘Opportunity is helpful and beneficial by means of one side only. They say [its] bad side is to take or consider something from someone. For instance, if a person borrows money from someone else, in the end he has to return it.’ AUTHOR: ‘If I find a hundred tögrög on the ground, am I in luck?’ HUSBAND OF THE SHAMAN TANSAG: ‘It depends. Money on the ground may be dirty. There is dog excrement on the ground, so a person may decline to pick money up. A person who needs money and finds it is in luck. If a needy person finds a good thing, he is in luck.’ CHIMEGEE: ‘There are two people [involved] in opportunity. [For example] there is you and me. We are at the same school. I know something well. Then when one person’s fortune or soul is weakened and she meets with a friend whose fortune is good – when the person in fortune, for example, myself, helps the one whose fortune is weakened, for example, you – then the one who receives help is in opportunity. … [In opportunity] there is competition.’ SCHOOLTEACHER IN SHINEKHEN BARUUN SUM: ‘They say luck-opportunity hits the target (taarana). It is something that corresponds with coincidence (tokhioldol).’ ACCOUNTANT IN SHINEKHEN BARUUN SUM: ‘Luck-opportunity is a concrete thing. It [comes] by way of luck as something one does not anticipate (sanaandgüi yüm). It suddenly appears by chance. Luck-opportunity meets with you.’ SCHOOLTEACHER IN SHINEKHEN BARUUN SUM: ‘Luck-opportunity is a real thing. It is a true thing (Chinese: shishi zaizai). There can be a reason for it. The Chinese call it running into luck (pengpeng yunqi). For example, everyone is selling lottery tickets. Now they are selling them for two tögrög. [The winning value of] twenty tögrög is written [on one]. [But lottery tickets] always [only sell for] two tögrög. Some days are in luck (aztai; Chinese: you yunqi) and [on them], a person is in luck.’

When running into luck, then, Buryats often try making the most of their fleeting moment of opportunity. But since they can neither prolong moments of luck nor instigate them of their own volition, they cannot predict or control luck. It is perhaps for this reason 189

DFortune and the Cursed that, according to Mandal and other people in Bayandun, Buryats do not divine about luck – although they divine about fortune and have astrologers chart their fates. Indeed, since luck is generated by circumstances external to a person, there is a sense in which it even resembles fantasy, making Buryats wonder whether it ‘really’ does happen. The fact that luck has an ephemeral quality and only gives short-lived immediate results also prevents Buryats from viewing it in terms of cause and effect. On several occasions, I specifically asked Mandal, her son and other educated persons in Bayandun whether a Buryat person could link instances of luck causally, giving them the following hypothetical scenario as an example: ‘A person needs a car ride to the province capital and, being in luck-opportunity, is suddenly offered a ride by a friend. When the lucky person reaches the capital, he has a second instance of luck and unexpectedly bumps into an old friend with whom he strikes up a business deal. The newfound trade then generates much money, also an instance of luck’. Mandal admitted to me that she and other Buryats can, of course, see relations between these instances of luck. But she also underscored her point that lucky events like these occur only momentarily, imparting immediate returns, so that Buryats would not be inclined to link them together. Moreover, Mandal held that the lucky events I mentioned always arose by virtue of another person’s help, so that they were generated by circumstances external to the person in question. Consequently, Buryats would not link these instances of luck together in a single causal chain of events. Buryats would only link these events together if they were the products of fortune, Mandal confirmed, since fortunate events are generated by both a person’s own actions and external influences.

The duration of fortune Fortune, in the Buryat view, tends to rise and fall gradually, so that it has a durative quality and changes only after a period of delay. Buryats are rarely ever immediately aware that their fortunes have changed – with the notable exceptions being cases where they discover they have been cursed, so that their fortunes immediately decline in a downwards spiral. Most often, Buryats detect changes to their fortunes retrospectively, from a position of hindsight, after a se190

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ries of extraordinary events – good or bad – indicate that their quality of life has changed. Mandal and other Buryats thus hold that events from their recent past correspond to their present state of fortune, while changes to fortune are always brought about by a causal chain of events. Additionally, Buryats in both Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum told me that although they can have a feeling or suspicion based on observable evidence that their fortunes have changed, a divination is needed to confirm this. Indeed, Buryats sometimes have no idea that their fortunes have improved or declined and simply learn about these changes from a shaman, lama or diviner. In Bayandun, fortune influences a person’s everyday life but changes at a slower rate than everyday life does. Although fallen fortune can be reversed by shamans, lamas or diviners, recovery is slow and arduous. By contrast, Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum are less concerned by changes in their fortunes, saying that undesired changes either fade away of their own accord or are reversed easily with a correcting ritual. Perhaps the emphasis in Shinekhen Baruun Sum on undertaking virtuous acts (buyan) to curry the Buddhist gods’ favour and receive their boons of fortune contributes to the local idea that fortune can be easily raised. I should point out that Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum also hold that fortune occasionally may modulate at a brisker, daily-life pace while still bearing a greater quality of duration than does luck. These Buryats even told me that some people in their district regard fortune lightheartedly and irreverently, saying that fortune is an unreal, ‘empty’ notion (khii khooson yüm) because it is an airy force ‘which cannot be perceived or known from all sides’ (khiisveriin yüm). They find that wilfully courageous (zorigtoi) people often speak dismissively of fortune, because their fortunes rarely fall, so that they usually do not need correcting rituals. Yet Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum also say that in a moment of crisis, the person who doubts fortune rapidly seeks out a correcting ritual to elevate it. Important parallels can be drawn between the courageous Buryat’s part-time scepticism about fortune and Favret-Saada’s finding that peasants who doubt witchcraft in western France occasionally succumb to a change of heart, since: ‘Everything’s fine when it’s all going well, but when you’re caught …’ (1980, 117). Scepticism among both Buryats and western French peasants, then, is fuelled by the notion that the strong person can deflect fallen fortune or witchcraft. 191

DFortune and the Cursed Whereas wilful courage prevents fallen fortune among Buryats, Favret-Saada shows that the western French witch who kills someone has ‘a necessarily “stronger” will than that of the deceased’ (1980, 171). Still, because scepticism is more the exception than the rule among Buryats, people in Bayandun and Shinekhen Baruun Sum perceive fortune mainly in terms of its gradual effects, as shown in the following passages. FEMALE ACCOUNTANT IN BAYANDUN: ‘Fortune is a big (tom) thing, while luck changes from moment to moment. They have their own capacities (ööriin khemjee). Fortune is precious, dear, noble (nandin) and involves a person’s mind (setgel). If bad things happen, then a person’s fortune can weaken and people will steal from him, he will turn to drink, smoking, etc…’ FEMALE DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN: ‘When a person’s work is good, [his] fortune is concealed, secret, latent (dald). Luck is something else. … Fortune is a person’s in-luck fortune [the latter subsumes the former]. Fortune is a big concept (oilgolgt). If a person is in fortune, his work will be successful.’ AUTHOR: ‘What is the difference between fortune and luck?’ FEMALE ACCOUNTANT IN BAYANDUN: ‘Luck involves chance, opportunity, coincidence (tokhioltoi). Fortune is bigger than luck. If a person’s work is doing well, then his fortune is good. If not, then it’s bad.’ MANDAL: ‘If your life is good, you are rich, your work is successful and your thoughts good, then your fortune will be elevated (deerdene). If your life is not successful, you are not rich, your work is bad and your thoughts bad, then your fortune will have declined (dordone). … If [a person’s] fortune is good, then [he is] in luck. If [his] fortune is bad, then [he is] not in luck.’ FEMALE ACCOUNTANT IN SHINEKHEN BARUUN SUM: ‘If fortune is bad, then it has been so for a long period of time (nileed khugatsaa). If it has been bad for a year or month, a person will have a lama read prayer books. If it is bad for an extended period of time, a person will die. There will be many illnesses and that person’s work will be unsuccessful. … When a person’s work is bad and he drinks alcohol, [his] fortune declines. By means of unsuccessful work, his fortune falls.’ GALANJAV: ‘Fortune is inherited (zalgamjladag) and comes from a person’s homeland. A person receives fortune from his homeland, father and mother. If a father and mother went [about their lives] in fortune (khiimortoi yavsan baival), their children will also go about in fortune.’ 192

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In the Buryat and wider Mongol popular imagination, fortune is ‘precious’ (nandin) because it is an intricate Buddhist notion. Rises and falls in a person’s fortune are charted by lamas or are garnered from astrological calendars that track annual changes to fortune, and this Buddhist ‘navigability’ of fortune makes it an exceptionally far-reaching concept. Buryats who use their fortunes to gauge how specific events in their lives fared (or will fare) thus occasionally find that fortune changes at the speed usually associated with luck or fate. Recall that Buryats – and Mongols more generally – have no notion of bad luck. Sudden tragedies, then, must fall within fortune’s purview, and Buryats consider that they are causally linked to previous events. For example, Buryats typically associate automobile accidents with the quality of fortune at the moment of the accident – even though its quality had been acquired gradually, over time (see chapter 3). Not necessarily an intermediary category, then, fortune may wax and wane at an irregular pace – unlike fate, which unfolds according to a smoother and more protracted time frame.

The continuity of fate Fate spans the course of each Buryat person’s life, originating ahead of his or her birth and continuing after the person’s death, constantly acclimating to whatever experiences the person undergoes. In the Buryat view, the layperson’s fate unfolds steadily, through a continuous succession of reincarnated lives. Similarly, the shaman’s fate unfolds across the total number of reincarnated lives that precedes his or her death and then accompanies the shaman to his or her immortal existence in the shamanic afterlife. Seen in this light, every Buryat person’s fate – and lifetime – is actually comprised of an entire series of lives. Buryats consider that every person’s fate bears karmic repercussions (üiliin ür) in its purview, which means that fate is inescapably made up of cause-and-effect events. Any actions that a Buryat undertakes, then, may unleash a karmic ‘backlash’, potentially affecting the person in his or her present life and future rebirths. Thus, the only way for Buryats to alter bad fate is to accomplish many virtuous deeds (buyan), which encourage the shamanic spirits, Buddhist gods or Erleg Khan to reward them by elevating their fates. Note that Buryats can carry out virtuous deeds to improve either 193

DFortune and the Cursed fate or fortune, since the shamanic spirits or Buddhist gods often bestow boosts of fortune onto people who behave virtuously (see chapter 2). The following passages show how fate unfolds within an extraordinarily protracted timescale, which gives it the quality of simultaneously ‘being’ and ‘becoming’. SON OF DUULCHIN: ‘Fate is a road placed by the gods. A person does not see it (Khuv’ zaya gej burkhan tavsan zam. Kharakhgüi).’ SON OF DUULCHIN: ‘Fate is a person’s predestination that starts at birth (törsön töörög).’ CHIMEGEE: ‘[Fate originates] in past time, before life (öngörsön töröl), the time prior to birth (törkhöös önökh khugatsaa). Time at birth, in life and at death – that time is fate’s existence (Törsön, amdralin, nas barakh khugatsaa – tedger bol amdraliin khuv’ zayani khugatsaa).’ SON OF DUULCHIN: ‘Fate does not involve coincidence (Khuv’ zayand tokhioldol baikhgüi).’ SON OF DUULCHIN: ‘Fate will not change on account of bad fortune (Khuv’ zaya muu khiimoroos öörchlökhgüi).’ DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN: ‘Fate is a large concept. Inside it is fortune [the former subsumes the latter].’ MANDAL’S SON: ‘When fate is bad, sometimes a person’s fortune is good. [But] a person in fortune is led along by his fate. The fate of a person not in fortune is mediocre.’ DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN: ‘Fate changes over a long period of time. From day to day, fortune truly can change. Sometimes fortune is the same during a long period. But usually it changes.’ DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN: ‘Fate goes with a person throughout his life (nasan törshid khünii khuv’ zaya n’ khamt yavna). Some days a person is without fortune. For example, for several days, months or years, fortune that fell on account of an outside influence will strike a person down. … Fortune does not stem from fate. During one time period – a month, year or day – if fate is bad, fortune can still be good. When fate is good but fortune is bad, for a month, year or day, my work and fortune – these two – will fall.’ AUTHOR: ‘Does fortune influence fate?’ DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN: ‘When there is a competition [between fortune and fate], on that day I will be in fortune. But my fate is bad; I am 194

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poor. So when I set the struggle [among these two] in motion (temtseliin üed), I am in fortune, but my fate still is bad. This is because my life still is bad. I still am poor.’ DISTRICT OFFICIAL IN BAYANDUN, contrasting fate and fortune: ‘If a person steals – during the moment of thieving things will be good. The person will be rich. On a day when no one else is around and a thief easily steals something from a room, on that very day he is in fortune. But from that moment on, the thief cannot do anything. From that specific time onwards, his fate will not turn around in response to [whatever] virtue (buyan) [is actualized on his part], if he continues stealing. Through [virtuous acts of] work, he can [improve his fate and] live well.’ MANDAL’S SON: ‘As regards fate, a person cannot have his path set right with a religious specialist’s correcting ritual. If a person’s fortune is good, he will go well in life; if it is bad, he will not go well. People will divine to see what the problem is with regard to fortune and hold a correcting ritual for it. People can divine for both fortune and fate but only can carry out correcting rituals for fortune.’ A KHALKHA WOMAN FROM CHOIBALSAN, married to Mandal’s son: ‘Fate is something that is lived out by means of a person’s own disposition (Khuv’ zayag ööriinkhöö setgel sanaagaar amidarakh yüm).’

Each of the passages above suggests that fate is the product of countless knock-on effects, where one fatalistic event gives rise to the next. But because the Buryat person’s fate evolves over the course of a lifetime – in which each new rebirth erases the memories of the previous life – no Buryat can experience his or her fate in full. The Buryat notion of fate is therefore entirely abstract, so that (like luck!) it only can be understood in the imagination, making it approximate fantasy. It is telling that – as with luck – there are no correcting rituals to improve fate. Moreover, just as Buryats cannot predict the moments when luck will arise, so are they unable to wholly predict how their fates might unfold. They only can track general changes to fate over a lengthy stretch of time. Some Buryats, then, ask Buddhist lamas to produce astrological charts which show how their fates will rise and fall over the course of a year. However, while these charts show the ‘peaks’ and ‘troughs’ of fate, they do not indicate the precise dates or times when fate will change, nor do they give the specific cause-and-effect reasons for any change in fate. This is not to say that fate and luck are the same. What makes fate and luck 195

DFortune and the Cursed distinct is their entirely different time spans (khugatsaa), so that the slow and never-ending quality of fate prevents it (unlike luck) from being linked up to chance or coincidence (tokhioldol). Given the abstract qualities which Buryats attribute to luck and fate, it makes sense that they find it easier to track how fortune responds to harmful forces, correcting rituals or even innovative remedies. Certainly fortune is more transparent and malleable than either luck or fate. As I discussed in chapters 1 and 3, this changeable quality of fortune makes it into a strange attractor, capable of drawing increasing amounts of (similarly high or low) fortune to it. Moreover, fortune’s changeability is attractive to those Buryats who implement numerous correcting rituals to address a problem but fail to resolve it. Yaruu’s group was well aware of fortune’s changeability and therefore sought out the curse-blocking innovation to undercut their rival’s curse attacks while making their fortunes rise immediately. We will now consider how the curse-blocking innovation transformed the households in Yaruu’s group into artificially secure environments, allowing their fortunes to improve at an unprecedented pace, along a spiral of purely positive returns.

The curse-blocking innovation Although Yaruu’s group had devoted an entire month to deflecting curses – since the discovery of the cursing in the lunar New Year of 2000 – their problems continued. Their correcting rituals and other conventional means for managing the cursing, including efforts to isolate their rivals by avoiding them and marring their local reputations, were not completely effective. These problems were exacerbated by the fact that Yaruu’s group had started preparing for a shamanic levelling-up ceremony, held in June 2000 for several Russian Buryats who were to visit Bayandun for the occasion. Both Yaruu and Duulchin would be officiating at the ceremony, while Galanjav was crafting the metalwork needed for the levelling-up shaman’s new costume, including a metal replica of the human skeleton and a crown (amitai) with metal twisted into the shape of deer’s horns. Ölzii and others also spent hours sewing the new costume and paraphernalia, while Yaruu’s group obtained large amounts of food in advance for the initiation feasts. Amidst all these preparations, everyone in Yaruu’s group found the curse attacks intolerable, 196

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since they affected both their health and business prospects whilst interfering with their plans for the levelling-up ceremony. Therefore, on 19 March 2000, a ceremony was held at Galanjav’s house, where Yaruu’s group asked the shamanic spirits about how they could block the cursing altogether. By this time the group had run out of conventional means for deflecting curses; however their lack of ideas for how to resolve the cursing turned things in their favour, helping them to obtain the curse-blocking innovation. The ceremony was simple and performed in a rush, lasting for about one hour. Just minutes after Galanjav and Chimegee had begun setting out the offerings and invoking the spirits, Yaruu rushed into their home, saying that the ceremony would need to be done quickly. She had an appointment to meet with a schoolteacher to discuss the schoolwork that Tuyaa needed to make up due to her prolonged illness and allergic reaction, which was attributed to the cursing. Part way into the ceremony, Chimegee’s father and mother also arrived, as did Ölzii. Only Yaruu adopted spirit perspectives, bringing the spirits called Manjlai, Avgaldai and the spirit of Galanjav’s father into the divinatory purview. Dialogues with these spirits were undertaken by Galanjav, Chimegee, Chimegee’s parents and Ölzii. The first spirit to arrive was Manjlai, head of the Buryat chanar initiation or levelling-up ceremonies. After Yaruu took on the perspective of Manjlai, both Galanjav and Chimegee asked her what plans should be made for the upcoming initiation ceremony in June. They received Manjlai’s instructions and moved on to asking about the cursing. Galanjav, Ölzii and others attending the ceremony jointly described the divinations they had already held, giving details about how the cursing had harmed them – mentioning the curse-induced toothache from which Yaruu was presently suffering – and discussing their failure to completely stop the cursing since the lunar New Year. Exasperated, they finished their long account of the cursing by simply saying, ‘Now we don’t know what to do!’ (‘Odoo yaakhiig büü med!’). But Yaruu simply undertook the conventional correcting ritual of blessing wild thyme (ganga), which, when used for fumigation, would alleviate the curse symptoms. She also blessed some brass amulets which Galanjav had recently made and had quickly presented to Yaruu for blessing so that his children could wear them to deflect curses. Just four days earlier, the neighbour’s dog had attacked his son, leaving deep claw wounds on his face, which Yaruu’s 197

DFortune and the Cursed group also attributed to the cursing. However, while the blessed thyme and amulets could deflect curses, Yaruu’s group knew that these items would not block curses from reaching them altogether. So the group invoked a second spirit, Avgaldai, whom Aga Buryats consider to be the only ‘omnipresent’ shamanic spirit (Swancutt 2008, 853–54, see also 857). By watching over every living Buryat, Avgaldai familiarizes himself with the Buryats’ circumstances as though he were a member of their households. Just as ordinary people become close to their own kin when living alongside them for several generations, Avgaldai makes himself close to every Buryat. Humphrey has shown that Buryats and other Mongols refer to this spirit as ‘Abagaldai’, meaning ‘with [the power of] abaga” (senior uncles in the patrilineage) (Humphrey 1996, 242). In Bayandun, the spirit’s name is pronounced as ‘Avgaldai’, which in Mongolian can mean a ‘pupa’, ‘larva’ or ‘caterpillar’, thereby associating this spirit also with metamorphosis and the process of maturation through which family intimacy is established. When Yaruu adopted Avgaldai’s perspective, her group again recounted their curse-induced problems, mentioning Yaruu’s toothache and saying they did not know what to do. Since Avgaldai is held to be familiar with every Buryat’s problems, though, Yaruu did not listen for long but instead began blessing wild thyme. Immediately, then, the group quickly took up a different strategy. Briefly rehashing the story of the cursing again, they asked pointedly whether the wild thyme would completely stop the cursing – and received the answer ‘no’. With no further ideas about what they could do, Galanjav, Chimegee and Ölzii paired their failed attempts to stop the cursing – including their previous curse-deflecting efforts and Avgaldai’s pronouncement that the thyme would not stop the cursing – with their thought that Avgaldai could suggest another means for deflecting curses. Reconfiguring their question, they asked, ‘What thing (yüm) could stop the curse?’, thus introducing the idea that curses might be stopped by a curse-blocking substance. Pressed for an answer, Yaruu produced the curse-blocking innovation, saying that curses could be barred from entering the home if a person placed a small amount of menstrual or birth blood (torin tsus) at the household threshold. Curses, on reaching these thresholds, would shrink from the blood and retrace their course to the person who sent them, possibly striking him or her in turn. Similarly, curses or khel am that had struck any person who left the protected interior 198

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of these homes would be shed from the body when that same person crossed the blood-sanctified threshold. The curse-blocking innovation would therefore repel curses that had struck either members of Yaruu’s group or guests to her home. Even nature spirits bearing curses would be barred entry. Yaruu’s group was elated by this discovery and eager to put it into practice, but before ending the ceremony they also invoked the spirit of Galanjav’s father, who was considered to be an expert on toothaches, since he had told Yaruu’s group that he had suffered and eventually died from it. Their idea was that in the shamanic afterlife Galanjav’s father would have learned new remedies for stopping toothaches. They felt that a new remedy might cure Yaruu’s toothache rather than simply palliate it, as would correcting rituals that merely fumigated her with blessed thyme. Once Yaruu had adopted the perspective of Galanjav’s father, her group again recounted the story of the cursing which they had just told to Manjlai and Avgaldai. Additionally, they asked whether several as-yet untried methods for alleviating toothaches would work, including visiting a man in Bayandun said to heal toothaches with his saliva or having Galanjav conduct a healing session or having the tooth pulled. However, Yaruu refused each of these methods, especially the idea of pulling the tooth. So the group reformulated their question, asking, ‘What thing would stop the toothache?’, thereby introducing the idea that a substance might be used to cure – not just palliate – the toothache. Pressed for an answer, Yaruu said that sniffing baking soda relieves toothaches and also relaxes people who suffer from fevers that cause the arms to retract against the body (tatasan) and the eyes to roll back – what Buyna’s twin daughters had suffered from three weeks earlier, in an illness attributed to the cursing. Revealingly, Yaruu had also retracted her limbs against her body when first struck by the curses during the lunar New Year. Both of these innovations actually had conceptual precedents which Yaruu’s group recognized later in hindsight. The blood magic innovation tallies with the widespread Inner Asian notion that menstrual blood, birth blood and blood from strange or unknown sources are polluting (Diemberger 1993, 113–22; Humphrey 1996, 181, see also 301–302). Yaruu also once linked blood to pollution, when telling me that lamas can cast curses with blood taken from a black dog’s ear, a practice which she thought would be mentioned within a 199

DFortune and the Cursed legendary black magic–like book called Sutra of Black Folk Remedies (Khar Domin Süder). While Yaruu’s group did not mention it, the curse-blocking innovation also reflects the Inner Asian notion that blood protects people from natural catastrophes like being struck by lightning or from supernatural forces such as devils on the road at night (Humphrey 1996, 173). Furthermore, the curse-blocking innovation resonates with the Buryat notion that people can reinvigorate themselves by rolling atop the ground where their placentas (toont) were buried, thereby imbuing themselves with energy derived from their bloodlines, which, implanted in the landscape, give people their orientation within it (Empson 2003, 173). Indeed, the orientations which Buryats receive from their placentas are comparable to the sense of direction they obtain from ovoo – the stone cairns erected across Inner Asia to demarcate the territory of male lineages (ibid., 169–72). Similarly, the toothache innovation had precedents which Galanjav pointed out to me four days after the ceremony, telling me that his father had died of an infection from a pulled tooth. According to Galanjav, when Yaruu adopted his father’s perspective, she said that had Galanjav’s father known about the efficacy of sniffing soda while alive, he would have used it to prevent his untimely death. Moreover, Yaruu confirmed that Galanjav’s father had learned about the innovation when he entered the afterlife world of shamanic spirits – who know everything that there is to know and who are therefore capable of introducing desired innovative remedies to living Buryats. On these grounds, Galanjav said that his father’s advice could cure Yaruu’s pain. Drawing on his understanding of biomedicine, Galanjav also told me that the teeth, or at least the upper ones, are connected to sinus passages, which can be numbed by sniffing soda, and elaborated on this idea by musing that it would be good to sniff soda in the morning and at night. He also felt that it would be best to invoke the shamanic spirits and have them bless and impart their strength (chadal) into the soda before sniffing it – a technique which he said enhances the efficacy of any remedy. Finally, Galanjav recalled the Mongolian proverb ‘Yasnaas shüd, makhnaas nüd’, which means, ‘From their aged bones people develop teeth problems, and from their aged flesh people develop eye problems’. This proverb, Galanjav said, indicates that adults should take extra care of their teeth, bearing in mind the advice that his father did not learn until 200

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he became a shamanic spirit. Finally, while Galanjav did not mention it, the Mongolian tradition of taking snuff is a conceptual precedent for sniffing powders such as baking soda. Mongols consider taking snuff to be healthy and invigorating, and in its quintessential form, snuff-taking is preceded by the ceremonial exchanging of snuff bottles on entering another’s home. Additionally, Mongols may use snuff to combat toothaches, tucking it between their gums and any teeth which ache. The conceptual precedents for both of these innovative remedies show that while these remedies originally appeared to have arisen ‘out of nothing’, they actually had been patterned upon already existing notions in Buryat cosmology. More significantly, these remedies provide evidence for Yaruu’s strategy of producing tailor-made innovations as a hyperorderly means of resolving persistent problems. As we will soon see, Yaruu used the curse-blocking remedy as a template for two other vampiric imp-blocking remedies, each of which followed the recurrent pattern to ‘block hostile forces from the home’. With the success of her initial innovation-making, Yaruu also became the ‘strange attractor’ described in chapter 1, drawing in new requests from Ölzii, who, being familiar with Yaruu’s skills, sought to obtain more tailor-made remedies. Additionally, since these innovations would protect the fortunes of Yaruu’s group within an artificially safe environment, they allowed fortune to improve at an unconventionally fast pace. Buryats hold that fortune always has the capacity to act as a strange attractor, so that good fortune attracts increasingly more good fortune to it, in an upwards spiral of good returns (see chapter 4). But ordinarily this continual improvement to fortune is mitigated by small hardships that cause fortune to reverse the process, by falling into decline and then attracting increasing amounts of bad fortune to it. When protected by the innovation, however, the fortunes of Yaruu’s group improved without impediment or delay as strange attractors that only could draw in increasingly more good fortune.

Fortune accelerated Shortly after uncovering the curse-blocking innovation, all of the households in Yaruu’s group implemented it, with the exception of Duulchin’s household, which could not obtain the necessary blood 201

DFortune and the Cursed for some time (see below). Both Ölzii and Yaruu followed the conventional Mongolian practice of placing the protective substance – in this case, menstrual blood caught on some cloth – inside of a small cloth pouch, which they sewed shut. They then suspended these pouches from the door lintels at their main household entrances, so that they hung indoors, just above the threshold. The practice of hanging protective items at household entrances varies somewhat among Buryats, who usually build their homes with two front doors at the main entrance, having both an outer and an inner door. When entering a Buryat home, a person typically passes through the outer door first, which gives entrance to a small, cool room that functions as a storage shed in winter and as a bedroom in summer. From there, the person passes through the inner front door, which gives entrance to the main body of the house and provides extra insulation for the room where Buryats sleep during the winter. Galanjav’s household also placed the blood remedy at the threshold of their outer front door, and as an added precaution, they placed some more blood at their inner front door. However, they did not suspend the blood from the door lintel. According to Galanjav, nothing should be positioned above the heads of the shamanic spirits as they enter the home, especially if that thing is a polluting substance. Therefore, his household had simply applied a small amount of blood directly to the floorboards at their doorways. Later, when Duulchin’s and Gerel’s households implemented the innovation, they hung cloth pouches containing the necessary blood from their door lintels, as Ölzii and Yaruu had done. According to Yaruu’s group, both of these variations had worked: when any curse, khel am or nature spirit that carried curses or khel am tried to enter the house, they encountered the magical blood, shrank from it and retraced their courses. There were some problems with the curse-blocking innovation for about a month after it had been introduced, which Yaruu’s group eventually traced to Duulchin’s house, where they had failed to implement the remedy. On 27 March 2000 – within a week of Yaruu having introduced the innovation – Galanjav told me that Duulchin, when drunk and wandering around Bayandun, had come across Sansar and shook his fist at him for having sent a curse that killed his son. Moreover, on several occasions, members of Yaruu’s group had sensed that they might have been struck by curses or khel am while visiting Duulchin’s home. When Ölzii and Yaruu queried Duulchin 202

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about this, he confessed that his household had not yet obtained the necessary blood. So Ölzii and Yaruu strongly advised Duulchin to implement the innovation. Sometime later – on 1 May 2000 – Yaruu adopted the perspective of Manjlai during a ceremony held at Duulchin’s house, where she also sensed that Duulchin was bearing khel am on his person. This refusal to follow the spirits’ advice about innovations was offensive to Manjlai. And so Yaruu, speaking as Manjlai, sharply reminded Duulchin that Sansar and Sürenma had jointly killed his son with their cursing – and then ordered him to carry out the innovation. Later, in June 2000, I asked Yaruu about the efficacy of the blood used for the curse-blocking innovation while we were seated just a few feet away from her household threshold, in the storage shed of her home, which had been converted to a bedroom for the summer. Yaruu said that the blood was effective because a shamanic spirit (Avgaldai) had told the group about it. To demonstrate its efficacy she pointed out the difference between how quickly her group, with the exception of Duulchin’s household, had become entirely protected from the cursing. She then described what happens when the curses approach a blood-sanctified threshold. Nodding at the open door of her threshold, Yaruu said that the curses would try to enter through the doorway. Leaning over from her bed, she ran her finger along a straight line between two wooden floorboards of her home, explaining that curses and khel am would travel along a direct path – such as any of Bayandun’s paths – coming all the way up to the doorway (khaalga). Then Yaruu rubbed a spot on the floor with her finger, making it free of dust, so as to sketch a threshold for me to make her explanation clear. Holding her finger atop of this notional threshold, she said that when curses and khel am encounter the blood, they are not able to tolerate it. Instead, Yaruu said, curses and khel am would go right back the way that they had come – at which point she ran her finger away from this sketched threshold, retracing the same original line she had followed between the floorboards. I asked further questions about what kinds of things this innovation could block, and Yaruu said that the blood would keep out curses, khel am and nature spirits bearing curses. If many nature spirits came to the home at once, Yaruu conceded that perhaps one or two of these spirits might get past the blood and enter the house. But Yaruu confirmed those nature spirits carrying curses or khel am would 203

DFortune and the Cursed neither gain entry nor manage to drop their curses or khel am inside of the home. One thing that the curse-blocking innovation did not block from the home, Yaruu said, was the wrathful shamanic spirits (ongon) who were upset about the delays to the levelling-up ceremony which her group planned to hold in June. Nor, I note, could the curse-blocking innovation prevent vampiric imps from entering the home. The curse-blocking innovation thus took the strategy of Yaruu’s group a step further, since they no longer simply deflected curses with conventional correcting rituals. Instead Yaruu’s group used the curse-blocking innovation to introduce ‘force fields’ with artificially safe boundaries around each of their homes. Through its basic mechanisms, then, the curse-blocking innovation changed the ‘system of positions’ – including the temporal and spatial dynamics – which underpinned the cursing in Bayandun. Before uncovering the innovation, Yaruu’s group found the distance between where they lived in the northeast of Bayandun and where their rivals lived in the southwest, to be uncomfortably close. They felt that this proximity could attract further curses or khel am from their rivals, who could see and hear Yaruu’s group moving around Bayandun for their daily work, walks to school, visits to other homes or shopping. But the curse-blocking innovation gave Yaruu’s group the stability they had been seeking by making each of their homes into a protected island unto itself. This notion of a fool-proof, artificially protected environment was innovative in Bayandun. Even Yaruu’s group had never heard of an innovation that would deflect rivals’ curses or khel am – nor had they heard of a practice which would consistently block a given problem from the home. Of course, Buryats regularly hang substances that have been blessed by the shamanic spirits above their household thresholds, but these substances are not ordinarily attributed the guaranteed capacity to completely block specific hostile forces from entering the home, even if they often can deflect the symptoms of a problem. Every curse or instance of khel am which was blocked by the innovation comprised an immediate return: it facilitated the continued improvement of the fortunes within Yaruu’s group, making them improve along an upwards spiral of positive events that generated yet further positive events. By blocking all setbacks, the innovation thus helped Yaruu’s group improve their fortunes at an unconven204

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tionally fast pace. Everyone in the group began to relax after each of their homes – including Duulchin’s – had implemented the innovation, because they felt fully protected by it. However, they did have the lingering concern that their rivals might discover the innovation and develop a counter-magic to undermine it. Moreover, Yaruu’s group did not want to unwittingly attract to their homes other hostile forces– different from curses or khel am – which would not be blocked by the innovation and so could potentially impede their fortunes from improving along a purely upwards spiral. So to avoid attracting rivals who might discover their innovation or hostile forces more generally, Yaruu’s group stopped talking about the cursing and even ignored it altogether. I was instructed on several occasions by Yaruu, Ölzii, Galanjav and Chimegee, not to tell the rivals about the innovation, since they worried that the rivals would counteract it with their own magical practices. Galanjav urged me not to play any of my mini-disc recordings of the ceremonies or interviews with Yaruu’s group to the rivals; he told me not to show them my notebooks and to use a numbering system in place of people’s actual names for my publications (he agreed that pseudonyms also would be fine). He even suggested burning my original notebooks once I had copied them. In Galanjav’s view, taking this care of my research materials would lower the possibility that the rivals would find out about the divinations, ceremonies, and remedies undertaken by Yaruu’s group. Certainly Yaruu’s group was relieved that I locked my finished notebooks and recordings in a metal trunk that I had brought to Bayandun and kept stored in Yaruu’s house. Tellingly, they said that it would be fine for foreigners to learn about their religious practices. But the most dangerous thing they could imagine would be for their rivals to learn about their practices, and especially their innovations. Another reason why Yaruu’s group ignored the cursing was that the innovation allowed them to resume their lives as usual, knowing that they could safely wait out the period of rivalry with Sürenma, Sansar, the lama-shaman and Lavs. Before the discovery of the cursing during the lunar New Year of 2000, Yaruu’s group had been on friendly terms with all of the rivals, although they had been more distant to Sansar, who was known locally as a taciturn person who kept to himself. It was possible, then, to restore these friendly relations. Yaruu’s group knew that no matter what they did, their rivals 205

DFortune and the Cursed were not going to move out of Bayandun anytime soon, since they lacked the resources to do so. But they could diffuse the conflict by calmly waiting out the time necessary for the rivalry to dissipate, under the protection of their secret innovation. I suggest that this gradual dissolution of the rivalry was a delayed return of the curseblocking innovation, which coincided with the immediate return that the innovation also afforded: raising the fortunes of Yaruu’s group as quickly as possible. Of course, Yaruu’s group was happy to find that their strategy of ignoring the cursing, after having obtained the innovation, was a success. Whereas the rivalry only fully dissolved in 2002, two years after they had implemented the innovation, their fortunes recovered within a couple of months. Ölzii confirmed the timing of these changes when I returned to Bayandun in August 2004, saying that the cursing rivalry from 1999 to 2000 had completely dissipated in 2002, by which time the potency of the innovation had also gone. Speaking from memory, Ölzii said that when obtaining the curse-blocking innovation the shamanic spirits had told them that after two or three years they would need to refresh its potency by obtaining a new batch of the requisite blood and having the shamanic spirits impart it with new blessings. When I asked whether Yaruu’s group had refreshed the innovation, Ölzii told me that they had not, since the cursing was no longer a problem. Revealingly, though, the limited lifespan of the innovation suggests that Yaruu’s group – and shamanic groups of Buryats more generally – expect that they would need to refresh their existing innovations or produce additional, tailor-made innovations for resolving future problems. Before looking at their newer vampire-blocking innovations, which were modelled upon Yaruu’s strategy of blocking hostile forces from the home, I want to briefly consider some of the aftermath to the curse-blocking innovation.

Aftermath of the cursing Although the curse-blocking innovation was implemented rapidly in the homes of Yaruu, Ölzii and Galanjav, the group continued to face setbacks until Duulchin’s household implemented it. At first Yaruu’s group was uncertain whether their problems were caused by the cursing or something else. Because the group considered the innovation to be experimental, they waited to learn whether it would 206

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live up to Avgaldai’s prediction and be effective after all. So between the time when the innovation was introduced and when Duulchin’s household finally implemented it, Yaruu’s group alternated between declaring that the shamanic spirits’ pronouncements were always true and testing those pronouncements out of curiosity. They mused about whether the spirits spoke accurately, were as powerful as they professed or gave the most up-to-date information available from the shamanic afterlife. The group never actually found out whether the soda-sniffing innovation prescribed by Galanjav’s father would work, because Yaruu’s toothache was cured just five days after learning about it, when Ölzii applied a clay-like mud (shavar) to Yaruu’s face, directly above the area where her tooth hurt. This mud was sourced from Dashbalbar, the district to the immediate east of Bayandun, and was said to have sucked out the pain. So Yaruu’s group felt it was possible that, like the soda sniffing innovation, the curse-blocking innovation could turn out to be insignificant. But once Duulchin implemented the innovation – and no further curse-related problems were detected – her group confirmed its success. The most significant obstacle to the full recovery of the group’s fortunes, though, was the wrath of the shamanic spirit-helpers assisting the Russian Buryat shamans for whom Yaruu’s group had been planning the levelling-up ceremony since November 1999. About one month before June 2000, when the ceremony was scheduled to be held, the Russians started changing the plans for it, thereby upsetting their spirits. What made the situation especially problematic was the delayed timing by which Buryats typically uncover new problems – so that Yaruu’s group did not realize that these spirits were angry until mid-May 2000. When her group connected their problems to the wrath of these spirits, they promptly shifted the responsibility for their troubles from cursing rivals back to offending the spirits. Thus, when Yaruu became pregnant and extremely ill with morning sickness in early May 2000, her household – not yet aware that the shamanic spirits of the Russian Buryats were upset about the delayed initiation – wondered whether her illness had been caused by curses or khel am, despite their having implemented the curseblocking innovation. Years earlier, the spirits had predicted that Yaruu would die if she brought another child to full term. Concerned for her safety and exhausted by taking care of her, the group – and especially Ölzii, who without Yaruu’s help had been doing all the 207

DFortune and the Cursed vegetable gardening work on her own – desperately tried to cure the illness. Between 5 and 11 May, divinations were obtained from Duulchin and Tansag, a former classmate of Yaruu’s who was impartial to the cursing. Both shamans divined that Yaruu’s illness was due to cursing and khel am. They did not say when or how the curses struck – but simply that they had happened – indicating that Yaruu may have been struck by a curse while out in public. Both Jargal and a niece of Ölzii’s overheard the divinatory pronouncement made by Tansag and challenged it after she had gone home, saying that she was a liar (khudlach) with bad intentions towards Yaruu. Their idea was that Yaruu simply needed to go to the hospital and wait out the morning sickness there. When Yaruu did finally go to the hospital in Choibalsan on the night of 12 May, the group began to suspect that the shamanic spirits who were waiting for the levelling-up ceremony to take place had caused their recent problems. On the morning of 13 May I visited Chimegee, who told me that the Russian Buryats’ shamanic spirits had caused Yaruu to pull up, while suffering from tatasan and had also made Duulchin’s leg pull up the night before. Months earlier, I had learned from Galanjav that Duulchin’s shamanic spirits had damaged his leg and had afflicted it with polio such that he had to amputate several portions of it, on different occasions, until he accepted the shamanic vocation. Chimegee added that although Yaruu’s group was supposed to be preparing for the levelling-up ceremony, Galanjav had been away for nearly two weeks in Choibalsan rather than forging a metalwork human skeleton in his blacksmith shop (dorligtoi baishin) for the main initiate’s new shamanic costume. No one knew what Galanjav was doing in Choibalsan or why he had not yet returned. These delays to the levelling-up ceremony – which originally was to have taken place in Russia but which was rescheduled to take place in Bayandun due to the Russian’s disorganization – all came to a head on 29 May, when the Russians failed to arrive. On that evening, Khonkh, Dorj’s younger sister who was known by Yaruu’s group to be insane, suddenly appeared at Chimegee’s household, having travelled there from Bayanuul, the district to the immediate west. According to Yaruu’s group, Khonkh had been sent by the Russian Buryats’ angry shamanic spirits to remind them to hold the ceremony. They used her arrival as an explicit example of what happens when the shamanic spirits’ instructions are not followed. 208

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Khonkh’s reputation was well known among the Buryat districts of northern Dornod Province. On the afternoon of her arrival, Yaruu told me that Khonkh had once been a classmate of Chimegee’s and had been considered to be a brilliant student. But when the shamanic spirits requested that Khonkh accept the shamanic vocation, she had refused and, worse yet, stopped worshipping the spirits altogether (mörgöl khiisengüi). Consequently, Yaruu explained, the spirits struck her with insanity, making her into an idiot (teneg). Since then, Khonkh had tried to recover by taking on the trappings of a shaman, wearing numerous rosary strands and shamanic mirrors, most of which were stolen from other shamans. But the spirits still refused to help her and, Yaruu claimed, they would certainly not make her into a shaman now. In her confusion, Khonkh wandered between the Buryat districts of Dornod Province and spent most of her time in Choibalsan. She acquired a reputation for sleeping around and, according to Yaruu, had contracted syphilis. Due to her wanderings between the countryside, its bodies of water, and many different men, Khonkh also attracted nature spirits, who constantly pursued her. Additionally, Yaruu said that Khonkh was being pursued by vampiric imps, because she was a bad person from a bad family with imps of their own, who would eventually make her into a vampiric imp too. Significantly, Khonkh’s visit coincided with the escalating marital problems between Ölzii and Dorj, which involved hauntings by Dorj’s imps. Thus Yaruu reminded me that Dorj was not actually her real father, although he was the father of Ölzii’s other children. Hauntings from these imps eventually prompted Ölzii to seek out the vampire-blocking innovations four years later, in 2004. So when Khonkh arrived in Bayandun, Yaruu’s group remained alert to the possibility that she might steal their shamanic implements. Although the group never openly refused Khonkh entry, which is not acceptable to Mongol notions of hospitality, they pretended to be out when they saw her coming or they left their own homes on the pretext of going to visit others, in order to encourage her to leave. Everyone in Yaruu’s group dreaded Khonkh’s visits, telling me that they had suffered from the nature spirits and pollution (buzar) which she brought to their homes. Moreover, just as they expected, several days into her wanderings through Bayandun, Khonkh stole Chimegee’s shamanic bell. Although Galanjav divined to see whether the bell could be retrieved without pollution, Yaruu’s 209

DFortune and the Cursed group decided that it had become desecrated (buzarlasan) and would have to be left with Khonkh. Galanjav would need to settle down to his blacksmith work for the levelling-up ceremony and to making a new bell for Chimegee. Khonkh continued plaguing Yaruu’s group until 4 June, when the Russian Buryats arrived for the levelling-up ceremony and when she was finally persuaded to move on to another part of Dornod Province. At that point the shamanic spirits caused both of the Russian Buryat shamans intending to undergo the ceremony to pull up (tatasan) in Yaruu’s house. Within a couple of days, though, these spirits were pacified, because Yaruu held a small ceremony that set an exact time and place for the levelling-up ceremony. Several days after they were appeased, the ceremony was carried out with great success – taking only two days rather than the usual three to complete – so that the main levelling-up initiate became a powerful ‘thirteenth-level’ shaman (zaarin). Considering the difficulties that Yaruu’s group faced, they managed well. Ordinarily, Buryats who had been cursed for more than three months would expect their fortunes to need another three curse-free months, or more, to make for a full recovery. But Yaruu’s group did better than this. Protected by the curse-blocking innovation, the group’s fortunes recovered at an unprecedented rate of two and a half months, despite the difficulties in preparing for the levelling-up ceremony. By 14 June, when the initiation had been finished and the Russian Buryats had returned home, the fortunes of Yaruu’s group were in good stead and their lives were calmer, although some big upheavals were fast approaching.

The fractal scaling of Buryat innovations and fortune At the start of this book, I argued that when Buryat shamans, such as Yaruu, introduce innovative remedies, they set in motion a series of changes at the social and cosmological levels, which resolve local rivalries, add to the existing religious repertoire and encourage people to seek out further innovations. Similarly, Buryats hold that their fortunes can improve along an increasingly upwards spiral of positive returns – or decline along an increasingly downwards spiral

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of negative returns – either of which affects their work, well-being and, eventually, their health (see chapter 3). Thus, like the ‘strange attractors’ of chaos science, which unleash irreversible changes in scientific experiments, innovative shamans and fortune introduce irreversible changes into Buryat social and religious life. Shamanic innovations and changes to fortune are not, however, disorderly, even when they arise rapidly (like the results of chaos-science experiments), giving the illusion that they came ‘out of nothing’. On the contrary, these changes are hyperorderly, so that Buryats can reflect upon the patterns through which they evolve – just as Yaruu’s group did when identifying the precedents to their curseblocking innovation, within days of uncovering the curse. Being able to reflect upon these patterns not only helps Buryats predict how their fortunes might improve, it also allows them to anticipate their next innovative remedies. Both Buryat shamanic innovations and fortune, then, unfold according to known recurrent patterns which may be replicated on different scales. On an analytical level, we should not underestimate the fact that Buryats are explicitly aware they can produce innovations that resolve problems in a hyperorderly manner (even if they use euphemisms, rather than a specific parlance, when speaking about their innovations). Certainly the Buryat awareness of this hyperorderly potential offers another important lens onto how Yaruu’s curseblocking innovation attracted some new innovations four years later. Ölzii sought out these innovations to expel the lingering problems after her divorce from Dorj, whose vampiric imps were still attracted to Ölzii’s home. So when Yaruu next held a shamanic ceremony, she adopted the perspectives of eight different spirits and produced two innovations. Not only did these new innovations evidence the recurrent pattern – in Yaruu’s oeuvre – of blocking hostile forces from the home, but they reproduced this patterning on different scales, since instead of blocking curses or khel am, they blocked vampiric imps. Each of Yaruu’s innovations produced artificially protected environments which allowed the household’s fortunes to improve immediately. My ethnography on the vampire-blocking innovations thus offers the continuation of a case study, where Buryats seek out recurrent patterns of innovation-making during moments of crisis.

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DFortune and the Cursed The vampire-blocking innovations When I returned to Bayandun in 2004, I learned that many things had changed during my absence. To my great surprise, neither Yaruu’s nor Ölzii’s household took notice of the cursing rivalry which had absorbed all their attention in 2000. The old northeast-southwest divide which had separated Yaruu’s group from their rivals had long been forgotten, and the shamanic alliances in Bayandun had shifted, such that Sürenma was again on friendly terms with Yaruu’s group, while Yaruu had rising suspicions that Duulchin had been cursing her out of envy. I found that Yaruu’s group had also shrunk, since Galanjav had moved out of Bayandun permanently in 2001, leaving Chimegee behind with their children. Chimegee had found a new husband and no longer appeared very active as a shaman. Significantly, Ölzii had also divorced Dorj in 2001, forcing him to move out of the home. At the same time, Ölzii made her daughter Buyna return to her husband’s home, located half a day’s drive northeast of Bayandun. During my initial stay in Bayandun, Buyna had been living with her two daughters at Ölzii’s, to avoid her violent in-laws. But when Buyna returned to her husband’s home, she left her two daughters behind for Ölzii to raise. The subsequent difficulties in Ölzii’s household were attributed to hauntings by Dorj’s ghostly, vampiric imps, who were attracted to Dorj, his consanguineal kin such as Khonkh, and his children – especially Buyna. Actually, Dorj’s imps started haunting Ölzii’s home on my initial trip to Bayandun in 1999–2000, but these hauntings were overshadowed then by the cursing rivalry. On my return trip to Bayandun in 2004, though, the haunting had reached a point of crisis. Preoccupied with these hauntings, Ölzii reminded me how there had been several occasions four years earlier when Yaruu had been so disturbed by seeing the imps in her home that she had slept outdoors in the car. At that time, Ölzii and Yaruu shared their two-wing home, with just a thin wall between them, so that the imps could move easily between Ölzii’s western wing and Yaruu’s eastern wing, without realizing that they were entering different homes. According to Ölzii, the imps had targeted Dorj and Buyna, making them work as a father-daughter team that inhibited household productivity. Under the imps’ influence, Dorj had drained the family resources with his alcoholism, while Buyna had lied about the financial transactions she 212

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had undertaken for the household. She had also drunk and taken up casual love affairs. Ölzii explained that her household had become particularly vulnerable to the imps’ attacks leading up to the year 2000 because of the declining numbers of their livestock. Whereas in 1997 they had an original total of 350 sheep and 40 cows, by 1998 their herd had dwindled to just the 40 cows. Then, in the devastating winter storms (zud) of 2000, which the Mongolian government declared to be a national disaster, Ölzii’s household lost all its cows. In the absence of any herd animals to feed upon, Dorj’s imps came after him and the three children Ölzii had borne him, penetrating the two wings of Ölzii’s larger household structure and haunting both her family and Yaruu’s. With her herd animals and her household labour sapped, Ölzii had tried on at least one occasion to throw Dorj and Buyna out of the house. Things came to a head in 2001, when Yaruu sold her haunted wing of the home and set up a yurt one hundred yards to the south of Ölzii’s place, where she established a different locus of household relations and escaped the vampiric hauntings. Soon after, the hauntings became unbearable for Ölzii too, so that when Dorj suggested that he wanted to take up a new wife in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, Ölzii agreed that he should leave. Ölzii also then sent Buyna to live with her husband. Dorj’s departure confused the imps, who kept visiting Ölzii’s home for some time, with the intention of eating him. Eventually, though, the imps realized that Dorj had left and went in search of him and, to a lesser degree, Buyna. For three years the imps pursued Dorj in vain, which gave Ölzii a period of respite. Slow at realizing what is afoot among the living, the imps had tried pursuing Dorj to Ulaanbaatar, but they could not find him there. So in May 2004, the band of imps redirected their search to northeast Mongolia, in the sole pursuit of Buyna. Contrite about having sent Buyna away, Ölzii occasionally tried to convince her through letters, telegrams and rotary telephone calls to return home, help raise her daughters and contribute to Ölzii’s new enterprise, which made her a fair profit from selling loaves of her homemade bread. But Buyna remained out of touch with Ölzii while also remaining difficult for the imps to locate. So the frustrated imps returned periodically to Ölzii’s home to raid the pantry and to fight with Ölzii, her children, and her grandchildren in their dreams, while making noises that 213

DFortune and the Cursed awoke them in the night, before setting off in search of Buyna again. Ölzii told me that these disturbances hindered her household’s productivity during the day. On top of all this, from May 2004 onwards, Ölzii’s household was intruded by yet more imps, who were haunting their neighbours in the eastern end of the compound, which Yaruu’s family had vacated years before. According to Ölzii, the head of the neighbouring household had murdered a man and gone to prison for it, and this murder had attracted the vampiric imps from his family line. Confused with the two-wing layout of the overall household structure, the neighbours’ imps entered Ölzii’s western wing for some time, disturbing her family and conflating their problems. Although the neighbours had much livestock to keep their imps satisfied, they were still haunted by them at night. The neighbours had called in Buddhist lamas on two different occasions to trap the imps by chanting sutra (nom unshikh), but these chanting sessions had failed. And Yaruu, who as a shaman could see the imps, verified that she had seen, literally, the skeletons in that family’s closet. Disturbed by the coming and going of the imps, Ölzii finally had Yaruu hold shamanic ceremonies to inquire about how to stop them. During one ceremony held during my absence from Bayandun, Yaruu adopted the perspective of Avgaldai and predicted that the imps would entice Buyna to hang herself at her husband’s home if Ölzii’s household did not undertake the shamanic ghost-trapping ceremony called ükheer khaakh, which means to enclose the dead. This ceremony involves capturing an imp in a black goatskin bag, tying the bag shut and interring it at a crossroads. This prediction was repeated by Yaruu and Sürenma, who had adopted the perspectives of other spirits during subsequent ceremonies. The ghost-trapping ceremony would have to be held at Ölzii’s home, which still was the ‘home base’ of Dorj’s imps, his children and his patriline. Moreover, the rite would require Buyna’s presence, since the main victim of the imps needs to be present in order to trap them. Avgaldai instructed Yaruu and Sürenma to hold the ghost-trapping ceremony jointly, which would prevent the imps from harming anyone for ten consecutive years. Having been contained underground for that long, the imps would emerge in a weakened state, requiring the ceremony to be repeated once or twice more, after which the imps would be powerless to harm them. 214

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I gathered that after Ölzii’s divorce in 2001, obstacles to her success coincided with the hauntings and the fact that Dorj was still the nominal head of her household, to whom Chandman, her son, and Javkhgar, her two-year-old grandson, could be traced. Proudly, Ölzii told me that when Dorj left, she had single-handedly boosted the productivity of her household, selling homemade breads to the district’s shops. Ölzii’s story reflects the improvement in Bayandun’s economic standard of living during my four-year absence, when the number of the district’s general shops swelled from four to thirteen. But Ölzii especially associated her prosperity with Javkhgar, hoping that he would one day become the head of her household and be made rich by her bread sales, vegetable gardens and her pension from previous years of employment as a district accountant. Some relief from the haunting came when Ölzii’s household learned (from another ceremony held during my absence) that succession through Dorj’s patriline could be circumvented. The spirit of Ölzii’s adoptive father – whom she considered to be her ‘real’ father – possessed Yaruu and declared himself not only to be a shamanic spirit residing in the shamanic afterlife, but also to be simultaneously reincarnated as Ölzii’s grandson. Ölzii told me that her father had been an especially productive and highly educated official in Russia whose work involved a good deal of bookkeeping. During his lifetime, Ölzii’s father was called upon by the shamanic spirits to accept the roots to the shamanic vocation. Being a staunch Communist, her father refused, angering the spirits who made him blind in later life, when he ultimately regretted his decision and began worshipping them. Still, since Ölzii’s father was an extremely virtuous person who should have been a shaman, at his death he gained entrance to the afterlife world of deceased shamans, where the other spirits taught him the shamanic vocation. Moreover, because Ölzii’s father was exceptionally virtuous in life, he also became simultaneously reincarnated as her grandson. The dual personhood ascribed to Ölzii’s father is highly unusual for Buryat cosmology, even in Bayandun, and therefore conflated the ‘system of positions’ in the vampiric haunting of Ölzii’s genealogical line (Favret-Saada 1980, 17–19). But although this exceptional link between Ölzii’s grandfather and her grandson challenged the security of Dorj’s patriline, it was not pursued any further while Ölzii’s problems remained manageable. 215

DFortune and the Cursed However, when Ölzii’s vegetable gardens yielded a poor harvest in 2004, the struggle between the competing patrilines came to a head. Increasing efforts were made to ensure that Buyna would hasten home for the ghost-trapping ceremony and prevent her predicted suicide. The imps, though, set many obstacles in Ölzii’s way. For the first two weeks of September 2004 the imps ensured that Buyna’s inlaws destroyed three of Ölzii’s written letters instead of passing them onto her. So a telegram was sent to Buyna at her husband’s home in which Ölzii mentioned that I had returned to Bayandun and would like to see her. This telegram was received, and Ölzii managed to have a follow-up telephone conversation with Buyna, who promised to return home in three days’ time. Buyna did not, however, arrive by that time, or by 20 September, when I left Bayandun. But on 13 September, Ölzii’s household, together with the household of her younger brother, held a shamanic ceremony dedicated to the guardian spirits (khoimoriin khögshin) of their homes. The ceremony was held in the yurt of Ölzii’s brother, located to the immediate north of Ölzii’s residence. During the ceremony Yaruu adopted the perspectives of eight different spirits. Following the protocol for a guardian spirit ceremony, Yaruu only invoked ‘close relative spirits’, who, being within five to six generations of her inquirers, were held to regularly watch after them, such that they were entirely familiar with their life circumstances (see chapter 2). Yaruu even used the intimate family nickname of Javkhgar during her invocations, showing that he and Ölzii’s father were the same person. Over the course of the evening Yaruu introduced two innovative remedies which expunged Dorj from the patriline, thereby removing the threat to Buyna’s safety and allowing Ölzii’s household to reckon its descent from Ölzii’s own father. I have described this ceremony in full in a different work (Swancutt 2008, 858–61), so here I will simply discuss the three spirit perspectives which were most influential to these innovations. First, Yaruu adopted the perspective of a close relative spirit who knew about the vampire problem and, speaking from this spirit’s perspective, confirmed that the neighbours in the eastern wing of Ölzii’s household complex were housing a man who had once murdered someone and spent time in prison. That man’s imps were all trying to claim the murderer next door. So to prevent those imps from bumbling into Ölzii’s home again, Yaruu advised Ölzii to bury soot from her hearth beneath the top layers of dirt along her household 216

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gates (khashaa). In Mongolia, hearth soot is attributed protective qualities, since it is the residue of offerings burnt to the spirits or gods and is also the product of activities central to daily life, such as cooking and cleaning. However, burying hearth soot beneath the household gates in order to block vampiric imps from the home was an innovation in Bayandun. Yaruu produced this innovation by coupling the close spirit’s intimate knowledge of the neighbours’ vampire problem, which had been discussed regularly in Ölzii’s home, with the notion that hearth soot has protective qualities. Significantly, Buryat shamans adopt the perspectives of close relative spirits (or of the omnipresent spirit Avgaldai) whenever producing innovations that require renewable household resources, such as hearth soot. Close relative spirits (and Avgaldai) are held to have the bodily capacity for knowing their living descendents just like a living member of the household. Using Viveiros de Castro’s terminology, I refer to this bodily capacity of close relative spirits as their intimacy ‘affect’ (1998a, 482; 1998b, 4; 2004, 474–75). When adopting the perspectives of close relative spirits, shamans thus gain access to their intimate relations with the household, which entails the understanding that rural Buryats can easily implement innovations that make use of easy-to-access resources, such as the hearth soot they produce during the daily cooking and heating of the home with wood or dung-fuelled stoves. Note that Yaruu’s innovation of using hearth soot to block vampires from the home paralleled both the use of menstrual or birth blood in her curse-blocking innovation, where she adopted the perspective of Avgaldai, and the use of baking soda for the toothache innovation introduced by Galanjav’s father. By contrast, when shamans adopt the perspective of a distant relative spirit, they access its ‘virtuosity affect’, meaning the spirit’s bodily capacity for bureaucratic expertise. Buryats hold that distant relative spirits are separated by more than five or six generations from their living descendants and become increasingly occupied with work in the spirit bureaucracy. This spirit bureaucracy has its headquarters on the black stone in Lake Baikal but is also held to extend to lower spirit officials residing in the heavens of the shamanic afterlife more generally. Tellingly, shamans who adopt distant spirit perspectives introduce innovations which make use of their bureaucratic virtuosity. Shortly after introducing the hearth-soot innovation, Yaruu adopted the perspective of the guardian spirit for Ölzii’s household. 217

DFortune and the Cursed Since Ölzii wanted to expunge Dorj from the patriline – and not merely block his imps from the home – she gave a lengthy description of the vampire problem, mentioning obstacles that prevented Buyna from returning for the ghost-trapping ceremony and asking her guardian spirit whether the hearth-soot innovation would merely deflect the imps. After a few minutes of listening to Ölzii’s exposition, Yaruu withdrew from communication, drumming lightly to invoke a virtuosic distant relative spirit. During a shamanic ceremony, Buryat shamans who adopt the perspectives of close spirits but cannot answer a question oftentimes use what I call ‘drum divination’. In drum divination the shaman retains the already-adopted close-spirit perspective but drums to invoke a distant relative spirit who is more senior within the spirit bureaucracy. The shaman then consults the distant spirit about the question at hand, which is held to whisper its answers into the shaman’s ear, via the drum. So while drumming Yaruu allowed her adopted perspective of Ölzii’s guardian spirit to ‘reverberate’ with the perspective of the distant spirit, who could provide a virtuosic innovation for expunging Dorj from the patriline. After finishing the drum divination Yaruu explained that Dorj’s imps were now pursuing (dagaj baina) each of the three children whom Dorj had fathered by Ölzii, including Buyna. Yaruu therefore advised Ölzii to officially change the children’s surnames and have their passports reissued so that they would bear Ölzii’s father’s name in place of Dorj’s. Expunging Dorj’s name from the children’s official records would sever him from their consanguineal line, making the children unpalatable to Dorj’s imps. Moreover, Yaruu said that if Ölzii undertook the ghost-trapping ceremony, plus the hearth-soot and passport name-changing innovations, Dorj’s imps would not pursue her children for the next ten years. Instead, the imps would be simultaneously interred at a crossroads, blocked from entering Ölzii’s household gates and expunged from the patriline. Importantly, this passport name-changing innovation underscored Sneath’s idea that the official Mongolian promotion of state-recognized surnames in 2004 influenced recent genealogical changes throughout the country (2007, 93–103). Yaruu’s proposed genealogical change was, in part, a product of the state initiative described by Sneath: In 2004, thousands of Mongolian citizens rushed to choose a new sort of name for themselves, a surname, or obog ovog ner. The hurry was caused

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by government deadlines: new state regulations stipulated that all citizens must have a registered surname so that they could be issued with new identity cards (Sneath 2007:93).

Despite having received these innovations, Ölzii was concerned that she would not convince Buyna to return for the ghost-trapping ceremony, and she explained to Yaruu that they had difficulty reaching Buyna by letter. So Yaruu requested that milk offerings be made for three days in a row to Ölzii’s guardian spirit (from whose perspective she was still speaking), saying that this would make Buyna return soon, for the ghost-trapping ceremony. These milk offerings work as a conventional form of Mongolian oblation or correcting ritual. Later in the ceremony Yaruu adopted the perspective of Ölzii’s father, who immediately asked after Javkhgar, since they were considered to be one and the same person. Because Javkhgar was asleep, Yaruu handed numerous biscuits and sweets to Chandman, with the understanding that these would be given to the child carrying the reincarnated spirit of Ölzii’s father so that he would receive the largest portion of available sweets. Questions were put to Yaruu about the upcoming year, and Ölzii asked whether she would become rich and whether it would help her children if she expanded her garden and dairy sales. Yaruu replied that Ölzii would become rich, whereupon she should buy a small car and give it to Chandman (i.e. the father of the favoured grandson). One of Ölzii’s nieces then asked whether a man she had in mind would make a good husband. However, Yaruu sharply replied that he would not because he drank vodka and would beat her. Pausing for a few moments, Yaruu then quietly reproached Ölzii, saying that when she was young and had wanted to marry Dorj, her father had thought that she should not marry him but could not bring himself to tell her so at the time. Shaken by her father’s reprimand and implicit apology, Ölzii sheepishly asked once more about Dorj’s imps. But Yaruu refused to discuss the vampire problem further and simply said, ‘Oh, what a difficulty’ and then told everyone to go well in life and readopted her own perspective. A few days after the guardian-spirit ceremony, Ölzii told me that although her children had missed the Mongolian identity card deadline of 27 June 2004 by just three months, they would overcome that complication by sending their passports to the Mongolian officials 219

DFortune and the Cursed in Ulaanbaatar, who could change the surname of Ölzii’s children to match the surname of her father within two to three months. Thus Yaruu’s proposed genealogical change, undertaken at the behest of her rural family and from the viewpoint of a distant relative spirit, actually set in motion the state’s recognition of their preferred line of descent. In this sense, the human-spirit relation between Ölzii’s family and the distant relative spirit – who represented the spirit bureaucracy on the black stone in Lake Baikal and in the heavens more generally – actually mirrored the human-human relation between rural Buryats in northeast Mongolia and the state government located in the capital of Ulaanbaatar.

Pushing the limits of ontology Just like the curse-blocking innovation, both the hearth soot and passport name-changing innovations blocked the unwanted vampiric imps from the home, ensuring that the fortunes of Ölzii’s household would rise immediately within the artificially protected boundaries of her home. This ‘recurrent’ pattern of blocking hostile forces such as curses or vampiric imps from the home is significant. Yaruu’s innovation-making – and her vampire-blocking remedies in particular – demonstrate that like the ‘strange attractors’ of chaos science, Yaruu managed to attract similar, follow-up innovations to her oeuvre. Consider that Ölzii’s vampire problem had reached a point of crisis only four years after Yaruu first introduced the successful curse-blocking innovation. In Ölzii’s view Yaruu was the ideal person for resolving her vampire problem since she had proven her skill in producing tailor-made innovations, such as those used to expunge curses from the home, and could do this all within the convenient privacy of Ölzii’s guardian spirit ceremony. Recall also that when Buryat shamans introduce an innovation they specify how long it will be potent for, after which the innovation would need to be refreshed. Whereas the curse-blocking and hearth-soot innovations would need to have the necessary blood and soot refreshed within the specified length of time, the passport name-changing innovation would continue to work for the duration of the passport’s lifespan (and presumably the lifespan of any related official paperwork which bore the names of Ölzii’s children). The different potency-lives of these innovations gives additional support 220

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to the idea that Yaruu’s oeuvre would attract follow-up innovations, as and when they would become necessary. Buryats like Ölzii, then, could regularly seek out tailor-made resolutions to their problems, whenever reaching the point of a crisis that could not be resolved with correcting rituals or older innovations that lack potency-life. In addition, the immediate rise of fortune in the households protected by Yaruu’s innovations helped attract further high fortune to them during the potency-life of the innovations. Ölzii in particular appreciated the positive changes to the fortunes of Yaruu’s group that arose while the curse-blocking innovation was potent, since her bread-making enterprise started booming at that time. And this success, which Ölzii attributed in large part to her high fortune, encouraged her to seek out ways of accumulating additional good fortune for her household, so as to fulfil her dreams of making her children and grandchildren rich through her pension and her vegetable and dairy sales. The success of Yaruu’s innovation-making, which rapidly improved her group’s fortunes while attracting yet further innovations to them, thus provides the explanation for how the process of invention has become the modus operandi for resolving persistent problems among shamanic groups of Buryats. As I show with my Buryat ethnography in this book, Yaruu’s innovations irreversibly altered local notions about cosmology – at least within her group in Bayandun, which learned that one could produce tailor-made innovations whenever correcting rituals failed to bring about the desired results. Moreover, since her curse-blocking innovation irreversibly changed social relations at the local level by gradually diffusing rivalries with other shamans, it also irreversibly altered the social milieu of Bayandun. It is worth pointing out that Ölzii repaired her relations to Sürenma not long after obtaining the curse-blocking innovation. Four years later, Ölzii also would have been well aware that Yaruu’s innovations could help her to resolve the rivalry with Dorj, by expunging him from the home. She therefore actively sought Yaruu’s help in acquiring the vampire-blocking innovations, just at the very moment when a poor harvest threatened her dreams of building up wealth independent of Dorj. Not only, then, does Buryat shamanic innovation-making create variations on existing remedies – it also expands the existing cosmological and social repertoires from within the protected confines 221

DFortune and the Cursed of the household, which is the very centre of Buryat sociality. This ‘invention of culture’, in which variations on existing conventions are constantly created, pervades the livelihoods of shamanic groups of Buryats who have had the great fortune to obtain one highly successful innovation which thereafter continues to attract more innovations to it (Wagner 1981, xiv). What the recurrent patterning of Yaruu’s oeuvre (and the further innovations she is likely to make throughout her lifetime) most clearly shows, therefore, is that Buryats fearlessly push the limits of their own ontologies, including their notion that fortune only gradually responds to efforts at improving it. In so doing, Buryats overcome the notional limitations of fortune, which occupies the key position within their sliding scale of extraordinary time. They also manage to change the spatial layouts of their districts with innovative remedies that artificially protect their homes. Through their capacity for innovation-making, Buryats thus overturn the most fundamental element of their social life – namely, their experience of time and space as manifest within the sliding scale of fortune.

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All terms are standard Mongolian, except where stated to be Chinese or Buryat. adilkhan – identical; the same as Aga Buryat – A group of Buryats who split off from the Khor’ Buryats in the eighteenth century. The Aga migrated east, to live south of Siberia and north of the Onon River, while the Khor’ continued to live south of the Onon River, all the way to the RussianMongolian border. Following the present-day names for Russian administrative regions, the descendants of this group now refer to themselves as Aga Buryats. ail – The familial home or neighbouring houses. Among Buryats, the term ail is often used to denote families considered to be local allies and business contacts, usually made up of neighbours and close friends living nearby. aimar – frightening (often used to describe shamanic ceremonies) aimshigtai – terrible (often used to describe shamanic ceremonies) airag – fermented mare’s milk ajil – work ajil bütekhgüi – unsuccessful or unproductive work ajil sain bütene – work is good and successfully productive akh – older brother Altan Gadas Od – ‘Golden Pole Star’: the five-pointed Polaris, or North Star am – mouth amitai (Buryat) – a shaman’s crown worn by shamans who invoke senior spirits, forged from metal by a blacksmith shaman, which takes the shape of deer’s horns 223

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms am’ – (1) life; (2) life force am’daral – (1) life; (2) livelihood amjilttai – successful arga – a method (which any person can undertake, as opposed to a divination) arkhi – vodka arts – juniper (used by Buryat white shamans and many Mongolian Buddhist lamas for purification) arvan gurvan chanartai böö (Buryat) – ‘A thirteenth-level shaman’: a euphemistic phrase denoting the most powerful kind of shaman, who, after completing the twelfth and final Buryat levelling-up ceremony (chanar), gains even more power. There is also an honorific Buryat title for this kind of shaman (zaarin). arvan gurvan noën – ‘The thirteen lords’ are the spirits of the first thirteen Buryat shamans who ever lived. In Bayandun, these spiritlords are held to be the chief magistrates of the ancestral-spirit central government, living alternately in the ninety-nine heavens or upon the large black stone in Lake Baikal, where they assemble for bureaucratic meetings. ataa – (1) jealousy; (2) jealous rivalry avgai – wife avgaldai – ‘caterpillar’, ‘pupa’ or ‘larva’: this word resembles the Buryat term Abagaldai, which is the name of an omnipresent shamanic spirit and refers to the power of senior uncles in the patrilineage. Buryats in Bayandun sometimes also used the term for ‘caterpillar’ to refer to this shamanic spirit, underscoring links between his omnipresence in every Buryat home, metamorphosis, and the process of maturation through which family intimacy is established. ayultai – dangerous az – luck azgüi – without luck azragan takhia – rooster; cock aztai – with luck az zavshaan – luck-opportunity ba (Chinese) – eight 224

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bair – home; household bariach – A bonesetter who performs divinations and correcting rituals, especially healing massages, bonesetting techniques, and occasionally cupping therapy. Among Buryats, the term also refers to white shamans, who invoke the spirits of other deceased white shamans and/or the spirits of deceased Buddhist lamas, both of whom reside in the fifty-five western skies. baruun – west baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger – ‘The fiftyfive western heavens; the forty-four eastern heavens’: a formulaic phrase literally referring to the heavenly residences of the Buryat shamanic spirits. The phrase is used to worship these spirits or to summon them from their spirit residences to Earth. bayan – rich bayar – (1) joy; (2) celebrations or festivities beleg ögökh – to give gifts bichig – a written statement (which may appear as a vision during a palm-reading divination) bie – (1) body; (2) health böö – A black shaman who carries out divinations and correcting rituals among Buryats. The black shaman invokes the ninetynine heavens collectively, or the spirits of other deceased black shamans who inhabit the forty-four eastern skies. Buryats often call attention to the ancient quality of black shamanic practices, which are older than their white shamanic practices. böö yüm khiine – ‘do shamanic work’: a turn of phrase meaning to carry out any kind of shamanic practices bug – (1) evil spirit; (2) vampire buriadin ündesnii ongon (Buryat) – ‘distant relative shamanic spirits’: a term used by Buryats in Bayandun to refer to shamanic spirits for the entire Buryat ethnic group, who are removed from living people by more than five or six generations and so devote most of their attention to running the ancestral spirit central government burkhan – Buddhist deities. Sometimes Buryats use the term to refer to ‘the spirits’ more generally. Burkhan Garval (Buryat) – a deity which, according to Buryats in Bayandun, lamas invoke for help in their religious practices 225

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms buruu – (1) an error; something incorrect or wrong; (2) a sampling error buyan – (1) merit or virtue; (2)merit-making deeds or virtuous deeds; (3) blessings buyan bish – unvirtuous buzar – pollution buzarlasan – to become polluted or desecrated chadal – strength (i.e. of the shamanic spirits) chanar (Buryat) – Buryat shamanic initiation or levelling-up ceremonies: Shamans undergo a maximum of twelve levelling-up ceremonies for either the black or the white shamanic vocations. changa – strength chengyu (Chinese) – a four-word idiom in Chinese chikhend khelsen yümnees – from the things that spirits said in (one’s own) ears chimee – information chötgör – A Buryat vampiric imp who was originally an unvirtuous person: At death, the unvirtuous Buryat refuses to travel to the shamanic heavens and to await the decision about his or her possible rebirth (if a layperson) or afterlife existence (if a shaman). A chötgör is an unvirtuous person who chooses to remain on earth instead and become a vampiric imp, preying upon his or her consanguineal relatives’ food stores, livestock and eventually their human bodies, in order to propagate their own kind. This term has the more general meaning of ‘demon’, ‘evil spirit’ or ‘goblin’ among other Mongols. dagaj baina – following; pursuing; chasing dagakh – to follow or to pursue: as in the phrase ‘curses follow people’ (kharaal khüniig dagana). dakhiad törökh – to be reincarnated dald – (1) concealed; (2) secret; (3) latent dam yaria – ‘by means of speech’ or ‘secondhand speech’: gossip that is circulated from one person to another, passing through a number of parties, without ever developing into gossip with curselike effects (khel am) darga – leader; mayor 226

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dargin gazar – ‘the place of the leaders’: used to describe the ancestral spirit central government in Bayandun dasuan (Chinese) – to plan deerdene – rise, improve or elevate (e.g. fortune) dom – a home remedy; a folk remedy dordone – fall, decline or depreciate (e.g. fortune) dorlig (Buryat) – shamanic blacksmith dorligtoi baishin (Buryat) – a shamanic blacksmith’s workshop doroitoson khiimor’ – weakened fortune dotor n’ gunina – ‘to feel sad inside’: with connotation that the person who feels sad is also ‘crying inside’, without necessarily showing these emotions to others dotoroos – From inside: this phrase can be used self-referentially, to mean ‘from inside of myself ’. dun – seashell(s) düü – younger brother elch – Dwarfish ghoul servants: Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum use this term to describe the two servants of Erleg Khan, the underworld lord, who seize a person’s soul at death and escort it to the bowels of the earth. emegtei khün – woman; women eregtei khün – man; men erkh – (1) a rosary strand; (2) rosary beads: Any Mongol can use rosaries for prayers, whereas religious specialists use rosaries for divinations and correcting rituals. erkhsheekh menge – ‘Controlling markings’: the markings which the Buddhist gods bestow upon a person for a given astrological year, depending upon that person’s time of birth. These markings are analogous to physical markings, such as moles, but float in the air above the person’s head, while varying in colour, quantity and their exact positioning each year. esönii ëslol (Buryat) – ‘ninth ceremony’: Buryat shamanic ceremonies which honour the spirits on each ninth day of the lunar month ezen or ezed – ‘Lord’: the term can be applied to human lords or to powerful nature spirits (savdag) which own vast areas, such as whole mountains, ravines or forests. 227

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms fa (Chinese) – an increase, particularly in wealth fuqi (Chinese) – luck ganga – wild thyme (used by Buryat black shamans for purification) ganjue (Chinese) – to feel; to have a feeling; a feeling garsan – to have come out; to have left; to have exited garval khel am (Buryat) – ‘the shamanic spirits’ khel am’: referring to gossip with curse-like effects (khel am) that is propagated by the shamanic spirits ger – Mongolian yurts, which are round tentlike shelters, supported by wooden lattice frameworks and covered with thick felt. When Buryats use the word ger, they can mean either a yurt or a home in general. Gong xi fa cai. (Chinese) – ‘Congratulations to you, and may many things (primarily wealth) increase and come your way.’ gov – desert sand terrain, often with sand dunes guich – A ‘runner’: Buryats use this term to refer to those people who, at death, are condemned to a haunting existence on earth, as damned wandering spirits running along their own ghostly roads. gunigtai – unhappiness guniyana – feel sad gutaasan khel – defamation hongbao (Chinese) – ‘red envelope’: Han Chinese often put gifts of money inside of these decorative red envelopes, so as to present them decorously during Chinese holidays. Ikh Delgüür – the large and locally famous state-run department store in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia ikh khünd bish – not very heavy; lightweight jaraakhai – minnow jargal – happiness jiu (Chinese) – nine jiu (Chinese) – alcohol jolooch – ‘driver’: Buryats refer to both their shamanic spirits and living shamans as the ‘drivers’ of a family line, because they establish communication between the spirit and human worlds, using shamanic ‘roots’ or ‘connections’ (ug). 228

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juram – a kind of marmot khadag – ceremonial scarf often used to decorate places of worship, or gifted (alone or with other items) to show reverence khaalga – (1) door; (2) doorway khaalagchin – psychopomp; doorman to the heavens khaalttai – (1) shut; (2) something shut off khaldvartai – contagious khalim – whale khangai – hilly or mountainous terrain with woods Khar Domin Süder – Sutra of Black Folk Remedies: a legendary ‘black magic’–like book, which lamas, shamans and some laypersons can use for causing harm to others. Buryats say that the book is rare but that some people have old copies of it in print. kharaal – a curse kharaal khünd shuud taarana – ‘curses immediately strike people’: with connotations that curses instantly reach their intended victims kharaal khüniig dagana – ‘curses follow people’: with connotations that curses will follow people wherever they go, until a correcting ritual or innovative remedy is implemented kharaalin dain – ‘cursing war’: an ongoing battle made up of curses sent back and forth between competing rivals (usually shamans) khar khel am – black ‘tongue-mouth’: defamatory gossip which has been circulated among so many routes that it cannot be fully retraced and thus imparts curse-like effects to the subject of speech. This type of gossip begins when two people have an argument and one person genuinely offends the other. The offended party then tells others about his or her grievance, thereby initiating an episode of black khel am. khar tom garval (Buryat) – ‘big black spirit’: euphemism for a black shaman’s top spirit-helper khar üzemerch – ‘black diviner’: an ordinary diviner who is neither a shaman nor a lama khart (Buryat) – playing cards khashaa – ‘fence’: among Buryats, this term also can denote the space of individual homes that is cordoned off by wooden fences from the outside 229

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms khayana – throw; fling; hurl down khel – tongue khel am – ‘tongue-mouth’: gossip which has been circulated among so many routes that it cannot be fully retraced and thus imparts curse-like effects to the subject of the speech khevtesen – ‘to have laid down on one side’: This verb can refer to fallen fortune euphemistically, as in the phrase ‘fortune has been lying down [or laid up] on its side’ (khiimor’ khevtesen). khii khooson yüm – ‘things made of air’: a phrase referring to something invisible or immaterial, which might cause sceptics to consider it as not real khii yüm – ‘an air-like spectre’: a term coined by Galanjav, which seems to refer to ükheer khiimor’ – The fortune of a person, household or place, which rises and falls in response to a person’s own actions or influences that are external to the person. On rare occasions, a person may inherit fortune, but it usually disappears with the death of a layperson. Alternatively, those shamans who, at death, live in the shamanic afterlife world carry their fortunes with them. Sometimes this term is translated as the ‘internal balance’ of a person. khiimorgüi – lacking in fortune; low fortune Khiimoriin San – Fortune’s Incense: a small prayer book which laypersons can purchase and read aloud at home, to raise their fortunes khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag – fortune flags flown just outside of the home (or some other building, such as a Buddhist temple), to increase the fortune of the household (or monastery), as well as the personal fortunes of everyone who resides within it khiimoriin mor’ – ‘fortune’s horse’: a phrase referring to the horses painted or printed on fortune flags khiimortoi – ‘with fortune’: a construction meaning that a person has, or is in, good fortune khiimortoi yavsan baival – if [one] went in fortune khiisveriin yüm – ‘things which cannot be seen or known from all sides’: Like the phrase khii khooson yüm, this phrase refers to something invisible or immaterial which might cause some sceptics to consider it not real. 230

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khils – the ghost of a person who suffered an injustice and died before his or her time (known to Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum) khoimoriin khögshin – guardian spirit of the home: Buryats make small dolls which represent their guardian spirits, storing these in clean, elevated places close to the household hearth. Once every three to five years, they also hold shamanic ceremonies to honour their guardian spirits. Khorin Khözör – Twenty Card: a kind of Buryat playing card divination which makes use of a total of twenty cards khorlol – harm khortoi – poisonous khov jiv – disparaging gossip undertaken by two people who speak poorly about a third person: Khov jiv arises when, for example, Person A speaks poorly about Person B to Person C, and then inverts the gossiping process by speaking poorly about Person C to Person B. Khov jiv is a betrayal and has similar connotations to the English term ‘backstabbing’ gossip. Buryats say that as long as khov jiv is contained between two parties, it will not harm anyone. khözör – playing cards khüch – power khudlach – liar khugatsaa – length of time khün – person; people khün ajild durtai – ‘people like to work’: This phrase can have the connotation of hard working or industrious. khünd – heavy khuraldakh – to assemble for a meeting khuv’ zaya – fate komp’yüter – (1) computer; (2) a Buryat divination based upon the card game Solitaire lam-böö – ‘lama-shaman’: a nickname given by Yaruu’s group to a rival religious specialist in Bayandun who practised as both a shaman and a self-professed Buddhist lama liu (Chinese) – six 231

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms lu (Chinese) – road Lus – the Nature God (head deity of the landscape, associated with Buddhism, who has a watery underground kingdom with eightyone different types of trees and eighty-one different kinds of watery animals lusin khorlol – harm inflicted by the Nature God magtaal – words of praise maikhavshi (Buryat) – a shamanic fringed skullcap which is sewn using a different colour scheme for black or white shamanic practices margaan – an argument (which can lead to khar khel am) margaash – tomorrow (sometimes bearing the connotation of delay) medekhgüi – not yet known; unknown medekhgüi am’tan – ‘unknown animals’: a nonstandard phrase used to describe shamanic clay effigies of unidentified undergrounddwelling animals merge tölög – divination mixin (Chinese) – ‘superstition’: term applied by the Chinese state to denote activities that it considers potentially subversive, such as beliefs in curses which could upset entire communities mogoi – snake moil – bird cherry (Latin botanical name: prunus padus) möngön chuluu – silver stone mörgöl khiisengüi – to not worship the spirits muu – bad (often used euphemistically to carry weightier meanings, such as ‘evil’) muulasan üg – slander muu khün – bad person(s) muu sanaa – bad sentiments; bad thoughts muu yaria – bad speech naiz – (1) friend(s); (2) boyfriend(s) or girlfriend(s); (3) spouse(s) nandin – precious, dear; noble nastai eregtei khün – elder (often revered) man or men negdel – a collective farm nileed khugatsaa – a long time

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noën – ‘lord’: Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum use this term to describe the underworld lord, Erleg Khan. The term can also be applied to human lords or to powerful nature spirits (savdag) which own vast areas, such as whole mountains, ravines or forests. noëni gazar – ‘the place of the leaders’: This term is used to describe the ancestral spirit central government or, occasionally, to describe the territorial residences of powerful nature spirits. The term can also refer to the workplaces of human leaders. nökhör – husband nom unshikh – to read prayer books (Buryats usually consider this to be a correcting ritual conducted by Buddhist lamas.) nomkhon khün – calm person (a suitable demeanour for Buryat shamans) nüdend yamar yüm kharagdakhad, tiimerkhüü olon uchirtai yüm irne – ‘to see within the eyes the cause of many things to come’: referring to the clairvoyance of diviners who use their foresight to actually see what their inquirers will experience nügel khilents – sin, in the Buddhist sense of karmic repercussions, which can also harm a person’s fortune nügeltei – sinful nutag – homeland nuutstai – secretive ob’yekt – route; trajectory Odoo yaakhiig büü med! – Now we don’t know what to do! oilgolgt – (1) concept; (2) understanding oirkhon khamaatni ongon (Buryat) – ‘close relative shamanic spirits’: a term used by Buryats in Bayandun to refer to shamanic spirits who are within five or six generations’ proximity to living people and thus regularly watch after their living descendants olz – a finding (often profitable) ongon – shamanic spirit ongonoos – from the shamanic spirit(s) ongon buulgakh – ‘To descend, as a shamanic spirit, upon a shaman’: This phrase means that the spirit’s descent from the heavens or the offering table will cause the shaman to adopt the spirit’s perspective. 233

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms ongon orokh – ‘to enter, as a shamanic spirit, into the shaman’: This phrase means that the spirit will enter the shaman’s body, causing the shaman to adopt the spirit’s perspective. ongon zaasan khiikh yüm – ‘the thing which the shamanic spirits instructed to be done’: Buryat Mongol euphemism for what the author calls ‘an innovative remedy’ öngörsön töröl – the time before [someone’s] birth: refers to time in the past, before the start of life öngötei – colourful; with colour ongots – (1) ship; (2) vessel ööriin khemjee – one’s own capacity; one’s own standard of measurement ööröö medne – to know things of one’s own accord orkhiul – the ornamental ‘head’ bead on rosary bead strand: This bead is part of the structural design that helps keep the rosary intact. When a Mongolian rosary is strung, all of the main beads are added first. Then either strand of the rosary may be knotted together, before being threaded as a single unit through the head bead, and knotted together yet again. oroj chadakhgüi – ‘cannot touch’; ‘cannot enter’; ‘cannot penetrate’: This phrase can be used euphemistically to refer to cases where one person cannot harm another. ovoo – stone cairns which delimit the boundaries of a territorial or homeland region and where rituals to elevate fortune may be carried out ovortoi – haughty oyun – (1) intellect; (2) spirit; (3) wisdom pengpeng yunqi (Chinese) – to run into luck qi (Chinese) – seven qi (Chinese) – (1) energy; (2) anger qian (Chinese) – money rashaan – ‘spring water’: (1) water that religious specialists bless during correcting rituals, for use in purifying fumigations or washings, often undertaken by laypersons at their homes; (2) water held to have purifying properties because of the unusual location from which it is sourced 234

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saad – (1) a problem; (2) an obstacle saadtai – (1) problematic; (2) fraught with obstacles saikhan – good sain khün – good person(s) sakhius – A talisman which has had some of the strength and power of a guardian spirit infused into it. The term can alternately mean a guardian spirit, a protective deity, or an amulet. salbar – route; trajectory sanaa – thoughts sanaanaas – from (one’s own) thoughts sanaandgüi yüm – an unanticipated thing savdag – local nature spirits residing in specific features of the landscape setgel – mind setgel sanaa – (1) emotions; (2) state of mind shanagan khorkhoi – tadpole shaoshu minzu (Chinese) – ‘small nationalities’: ethnic minority groups shav’ – the disciple of a high incarnate Buddhist lama shavar – claylike mud shi (Chinese) – ten shi (Chinese) – business, tasks, affairs shinekhen – quite new shishi zaizai (Chinese) – real and true shivshleg – magical formulae, often whispered by religious practitioners to invoke the help of ancestral spirits, shamanic spirits or Buddhist gods shoroo – ‘sand’: Mongolian lamas may put their blessings into sand to dispense during correcting rituals, so that their inquirers might toss this sand in the direction of hostile forces or rivals, thereby deflecting their attacks. Buryats say that unscrupulous lamas toss this blessed sand at their own rivals as a method for casting curses upon them, while recommending that their inquirers do the same. shütekh – to worship

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DGlossary of Vernacular Terms soliorson – ‘to have gone crazy’: Buryats in Shinekhen Baruun Sum used this term to refer to a local diviner who suddenly tried to mimic the ceremonial requirements of a shaman undergoing the chanar initiation by climbing trees. sonin – (1) news; (2) new things Sonin yütai ve? – ‘What news do you have?’: a common Mongolian conversation opener sonsokhgüi – not yet heard of; unheard of stress baina – ‘there is stress’ (meaning that a person feels stressed) sum – district süns – the ‘soul’ of a person: Buryats say that the soul resides inside of the body but that it moves location on a daily basis, so that on certain days it may be found, for instance, in the elbows, knees, arms, legs, teeth, head or any part of the body. People can lose their souls, which endangers their life and health, so that it is vital to hold a soul-calling ritual. sür baraa – the outline or silhouette of a person’s spirit sür süld – the ‘spirit’ (literally, ‘majestic appearance’) of a person: Buryats say that the quality of the person’s spirit (i.e. joyous or downcast; present or absent; strong or weak) is visible upon his or her countenance. People can lose their spirits, but there are no correcting rituals to call them back, since they eventually return of their own accord. surag – specific information taarana – (1) match or tally with; (2) hit the target takhia jiltai khün – a person born in the year of the chicken (according to the Eastern lunar calendar) takhilga – sacrificial offerings, often carried out atop of a mountain and officiated by Buddhist lamas tal – steppe tam – hell tarvaga – Mongolian marmot tatasan – ‘to pull up’ in response to an illness which causes the person to tightly retract the limbs against the body; sometimes the ‘pulling up’ is viewed as an illness in itself temdeg – (1) sign; (2) stamp; (3) marking 236

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temtseliin üed – during a struggle teneg – an idiot tenger – (1) the heavens; (2) skies; (3) for Buryats, the ninety-nine heavens which are the dominion of the ancestral spirit bureaucracy ter n’ medekhgüi – ‘I don’t know about that’: with connotations that ‘I don’t know how to answer your question’, ‘I don’t know what that is’ or ‘I don’t know anything about that’. tögrög – (1) Mongolian unit of currency; (2) something round tokhioldol – coincidence tol’ – A shaman’s mirror, made of a silver-steel or brass alloy, and worn around the shaman’s neck on a ceremonial scarf (khadag) for protection. The mirror is capable of deflecting harmful forces, such as curses. tom – big toont – placenta törkhöös önökh khugatsaa – the time prior to birth torin tsus – menstrual or birth blood törsön töörög – predestination that starts at birth tsagaan khel am – white ‘tongue-mouth’: Praising gossip which has been circulated among so many routes that it cannot be fully retraced and thus imparts curse-like effects to the subject of speech. No person circulating white khel am is necessarily aware that he or she is propagating it, because it is comprised of praise. tsagaan mashin – a white car Tsagaan Övgön – ‘the white old man’: a deified or legendary figure of an old white man widely revered across Inner Asia. Buryats consider that lamas invoke Tsagaan Övgön for help in their religious practices. Tsagaan Sar – ‘the white month’: the Mongolian lunar New Year tseverkhen – clean tsogt – fiery embers, which may radiate like rays tsog süldtei – with embers or sparks visibly radiating out tsuurkhal – well-known information about a person whose acquaintance has not yet been made: This term especially denotes fame

237

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms or notoriety, such as a famous singer’s reputation for talent or the haunted atmosphere attributed to a dancing hall. tsus sorogch – ‘bloodsucker’: as of a vampire tüshee – prayers made by laypersons or religious specialists, while ‘counting’ the beads on a rosary uchir – (1) reason; (2) fact udgan (Buryat) – a female shaman udgan shig (Buryat) – ‘shaman-like’: refers to a religious specialist, such as a diviner, whose practices are like those of a (specifically female) shaman udgan shig üzdeg khün (Buryat) – ‘a shaman-like diviner’: refers to a diviner whose practices are like those of a (specifically female) shaman ug – ‘roots’ or ‘connections’ to the shamanic spirits, ancestral spirits, or deities that support the religious specialist in practice ug garval (Buryat) – ‘roots to the shamanic spirits’: Galanjav used this term to refer to shamanic-origin spirits or the place inhabited by any kind of ancestor spirit. üiliin ür – the laws of karma üimeen – unrest ukhaa n’ baikhgüi – ‘one’s own mind is gone’: a phrase used by Buryats to describe how the shaman’s mind and awareness vacate the body when he or she adopts a shamanic spirit’s perspective ükheer (Buryat) – shamanic spirits with as-yet unidentified genealogical origins, whom Buryats often stereotype as the unhappy spirits of female shamans, with long messy hair ükheer khaakh (Buryat) – ‘to enclose the dead’: Buryat shamanic ghost-trapping ceremonies which entail capturing a vampiric imp (chötgör) in a black goatskin bag and interring it at a crossroads. The trapped imp is contained underground for ten to fifteen years, during which time it significantly weakens. When the imp emerges from the ground, he or she often tries to harm his or her kin again, so that the ceremony may need to be repeated once or twice more, after which the imp no longer has the powers to harm anyone. (Buddhist lamas simply read prayer books (nom unshikh) for their ghost-trapping ceremonies). ükheld khürne – to be approaching the moment of death 238

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ünen – true Urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne. – ‘Those things seen within the eyes are then spoken’: referring to the déjà vu–like experience of the religious specialist who says aloud what he or she had seen previously within the mind’s eye, making that vision into the basis of the divinatory pronouncement uuliin ezen – ‘mountain lord’: a nature spirit (savdag) who is considered to lord over the mountaintop where he or she resides, requiring that passersby make offerings, on pain of punishing them. (Buryats hold that mountain lords often steal the souls of passersby who offend them by failing to leave offerings). uurlaj baina – to become angry (the person who experiences this frequently and easily is not suited to the Buryat shamanic vocation) üzekh – (1) to look; (2) to read; (3) to divine yadam khuruuni khemjee – ‘ring finger measurements’: This phrase refers to the layperson’s method (arga) among the Buryat Mongols of northern Dornod Province of measuring a person’s ring fingers to detect whether that person’s soul has been lost. When the person’s ring fingers are slightly more ‘unequal’ in length than would be expected on an ordinary pair of hands, then that person’s soul is held to be absent from the body. yaria – speech yasnaas shüd, makhnaas nüd – ‘From their aged bones people develop teeth problems, and from their aged flesh people develop eye problems’: idiomatic proverb about the aging of teeth and the flesh yast melkhii – turtle you yunqi (Chinese) – to have luck yuan (Chinese) – (1) Chinese unit of currency; (2) something round in shape yüm – thing zaarin (Buryat) – an honorific title given to a shaman who has completed all twelve levelling-up ceremonies (chanar) and has become even more powerful since then, thus qualifying as a thirteenthlevel shaman (arvan gurvan chanartai böö). zailana – ‘escape’: a verb that can be used to describe how the soul ‘escapes’ the body zakhia – letter (of correspondence) 239

DGlossary of Vernacular Terms zalgamjladag yüm – an ‘inherited thing’, such as the Buryat person’s fortune, which in rare cases may be passed down through the generations zalkhuu – laziness; lethargy zalkhuutai – being lethargic or lazy Zalkhuutai khün khel am yar’dag. – ‘Lazy people speak khel am’: this phrase has the connotation that khel am (gossip with curse-like effects) is just idle chat. zaluu eregtei khün – young men zam – road; path zasag – ruler or banner prince zasal – ‘correcting’ or ‘repairing’ rituals, which are the conventional remedies for everyday problems, business difficulties or illnesses zavshaan – opportunity zavshigch – an opportunist zelüüd gazar – isolated wilderness area which is uninhabited by people zön sovin – premonition; presentiment zoos – (1) money; (2) coins zorig – wilful courage; courage; will; willpower zorigtoi – wilfully courageous zud – heavy winter storm zul (Buryat) – small oil lamps with homemade wicks that are placed on the offering table during shamanic ceremonies, to light the shamanic spirit’s feast zurkhai – astrology zurkhaich – astrologer zürkh – heart zürkh n’ övdöj baina or zürkh n’ övchelönö – ‘one’s own heart hurts’: a phrase referring to heart pains zürkhevch (Buryat) – a flat, heart-shaped piece of white metal that Buryat shamans wear around their necks, and which they can manually strike against their shamanic mirrors (tol’) for protection züüdlesen – to have dreamed züün – east 240

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DReferences Swancutt, Katherine. 2006. ‘Representational vs. conjectural divination: innovating out of nothing in Mongolia’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. 12(2):331–53. Swancutt, Katherine. 2007. ‘The ontological spiral: virtuosity and transparency in Mongolian games’. In Inner Asia (special issue on perspectivism) 9(2): 237–59. Swancutt, Katherine. 2008. ‘The undead genealogy: omnipresence, spirit perspectives and a case of Mongolian vampirism’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. 14(4):843–64. Swancutt, Katherine. 2012. ‘Masked predation, hierarchy and the scaling of extractive relations in Inner Asia and beyond’. In Animism in rainforest and tundra: personhood, animals, plants and things in contemporary Amazonia and Siberia. M. Brightman, V. Grotti and O. Ulturgasheva, eds. Oxford: Berghahn. 175-94. Taussig, Michael. 1993. Mimesis and alterity. London: Routledge. Tylor, Edward B. 1977. Primitive culture: researches into the development of mythology, philosophy, religion, language, art and custom. Vol. 1. Gordon Press: New York. Vilaça, Aparecida. 2005. ‘Chronically unstable bodies: reflections on Amazonian corporalities’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.). 11(3):445-464. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1998a. ‘Cosmological deixis and Amerindian perspectivism’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.). 4(3):469–88. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1998b. Cosmological perspectivism in Amazonia and elsewhere. General Lectures, Department of Social Anthropology, University of Cambridge (17 February – 10 March). Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 2004. ‘Exchanging perspectives: the transformation of objects into subjects in Amerindian ontologies’. In Common knowledge. 10(3):463–84. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 2007. ‘The crystal forest: on the ontology of Amazonian spirits’. In Inner Asia (special issue on perspectivism). 9(2):153–72. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 2009. ‘The gift and the given: three nano-essays on kinship and magic’. In Kinship and beyond: the genealogical model reconsidered. S. Bamford and J. Leach, eds. Oxford: Berghahn. 237–68. Wagner, Roy. [1975]1981. The invention of culture (revised and expanded edition). Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Wagner, Roy. 1986. Symbols that stand for themselves. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wagner, Roy. 1987. ‘Figure-ground reversal among the Barok’. In Assemblage of spirits: idea and image in New Ireland. L. Lincoln, ed. Minneapolis: Minneapolis Institute of Art. 56–62. Wagner, Roy. 1991. ‘The fractal person’. In Big men and great men: the personifications of power. M. Godelier and M. Strathern, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 159–73.

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Whitehouse, Harvey. 1996. ‘Rites of terror: emotion, metaphor and memory in Melanesian initiation cults’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. 2(4): 703–15. Whyte, Susan R. 1997. Questioning misfortune: the pragmatics of uncertainty in eastern Uganda. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Willerslev, Rane. 2004. ‘Not animal, not not-animal: hunting, imitation and empathetic knowledge among the Siberian Yukaghirs’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. 10(3):629–52. Willerslev, Rane. 2007. Soul hunters: hunting, animism, and personhood among the Siberian Yukaghirs. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. Woodburn, James. 1991. ‘African hunter-gatherer social organization: is it best understood as a product of encapsulation?’ In Hunters and gatherers: history, evolution and social change. (Volume 1). T. Ingold, D. Riches and J. Woodburn, eds. Oxford: Berg. 31–64. Xiao, Wen. 1994. Pukepai youxi dafa (The Great Methods of Playing Cards). Guangxi: Guangxi Minzu Chubanshe. Zeitlyn, David. 1990. ‘Professor Garfinkel visits the soothsayers: ethnomethodology and Mambila divination. In Man (N.S.). 25(4):654–66. Zeitlyn, David. 2001. ‘Finding meaning in the text: the process of interpretation in text-based divination’. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.). 7(2):225–40. Zorbas, K. 2007. ‘Agents of evil: curse accusations and shamanic retaliation in post-soviet Tuva (Siberia)’. Ph.D. thesis, University of Cambridge.

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DIndex

shivshleg), 237 (glossary entry for tenger), 238 (glossary entries for ug and ug garval) astrology, 30, 44, 102, 111, 113, 125 (note 1), 126 (note 3), 190, 193, 195, 227 (glossary entry for erkhsheekh menge), 240 (glossary entry for zurkhai and zurkhaich) astrology calendars, 102, 111, 125 (note 1), 193 astrology to predict the annual course of fate, 102, 111, 125 (note 1), 190, 193, 195, 227 (glossary entry for erkhsheekh menge) Avgaldai (or Abagaldai), xiv, 78, 135, 145, 197–9, 203, 207, 214, 217, 224 (glossary entry for avgaldai)

A afterlife world of shamans, 46, 53, 55–60, 62–64, 66, 105, 138, 155, 193, 199–200, 207, 215, 217, 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 230 (glossary entry for khiimor’) Aga Buryat, 17–18, 53, 68–69, 101, 107, 121, 198, 223 (glossary entry for Aga Buryat) agency (see also ‘oil lamps’), 74, 81–82, 89, 93, 98 (note 4), 155, 157–163, 179, 186 composite agency in symbols that stand for themselves, 74, 104, 158–159 of divinatory or other religious implements, 1, 4, 39, 46–7, 49–50, 63, 72, 81, 84, 93, 97–8, 155–164, 178, 183, 186, 209 Akamatsu, C., 106 Akiba, T., 106 alcohol drinking, 24, 58, 72, 79, 109–110, 115, 120, 145, 180–2, 192, 212, 228 (glossary entry for jiu) ancestors, 6, 18, 25, 41, 46, 48 (note 2), 51, 53, 63, 67, 76–7, 96–7, 107, 123, 166, 180–1, 183, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën), 225 (glossary entry for buriadin ündesnii ongon), 227 (glossary entry for dargin gazar), 233 (glossary entry for noëni gazar), 235 (glossary entry for

B bad speech (see also ‘curse’, ‘gossip without curse effects’ and ‘khel am’), 38, 127–8, 132, 135, 138–40, 142–3, 232 (glossary entry for muu yaria) baking soda, 199–201, 207, 217 Bawden, C., 33, 52, 123 Bellezza, J., 114 Berounský, D., 11, 102 Big Dipper (Ursa Major), 54–5 biographies of spirits, xiv, 45–7, 53–69, 71, 77–8, 84, 98 (note 248

D

Index

bread-making, 22, 28, 213, 215, 221 Brightman M., 154 Budan Khatan Ijii, 54 Buddhism, xiv, xvii, 12, 14, 18, 29–30, 33, 35, 41, 48 (note 10), 51–5, 60–2, 64, 66–7, 71, 76, 85, 92–3, 95–7, 102–3, 106–7, 111, 113, 123, 125 (note 2), 128, 135, 165–6, 180, 191–5, 199–200, 214, 224 (glossary entry for arts), 225 (glossary entries for bariach and burkhan), 227 (glossary entry for erkhsheekh menge), 230 (glossary entries for Khiimoriin San and khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag), 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö), 232 (glossary entry for Lus), 233 (glossary entries for nom unshikh and nügel khilents), 235 (glossary entries for shav’ and shivshleg), 236 (glossary entry for takhilga), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) books or written statements, 52, 62, 71, 85, 92–3, 192, 200, 214, 229 (glossary entry for Khar Domin Süder), 230 (glossary entry for Khiimoriin San), 233 (glossary entry for nom unshikh), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) disciples of high incarnate lamas (shav’), 92–3, 235 (glossary entry for shav’) lamas, ix, xiv, 14, 18, 30, 33, 35, 37, 41, 52–5, 60–4, 70–1, 73, 79–83, 85–93, 95–7, 102–3, 106, 109, 113, 117, 119, 123– 5, 128, 130–1, 139–40, 146, 161–2, 165, 167–72, 175–7, 182, 191–3, 195, 199–200, 205, 214, 224 (glossary entry for arts), 225 (glossary entries for bariach and Burkhan

2), 107, 135, 146, 155, 165, 170, 197–201, 215–7, 219–20, 224 (glossary entries for arvan gurvan noën and avgaldai), 225 (glossary entry for buriadin ündesnii ongon), 233 (glossary entry for oirkhon khamaatni ongon), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer) Bird-David, N., 15, 76, 84, 92, 154, 156, 162 Birtalan, A., 11, 102, 106–7 black stone in Lake Baikal, see ‘bureaucracy’ blessings, 72–4, 78, 120, 123–4, 162, 206, 226 (glossary entry for buyan), 235 (glossary entry for shoroo) blindness or a ‘blind’ quality, 1, 41, 215 blood, 33, 68, 198–203, 206, 217, 220, 237 (glossary entry for torin tsus), 238 (glossary entry for tsus sorogch) to block curses, 198–203, 206, 217, 220, 237 (glossary entry for torin tsus) to cast cursing, 33, 199 ties to the land, 200 bodies, 1, 11–13, 48 (note 5), 49, 56, 58, 67, 69–70, 80, 86, 101, 111–12, 114, 116–19, 121, 123, 125 (note 2), 126 (note 5), 137, 143, 146, 155, 157, 159–60, 176, 179, 199, 217, 225 (glossary entry for bie), 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 234 (glossary entry for ongon orokh), 236 (glossary entries for süns and tatasan), 238 (glossary entry for ukhaa n’ baikhgüi), 239 (glossary entries for yadam khuruuni khemjee and zailana) bodily affects, 49, 155 sensing soul loss or recovery in the body, 101, 121, 123, 217 249

DIndex bookkeeping, 62, 65–6, 205, 215 distant spirits and their innovations, 217–8, identity cards, 219 of Erleg Khan, 61–2, 64–6, 71, 193, 227 (glossary entry for elch), 233 (glossary entry for noën) of shamanic spirits, 56, 77–8, 217–8, 220, 237 (glossary entry for tenger) personal numbers and profiles in the shamanic afterlife, 56–7 and links to virtue, 62, 96, 104, 195, 226 (glossary entry for buyan) Burkhan Garval (a mountain lord deity), 170, 225–6 (glossary entry for Burkhan Garval) business, xvii, 2, 7–8, 10, 14, 21, 26–7, 29–32, 42, 100, 116, 139, 146, 167, 175, 177–8, 180, 182, 187, 190, 197, 223 (glossary entry for ail), 235 (glossary entry for shi), 240 (glossary entry for zasal) Buyandelgeriyn, M., 4, 24, 84, 98 (note 2) Buyna, xiii, 68, 80, 86–7, 90, 146, 167, 199, 212–4, 216, 218–9

Garval), 229 (glossary entries for Khar Domin Süder and khar üzemerch), 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö), 233 (glossary entry for nom unshikh), 235 (glossary entries for shav’, shivshleg and shoroo), 236 (glossary entry for takhilga), 237 (glossary entry for Tsagaan Övgön), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) links to shamans, ix, xiv, xvii, 14, 18, 35, 37, 41, 52–5, 60–4, 70– 1, 73, 79–83, 85–93, 106–7, 109, 116–7, 119, 123–4, 128, 131, 139–40, 146, 161–2, 165– 72, 175–7, 191, 194, 199–200, 205, 214, 224 (glossary entry for arts), 225 (glossary entry for bariach), 229 (glossary entries for Khar Domin Süder and khar üzemerch), 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö), 235 (glossary entry for shivshleg), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) monasteries, xvii, 18, 30, 33, 48 (note 10), 51–2, 102, 111, 113, 230 (glossary entry for khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag) red Buddhism (Nyingmapa), 33, 51–3 yellow Buddhism (Gelugpa), 33, 51–2 Bukha Noën, 54 Bulag U., 17 bureaucracy, 15, 56, 77–8, 217–8, 220, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën), 237 (glossary entry for tenger) administration, 17, 19, 21, 25, 53–4, 56–8, 60, 64–6, 97, 109, 177, 223 (glossary entry for Aga Buryat) black stone in Lake Baikal, 53–8, 60, 64–5, 107, 123, 217, 220, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën)

C Calkowski, M., 11, 114 cardinal directions, 19, 107 Carroll, L., 98–9 (note 4) cars, 19, 22, 47, 52, 90, 110, 167–8, 188–90, 212, 219, 237 (glossary entry for tsagaan mashin) Carsten, J., 12, 138 causation, ix, 10, 13, 38, 45, 48 (note 1), 68, 74–5, 80, 83, 85, 90, 95–6, 101, 105, 109, 110–1, 114, 116, 119, 124, 127–9, 131–2, 135–7, 142, 250

D

Index

entry for mixin), 239 (glossary entry for yuan) coincidence, 188–9, 192, 194, 196, 237 (glossary entry for tokhioldol) coins, 79, 240 (glossary entry for zoos) collective farms, 21, 232 (glossary entry for negdel) communism, 17, 134, 215 contagion, 158, 176, 229 (glossary entry for khaldvartai) containing, xix, 2, 5, 25, 31, 33, 42, 48, 57, 69, 70, 110, 134, 140, 142, 152–3, 163, 165, 175, 186–7, 202, 214, 231 (glossary entry for khov jiv), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) what is heard, 24, 29, 134, 136, 150–1, 177, 204, 208 what is seen, 23–4, 26, 29, 122, 136, 150–1, 204 control, 4–5, 24, 26, 57–8, 81–4, 97, 125 (note 2), 144, 158, 160, 162, 174, 176, 183, 186, 189, 227 (glossary entry for erkhsheekh menge) over divinatory implements, 81–4, 97, 158, 160, 162, 176, 183, 186 conventions, xv, xviii–xix, 3, 6–8, 10, 12–13, 15, 50, 77, 81, 144, 186, 196–7, 202, 204, 219, 222, 240 (glossary entry for zasal) correcting rituals, ix, xv–xix, 3, 7, 10–11, 13–16, 24, 30, 37, 49, 53, 71–3, 77–8, 80, 84–5, 89–90, 100–1, 105, 109, 113, 115, 117, 123–5, 128, 130, 134–7, 142, 144, 146–50, 152–3, 161, 163, 175, 177, 183, 185–6, 191, 195–7, 199, 204, 219, 221, 225 (glossary entries for bariach and böö), 227 (glossary entry for erkh),

145, 147–52, 159, 170, 177, 182–3, 185, 188, 190–1, 193, 195, 199, 201, 206–8, 210, 219, 229 (glossary entry for Khar Domin Süder), 230 (glossary entries for khii khooson yüm and khiisveriin yüm), 233 (glossary entry for nüdend yamar yüm kharagdakhad, tiimerkhüü olon uchirtai yüm irne), 233–4 (glossary entry for ongon buulgakh), 234 (glossary entry for ongon orokh), 236 (glossary entry for tatasan) ceremonial scarves, 52, 85, 229 (glossary entry for khadag), 237 (glossary entry for tol’) Chandman, xiii, 215, 219 chaos science, xviii, 6–9, 185, 211, 220 chaotic, 4–5, 49, 84 fractal scaling, 6, 9, 165, 185, 210 and innovations, xvii–xix, 6–11, 14, 25, 49, 185–6, 210–11, 220–22 and irreversible changes, 7–8, 186, 211, 221 strange attractors, xviii–xix, 8–11, 14, 25, 105, 185, 196, 201, 211, 220 children, 1, 5, 22–3, 30–1, 37, 43, 65, 80–1, 89, 93, 108, 116, 119–20, 136, 143, 146, 148, 192, 197, 207, 209, 212–14, 218–21 Chimegee, xiii, 34, 37–8, 60, 79–82, 86–91, 122–3, 125, 141, 145– 7, 167, 170, 176–7, 188–9, 194, 197–8, 205, 208–10, 212 China, viii, xvi–xvii, xix–xx, 2–7, 12–3, 16–9, 22, 24–30, 34, 38, 43, 48 (note 8), 60–1, 63, 65–6, 80, 106, 125 (note 1), 142, 179–81, 189, 228 (glossary entry for hongbao), 232 (glossary 251

DIndex shoroo), 237 (glossary entries for tol’ and tsagaan khel am), 240 (glossary entry for Zalkhuutai khün khel am yar’dag) allergic reactions caused by cursing, 80, 146, 197 counter-curse, xix, 2, 33, 38, 127–8, 142, 144, 146–7, 172, 175–7, 187, 205 eye-witnessed, 3, 36, 63, 80–2, 86, 90, 130, 167, 170 immediate returns, 15, 130, 153, 190, 204, 206 ignoring Curses, 35–6, 187, 205–6 lamas casting curses, ix, 33, 35, 37, 79–80, 82–83, 85–91, 119, 146, 162, 167–72, 175–7, 199, 205, 229 (glossary entry for Khar Domin Süder) as hitting targets, 128, 130, 131, 229 (glossary entry for kharaal khünd shuud taarana), 236 (glossary entry for taarana) during lunar New Year ceremony, 1–2, 34–5, 78–81, 86, 90, 119–20, 141, 144–6, 167, 175, 196–7, 199, 205 reputations in relation to cursing, 35–6, 64, 139, 141–2, 177, 187, 196, 209 rivals in cursing, vii, x, xiii, xv, xviii–xix, 2–3, 7–9, 15, 32–7, 71, 80–2, 84, 87–90, 109, 116, 119, 121, 124–5, 127, 130, 138–42, 144–7, 153–4, 156, 158–60, 162–4, 167–70, 172, 175–8, 182–3, 185–7, 196, 204–7, 210, 212, 221, 224 (glossary entry for ataa), 229 (glossary entry for kharaalin dain), 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö), 235 (glossary entry for shoroo) sand used for cursing, 88, 90–1, 235 (glossary entry for shoroo)

229 (glossary entry for kharaal khüniig dagana), 233 (glossary entry for nom unshikh), 234 (glossary entry for rashaan), 235 (glossary entry for shoroo), 236 (glossary entry for sür süld), 240 (glossary entry for zasal) cosmology, vii–viii, 6–7, 9, 11, 16, 25, 33, 38, 51–72, 76–8, 153, 175, 186, 201, 210, 215, 221 in Bayandun, 33, 51–60, 62–72, 77–8, 153, 186, 201, 210, 215, 221 in Shinekhen Baruun Sum, 60–67, 71–2 shamanic spirit residences, 53–60, 64, 107, 123, 217, 220, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën), 225 (glossary entry for baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger) countenance, 112, 114, 236 (glossary entry for sür süld) crossroads (see also ‘road’), 70, 214, 218, 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) curiosity, 39, 44–6, 207 curse, vii, ix–x, xiv–xv, xviii–xix, 1–3, 7–10, 13, 15, 24–5, 29, 32–8, 40–1, 51, 57, 64, 71, 78–87, 89–91, 94–97, 99 (note 4)-100, 108–9, 114, 119–21, 123–5, 127–8, 130–1, 135, 137–47, 153–4, 156, 158–60, 162–4, 167–72, 175–7, 181–3, 185–7, 190, 196–208, 210–12, 217, 220–1, 226 (glossary entries for dagakh and dam yaria), 228 (glossary entry for garval khel am), 229 (glossary entries for kharaal, kharaal khünd shuud taarana, kharaal khüniig dagana, kharaalin dain and khar khel am), 230 (glossary entry for khel am), 232 (glossary entry for mixin), 235 (glossary entry for 252

D

Index

(glossary entry for arga), 225 (glossary entries for bariach, bichig, böö, erkh), 231 (glossary entries for Khorin Khözör and komp’yüter), 232 (glossary entry for merge tölög), 239 (glossary entry for Urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne) as a field method, 41–7, 148–9 black diviners, 18, 39, 44, 53, 63, 229 (glossary entry for khar üzemerch) Computer (a divinatory practice), 44, 231 (glossary entry for komp’yüter) divining without implements, 63 drum divination, 218 hijacking the divinatory implements, 81–2, 89, 98, 98–9 (note 4), 158, 160, 162, 171–2, 175, 183, 186 mirror divination, viii–ix, 84–91, 164, 167, 172 nine coin divination, 79 palm-reading divination, 91–3, 225 (glossary entry for bichig) playing card divination, viii–x, 24, 40, 43–7, 48 (note 10), 82–3, 85, 87–90, 92, 96–7, 98–9 (note 4), 122, 141, 146, 148–9, 156, 158–9, 161–75, 178–182, 184 (notes 2, 3 and 4), 229 (glossary entry for khart), 231 (glossary entries for Khorin Khözör, khözör and komp’yüter) divinatory pronouncements, 38, 43, 45–7, 53, 63, 73, 79, 83, 91–2, 145, 155–6, 160, 163, 198, 207–8, 239 (glossary entry for Urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne) rosary bead divination, ix, 79, 85, 136, 146, 161, 167, 227 (glossary entry for erkh) Thirteen Card, 96–7, 178–83

curse-blocking innovation, xv, 2, 7–9, 15, 35–6, 109, 120, 144, 153– 4, 175, 177, 185–7, 196–207, 210, 217, 220–1 cursing wars, 32, 37, 127–8, 131, 135, 144, 147, 153, 162, 167, 172, 175, 229 (glossary entry for kharaalin dain)

D Damon, F., 6 Daniels, I., 160, 179 defamation, 132, 135, 137, 228 (glossary entry for gutaasan khel), 229 (glossary entry for khar khel am) déjà vu, 182, 239 (glossary entry for Urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne) Delaplace, G., 12–3, 105 delayed returns (see also ‘timescale’), xix, 14–5, 42, 77–8, 81, 116, 125, 127, 129, 131, 137, 149–53, 171, 206–7 Deleuze, G., 51, 72 Devisch, R., 10, 154 Diagram Group., 45 dialogues between humans and spirits, viii, xv, 2–4, 41–2, 50, 56, 71–2, 74–6, 78, 81, 197 Diemberger, H., 199 distance, vii, 19, 36, 121, 141, 143, 186–7, 204 inextensive distance to rivals, 154, 162–3, 172, 175–6, 178, 183 divination, vii–x, xii, xv–xvii, xix, 2–4, 6, 8, 10, 13, 16, 24, 29–30, 32– 3, 35, 38–47, 49–51, 53, 62–3, 72–3, 78–9, 81–98, 100, 117, 122, 124, 129, 136, 141–2, 144–5, 148–9, 151–2, 154–8, 160–4, 167–175, 177–9, 182–3, 184 (notes 1–4), 185–6, 191, 197, 205, 208, 218, 224 253

DIndex 80, 90, 128, 140, 159–60, 162, 166, 186, 191–2, 215 fear or fright, 4, 17, 34–7, 46, 52–3, 62, 69, 71, 74, 78, 93, 107–8, 110–1, 114–5, 135, 148, 171, 174, 222, 223 (glossary entry for aimar) feelings (including presentiments), 15, 24, 38, 46, 51, 66, 70, 72, 82, 84, 87, 91, 101, 108, 115, 121–2, 137, 139, 148, 150, 175, 184 (note 1), 191, 227 (glossary entry for dotor n’ gunina), 228 (glossary entries for ganjue and guniyana), 236 (glossary entry for stress baina) Feuchtwang, S., 4 figure-ground reversals, 50–1, 72, 78, 89, 97–8, 158 Flower, J., 30 forces, ix, xv, 9, 16, 24, 29, 34, 37, 49, 54, 65, 76, 81, 84, 97, 100, 104–6, 108–9, 111, 113, 115, 117, 123, 128, 129, 131, 135, 140–1, 143, 148–9, 152–3, 155, 157–9, 166, 183, 185–7, 191, 196, 200–1, 204–6, 211, 220, 224 (glossary entry for am’), 235 (glossary entry for shoroo), 237 (glossary entry for tol’) fortune, vii, ix, xv, xvii–xviii, 2–3, 5, 7–8, 10–16, 25, 36, 38, 40, 45, 47, 52, 71, 77, 82, 95–8, 100–16, 121–5, 125 (notes 1, 2, 4), 127–32, 134–5, 137–8, 142, 144, 150–3, 160, 164–6, 172, 182–3, 185–96, 201, 204–7, 210–1, 220–2, 227 (glossary entry for deerdene, dordone, doroitoson khiimor’), 230 (glossary entries for khevtesen, khiimor’, khiimorgüi, Khiimoriin San, khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag, khiimoriin mor’, khiimortoi,

Twenty Card, ix–x, 24, 44–5, 164–75, 179, 182, 184 (notes 2, 3 and 4), 231 (glossary entry for Khorin Khözör) divorce, xix, 33, 211–2, 215 dogs, 33, 126 (note 2), 189, 197, 199 Dorj, xiii–xiv, 187, 208–9, 211–6, 218–9, 221 dreams, 39, 83–4, 91–3, 96, 99 (note 4), 121, 146, 148, 213, 221, 240 (glossary entry for züüdlesen) Dumont, L., 12 Duulchin, xiii, 33–4, 67, 78–80, 119, 120, 125, 136, 144–6, 149, 175–7, 187, 194, 196, 201–3, 205–8, 212

E electricity, 8, 21, 23–4, 28–9, 48 (note 6), 65 Eliade, M., 5, 67 employment, xvii, 14, 21, 26–9, 32, 34, 41, 109, 141, 148, 215 Empson, R., 18, 154, 200 Erleg Khan, 61–2, 64–6, 71, 193, 227 (glossary entry for elch), 233 (glossary entry for noën) ethics, 12, 30, 43, 46, 57, 65, 140 exams, 128, 136, 147–52 Evans-Pritchard, E. E., 139–40, 150 Evenk Nationality Autonomous Banner, viii, xvi, 16, 18, 25, 48 (note 10), 179, 181,

F fate, 11, 40, 51, 58, 61, 64, 101, 104, 187–8, 190, 193–6, 231 (glossary entry for khuv’ zaya) Fausto, C., 155 Favret-Saada, J., 2, 36–8, 40, 42, 69, 254

D

Index

flying at cairns, 11, 102, 105–7, 111, 234 (glossary entry for ovoo) fortune’s horse, 102–4, 230 (glossary entry for khiimoriin mor’) prayers for fortune, 11–2, 52, 102, 230 (glossary entry for Khiimoriin San) fractal scaling, see ‘chaos science’ Frazer, J., 158–9

khiimortoi yavsal baival), 233 (nügel khilents), 234 (ovoo), 240 (zalgamjladag yüm) cause-and-effectual relations, 190–1, 193 decline or fall, xv, 2, 10–1, 13, 25, 40, 71, 95–7, 100–1, 105, 108– 11, 113–6, 121–5, 127, 130–2, 135, 137, 144, 150, 152, 164, 182–3, 185, 187, 190–4, 201, 210, 227 (glossary entry for dordone), 230 (glossary entry for khevtesen, khiimor’, khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag) household’s fortune, xvii, 11–2, 14, 102, 138, 196, 211, 220–1, 230 (glossary entry for khiimor’) improvement or rise, 5, 10–11, 13–5, 71, 97, 101–2, 104–5, 109, 111, 116, 124, 152, 185–7, 191, 193–6, 201, 204–5, 210–1, 221–222, 227 (glossary entry for deerdene), 230 (glossary entry for khiimor’) person’s own fortune, 106–8, 230 (glossary entry for khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag) socialism, gender equality and personal fortune, 106–7 spiralling downwards or upwards, ix, 11, 101, 105, 108, 111, 113, 115–6, 120–4, 128–9, 131, 142, 144, 150, 152, 164, 187, 190, 196, 201, 204–5, 210 as spiritual vitality, 105 ‘Fortune’s Incense’, 52, 230 (glossary entry for Khiimoriin San) strange attractor, xviii, 8, 10–11, 14, 25, 105, 196, 201, 211 symptoms of fallen fortune, 100, 108, 123–4, 137 fortune flags, ix, 11–2, 102–6, 111, 230 (glossary entry for khiimoriin tug or khiimoriin dartsag, khiimoriin mor’)

G Galanjav, viii–ix, xiii, 34, 84–91, 98 (note 3), 120–23, 125, 125 (note 2), 136, 138, 141, 145–6, 156, 161–2, 164, 166–72, 175–7, 184 (note 4), 187, 192, 196–206, 208–10, 212, 230 (glossary entry for khii yüm), 238 (glossary entry for ug garval) Galanjav’s father, xiv, 197, 199–200, 207, 217 Galdanova, G., 54 gambling, 22, 42, 110, 161, 181 gardening (small-scale agriculture), 23, 208, 215–6, 219 Gates, H., 4 Gell, A., 82, 157, 159 genealogy, 84, 98 (note 2), 215, 218, 220, 238 (glossary entry for ükheer) name-changing, 218–20 Gerel, xiii, 36, 148–51, 177, 202 Gerke, B., 76, 113, 126 (note 5) gifts, 1, 46, 55, 65, 94, 120, 161, 180, 225 (glossary entry for beleg ögökh), 228 (glossary entry for hongbao), 229 (glossary entry for khadag) gossip with curse-effects, see ‘khel am’ gossip without curse-effects, 34, 90, 127, 129, 132, 134, 137, 139, 255

DIndex 142, 151–2, 177, 226 (glossary entry for dam yaria), 231 (glossary entry for khov jiv) secondhand speech, 132, 134, 142, 152, 226 (glossary entry for dam yaria) disparagement, 132, 134, 152, 231 (glossary entry for khov jiv) fame or notoriety, 132, 134, 237–8 (glossary entry for tsuurkhal) ghosts (see also ‘vampiric imps’), 53, 59, 62, 66, 68, 69–71, 143, 212, 214, 216, 218–9, 229 (glossary entry for guich), 231 (glossary entry for khils), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) ‘air-thing’, viii, 3, 67, 98 (note 3), 114, 155, 230 (glossary entry for khii yüm) Buddhist ghost-trapping, 62, 71, 214, 233 (glossary entry for nom unshikh), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) haunting, xviii–xix, 2, 53–4, 68– 71, 132, 143, 209, 212–5, 229 (glossary entry for guich), 237–8 (glossary entry for tsuurkhal) shamanic ghost-trapping, 62, 70–1, 214, 216, 218–9, 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh) spirits of the dead who, having suffered injustices, died wrongfully or before their time, 62, 71, 231 (glossary entry for khils) wandering spirits, 53, 229 (glossary entry for guich) gravesites, 63, 106–7 Grotti, V., 154

Hattori, S., 68 health, 10, 76, 100–1, 108–9, 111, 113–6, 124, 125 (note 2), 131, 136, 187, 197, 201, 211, 225 (glossary entry for bie), 236 (glossary entry for süns) hearing, 1, 24, 29, 37, 56, 67, 69, 71, 98 (note 3), 112, 122, 129, 134–7, 143, 150, 177, 204, 208, 236 (glossary entry for sonsokhgüi) heart (in the body), 37, 79, 121–2, 147, 240 (glossary entry for zürkh) heart pains, 37, 121–2, 147, 240 (glossary entry for zürkh n’ övdöj baina or zürkh n’ övchelönö) heart-shaped shamanic talisman, 79, 240 (glossary entry for zürkhevch) hearth soot innovation, 216–8, 220 Heissig, W., 54 Henare, A., 160 herding and pastoralism, 20–22, 27, 56, 69, 178, 213 hijacking the divinatory implements, see ‘divination’ Højer, L., 4, 24–5, 52, 113, 134 Holbraad, M., 15, 69, 78, 156, 160–2 home, ix–xi, xiii, xv–xvii, xix, 1, 3, 5, 7, 9–10, 12, 14–5, 17–21, 23–6, 29–38, 43, 46, 48 (notes 6 and 10), 52, 56, 62, 65, 78– 81, 83–4, 86, 89–90, 92, 95–6, 102–3, 119–20, 122, 124, 131, 137–8, 140–4, 146–8, 151, 153, 161–72, 174, 176–7, 181–2, 185–9, 197–9, 201–6, 208–14, 216–8, 220–22, 223 (glossary entry for ail), 224 (glossary entry for avgaldai) window views, 20, 24, 26, 134, 141, 143, 172 home remedy, 80, 227 (glossary for dom)

H Hamayon, R., 54, 72 256

D

Index

226 (glossary entry for chanar), 236 (glossary entry for soliorson) shamanic clothing and blacksmith metalwork for initiations, 196, 208, 210, 223 (glossary entry for amitai), 227 (glossary entries for dorlig and dorligtoi baishin) insanity, xiv, 208–9 intersubjectivity, 154, 156–60, 162–3, 166, 183 cross-referencing, 163–4, 167, 170 intimacy, 198, 216–7, 224 (glossary entry for avgaldai) invocations, 1, 56, 74, 85, 87, 138, 166, 178, 216 invisible, xv, 38, 51, 75, 111, 137, 158, 159–60, 230 (glossary entry for khii khooson yüm and khiisveriin yüm)

homeland, 5, 11, 17, 102, 192, 233 (glossary entry for nutag), 234 (glossary entry for ovoo) hospitality, 32, 46, 72, 79, 209 hospitals, 19, 120, 145, 208 Hugh-Jones, S., 12, 138 Humphrey, C., xv, 4, 19, 24–5, 28, 44, 54, 105–7, 109, 116, 123, 131, 134, 138, 143, 154, 166, 174, 198–200 Hureelbaatar., 48 (note 10) Hyer, P., 25

I illness (see also ‘curse’, ‘fortune’ and ‘soul’), xvii, 1–2, 13, 67–8, 71, 78, 80–1, 84, 86, 89–90, 100–1, 115, 120–1, 136, 144– 6, 156, 167, 175, 177, 192, 197, 199, 207–8, 236 (glossary for tatasan), 240 (glossary for zasal) fever, 146–7, 199 polio, 144–5, 208 pulling up, 1, 78, 145, 199, 208, 210, 236 (glossary entry for tatasan) immediate returns (see also ‘curse’ and ‘timescale’), vii, xix, 1, 11, 13, 15, 33, 77–8, 81, 101, 124–5, 127–8, 130–1, 137, 147, 149–50, 153, 157–8, 164, 185, 187–8, 190, 196, 204, 206, 211, 220–1, 229 (kharaal khünd shuud taarana) immediacy, 15, 76–8, 81, 83–4, 92, 97, 156, 160, 162–3, 183 improvisation, 4, 124, 166 inherited traits, 11, 20–1, 60, 62–3, 104–5, 116, 192, 230 (glossary entry for khiimor’), 240 (zalgamjladag yüm) initiation, xiv, 64, 87–9, 98 (note 1), 107, 146, 196–7, 207, 210,

J jack of diamonds (see also ‘divination’), 82–3, 89, 98–9 (note 4), 158, 169 Jagchid, S., 25 James, W., 13 Jargal, xiii, 79, 140, 145, 208 Javkhgar, xiii, 215–6, 219 jealousy, 134, 139, 187, 224 (glossary entry for ataa)

K karma, 12, 57, 64, 101, 104, 238 (üiliin ür) Karmay, S., 11, 102, 114 Keane, W., 159 Khamnigan Buryats, 18 khel am, or ‘gossip with curse effects’, vii, ix, 38, 40–1, 108, 114, 127–44, 147–52, 181–2, 187, 198, 202–5, 207–8, 211, 257

DIndex Lindquist, G., 159, 174 luck, 5, 11, 45–6, 148, 160, 179–80, 187–93, 195–6, 224 (glossary entry for az, azgüi, and aztai), 228 (glossary entry for fuqi), 234 (glossary entry for pengpeng yunqi), 239 (glossary entry for you yunqi) luck-opportunity, 101, 104, 188–90, 224 (glossary entry for az zavshaan)

226 (glossary entry for dam yaria), 228 (glossary entry for garval khel am), 229 (glossary entry for khar khel am), 230 (glossary entry for khel am), 232 (glossary entry for margaan), 237 (glossary entry for tsagaan khel am), 240 (glossary entry for Zalkhuutai khün khel am yar’dag) Khonkh, xiv, 208–10, 212 Khor’ Buryats, 17–8, 107, 223 (glossary entry for Aga Buryat) Khorchin Mongols, 16, 25 knock-on effects, 8, 16, 105, 195 Kristensen, B., 69

M magic, vii, xv, 1–7, 9–11, 15–16, 24, 30, 33, 37–8, 77, 102, 105, 124, 128, 130–1, 137, 149, 153–4, 156–60, 166, 172, 174– 5, 184–5, 199–200, 202, 205, 229 (glossary entry for Khar Domin Süder), 235 (glossary entry for shivshleg) Mandal, xiii, 23, 34, 36, 47, 58, 68, 142, 153, 177, 188–92, 194–5 Manjlai, xiv, 146, 197, 199, 203 maps, x, xvi, 172, 176–7 materiality and immateriality, 11, 75, 82–3, 85–7, 102, 157, 159–61, 205, 230 (glossary entry for khii khooson yüm and khiisveriin yüm) Mikhailov, T., 54 Miller, D., 75, 159 Mills, D., 13 mirrors (see also ‘divination’), viii–ix, 79–80, 84–91, 117, 131, 138, 145, 164, 167, 172, 209, 220, 237 (glossary entry for tol’), 240 (glossary entry for zürkhevch) mistakes and errors, 70, 127, 143, 157, 159, 166–7, 186, 226 (glossary entry for buruu) money, 2, 22, 29, 42, 63, 94, 96–7, 110, 115, 140, 180–3, 189–90, 228 (glossary entry for hongbao),

L Lacan, J., 135 lamas, see ‘Buddhism’ Lama-Shaman, ix, xiv, 35, 37, 79–80, 82–3, 85–91, 119, 140, 146, 162, 167–72, 175–7, 205, 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö) Lavs, xiv, 35, 37–8, 79, 90, 140, 146, 176–177, 205 laypersons, xiii, xvii, 1, 3, 6, 14, 18, 24, 30, 34, 38–9, 49, 52–5, 57–60, 62–3, 70, 73, 75, 80, 85, 90, 101, 105, 107–8, 111, 117, 119, 129–31, 136, 138, 147, 164, 178, 193, 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 229 (glossary entry for Khar Domin Süder), 230 (glossary entry for khiimor’), 234 (glossary entry for rashaan), 238 (glossary entry for tüshee), 239 (glossary entry for yadam khuruuni khemjee) Lévi-Strauss, C., 12 Lewis, I., 5, 67 life-force, 76, 105 lifetime, 54–5, 57–8, 61, 193, 195, 215, 222 258

D

Index

158, 170, 240 (glossary entry for zul) Ölzii, xiii, 1, 3, 5, 9, 23, 35–6, 46, 51, 57–8, 69–70, 72, 74–5, 78– 9, 81–2, 86–91, 120–3, 125, 139–41, 146–7, 164, 167–70, 172, 175–7, 185, 187, 196–8, 201–3, 205–9, 211–21 Ölzii’s father, xiii, 215–6, 218–9 omnipresence, vii, 14, 40, 77, 127–9, 134–5, 137, 143–4, 146–7, 149, 151–3, 198, 217, 224 (glossary entry for avgaldai) ontology, 2, 11, 16, 30, 55, 66, 83–4, 127, 132, 140, 157–8, 187, 220, 222 order, disorder and hyperorder, 4–8, 33, 40, 49, 72–3, 78, 92–3, 97–8, 124, 148, 152–3, 168, 175, 179, 185, 201, 203, 211 opportunists, 188, 240 (glossary entry for zavshigch) oppressions and purges, 3, 6, 24, 48 (note 1), 60, 134

234 (glossary entry for qian), 240 (glossary entry for zoos) morality, 5, 12, 33, 43, 58, 91, 134, 139–40, 152 Mosko, M., 6–9, 16, 166 Mueggler, E., 66 mutual influence, 6, 14–5, 40–1, 50, 98, 100–1, 114, 121, 156, 160, 163–4, 167, 178–9

N Nature God, ix, 55, 61, 66–7, 71, 92–5, 108, 143, 145, 232 (glossary entries for Lus or lusin khorlol) nature spirits, viii–ix, 66–8, 71, 86–8, 91, 108, 143, 170, 187, 199, 202–3, 209, 227 (glossary entry for ezen or ezed), 233 (glossary entries for noën and noëni gazar), 235 (glossary entry for savdag), 239 (glossary entry for uuliin ezen) neighbours, 7, 18, 20, 23–6, 29, 31–2, 36, 48 (note 10), 76, 80, 107, 110, 113, 125, 139, 141, 177, 197, 214, 216–7, 223 (glossary entry for ail) North Star, 55, 223 (Altan Gadas Od)

P Parkin, D., 40, 73, 154 passport name-changing innovation, 218–20 Pedersen, M., 113, 143, 154–5 perspectives, 3, 5–6, 9, 12, 39–40, 49, 56, 58, 66–7, 72–5, 77–8, 120, 123, 146, 154–7, 197– 200, 203, 211, 214, 216–9, 233–4 (glossary entry for ongon buulgakh), 234 (glossary entry for ongon orokh), 238 (glossary entry for ukhaa n’ baikhgüi) personality, 5, 57–8, 60, 92, 101, 111 personhood, 11, 81–3, 99 (note 4), 104, 157, 159, 215 Pieke, F., 29 placentas, 200, 237 (glossary entry for toont)

O offerings, 2, 12, 25, 49–50, 56, 63– 5, 68, 71–5, 78, 84, 88, 92–3, 96–7, 107, 123, 125 (note 1), 138 , 145, 149, 175, 183, 197, 217, 219, 233 (glossary entry for ongon buulgakh), 236 (glossary entry for takhilga), 239 (glossary entry for uuliin ezen), 240 (glossary entry for zul) oil lamps, viii–ix, 49–51, 72–6, 78, 81, 94–5, 98, 104, 123, 138, 259

DIndex playing cards, see ‘divination’ policies, 5, 26, 30, 52, 65–6, 142 pollution, 199, 209, 226 (glossary entry for buzar) potency-life of innovations, xix, 9, 128–9, 187, 206, 220–1 poverty, 7, 85 power, xiv, 8, 35, 37, 50, 52–5, 57, 63, 65, 68, 71, 90, 98 (note 1), 101, 105–9, 111, 122, 140, 146, 161, 171, 179, 198, 207, 210, 214, 224 (glossary entries for arvan gurvan chanartai böö and avgaldai), 227 (glossary entry for ezen or ezed), 231 (glossary entry for khüch), 233 (glossary entries for noën and noëni gazar), 235 (glossary entry for sakhius), 238 (glossary entry for ükheer khaakh), 239 (glossary entry for zaarin), 240 (glossary entry for zorig) praise, 132, 135–7, 181, 232 (glossary entry for magtaal), 237 (glossary entry for tsagaan khel am) predestination, 60, 194, 237 (glossary entry for törsön töörög) presence, see ‘immediacy’ presentiments, 38–40, 53, 149, 240 (glossary entry for zön sovin) propagation, xviii, 12, 37, 54, 69, 107, 116, 121, 123, 129, 134–5, 138–9, 142–3, 150–2, 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 228 (glossary entry for garval khel am), 237 (glossary entry for tsagaan khel am) proverbs, 200, 239 (glossary entry for yasnaas shüd, makhnaas nüd) purification or fumigation, 14, 73–4, 124, 137–8, 147, 197, 199, 224 (glossary entry for arts), 228 (glossary entry for ganga), 234–5 (glossary entry for rashaan)

R reincarnation, xiii, 54, 57, 62–3, 69, 193, 215, 219, 226 (glossary entry for dakhiad törökh) representations, ix, 11, 17, 61, 70, 76, 82–3, 86–7, 90, 92–7, 102, 146, 158–63, 172, 180, 182–3, 220, 231 (glossary entry for khoimoriin khögshin) ring finger measurements, ix, 101, 116–20, 123–4, 144, 239 (glossary entry for yadam khuruuni khemjee) Rivière, P., 32 road (see also ‘crossroads’), 19, 24, 53, 161–3, 165–6, 168–72, 174, 180–2, 188, 194, 200, 228 (glossary entry for guich), 232 (glossary entry for lu), 240 (glossary entry for zam) roots to the spirits, 1, 35, 41, 45, 60, 62–4, 66, 215, 228 (glossary entry for jolooch), 238 (glossary entries for ug and ug garval) rural development and infrastructure, 19, 28–30 Russia, xiv, xx, 4–5, 8, 16–9, 46–7, 53, 60, 63, 80, 106, 111, 164, 174, 196, 207–8, 210, 215, 223 (glossary entry for Aga Buryat)

S sacrifices, 93, 96, 111, 236 (glossary entry for takhilga) Sansar, ix–x, xiii, 35, 88, 90, 140, 146, 168–71, 176, 202–3, 205 Schutz, A., 163, 167, 174 Scott, M., 30 secrecy, xi, xvi, xix, 3, 5–6, 48 (note 1), 50, 86, 130, 142, 153, 158, 171, 175–6, 186, 192, 206, 226 (glossary entry for dald), 233 (glossary entry for nuutstai) 260

D

Index

102, 107, 123, 155, 217, 220, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën), 225 (glossary entry for bariach, baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger and böö), 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 229 (glossary entry for khaalagchin), 233–4 (glossary entry for ongon buulgakh), 237 (glossary entry for tenger) Slobodník, M., 11, 102 snakes, 91–5, 97, 232 (glossary entry for mogoi) Sneath, D., 19, 25, 28, 218–9 sociality, 16, 25, 30, 32, 38, 76–8, 134, 138, 159, 175, 221 household-centric, xviii–xix, 138 soul, vii, ix, 8, 38, 57–8, 61, 64, 68–9, 71, 83, 89, 92, 98, 100– 1, 107–8, 111–25, 125 (note 2), 126 (note 5), 127–32, 134, 141–2, 144, 155, 157, 170–2, 187, 189, 227 (glossary entry for elch), 236 (glossary entry for süns), 239 (glossary entry for uuliin ezen, yadam khuruuni khemjee and zailana) daily movement throughout the body, 112, 114 space, x, 3, 5, 31, 38, 76–8, 138, 153, 156, 158, 170–1, 222, 229 (glossary entry for khashaa) spectrality, 69 speculation, 8, 40–1, 43, 47, 89, 147 spirit or ‘majestic appearance’, 89, 101, 109, 111–5, 236 (glossary entries for sür baraa and sür süld) spirit wrath, 50, 74–5, 92, 96, 107, 158, 204, 207 stealing, 115, 122, 192, 195, 209, 239 (glossary entry for uuliin ezen) Stewart, C., 83–4, 91–2

shamanic spirits, viii, xv–xvi, 1–3, 9, 39, 41, 49–51, 53–4, 56–60, 63, 66, 70–2, 74–77, 81, 83, 85, 93, 98, 98 (note 2), 120, 123, 128, 135, 138, 144–6, 149, 155–6, 162, 166, 193–4, 197–8, 200–2, 204, 206–10, 215, 224 (glossary entry for avgaldai), 225 (glossary entries for baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger and buriadin ündesnii ongon), 226 (glossary entry for chadal), 228 (glossary entries for garval khel am and jolooch), 233 (glossary entries for oirkhon khamaatni ongon, ongon and ongonoos), 233–4 (glossary entry for ongon buulgakh), 234 (glossary entries for ongon orokh and ongon zaasan khiikh yüm), 235 (glossary entry for shivshleg), 238 (glossary entries for ug, ug garval, ukhaa n’ baikhgüi and ükheer), 240 (glossary entry for zul) close relative spirits, 57, 64, 77, 216–7, 233 (glossary entry for oirkhon khamaatni ongon) distant relative spirits, 77, 217–8, 220, 225 (glossary entry for buriadin ündesnii ongon) guardian spirit, 216–20, 231 (glossary entry for khoimoriin khögshin), 235 (glossary entry for sakhius) pretender-spirits, 84 spirit-helpers, 45, 47, 73, 87–8, 130, 138, 145, 161–2, 170, 176, 207, 229 (glossary entry for khar tom garval) Shimamura, I., 4 Shüleg, xiii, 167 song, 98 (note 4), 124 skies or heavens, xiv, 1, 11, 46, 53–56, 58, 60–4, 66–7, 73–4, 261

DIndex Strathern, M., 159, 161 stress, 108, 137, 236 (glossary entry for stress baina) Sürenma, ix, xiii, 19, 35, 37–8, 46, 55, 65, 79–80, 90–1, 110, 112, 121–2, 140, 146–7, 168–70, 176–7, 187, 203, 205, 212, 214, 221 suspicion, 2, 35, 41, 43, 78, 82–4, 86–7, 90, 116, 119, 138–9, 143, 152, 154, 164, 167, 169, 175, 187, 191, 208, 212 Swancutt, K., 4, 13, 39, 56, 68–9, 77, 134–5, 143, 154–6, 198, 216 symbols, 74, 104, 157–9

U Ulaanbaatar, xi, 18, 21–2, 42, 44, 47, 65, 111, 113, 139, 148, 184 (note 1), 213, 220, 228 (glossary entry for Ikh Delgüür) Ulturgasheva, O., 154 uncertainty, 17, 40, 42, 73

V vampire-blocking innovations, 9, 206, 209, 211–221 vampiric imps (see also ‘ghosts’), viii, xv, xviii, 3, 9, 54, 59, 66, 68–71, 135, 185, 201, 204, 206, 209, 211, 212–21, 225 (glossary entry for bug), 226 (glossary entry for chötgör), 238 (glossary entries for tsus sorogch and ükheer khaakh) victims, 2–3, 30, 34, 36–7, 69, 113, 121, 123–4, 127, 130–1, 138–9, 142, 144, 164, 170, 214, 229 (glossary entry for kharaal khünd shuud taarana) vigilance, 121, 140 Vilaça, A., 155 vindiction, 86, 128, 131, 142, 144, 146–7, 172, 175–6 virtuosity, 55, 217 visions, 79, 91–5, 225 (glossary entry for bichig), 239 (glossary entry for Urdad khoyor nüdend yamar yüm kharagdasan gej khelne) Viveiros de Castro, E., 49, 154–5, 157, 162, 217 vodka, 49, 73, 79, 85, 87–8, 219, 224 (glossary entry for arkhi)

T tailor-made remedies, xviii–xix, 9, 42, 50, 153, 201, 206, 220–1 talismans, ix, 117, 235 (glossary entry for sakhius) Tansag, xiv, 37, 83, 90, 136, 149, 151–2, 176, 188–9, 208 Taussig, M., 158–9 Thirteen Lords, 53–5, 105, 224 (glossary entry for arvan gurvan noën) thresholds, 198–9, 202–4 timescale, vii, 10, 14–5, 49, 51, 78, 81, 84, 91–2, 94, 125, 152–3, 174–5, 183–5, 194 tomorrow, 77, 148–9, 232 (glossary entry for margaash) tongues, 38, 67, 130, 131–2, 138, 229 (glossary entry for khar khel am), 230 (glossary entries for khel and khel am), 237 (glossary entry for tsagaan khel am) toothache innovation, 185, 197–201, 207, 217 Tuyaa, xiii, 1, 5, 43, 80–1, 120, 146, 197 Tylor, E., 157, 159

W Wagner, R., xviii, 6, 8, 10, 50–1, 72, 74, 104, 157–9, 165, 222 262

D

Index

worship, 29, 52, 60, 62, 94, 96–7, 106, 209, 215, 225 (glossary entry for baruuni tavin tavan tenger; züüni döchiin dörven tenger), 229 (glossary entry for khadag), 232 (glossary entry for mörgöl khiisengüi), 236 (glossary entry for shütekh)

Wastell, S., 160 water, 7, 23, 28, 31–2, 55, 61, 67, 88, 92–4, 108, 124, 126 (note 2), 137, 177, 209, 232 (glossary entry for Lus), 234–5 (glossary entry for rashaan) freshwater springs, 23, 28 (bulaga) wealth and riches, xvii, 16, 19 26, 28–9, 34, 61, 94, 96–7, 138, 180, 195, 215, 219, 221, 225 (glossary entry for bayan), 228 (glossary entries for fa and Gong xi fa cai.) Whitehouse, H., 84 White Old Man, 170, 237 (glossary entry for Tsagaan Övgön) Whyte, S., 40, 73, 154 well-being, 7, 10, 102, 211 wilderness, 68, 240 (glossary entry for zelüüd gazar) will, 13, 71, 101, 109, 137, 191–2, 240 (glossary entries for zorig and zorigtoi) wind, 23, 48 (note 5), 102, 105, 126 (note 2) Willerslev, R., 15, 69, 72, 78, 154–6 wished-for (or optative) results, 174–175, 182 witchcraft, vii, 2, 36, 40, 42, 69, 80, 127–8, 134, 139–44, 147, 159–60, 162, 166, 191 Woodburn, J., 15 wordplay, 179–80

X Xiao, W., 179

Y Yaruu, viii, x, xiii, xvi–xviii, 1–2, 5, 7, 9, 33–9, 43–6, 51, 53, 55–8, 69–72, 74, 78–83, 85–88, 90– 3, 116, 119–25, 131, 140–7, 149, 153, 164, 167–8, 170–2, 175–7, 183, 184 (note 1), 185–7, 196–222, 231 (glossary entry for lam-böö)

Z Zeitlyn, D., 162 Zorbas, K., 174 Züüd, xiv, 91–3

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